Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arceus gave you a choice: either you would be sent to Hisui, or Dawn would. The two of you had stumbled into the dimensional rift by happenstance, a one-in-a-billion occurrence, and the creator of all things was desperate for a hero. Only one was needed. 

It was no choice at all. So, here you are. 

You don’t know a whole lot about Dawn, except that she’s a high schooler who was looking into your university when she fell into the rift with you. She’s young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, which probably makes her an overachiever for having a college visit that soon. She must have been under a lot of pressure, you think. Too much pressure for a kid her age. 

Floating in that void, you had asked her if she wanted this. She’d trembled and stuttered and said she would do it if she had to, but looked close to tears. 

In short, Dawn seemed like the type who never insisted on anything, let alone her own happiness. 

So, you took her place. You were on a dead end history track to rack up debt and work minimum wage anyways, so you figured, why the hell not? Your quarters with the Survey Corps were about the same size as the college dorm, the food was a bit better, and the workload about the same. You accidentally called Cyllene professor more than once, convinced Laventon to let you transcribe for him on days you didn’t feel like doing field work, and generally got by just fine. 

Right up until the exile. 

In all honesty, you can’t say you didn’t see it coming. The clans were communal, but Jubilife was a powder keg run by a firestarter of a man named Kamado who had exiled people before. You weren’t so arrogant as to think yourself an exception, after all. Nor do innocent as to be unaware of the fact that sometimes you get kicked out or bullied away from places you thought were like home. It had happened before, with friend groups and school organizations, and it sucked every time, but you learned to spot the red flags. You saw it coming, and planned accordingly. 

But you had hoped, at least, that the Clans wouldn’t be forbidden from helping you fix the sky. 

“It’s just politics,” Irida had said apologetically. “Off the record, I can give you some food for your journey, but if Kamado thinks you’re to blame, I can’t help you without endangering my people. I am sorry, but as their leader, I made a vow that they would come first.”

“Of course. I understand.” Even if, selfishly, you wish that you could come first. You want to be someone’s one and only, first and foremost. 

You’re a realist. You don’t flinch when Adaman says the same thing, just gives you some textile goods to keep you warm on your journey and wishes you well. But gods, you want to be selfish for once. 

You’re moping, watching a lesbian luxio couple and their shinx kit, when the tap comes on your shoulder. 

“Boo! Did I scare you?~”

“I’m homeless now. God won’t answer my calls,” you say flatly, not turning around. You wish you had the energy to engage in Volo’s usual banter, but it seems to have deserted you completely. Which sucks, because Volo is actually pretty fun to hang out with.

Rather than awkwardly trying to comfort you, Volo sets down their pack and sits beside you, limbs folded in politely so as to take up as little space as possible.

“Almighty Sinnoh seems to have abandoned their people entirely,” they say lightly, but you can’t help but notice the underlying bitterness. “Such awful things have been permitted to happen to their people, one might even wonder if such a being still exists.”

You give a choked laugh, remembering how helpless Arceus had acted when forcing you into this ultimatum. As casual as you’d tried to be, it was still really fucked up. You’d been basically kidnapped and forced to fix problems that had nothing to do with you, and you’d only endured it because you were trying to protect a teenager from suffering the same. 

“You know what I think? I think Sinnoh’s a little bitch,” you say. “I think they don’t deserve the worship, if they let bullshit like this happen. Augh! How the fuck am I even supposed to fix the sky?”

“Would you like some?” Volo offers you a flask that you can tell is alcohol from the smell. “Technically I’m on the clock, but… you seem as though you could use it.”

“Please. Ah, shit, here.” You take out a loaf of bread from Irida and break it in half, pleasantly surprised to see bits of dried fruit inside. You pass half to Volo. “Don’t drink on an empty stomach, and I’ll share it with you.”

“Who am I to resist your siren song?” Volo winks at you, then chugs a startling amount from the bottle before passing it over to you. They lean back, using their pack as a backrest.

“Damn, didn’t know you could drink like that.” You take a more reasonable swallow, savoring the unfamiliar taste. Mead, maybe? It’s sweet and rich, and goes well with the bread. You’re craving the buzz of drunkenness, though, and take another mouthful before passing it back. The rim of the flask glistens, and you think, an indirect kiss.

“Aha, well, working retail will do that to you. You need something to take the edge off, after all— oh, that’s strong.” They make a face as the alcohol kicks in, a little late. “Wow.”

“Well, work sucks ass.” Maybe it’s the mead, maybe just a placebo, maybe it’s the comfort of speaking with someone relatively unaffiliated, but you’re feeling bold. “All they do is use you up and throw you out. What kind of bullshit is that, huh? There wouldn’t be any kind of edge to take off with alcohol if they just— treated you like a person, not a tool! Sinnoh, the Galaxy Team, they’re all the same! Why is it that everyone thinks they can just use me up and toss me out? It hurts, damnit! I’m sick of this shit!”

“And Sinnoh had promised us— I have seen the writings, the ancient stories of their deeds on our behalf— yet there’s nothing but silence!” Volo suddenly looks self conscious, passing the mead back to you and slipping into a customer service voice. “Ah— my apologies. I hope I haven’t scared you away, aha.”

“You can drop the act. It’s fine if you’re angry, you know.” Why is everyone around you so scared to take up space, to have desires? “Please. Don’t be scared to have emotions around me, okay? Maybe I want someone to burden me with their presence. Sorry, I’m probably not making any sense. You can… leave, if you don’t want to be near me, if I’m too much. If you don’t want to get involved in this whole political nonsense, I mean. Or… with me.”

“Drop… the act?” They look away nervously. “I… don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“I mean, the one where you pretend you don’t care, like nothing fazes you!” You toss your hands up in exasperation. “I know it does, I know it has to, please, I want you to burden me with your emotions. Am I insane? I’m sorry if I’m insane. I’m sorry if I’m asking too much, I’ve just lost everything and I’m rambling and honestly a little tipsy.”

“Take it.” Volo pushes the flask of mead at you once more, wearing a soft expression you’ve never seen on their face. “I think… you need it more than I do. If you’ve been asked to fix the sky, that is.”

Right. You’re a little off balance, and the mead is definitely loosening your tongue, but you’re starting to get a taste for it. Another swig, and you set it down, trying to wash it down with more bread. It’s kicking in faster than you’d like, a lot faster than beer might.

“If you’re going to leave me,” you say, turning away to hide the fact that you’re a horribly emotional drunk and starting to cry, “please do it now. Don’t lead me on. I’ll fix the sky, I’ll find a way, I always do, but I cannot endure one more fucking abandonment. So just… go. You’ve been nice, but you’ve got a job to get back to, I know you do.”

Another tap on your shoulder— then an entire hand, just resting there. Your whole body feels tense, acutely aware of human touch in a way that makes you feel embarrassingly touch starved. Volo moves closer, dry grass crunching under their knees.

“What Ginter doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” they say, close enough to make you shiver. “I… don’t know if you’ll really want me. But I’ll help you, so long as you’re willing to have me.”

Before they can change their mind, you practically lunge, tugging them into a hug. They lose their balance, tumbling to the dry grass with you on top, and stare at you through their bangs. The two of you are so close, your breath mingling, that you can count the grey flecks in their pale eyes, see how their left pupil is sort of shaped like a wonky star. Your hands are trapped under their back, their limbs splayed like they’re trying to avoid contact with you as much as possible.

“I— I’m sorry,” they stammer, looking away from you. “This is— inappropriate of me—”

“I want you to be inappropriate with me. I want you to want things,” you say firmly.

“You are homeless,” they say, looking firmly at some point over your shoulder. “I would be remiss if I were to take advantage of your desperation for my own desires.”

“And what if I was the one taking advantage of you?” you challenge. Volo doesn’t move, and you don’t get up either. Can’t, so long as they’ve got you basically pinned. “Why are you so convinced of your own predatory nature that you’ve starved yourself down to nothing?”

“You’re drunk,” they say. “I’m drunk. I… don’t want this. Not like this.”

You are pretty drunk. It occurs to you, then, that you’ve just escalated from ‘let’s fix the sky together’ to ‘I want to be inappropriately close to you and start challenging your assumptions.’ Normally, you at least buy someone dinner in between.

“Right. Uh, sorry.” You swallow hard. “I’m… kind of stuck. Mind shifting a bit so I can get my arms back?”

The two of you untangle yourselves, both apologizing, and then you’re left awkwardly separated on the grass. The lesbian luxio have started licking their kit clean, and a flock of starly flies above.

“I’m drunk,” you echo. “You don’t want this. So… I’ll back off. Uh, about the sky…”

“I want to help you with the sky. But… please slow down a bit, all right? Let’s talk when you’re sober.” They give you a brief smile, cheeks flushed from alcohol, and release their togekiss. Probably to defuse the tension between the tension, you guess.

You release your own Typhlosion, trying to mimic whatever social game is happening right now. He nuzzles you, ghostly flames rising from his fur, and you laugh.

“Aw, hi there sweet boy! Ha, I’ve had a little too much mead and made things awkward, oops. But hey, we’re going to patch up the sky! And then laugh in that bitch’s face,” you say, burying your face in your partner’s fur. It's warm, and you decide that a nap sounds good right about now. You've gone past buzzed and into the unpleasantly drunk territory, and you haven't slept well since the sky turned. If a nap doesn't fix you, you'll figure it out tomorrow.

Chapter Text

You wake up warm, despite the Hisuian chill of fall setting in quickly. There’s a sleepy typhlosion beneath you and a coat draped over you, which—

“This isn’t my coat,” you realize suddenly. Your partner makes a soft noise as you scramble to extract yourself from the soft fur, holding Volo’s coat out. “Uh, Volo? Where are— OW FUCK MOTHERFUCKER AUGH WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT HELL BITCH HNNNNNNGH…..”

“Should I be concerned?” Yep, that’s Volo’s voice. You’re on your knees in the cold grass, the cold making your teeth chatter harder than skeletons fucking on a tin roof, and your head is screaming at you for moving too fast. Right, alcohol. Maybe you should have washed that down with some water rather than taking the mead straight.

“So, uh, last night…” Your voice sounds like garbage, scratchy and hoarse.

“Let’s not talk about that. Ever.” Volo gives an airy little laugh, which is just encouragement for you to pull your shit together and have the necessary conversation.

You flip them off, huddling back in with their coat and your typhlosion as you try to find your waterskin in your bags. “No, we are having that conversation. I just need to be marginally less hungover for that— yesssss I love water. Shout out to water.”

“We— don’t have to talk about it. Nothing happened,” they insist, the facade cracking a little more.

You gulp down half your water in one go and then point accusingly at them. “I got drunk and got too clingy, we’re talking about it. It made you uncomfortable.”

“Well, maybe I’m to blame for giving you the wrong impression—”

“Maybe you blame yourself for everything because you just really fucking hate yourself? Fuck’s sake, I’m trying to take responsibility here.”

Volo turns away. They’re shivering in their apron and undershirt, patched at the shoulders and fraying slightly. Did they not know that Adaman gave you a coat? “Well… maybe I wanted it. It was… nice. You were just being friendly, after all.”

“You literally, explicitly told me you didn’t want that. So… I’m sorry. I won’t do it again unless you specifically ask me to. Also, please take your coat back, I’ve got one in my bag.”

They reach out, tentatively, and then snatch it away from you by the sleeve, like they’re scared of human contact. Their togekiss eyes you dubiously.

“I… made you really uncomfortable, didn’t I,” you realize.

“Maybe. Not for the reason you think.” Volo pulls their coat on, adjusting their apron. “It’s… hard to describe. Can we please get moving? I, ah, have a hunch about who might be able to help us, but we’ve lost enough time and need to start traveling.”

You think about pushing the topic a bit more, but eventually decide to drop it. It’s not like this conversation is going anywhere else productive, really. “If you want, I could summon Lord Ursaluna to travel faster? He can probably carry two, but we’d have to be pretty close together to make it work. If not, we can ask him to carry our bags instead to speed up the pace. It’s your call.”

Volo thinks about it much longer than you’d expect, given their recent discomfort. You take the time to grab a quick breakfast of hard cheese and the rest of your water, plus your new overcoat. It’s made of basculegion leather, designed to keep out the chill, and fits nicely over your survey uniform.

“Perhaps the latter?” Volo finally suggests. “I’m not certain this person would take kindly to Ursaluna’s… rather large stature and imposing velocity. So it might be for the best to go on foot.”

“Right. I… am going to need a little bit longer,” you decide. “How are you not massively hungover?”

They shrug, looking a little wistful. “Celestica genetics. The only other person I know who’s related to them also has an excellent tolerance and a resistance to hangovers.”

“Wait, you…?”

“I don’t have parents, yes. But I do have… kin, of sorts.” Volo says the word kin in the way that some people would say acquaintance, like this person is decidedly not friend or family but something far more complicated behind a polite epithet.

You finish your waterskin, mourn the dearth of Tylenol, and start rummaging in your bag for a pecha berry instead. “So, what’s this person like, then? Your kin, I mean.”

“Horrid,” Volo says instinctively. “…the closest thing to family I’ve got. She treats me like a servant every time we meet, always demanding I do some chore or another. She’s the most knowledgeable person I’ve ever met, and our best chance at fixing the sky. But you may have better luck talking with her than I would. Getting information out of her is like pulling teeth— did you know she’s still got all of them, even at her age?”

“Hang on, how old is she?” You have a vague feeling that this is especially unusual, given the quality of dental care around here.

Volo looks away. “She’s never said. Her hair’s pure white, though. She’s insufferable— ah, but you didn’t hear it from me, you understand. It’s just… I’ve always been curious about the past, you know.”

“Me too— did you know I used to study history?” That was back when you were a college student, and you— foolishly— had picked the Kalosian Revolution as your period of study, and thus you know nothing about the Hisuian Era. Still, Volo perks up excitedly. 

“You never told me! Sly sky-faller, have you been holding out on me? What did you study, what do you remember? Why… did you choose to study that?”

You’ve about finished doing everything you can for your hangover at this point, including shoving your hair into your bandana and wrapping up your hands in cloth to ward off the cold. “I… promise you won’t laugh?”

“Cross my heart,” they say seriously.

“I didn’t really have a lot of people who got me growing up. Still don’t, to be honest. I felt… detached. But then, I started learning history and felt— like they understood me. Which is insane, and weird, I know, but I felt more connected with this peasant from hundreds of years ago than anyone around me.”

“I’ve never met anyone else who’s interested in the past.” Volo offers you a hand up, and your Typhlosion makes a happy trilling noise. “I… ah, we should really get moving. Why don’t you play that flute of yours, and we can be on our way?”

Travel is a lot easier when you’re not carrying around everything you own, and Lord Ursaluna doesn’t seem particularly inclined to reject you on the basis of politics. The path you’re on leads you through rocky terrain, lit up in strange colors by the sickly red sky, but the company is good enough to stave off the sense of unease.

Typhlosion keeps the two of you warm, and Volo keeps up a steady stream of chatter while you recover from the previous night. Mostly it’s about their travels for work, the things they’ve delivered and the fascinating archeological finds they’ve ditched work to go chase.

“And then Ginter somehow believed me! Now, all of this stays between us, of course,” they say, leaning in slightly. “...ah, what am I doing? You have enough to ruin me by now.”

“Do you always think about emotional vulnerability in terms of how bad people could use it to screw you over?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Not always.” They’re quiet for a little longer, footsteps crunching over the dry grass. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but you think Lord Ursaluna is leaning in to listen, like the massive guardian of the land is also a gossip monger. “You really are an odd one, sky-faller. I’m not sure what to make of you.”

“Is… that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

“I wish I knew.” They pick up the pace, and you sigh and walk faster to match. The hills rise up higher around you, seeming to close in as you pick your way there in single file— Volo, you, typhlosion, and Lord Ursaluna.

“Okay, so I’ve already initiated some conversations, but you’re acting really weird,” you start. “Is there something you want to talk about with me that we haven’t discussed already?”

“No,” Volo lies. Lord Ursaluna shambles closer, ears pricked. Your typhlosion, beloved as he is, looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“You’re being really evasive. And I feel like I hit the mark in my evaluation of you, but also? We don’t know each other that well. And I’m not sure what’s going on! Sometimes it seems like you still feel threatened because I got too touchy, other times I’m not sure if you’re flirting with me. Like, whatever’s happening, I feel like I should at least buy you dinner, it’s only proper. Or maybe lunch.”

“What’s the difference? A meal is a meal.”

“You buy someone dinner if it’s a date, lunch if it’s a friend thing,” you clarify. Volo tugs down their hat. “Soooo, are we talking about this?”

“Would you look at the terrain! We’re nearly there!” Volo has a manic grin on their face as they point to a copse of trees up ahead, past a small creek. They dash ahead, and you follow, only to stop short at the narrow plank of wood that serves as the only bridge. 

Fuck your stupid baka life, it’s going to fall on you to be the responsible one, isn’t it? At least the path has opened up somewhat now, so there’s more room to maneuver. You sigh, and beckon Lord Ursaluna closer with one hand. 

“Sorry about the relationship drama. Or, you’re welcome? If this is entertaining for you?” You shrug, exhausted by everything that’s happening. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, honestly. Looks like we’re… going to figure out the next step here. Mind if I take it from here?”

Lord Ursaluna rumbles an affirmative, crouching down for you to climb up and grab your luggage. Yours contains mostly pokeballs and potions you crafted yourself; Volo’s is absurdly heavy for some reason and nearly knocks you flat when you try to lift it.

“Fuck’s sake, are they carrying rocks around?” you complain, then it hits you that they’re an archeologist who’s shown interest in massive stone slabs before. “Oh, fuck me with a chainsaw, I bet they are. There are totally rocks in this thing. How is their back not completely destroyed?”

Your typhlosion very helpfully lifts Volo’s bag for you, splashing through the stream on foot while you cross the bridge more slowly. You can’t see Volo anymore, but you’re close enough to make out a small cottage-tent with a wrought iron table set just beyond it. Sheltered by the trees, flowers grow in neat little rows of weeded dirt alongside plants you recognize as medicinal herbs.

Whoever lives here, they don’t seem to belong to any of the groups you’ve encountered in Hisui. Is that why Volo brought you here, to ask someone else who’s similarly unaffiliated for help?

“Volo?” you call out, suddenly nervous. “Where did you go? Volo, come on.”

No response. The tent flap rustles, and you flinch, but the person who emerges isn’t them.

You know almost instantly that this is the kin you’ve heard so much about. The woman is ageless in the way that makes you think of Zoroark, illusioning themselves into beautiful humans based on airbrushed advertisements, with pure white hair tucked up elegantly beneath her hat. She’s got the same grey eyes and sharp, high nose as Volo, thin lips pursed in disapproval.

“Goodness, did my nephew bring you all the way here and not bother to say hello to me? Honestly, I thought I taught them better than that.”

You’re about to correct her on the use of nephew when you realize you don’t actually know if a gender neutral alternative exists. Well, she got their pronouns right, so you’ll pick your battles. “Uh, hi. You’re Volo’s…aunt?”

“Oh, something of the sort. And you’re the lost one, fallen from the sky, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting a tremendously long time to meet you.” She takes your hand, making you all too aware of how rough your callused fingers are against her satin gloves. “Why don’t you come inside? I’ve just made a fresh pot of tea, and we can get away from this ghastly sky.”

“Uh— right. Typhlosion, you keep a lookout, okay? Good boy.”

You follow her inside— she’s got good posture, but a slight limp that reveals itself after a few steps. The inside of her dwelling is surprisingly cozy, if somewhat ill kept. Wooden dishes are stacked up on the larder, clean clothes lined up neatly on a rack while a discarded pile hides in a hamper, and the fireplace is lined with tiny, desperate scraps of wood clinging to embers. 

“My apologies for the mess, darling. Come, have a seat!” Cogita sweeps herself elegantly into one of her kitchen chairs, and you take the other as she starts pouring you a cup of tea.

“So, is Volo really your.. nephew, niece, whatever?”

“Nephew works fine, they don’t mind. And no, not exactly. They simply showed up one day, declared that I looked like them, and demanded to know all I had to share about the Celestica people.” She gives a little laugh, passing over a steaming cup of tea. It’s very fine china, but there’s a chip on the rim. Hers is even more battered. “They really are something, aren’t they? But that’s not what we’re here to talk about. You want to know how to fix the sky.”

“The sky can wait, actually. I want to know more about Volo. Actually, do you need more firewood before we get going? I can fetch some,” you offer, noting how Cogita’s pulling a shawl around herself.

“Oh, you’re such a dear. Firewood’s around back, by the lightning-struck tree. You can’t miss it. Don’t be shy about taking a few trips, either. You’re new enough here that you might not know just how cold Hisuian winters can get, but goodness, they just chill me right to the bone.”

Huh. You think you might understand why Volo is so bitter, actually. You only intended to get one load of wood, and now here you are being coaxed into stocking up for her. Still, you like being useful, so you take a big gulp of warm tea to steel yourself against the cold before heading out again.

The wood is just where she said, neatly chopped and lined up against a gardening shed. You take a few loads in, while Cogita regards you over her chipped teacup each time you enter, and you wonder how long she’s been living alone.

On your fourth load of firewood, you walk in to find that Volo is sitting across the table from Cogita.

“I’m just saying, this isn’t exactly a social visit,” they say tersely, knuckles pale and clenched on the table. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d hurry it up and stop demanding pointless frivolities.”

“Goodness, you’re blunt today.” Cogita frowns, taking another sip of tea. “If the world is to end, then naturally we’ll have no more time for things like tea, and that would be an awful shame.”

You freeze in the doorway. You should probably do something to call attention to your presence, but you don’t.

Volo takes a breath. Puts their head in their hands. Then, returning to the polite customer service facade you’d coaxed them out of, says, “Mistress Cogita, the sooner we can fix the world, the sooner you can have all the tea you like. And my relationship with the sky-faller is none of your concern.”

“Oh, come now. It’ll be good for you,” Cogita says dismissively. “You never bring anyone home, never talk about your interests—“

“This isn’t my home,” Volo says, smiling all the while. “And you’ve been altogether dismissive of my interests. Why should I continue to beat a dead mudbray?

“That’s because you’re obsessed with the past. Best not to repeat that, after all. I don’t know who caused this latest—“ Cogita stops, abruptly. “Ah! You’ve brought more firewood. Thank you, dear. Don’t be a stranger, Volo was kind enough to bring in a garden chair so you can keep your seat.”

You stay standing, though. “Hold on. You think someone deliberately caused the red sky?”

Cogita’s perfect brow wrinkles slightly. “History doesn’t repeat, but it does rhyme.”

“I don’t recall hearing about this before,” Volo says, leaning in. “I remember finding a mention of a red sky, and asking what you thought, but you told me it was nothing but hearsay. Do enlighten us, then!”

Cogita’s mouth twists in a grimace, clearly unwilling to share, but she sighs. “Very well, then. Sky-faller, leave that by the hearth and sit down.”

Whatever’s going on here is absolutely fascinating. And after being the subject of Lord Ursaluna’s curiosity earlier, you’re about ready to let someone else be the object of study while you observe. So you deposit your load of firewood and pull up your chair, gesturing for them to resume while you sip your tea.

“Well. As I was saying…” Cogita clears her throat. “Yes, I do believe this has happened before. The oral history passed down to me contains a tale of an era that was neither night nor day, here nor there, time nor space. The hero, cast into the great betwixt, then called upon his steed to carry him/to crown of Hisui the two did go/and there with thread of crimson, world did sew.”

“You’ve said nothing about this to me. You outright— ah. You did imply that such a thing never happened, dearest mistress.” Volo’s customer service smile is crumbling rapidly in the face of their frustration, while Cogita seems mildly inconvenienced at best. 

“Hold on— hold on. I know that poetry style,” you cut in, grabbing your bag and tugging it closer. “I’ve been finding these old scraps of vellum with bits of poetry buried— here we are. 'Twas long ago he earned the name 'hero'... He led his retinue, ten Pokémon, against the almighty unknowable. In battle did his valiance proclaim at last the strength of humble humankind. The great unknowable approved this feat, and to its domain of no place returned.”

Volo nearly falls out of their seat, barely catching themself, then kneels before you with eyes wild. “Sky-faller. Please, please, allow me to see these verses you’ve found.”

“Right— you’d enjoy these too, let me just see where I put them,” you promise, handing over the first one while you look for the rest. Volo looks close to tears as they touch the worn vellum reverently.

There are twenty pieces in all, taking up the bulk of Cogita’s kitchen table. She looks rather disgruntled, continuing to sip her tea, but you and Volo are having the time of your lives. It’s been a while since you had a good mystery and some primary sources, after all.

“So, there’s the general legends of local pokemon, the tale of the hero, the personal memos, and the story of the Celestica,” you say, picking up a scrap that seems to contain a recipe for potato mochi. “And this. Either the author was very wealthy and could afford vellum for something like this, or it was of more significance than we know.”

“Or,” Cogita suggests, “perhaps the recipe was personally important, and they did not wish it to be forgotten to the ravages of time.”

“Mm, good point. We can only ever make conjecture, and one point of evidence isn’t as solid as we’d like.” You push the recipe into its own pile. “This is interesting— lightning struck before, but it seems like it was a positive thing, not a frenzy. Then to weak man did these ten turn, his strength to be, and all were blessed by loyal Pokémon. Were not these bolts a gift to man? Were they not your almighty grace, great Sinnoh, paragon?”

“So the original lightning made them docile…” Volo seems to be struggling with whether or not to mask the excitement, caught between your presence and Cogita’s. “And where would this fit in the timeline? Once there were two. And one looked upon time's steady pace. And one looked upon the expanse of space. And the two set out: the fullness of future did they seek, the world's far end would they greet. Two different paths— each walking alone a path their own, though they walk with almighty Sinnoh. Was one of them the ancient hero, and the other one who split the sky?”

“Right, because this verse— this talks about the Celestica coming before the clans. So the ancient hero was Celestican, and so was the author of these verses. So— hang on, this one about Sinnoh’s crown. The people carved ten pokemon out of stone, and Sinnoh… shone its light upon them? Augh, if we just knew who wrote these, this would be so much easier!”

Volo holds a scrap of vellum, staring. “Sky-faller. Here, where the ancient Sinnoh people were born, I will spend an eternity... until the one with the mission appears.”

“Oh, lovely. You’ve figured it out,” Cogita says, looking quite done with you. “If you’re finished speculating about my old journal, perhaps I could have my kitchen table back?”

Stunned silence fills the room. Volo looks close to being sick, and you stare at the scraps of poetry on the kitchen table. At the picture of a mystery author you’ve tried to create in your head, and the ramblings that survived, and the woman herself, frail and dignified.

She really wanted her mochi recipe to survive. Somehow, that makes her feel more human to you.

“Why,” Volo finally asks, “why didn’t you tell me? I knew something was off from the way you aged, the way you never talked about how long ago your family left, but you always kept so much from me.”

“I did say I wasn’t going to tell you my age,” Cogita says mildly. She seems… sadder than before. More tired. How many bones in days to come will I yet set adrift to sea? While every gift with which I part takes a sliver of my heart. “I suppose the time has come for me to tell you, then. I was tasked with keeping this knowledge safe— I may not have withered yet, but my joints aren’t what they used to be, and the human heart was never meant to carry this much loss. Now, my time has come. I will share what I know, I will live a few more decades, and then I shall join my kind in resting.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” they say, through gritted teeth. “Why save all this knowledge for the sky-faller, and not for me? What have I done wrong in your eyes?”

“This was never about you—” Cogita begins, but you hold up a hand.

“Hang on, I’d like to know as well. If you really are the last of the Celestica people here in Hisui, why would you keep all of that information from Volo? I get it, you have a duty, but you also have an obligation to your kin, don’t you?”

“Did you ever question why I was given this duty?” Cogita asks, folding her hands in front of her. “Why, exactly, I was to stay behind and watch the death of everyone I loved? Why I knew the hero well enough that I wanted them to be remembered, who the two were that first walked the paths of time and space?”

“No,” Volo grumbles, “because you’ve scarcely given us a moment to ponder this information.”

She fixes them with a scathing glare. “Because, dear nephew, it was my punishment for rending open the sky in the first place. I made a vow not to speak of the circumstances under which I did so— and you pressed me, over and over, to break that vow, but I have kept it until the lost one’s arrival. It was my intention to keep anyone from learning how to summon the almighty unknowable, that my mistakes would not be repeated.”

Volo has an expression on their face as if they’ve just swallowed something unfathomably sour. You, for your part, decide maybe you should step in and defuse things.

“Look, I understand that your duty has put a lot of stress on you, and probably caused some tension with Volo as well. I can’t say I understand everything you’ve gone through, but I do know how it feels to lose your entire way of living. I mean… no one here understands the slang I use, the cultural references I make, the songs I only half remember. But maybe, if your duty is fulfilled now, it’s okay to share what you know with Volo. I don’t think they ever asked you these things out of malice, they just wanted to understand the culture you both share.”

“Is that so.” She swallows hard, the veins in her neck clear beneath her near-translucent skin. “I wonder, if it is better to have loved our people and lost them, or never known them at all? I… have some old books from the time I can send with you, if Volo would care to study them. The ones in the cedar chest I always forbade opening.”

“Thank you,” Volo says quietly, tugging their hat down over their eyes. You start gathering up the vellum scraps, stacking them in the rough order of the timeline you established and carefully placing them back in your bag.

“Miss Cogita,” you say, “you were there when the first hero fixed the sky. How did they do it?”

“I was there? You flatter me, lost one. I was trying to stop them.” She gives a short huff. “They traveled to the three lakes of Sinnoh and obtained a gift from each guardian— allegedly there was a trial of some sort, but I wasn’t there for it. Using those, a red chain was made to stitch up the rift in reality, at the peak of Mount Coronet. You… should be warned, though. Whoever has done this would have summoned the Unknowable One. You’ll have to defeat them in combat.”

“That’s… not super helpful as a description,” you point out. “Can I maybe get some more clarification?”

Her eyes flash angrily before she smoothes over her expression, placid and calm. “Names have power, lost one. Don’t utter them lightly. In any case, my years will catch up to me soon now that I have fulfilled my duty. Volo, you know where the cedar chest is, take any books you find there. If you have anything else you’d like, speak now.”

“Well, maybe, it would be nice if I was treated less like a source of free manual labor every time I visit,” Volo mutters.

Cogita’s lips part slightly in surprise. She looks down, hands folded, and sighs. “I can no longer do these chores myself, nephew. My body won’t allow it. Youth is wasted on the young…”

“And respect is wasted on the elders,” they snipe back.

“Hang on, hang on. I get that you live pretty isolated, so I’m assuming you don’t want to be involved in the political mess that is the factions of Hisui, right?” you ask. Cogita gives a slight nod, and you continue. “Why not get a service pokemon or something to help you with chores?”

“I can scarcely maintain my garden, darling. I can’t be out there taming pokemon,” she says dismissively. “I may have aged gracefully, but even that has its limit. I simply cannot go out and start tossing those newfangled pokeballs left and right.”

“Okay. Well, I can, because it’s literally been my job for the past couple months. Tell me what chores need to be done, and I’ll see what I can do.”

She coughs in surprise. “Goodness, you are bold, aren’t you?”

You just shrug, used to it by now. “Someone has to be bold if anything’s going to get done. Volo, what does she normally ask you to do?”

Volo starts rattling off a list, while you grab your clay tablet and start taking notes. It really is a long list of chores, and you’re starting to understand their bitterness at it. When you’re done, you stare at the list, and then move your bag into your lap for easier access.

“This is a ralts,” you say, digging out a pokeball from the bottom and handing it to her. “I was planning to raise it myself for pokedex research, but the red sky interrupted that. And these candies will help it grow in strength and eventually evolve. They’re psychic types, and very protective of the ones they bond with. When I return, and get easy access to the pastures again, I’ll see if I can get you a roselia for your garden, and maybe a vaporeon or flareon. Eeveelutions are easy to care for and have good temperments, so if you want something to keep you warm or help water the flowers, they can do that without taking up too much space.”

Cogita looks shocked at the sudden gifts you’ve heaped upon her kitchen table, but takes the pokeball reverently. “I was once a wielder, you know… I outlived my pokemon then, but I don’t think I’ll outlive this one now that you’re here. Thank you, sky-faller. For everything.”

“Soooo, that went well,” you say later that night, camping at the base of a rocky outcropping. “Volo?”

“Hm?” They look up from the book Cogita gave them, which has had them engrossed for most of the evening. “Were you speaking to me?”

“Yeah. I said it went well, I think.” You lean back against your typhlosion, reaching up to give him scritches. “Sorry if I overstepped at any point. You two… definitely have a complicated relationship, but I’m glad I convinced her to give you those.”

“I… didn’t know a lot about her,” they say. They look like they want to say more, but in the end, just shake their head. “It’s not worth thinking on.”

“What’s the book about? Anything good?”

“It’s an old fiction novel about a girl and her ponyta, that must have been copied by hand. It’s not exactly an exemplary historical source, but something she wanted to survive.” By the flickering firelight, it’s hard to tell what Volo is thinking. “Can you imagine that being your responsibility? To determine what lives, what dies, what carries on? It’s not even an exceptionally good book, but she must have loved it.”

“Loneliness does strange things to you, huh?” You miss the stars— it’s hard to sleep under the ever-watchful gaze of the red sky, after all. “I don’t think anyone should be forced to bear that burden alone.”

“I’m sorry I can’t give you an answer,” Volo finally says. “As to whether it’s lunch or dinner. But… thank you. I didn’t know there was even a solution to… all of this that Cogita and I have been bickering about. It feels stupid, now, that I never tried it before…”

“Hey, it’s not stupid. You just needed a new perspective to shake things up, keep things from falling into old patterns.” You offer them a lopsided smile, leaning towards them a bit. “I’m… really glad I could help.”

“Mm. I wonder if this might be worth salvaging after all,” Volo muses, so quietly you almost don’t pick it up. Then they notice you staring, and paste on a cheery smile. “Well? What are you waiting for, let’s get some sleep so we can visit that lake tomorrow!”

Chapter Text

Sleeping under the red sky is… disconcerting, to say the least. You’ve been marking time by your pocketwatch, rather than the sky, but it’s seriously fucking with your circadian rhythm to not have a normal day/night cycle.

You wake up multiple times in the night— Volo sleeps like a rock, with their togekiss nestled on their chest, but you can’t seem to stay comfortable. The shifting lights in the sky keep setting off your anxiety, all your nerves on edge for some unknown threat response in your hindbrain.

Why red, anyways? Back home, you remember something like that happening once. You were in high school, and everyone was running to the window to see why the sky was turning strange colors, red and green and blue like the primitive LED lights you messed with in digital media. You’d been speedrunning an essay, though, and couldn’t spare the time to gawk at it. The phenomenon was over by fifth period, and you were too exhausted to really care about all that nonsense with Team Galactic.

Now, you kind of wish you’d paid more attention to that. Dawn would have been journeying age when it happened, right? You wonder if she knew anything about it, or if she was too busy with her own chores. Too late to ask now, though. At least the poor kid’s getting a break from all this nonsense, if she’s still looking at colleges instead of getting recruited as a god’s errand boy.

The sky keeps shifting, taunting you with promises of sunset that never come, until you decide you’ve had enough. You wrap your scarf around your eyes to block it all out before falling into a dreamless sleep.

Something is watching you.

You can’t say exactly when you became aware of it— it crept up on you like a cold fogbank, almost imperceptible until the feeling enveloped you. You’re awake, or at least you think you are— a faint red glow shines into your eyes from beneath your scarf, and the cold air nips at your nose.

You shift, just slightly, and that’s enough to make out Volo’s silhouette, sitting a few feet away with their eyes fixed on you. They startle, then stand and walk away, while you blearily roll out of your sleeping bag and wonder what’s going on.

Were they… watching you sleep? You don’t feel threatened, really, so much as confused. Ugh, you’re too tired for these mixed signals, and you really miss having coffee in the morning.

A good breakfast will at least partially help you wake up, though. You shuffle towards the campfire, made more out of habit than anything else, and jab a knife through a piece of bread to toast it over the embers. 

“Ah— good morning,” Volo says from somewhere behind your left shoulder. “Your sleep wasn’t disturbed, I hope?”

Oh, they are so not slick. They’re trying to ask if you noticed them watching you sleep, aren’t they. 

“I mean, the red sky makes it hard to get any proper rest, if that’s what you're asking. But I got there eventually.” You pull back your bread and give it an experimental poke. “Do you think this looks toasted?”

“I think it might taste better with this,” Volo says brightly, presenting to you a small jar sealed with wax. Oran preserves. “Care to share?”

“You are an absolute delight and I appreciate you so much,” you say, holding it reverently. “Where did you even get this?”

They move to sit next to you by the fire, procuring a pair of wooden plates from their bag. “The glass jars were imported from Kalos, but the preserves were made right here in Hisui. I get all sorts of castoffs and samples from my work, but I never can find an excuse to use most of them. So I just let them take up space in my bag, in hopes that one day I’ll have a special enough occasion to break them out— isn’t that silly?”

“It’s sad, I think.” You wonder how much of their luggage is just that— waiting for a special occasion that will never come, something worthy of celebration. You pass a piece of toast to Volo and start cutting another one for yourself. “That’s why people have holidays, isn’t it? So they have excuses to eat good food and see old friends and get as drunk as they like in pleasant company.”

Volo makes a face. “I work holidays, unfortunately. They’re the busiest times of the year.”

“Then maybe you can make your own holidays in between. There were some really silly ones back home— talk like a pirate day, long sandwich day, boo basket day… every day is all there is, so there’s no point in starving yourself of the good things in life.”

“I suppose so.” Volo carefully pierces the hermetic seal with their knife, peeling away the wax to get at the sweet preserves beneath. They spread it on their toast, then pass the jar to you. “Here. For yours.”

Your own piece is just about ready, so you do the same before raising it up in an imitation of a wine glass. “A toast?”

“A toast to special occasions,” Volo agrees, and you tap your bread slices together and eat.

It tastes like summer. That’s all you can think of; it tastes of summer sweetness dripping down your chin, fresh from an orchard. It’s a ray of sunshine in the bleary haze of stale bread and dried jerky you’ve been subsisting on, and you nearly swoon with delight. 

“Oh my gods, this is really good,” you say. “I’ve gotta go back for seconds.”

“Go ahead.” Volo’s voice sounds oddly choked, and you look over in concern. They only turn away, but you’ve already caught a glimpse of their damp eyes. “I, ah, don’t mind. We should finish off the jar before we start moving again. In fact, I might— need to check on my togekiss. Carry on.”

You don’t ask any awkward questions as they excuse themself to have an emotion over this, but it makes you even sadder. That Volo has been so starved and deprived that something as simple as this could make them break down in tears. 

You wonder why. Maybe, it’s because they’re scared that there will never be any more good things to come, like hoarding stickers and drinking from a bare water bottle out of anxiety for the future.

You could fix them. You want to fix them, want to spoil them rotten, make them toast with jam every day, celebrate little holidays with them. You could be good to them, braid their hair and kiss their fingers and massage the tension from their shoulders, you could—

No. No, that’s dangerous thinking. You shove the fantasy down where it belongs, and concentrate on eating your toast. 

Eventually, there are no more oran preserves to delay you, and a long road ahead, so the choice is very simple. You pack up your bedrolls and extinguish the campfire, summon Lord Ursaluna, and begin the long trek to Lake Verity.

Volo is sullen and curt at first, but you ply them with historical trivia— bits and pieces you remember from your essay on the revolution, questions here and there about Hisui— and they start opening up to you again.

“They say that Lake Verity used to be a volcano, like Firespit Island,” they tell you from beneath their hat. “But then the fire within died, and the basin filled with water. There’s even a myth, about a creature birthed from the fiery mountains of Hisui, that migrated from place to place.”

“Oh? Care to tell me more?” You’re pretty sure you know this one, but you like listening to them talk.

Volo just shakes their head. “We’re almost there anyways. I… apologize if I have been remiss as a traveling companion.”

“You apologize too much,” you say dismissively. “…Seriously, though. It’s good to have someone in my corner. Lately, it feels like… the entire world’s turned against me. Which is stupid, right? I mean, I’m only banished until I can singlehandedly patch up the hole in reality, and also politically a pariah exempt from any act of kindness that could start a war, and tired of getting burned, and abandoned by god, but— you know, normal things to happen to you on your first job, right?” 

Shit, you meant that as a joke, but then it got too real. You try to laugh it off anyways. Volo doesn’t laugh. You wish they would. 

“You really have been betrayed a lot, haven’t you?” they ask quietly.

“Pff— don’t say it like that, you make it sound so dramatic! I mean, it’s not like I really liked Kamado, he was just kind of my asshole boss. Who also doesn’t care if I die of exposure— and it’s not like anything earlier has been that serious, right? Just, bad breakups, that kind of stuff. Bonus points to the time I tried polyamory and got voted out like amongus. And… theatre, that was hella toxic and I’m glad I got out when I did. And friendships, those are worse than breakups…”

“I’m sorry.” Volo tugs their hat down. “You haven’t had it easy, have you?”

“It’s fine. It’s… normal. Everyone goes through shit like this, I just take it to heart.” Yes, you realize the hypocrisy, and you’re pretty sure Volo does, too. But if you don’t acknowledge it, and they don’t acknowledge it, you can pretend it never happened. And if it never happened, there’s no reason to be hurt.

Does anyone even miss you back home? Or did you just become a myth, an urban legend that would fade from the gossip mill in time?

“When I was young,” Volo begins, “I would often lament that the world was unfair. Ginter said I was oddly perceptive, especially given… you know. The bad eye.” They gesture wryly at the left side of their face.

“Does that one work? Like, can you see out of it okay?”

“Not really. I keep it covered, otherwise I get disorientated. There are these… ghost images, that get distracting.” They clear their throat. “You seem the worldly type; you know that unfairness is often the norm. Changing things is hard. To make the greatest profit, you stick solidly to the middle. But… I guess I wasn’t cut out to be a merchant. Not that I had a lot of other options; orphan kids don’t get that luxury. I figured I’d take the training, make some money, then one day leave to seek my fortune. But then I found Cogita.

“Suddenly, my world opened up. I had… a culture I belonged to. I sold her tea and dry goods whenever I visited, and she would tell me… just little things, like the flowers that were popular for young women to wear, or the hairstyles. The places of worship, and the festivals. The promises that Sinnoh made to us. She… doesn’t like people a lot. But she tolerated me, I think. She didn’t want the Celestica to disappear, and I liked the attention. I started learning about the past because… maybe, then, I could understand my future.”

“Do you?” you ask. When there’s no reply, you prompt them again. “Do you have a better idea about your future now?”

The breeze picks up, stealing their words away from you. The broad, flat plain ripples and sways like a golden ocean, broken only by the island up ahead.

“Ah— I couldn’t catch that,” you say, hoping it wasn’t what you think it was. You didn’t hear properly anyways, so it’s fine, right? “One more time?”

Volo laughs, the corner of their eye crinkling as little flyaways make a halo around their head. “Ah, it was depressing anyways. You and I both know better than to say such things aloud.”

Lake Verity itself is difficult to reach, but that makes sense given the god it allegedly hides. You have to first cross over the crater rim, then the lake itself, before reaching the island in the center. You’re not actually sure if this is where you’re supposed to be going, but centrally located is better, right?

You dismiss Lord Braviary, and Volo returns their togekiss once you’ve flown as far as you can. Now, all that’s left is to find a way inside. 

You circle the island, looking for a gap in the stone— nothing. You’re starting to doubt that you’re even looking in the right place, but stubbornness and a desire to prove yourself are powerful motivators. There has to be something you can do, right?

“Mistress Cogita does so love her riddles, but I wish she’d given us more to go on,” Volo says tersely. “I can swim, but it’s not the best idea in this weather. Unless you have any suggestions?”

“Not that I can—“

Sky faller. Come inside.

The voice hits you with the force of a bowling ball, knocking all your thoughts loose and sending you reeling backwards. Blood pulses on the edges of your vision, darkness threatening to encroach fully. 

“Ah! Sky-faller, are you— I’m so sorry, please tell me if this is too far,” Volo says, rushing in to hold your arms so you don’t fall. They’re still terrified of physical contact, though, and keep trying to pull away. 

Damn their fear of being predatory, you need support right fucking now or you’re going to pass out. You grip their arms, gasping for breath, and lean your entire weight against them. This is worse than a hangover, and doesn’t even include the fun part where you get to be drunk. It just sucks. 

“Something— in my head, a— voice,” you explain, each word a struggle. “Hold me. Okay?”

“O-okay. Sorry—“

Whatever they say after that is lost in a wave of nausea, and you can’t do anything but close your eyes and ride it out. Volo’s heart is pounding in their chest, so fast and hard it feels like it might burst out at you. 

Their body holds firm against yours, keeping you upright, and you register just how strong they are. They probably have to be, in order to carry that heavy backpack of theirs around. It feels good. You resist the urge to snuggle in, and just focus on breathing. 

Slowly— more slowly than you’d like— time resumes once more, and your breath returns to you. You’re a little unsteady still, but you’re able to pull back somewhat and look up at Volo. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“

“Don’t be.” You interrupt the start of their spiral, and they go silent. “Look. I appreciate you making sure I didn’t faint and hurt myself. You know me; you know I wouldn’t lie about this. I am thanking you because I genuinely appreciate it, and I do not feel in any way violated by what happened. Are you okay?”

Volo swallows hard. “I… I don’t know. What did happen? You just… started swaying on your feet, and the rock opened up.”

You look over at the— oh, that was definitely not there before. An organic looking doorway is carved into the rock, a set of oddly regular stairs leading the way downwards. The sides are lit by faintly glowing lichen, casting a shadowless glow. 

“I…heard a voice. Inviting me in. I’m guessing it’s… the lake guardian,” you say slowly. “Are you— was I too close? For your comfort?”

“I don’t know,” they repeat. “I guess it’s fine? I didn’t want you to fall… I wasn’t thinking about it like that. I’m just glad you’re all right.”

“Okay. Thank you, again. I think I’m okay now, but I’d like to hold onto your arm for the stairs, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” They offer you their left arm, and you take it. It’s a little unexpected, since you figured they’d want to keep you in sight, but maybe they need their good eye to make sure they don’t bump into any walls going down the stairs. 

The lichen lights your way just fine, even if the lack of shadows is messing with your depth perception. You brush against the wall, and shiver at the damp. Eugh. At least you’ve got Volo, even if they look pale and unwell. You’re looking forward to getting this done and over with already. 

The two of you reach the bottom of the stairs, and the space opens up into a wide cavern with a body of water in the center. Bright blue-green light shines from below the surface, like the center of a water-and-stone matryoshka doll. 

“So, this is the place, then?” you ask. It seems appropriately mystical, at least. 

You sense it an instant before you see it— something is coming, something powerful. Volo tenses against you, bracing for impact, as something rises up from the center of the cavern. It’s small, with a greyish blue body and pink head, and intelligent eyes that lock onto yours at once. 

The lake guardian. 

“Mesprit,” Volo says quietly. They’re shaking, and you let go of their arm in case it’s your fault. 

“That’s right, merchant. You’ve read up on me, haven’t you?” Mesprit’s voice has an odd reverse echo to it, like your brain processes the meaning an instant before your ears hear it. It’s headache inducing, to be honest, but at least it doesn’t make you nearly pass out again. It floats closer, dual tails swishing in the air. 

“That— that’s correct,” Volo says. If anything, they look even more terrified. 

“And what of you, sky-faller?” Mesprit giggles. “Are you still looking for someone to serve who won’t break your heart and leave you bleeding?”

“Serve?” Volo asks, looking uncertainly to you. 

“Oh, you haven’t noticed? That your little sky-faller is so happy every time they can be made useful, made good,” the little god says, clearly relishing your discomfort. 

“Fuck off, will you?” You flip the bird at Mesprit with both hands, all reverence gone. “I can say it myself. Yeah, I have abandonment issues because I’m sick of being treated like— well, like Jubilife treated me when they kicked me out. I’m good at helping people, I just need a little acknowledgement that I’m appreciated, and apparently that’s too much to ask. Now, are we good, or are you going to try and fuck with my head some more?”

That’s when Mesprit turns to Volo. “Oh, you never told your companion, did you? No, you were hoping that I’d say it, absolving your tongue of all the guilt. That’s why you came here in the first place.”

“I’m sorry,” Volo says, not looking you in the eye. “I’m so sorry. Please, please—“

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for—”

“Oh, but they do,” Mesprit says. “After all, they’re the one who cut open the sky, aren’t they? Decided the world was better off destroyed completely, if Sinnoh wasn’t going to take care of it. But you, sky-faller? You made them reconsider. What an awkward position you find yourself in!”

“Does every minor deity and noble in Hisui get some kind of twisted delight from relationship drama, or are we really just that interesting?” you snap. Easier to focus on here and now, on anger towards Mesprit, than acknowledge what the god just said. Volo is the one who split open the sky. 

Mesprit just cackles, twirling in front of Volo. “Consider yourself lucky you fell for them, merchant. Otherwise, you’d end up cursed just like your kin. You still have a chance— fix this on your own, or else my siblings and I will intervene. I won’t grant my blessing to anyone who holds the power to mend the rift already, you know.”

With that, it vanishes, leaving Volo trembling in the center of the cavern, hand half outstretched as if to touch Mesprit. 

Touch not the Pokémon, or all emotion will drain away. 

Well, fuck. What the hell are you supposed to do now? 

Except looking back, it all makes sense. Volo’s anger at Sinnoh’s incompetence, when the two of you first shared a bottle of mead. Their hesitance to make anything better, like it wouldn’t even matter soon. The fact that they’re clearly interested in you, but didn’t make any moves. They knew that any relationship formed would be wrecked by the reveal, didn’t they?

Cogita, in keeping secrets, may have helped drive them to this. Ironic, given what she was trying to prevent. Oh, gods, she’d hate Volo if she found out. 

And what about you? What about Dawn? What about this shambling farce of a quest? Were they leading you on the whole damn time, just playing a game? Did they really mean it, when they promised to follow you so long as you’d have them, or was that another lie?

“Volo,” you say, voice echoing slightly in the emptiness. They don’t move. “Hey. Was that— it was true, wasn’t it?”

They turn to you, shaking, and whisper, “Every word of it. I— I’m sorry—“

“You should be.” You’re frustrated and pissed off and you could have been in your dorm bedroom right now, if not for everything they did. “What the hell?”

Volo recoils, collapsing at your glare as though physically struck. They’re kneeling before you— the last time they did this was to beg to see the scraps of vellum you’d dug up. This time, the responsibility feels much heavier. Much scarier. You like taking initiative, sure, but you prefer being in situations where the other person can tap out if things go too far. Much less fear of becoming the villain that way.

It’s safer for you when other people have boundaries. Maybe that’s why you’re scared of Volo, of your feelings for them.

“I… am in your hands, sky-faller,” they say, voice shaking. “Please, do with me as you see fit.”

Do with me as you see fit. What do you want to do with Volo? That’s the real question here. All the power is in your hands, and it scares the shit out of you.

“If that’s how it is,” you say, “then I want you to tell me everything. From the start, and honestly. Tell me why you wanted to end the world, and everything in it. Tell me how you did it, and why you thought it was the only option.

“And tell me… what made you change your mind.”

Chapter Text

Volo’s first memory was of difference and separation. Deviation from the norm. Self-awareness struck them like lightning, and they saw how different they looked from all the other children. Features too sharp, eyes too narrow, bones too long.

They didn’t have family. Some of the other children in the guild did; they took features from their parents, a common thread binding them together. It was well known, although no one said it, that there was a hierarchy in this world and orphans were at the bottom.

So, they tried to work their way up. Learned to read and do sums, learned to hide their bad eye and make pleasant small talk. It wasn’t always awful. They liked being useful and being praised, but they always knew that their heart wasn’t in it. This wasn’t a forever job, not if their fortune might lie elsewhere.

(Ginter always complained about the penny pinchers at the orphanage along their route, who rarely purchased anything and always haggled over the price. Volo stayed quiet. It was easier to be what people wanted from you than a person. It was getting harder and harder to know what kind of person they wanted to be.)

It continued until Volo’s first errand— a momentous occasion for young merchants, Ginter said. They were to investigate rumors of a hermit living alone, and see if some creature comforts might be welcome in exchange for coin.

Cogita saw them, standing with a too-big backpack in front of her door, and looked as though she might cry. 

“Sumi? Is that… no, it can’t be,” she’d said. Volo had asked who Sumi was, and she’d just explained that it was her granddaughter, who’d left the region long ago. She had such sad eyes that Volo ended up offering her some samples, which they weren’t supposed to do unless it was to coax the client into spending more money. 

Somehow, they ended up coming inside for tea. Talking about Sumi, who had left a very long time ago. Cogita was very nice, but very lonely, and she paid in ancient gold coins. She wanted tea, a new dining set, and spices, but most of all it seemed that she wanted someone to talk to. Someone who looked like family.

“Come back in a month’s time with more tea, and we can have another chat,” she promised them, pressing a teardrop-shaped stone pendant into their hand. “Here. A Celestican like you should always have one of these; it’s a reminder of the mountain from which Sinnoh created the world.”

Celestican. Brimming with pride, Volo tucked the word away and swore to learn everything they could about it.

Years passed, and their relationship with Cogita changed. Volo’s novelty seemed to have worn off, and their increasing questions— why did the Celestica leave, when was this, why would Sinnoh allow such a thing to happen to their chosen people, what do these drawings mean— were met with snappishness rather than patient indulgence. They knew they needed to back off, but the fear that she might abandon them made Volo desperate for connection. They pushed her until she got angry, she punished them with chores, they resented each other and kept coming back for more.

The last argument was particularly bad. She called them a failure. She didn’t mean it, Volo knew she didn’t mean it. They could see it in her eyes the moment she uttered those words that she regretted it. But it lingered, leaving them restless and stupid.

Then, Volo found an ancient Plate. Summoned the Unknowable One, and asked them to tear apart the world. Maybe it was petty, a child acting up in hopes of punishment, but it was all they had left. They found the forsaken child of Sinnoh, and finally their anger had an outlet. It tore bubbles of strange pokemon from the sky, mysterious items that Ginter could only guess at the functions of, and a person— marked by Sinnoh themself.

Volo wanted to hate this person so badly. Wanted to be diametrically opposed rivals, wanted it to be easy to hate them. Easy to give up on them, give up on humanity.

But that’s not what happened. The sky-faller, chosen by Sinnoh, wasn’t just a vessel for divine intention, but someone who shared their feelings of resentment and abandonment. Someone whose loneliness Volo found they couldn’t take advantage of, not without the guilt becoming overpowering. Someone who loved the past and didn’t hate Volo for being angry and overly emotional behind the mask they’d learned to wear. They saw an imperfect, messy person, and wanted to see more. The feeling of being seen and loved nonetheless was so intoxicating, more so than mead, making them foolishly desperate for just a taste of that forbidden fantasy.

The turning point was with Cogita. Much as they claimed to hate her, she was the closest thing to family they knew, and they wanted to be closer to her. Wanted her to trust them for once. But they never really understood her, or had the space to empathize with her, until the sky-faller’s intervention. They had a way with words that Volo couldn’t hope to match, twisting the conversation away from anger and smoothing over the rough edges. 

They found a solution to the problem that had plagued them for so long, that Cogita needed care which Volo could not provide. They convinced her to lend Volo the precious mementos of Celestican culture, to finally break her unyielding silence. And that meant that maybe the sky-faller was more worthy to decide the fate of the world than Volo.

Volo couldn’t say it, not out loud. But they knew that the gods of mind could sense it, and so entered that cavern in hopes that the Pokémon would pluck the secrets from their head to lay bare. 

They didn’t know what they wanted, they just craved the relief of having the choice taken from them. And so, they laid it all at the feet of the sky-faller, and waited. 

Volo is trembling violently by the time they finish their story— whether from cold or fear, you don’t know. Their face is a mess of tears and flyaway strands pulled loose from their bun, hands clasped in their lap. 

You could be cruel to them. You’re angry enough for it. But you’re also just… sad, and maybe you relate more than you should. Loneliness and desperation, that’s all it was. Can you really blame them, when the Arc Phone is dark and you don’t have a single ally in the world? Would you do the same, if given the chance?

That’s a scary question. You don’t want to consider it, so you instead say, “Get up. We’ve spent enough time here. We’re going to make camp somewhere, and I’m going to figure out what to do with you.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” they say reflexively, then look away. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any right to ask—“

“Stop apologizing.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to fend off the incoming headache while Volo struggles to their feet. “I am so, so pissed off at you right now for leading me on. We are going to fix this shit, but first I need to be kind of a bitch about it because I have been so good and so normal about this whole situation, and I have had enough.”

“Right.” They swallow hard, shoulders hunched. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“Not with this, you won’t. You’re going to stay put where I can keep track of you,” you order, like they’re a naughty growlithe. You half expect them to woof, or at least howl piteously. 

Volo follows you up the stairs, out of the strange shadowless light of the lichen and into the sickly red glow of the perpetual twilight haze, and you point across the lake.

“We’re going to the base camp at the Crimson Mirelands. I’m taking Lord Braviary, and you’re going to ride on your togekiss. If I catch you doing anything but following me, I will find you and I will… I don’t know, be deeply disappointed in you. You’re going to stay there, and I’m going to go for a walk. Understood?”

Volo looks thoroughly cowed by the threat of disappointment, enough that they don’t even question you using the Galaxy Team’s resources. “Y-yes. Of course.”

“Good.” It takes you a few tries to play your flute well enough to actually summon the Noble; you’re so angry it’s hard to position your face correctly. Embouchure, that’s the word for the position you need to make to play the flute. But that just makes you remember band practice, how the flutists whispered behind your back and the teacher laughed at you, and it makes you even angrier.

Lord Braviary seems to sense your anger, and Volo’s togekiss picks up on the distress and frustration in the air and immediately tries to go back into its ball. But you don’t have any compassion left in you, so you just fly off to base camp and don’t look back.

Volo isn’t following you. Fine. Whatever. If they don’t come, you can just hunt them down later, but right now you need to blow off some steam. You dump your bags in the temporary accommodations here, grab your knife and pokeballs, and head out into the wilderness to find a good tree.

It’s inefficient, and stupid, and takes you way longer than you’d like. But you find a scraggly apricorn tree, bent and twisted from the harsh winds, and start hacking into it. Peeling off the bark, stabbing deep gouges into the flesh, scraping jagged chunks of pale wood out of it. It’s so fucking pointless. Why is there no point to anything you do?

“What the hell is wrong with me, huh? Arceus, did you tape some sort of cosmic kick me sign to my back when I was born?” Eyes welling up with tears, you kick the tree. It rattles satisfyingly, and you shoulder check it with your entire weight. “AUGH! Why does everyone do this to me? I’m not a bad person, I can be good, I can be so good, I’m great! I’m fucking fantastic, there’s a shortage of people like me! I don’t even ask for that much!”

Are you still looking for someone to serve who won’t break your heart and leave you bleeding? Mesprit’s words echo in your mind, taunting you. Your little sky-faller is so happy every time they can be made useful, made good.

You were useful, you were good, every time. You were helpful and cheerful. You’re an extrovert, fun at parties, great at volunteer events, good for defusing the tension and solving people’s problems. You have so much to offer the world. Is it really so wrong of you, to ask for a little in return? Just something as simple as not treating you like dogshit.

You’re strong and capable, but even you’re not invincible. You’re not a vending machine for service. You’re not a machine, able to give and give forever without stopping. You need to know that you’re appreciated, too.

You stab the tree one last time, chest tight, and finally the tears come. You’re vulnerable, you know that, but who the hell gives a fuck? You might die alone, and who would even care? The Arc Phone went dark when the sky turned, you’ve got no real friends or family, even the past that you love so much has forsaken you.

Maybe it’s for the best that the world is ending, then. Is there anything left worth saving? You’ll be good again, you’ll get over this, you’ll pick yourself up one more time and keep going, but gods. It hurts.

The anger has left your body entirely now, and you collapse to the ground, shaking with sobs. Fuck, you can’t even cry in peace without worrying about dehydration making you weak. The practicality of survival has ingrained itself in your mind like a tumor, when all you want is to be taken care of for once.

The cold creeps over your body, seeping into your bones, and you sluggishly move to release your typhlosion. You always meant to give him a name, but without internet access to look up baby name websites, you never found a good one.

“H-hi, big boy,” you say, sniffling. “I— I didn’t—”

He doesn’t understand a lot of things. But he does know that his human is in distress and cold, so he nudges you away from the tree and starts licking your face to clean it. His tongue is scratchy and dry, but his fur is warm, and he curls around you to start slurping at your hair.

“A-ah. Thank you.” You half-laugh, half-sob at his antics. He’s doing his best with the paternal instincts meant for raising little baby cyndaquil, and you appreciate him. “Mmngh. That’s my— sir, that’s my face.”

This is all the comfort that someone like you gets. A typhlosion doing his best. He doesn’t even understand what species you are, probably considers you a hairless ugly cyndaquil. Is it enough? Do you think it’ll be enough? Or are you still unsatisfied, still hungry for the love you feel you’ve been denied? Will you ever be satisfied?

A flock of starly flies above, trying to migrate. They’re going the wrong way. Your compass hasn’t worked right since the red sky, either. You’ve been navigating by landmarks instead. But the starly don’t have that. 

One of them gives a raucous cry and falls to the earth. It must have collided with a fellow in its confusion. You watch it as it tries to rejoin the flock, wavering in the air. If things continue in this manner, it’s going to be a painfully slow mass extinction event. Your specialty is anthropology, but you know enough about extinction events. 

Part of you wants to let it all die. If the world continues to treat you like shit, then it can rot. You’ve tried and tried again, and now you are in your twenties and worn out from fighting. 

You doze for a while, more of a depression nap than anything, but that doesn’t fix anything. Not that you expected it would, but it was worth a shot. You should probably get back soon, figure out what Volo’s up to, but you don’t want to. And when has self discipline ever worked in your favor, huh? When has anyone ever acknowledged you or told you that you did a good job?

You’re disposable. That’s the truth of the matter. You’ve gotten angry about it, you’ve cried about it, now all you can feel is numb. That’s all that’s left. You put typhlosion back in his ball— you’ve had enough comfort, after all— then stare at the sky, and wait.

Footsteps. Soft ones. Bipedal. You don’t really care enough, and just close your eyes. The world is ending anyways.

“Sky-faller?” It’s Volo, because of course it is. “Are you… all right?”

“No.”

“Ah.” They shuffle around awkwardly. “I… made you dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

“I’m not hungry,” you say flatly. “Besides, the world is going to end if the rift stays open much longer. God has forsaken us and nothing is worth trying anymore.”

“No— sky-faller, you have made my world worth living in,” Volo says desperately. “You made me want to try and fix things! You showed me that it’s okay to be… someone. I— I thought that there was no point, I was desperate for Almighty Sinnoh to notice me, but you—”

“And yet,” you say bitterly, “you couldn’t even confess what you’d done yourself. You made me go all the way to the lake for divine intervention because you couldn’t even spit it out. Why should I trust you if you can’t even take responsibility for your own words?”

“I watched you sleep,” Volo says abruptly. 

“What?” You actually open your eyes for that one, you’re so surprised.

“This morning. I woke up early and I watched you sleep. That’s the one confession I have left that Mesprit hasn’t said for me.”

You sigh. The olive branch is appreciated, but you already knew that. And it feels too late to regain your trust, anyways. “I don’t really mind. I’m glad you told me, at least.”

They watched you sleep. That’s supposed to be creepy, right? It’s a cliche of stalker tropes. You’re supposed to react with revulsion, right?

But it doesn’t. You don’t feel threatened by Volo, not even now. You feel… special. Wanted. Admired. Maybe it makes you a freak, but it takes all kinds to make the world go round. Besides, you’re a consenting adult, so aren’t you allowed to be a bit of a freak?

No. Not if you can’t trust them. It still aches too much.

But… they appreciate you, they want you. You still like them, despite your better judgment. You’re running on empty, but they showed up with a bit of fuel.

It’s just enough for you to sit up and inspect the bowl they’ve brought for you— a steaming bowl of soup with carrots and potatoes. You take it, gingerly, and give it a sniff. They broke out the spices for you. It’s.. really good, actually. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you started eating, and then it was like your hope-for-humanity meter started ticking up, just incrementally.

Volo watches you scarf it down, wringing their hands in anticipation. Their eyes flicker to the mutilated tree, your knife still stuck in it, but they make no comment.

“Go ahead and sit down,” you tell them.

“Of course.” They fold their legs beneath themself and sit, a few paces away. They don’t look scared, really, so much as…concerned. They seem to have pulled their shit together, while you’ve lost it completely. How the tables have turned.

“Tell me,” you say quietly, “how I have made your life better. And then, maybe… maybe I’ll think about fixing the world with you.”

Volo swallows hard. Looks down at their hands. “I… I tried my best to dislike you, but you changed me anyways. Even though I’m lazy and easily distracted, you always made conversation with me when I visited. When we first drank together— you offered me some of your food, even though you’d been kicked out, just because you didn’t want me drinking on an empty stomach. You’re considerate of others, even when they don’t notice. You backed off when I said no, and you insisted on apologizing. Even when I wanted to just forget it, that it wasn’t your fault and you were drunk, you always wanted to make me comfortable. You didn’t care that I’m not the most pleasant person outside of customer service, you asked to see me anyways. 

“You vouched for me to Cogita, you gave her one of your pokemon and supplies that you could have used to strengthen your own team so that she could have a helper. You are so, exceedingly generous, and you’re right— Kamado was a fool to throw you away. And my plan was set in action long before I met you, but you are the only one in the world who made me think this miserable existence is worth salvaging. It… hurts to see you in pain, even if I know it’s my fault. I… I said earlier that I had no future. But you gave me one.”

“Thank you.” You don’t have enough liquid in your body to cry again, but you might if you could. You’ve felt too many emotions today, you don’t know which ones you should feel right now. Or, failing that, which emotions to imitate so that you blend in. You set down your soup bowl, and lay back down on the grass. “Hey, Volo? Let’s sleep together.”

“Ah— here? Now?!? Where anyone could—”

“I’m not asking you to have sex,” you clarify, before they can start hyperventilating at the thought of pre-marital hand holding. “Just… put down your bedroll, and let’s cuddle. Uh, if you’re okay with that.”

“It’s the least I can do to keep you warm.” They move out of your line of sight, and you stare up at the red sky. Are you still looking for someone to serve? No, not really. You’ve burned the candle at both ends for too long, and you need a break before you can think about doing it again. You need Volo’s reassurance and gratitude to fill you up, need their comfort to keep you safe and warm. You don’t want to take another depression nap alone. You want to be loved, and if you can’t have that, you’ll settle for being appreciated.

They settle their bedroll down, and you shuffle onto it. Volo hesitates for a little while, asking if you’re really sure you want them, until you grab their hand and yank them down on top of you.

“Stop finding excuses to imagine that I hate you,” you say, pulling them in close. “I don’t. Despite my better judgment, maybe, I never have. That’s all you.”

“I suppose it is.” Their body is solid and warm against yours, your leg draped over their hip and chin nestled in the crook of their neck. You can faintly make out the shape of the togekiss, circling above. “Do let me know if you’d like to stop, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You’ve got no intention of letting go anytime soon. You’re not tired in the sense that you need to sleep, but rather… you just need to recharge. Fill up your lungs, and let it all out. “You know I still like you, right?”

“I am… fonder of you than I know how to say.”

Chapter Text

This was a bad idea.

It hits you about an hour in. You don’t want this, and you can’t know if Volo actually does either, or if they’re just doing it out of guilt. You have too many unanswered questions, too many secrets still in the dark, and the rationality that abandoned you is back with a vengeance.

Also, what the hell are you doing out here. You have only one pokemon standing guard, you left your bag at the base camp, and you still need to get your knife from the tree. This is a stupid as fuck decision that you made, the latest in a long series of stupid as fuck decisions, and you need to lock the fuck in and start making better ones. 

You peel yourself from Volo’s sleeping form, grab your knife to put back where it belongs, and start pacing a little ways away to make a list in your head. You need to tell them about the Arc Phone and the future, and that right now? Whatever situationship you have going on, you want to take a step back before you make any more mistakes that could get someone hurt. 

Oh, and then you have to talk about fixing the sky. You don’t really want to. You’ll fucking do it, but gods above. And… it might be nice to figure out how, exactly, they did all of this to break it.

You’re in the middle of your thoughts when an intrusion comes screaming down from the sky to attack you.

“Augh, fuck— VOLO, HELP!” You can’t see what it is, just a flurry of feathers beating down and claws stuck in your hair. Whatever’s trying to kill you is stuck pretty damn good, and any attempt to untangle it just means your hands get torn up. It’s all you can do to just cross your forearms above your head to keep the damn thing from reaching down to peck your eyes out. 

Volo scrambles awake, rushing over with hands outstretched. “Chara, no! Bad girl! I’m so sorry, she’s not normally like this—”

“Get her off, now!”

They reach up, chest brushing against you, and deftly grab the offending bird. Oh gods, their togekiss just tried to kill you. You can feel the blood dripping down your face, and try to remind yourself that it’s just because head wounds bleed a lot.

“It’s all right, baby. It’s okay. I’ll get you untangled,” Volo says gently, doing something with your hair that you can’t see. You try to hold still, but your heart’s still pounding from that experience, and Volo’s still got pillow creases on their face.

“That’s your togekiss,” you say. “You named her Chara?”

“It’s an old Celestican name meaning joyful— okay, it’s okay, baby, I’ve got you,” Volo says. You’re honestly a little jealous, which is stupid. “I’m so sorry— I have no idea what’s gotten into her. She’s normally such a sweet tempered little thing, always has been. I raised her from an egg, and I’ve never seen her behave like this before.”

“Ah. Lovely. I guess she just hates me specifically.” Not that you’re bitter or anything. You can probably just add her to the pile. Theatre kids, band kids, ex friends and ex lovers, and also this one bird who’s named after joy and filled with happiness and hates you in particular.

Volo finally manages to free her, and you raise a hand to your scalp to assess the damage. Yikes, that’s not… that’s not good. You’re going to need a lot of medicinal leeks to fix that up. Probably some distilled alcohol, too, to make sure nothing gets infected.

Chara nuzzles in sweetly with Volo, chirping and bonking them affectionately. She lets out the most pathetic trill you’ve ever heard in your life, staring up at them with big wet eyes and bloody talons.

“It’s okay, Chara. I promise they won’t hurt you,” Volo says, petting her feathers soothingly. “See? You’re okay. You’re fine.”

“I’m fine too, if anyone cared,” you mutter. “…sorry. That was petty of me.”

“Ah— right. We should get you back to camp and patch you up— I’m really, truly sorry. I have no idea why she’s acting like this,” Volo says. 

You nod, but something just occurred to you. You’ve studied togekiss for the Pokédex. And you think you know why she attacked you. 

“On some level, you’re scared and unhappy around me,” you say. It’s not a question. “She blames me for that.”

“Wh— no! I wasn’t lying when I said all the reasons I appreciated you before!” Volo says, aghast. “I really, truly do— Chara, no— I— I’m sorry, I need to put her back in her ball. Why would you think I’m lying?”

You’ll admit you relax a bit when Chara is back in her pokeball, but that doesn’t make this conversation any easier to have. “Because they can sense happiness. Are you… scared of me, Volo? Do I scare you? I know you like me. But are you scared of me, too?”

Their lips part, as if they know the answer, but then they shake their head. “We should, ah, really get back to camp. I’m going to pack up my bedroll.”

You sigh as they start busying themself with that. “Okay, but you’re not answering my question. This isn’t something you can just brush off and ignore. You have to do things that are hard and that you dislike sometimes.”

“And what reward has there ever been for that, hm?”

Huh. Actually? You can work with this. You think about the Arc Phone in the bottom of your bag. “You tell me why you’re scared of me, I’ll tell you everything I know about Sinnoh.”

“Deal,” they say immediately. “…can we do this at the camp? I, ah, feel somewhat exposed and need the time to think.”

“Sounds good to me.” You probably need the time to think as well, to be honest. How much of this relationship has been built on false assumptions and bad communication? It’s… exhausting. You don’t want that. You want something real, something you can trust. You know there’s mutual affection, something deeper holding you together, but you don’t want it to hurt. You want it to feel good, to feel natural and easy.

You want it to feel like whatever Chara and Volo have. Okay, fine, you’re incredibly jealous of a bird. Because Volo likes her better than you. Which, maybe they should, but it still doesn’t make the envy go away. It should have been you.

But it can’t be. Not until you put in the work and fix this.

Volo brushes off the dirt and packs up their bedroll with practiced efficiency, and the two of you start the muddy trek back to camp together. 

“You know I’m not from here,” you say, “but I don’t think I ever clarified. I’m from the future. About two hundred years off, I think. It’s pretty cool— we’ve got advanced pokeballs and medicine, and battling is a career you can have, and there are these places called pokemon centers where you can get healed for free. I was going to university at the time— everyone goes to school to learn to read and write, and most of us do school after that as well.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Volo asks cautiously. 

“Because I’m tired of keeping secrets, mostly. If we’re going to be working together in this, I want you to know who I really am.” Your throat feels tight, though, thinking about the past you wanted to leave behind. “I was going to college to study the Kalosian War, maybe someday work at a museum if they’d hire me. There’s not much money to be made there, but I knew that from the start. I was involved in multiple clubs and had lots of acquaintances, but no real friends. It looked good on resumes, though. I got a few paid internships that way.”

“What about your family?” Volo asks. 

“We… weren’t exactly close,” you say. They wait for an answer for a little while, but you don’t really feel like talking. It’s one of those things where you feel like you’re overreacting for not wanting to be around them, even if they never hit you or anything.

Fuck, do you feel guilty about that? Because Volo is so desperate for family? You wish that this was one of those situations where absence would make the heart grow fonder, but in all honesty… you’re okay with not seeing them again. 

“Did you fight with them?” Volo asks cautiously. 

“Not really. We barely talked once I became an adult. I would come home for holidays, but it just felt like we were doing this whole family thing out of habit. Inertia, or something. No emotion, just routine.” You sigh. “At least when you and Cogita fight, there’s some kind of emotion behind it.”

“Is that why I provoked her?” Volo realizes. “Oh. Oh I think it is. I, ha, I thought I was just being stupid and self destructive.”

“Kiss with a fist is better than none, or something.” Yearning twists your heart once more, and you risk catching their eye. “I want something better than that, though. Something that isn’t just fighting to feel connection. I guess… that’s why. No more secrets.”

“I see.” You’re almost to camp now, mud squelching in your boots, and the physical exhaustion is setting in. Volo doesn’t look tired at all, but they’re probably built differently. They offer you an elbow to help you out of the mud and onto the broad stones placed around camp, and you take it. “I suppose it’s my turn now?”

“Let’s go inside one of the tents,” you suggest. “I could use some water after all that, and it’ll be safer anyways. We don’t keep any rations around here, but there’s some medicine and water if you know where to look.”

“Ah. Then I’ll follow your lead.” Volo scrapes the mud from their boots, while you toss open the tent’s flaps and get to work. 

The bases for the Galaxy Team are intended to house members of the Corps on a temporary basis, without being raided by wild Pokémon during the long absences in between. Inside the main tent is a sturdy wooden chest with pungent bags of herbs meant to repel any nosy mons, filled with basic supplies. Medicine, water, and a few folding cots and assorted furniture. 

You grab a water flask and the first aid kit, set them aside. Everything here has a very distinctive odor, like mothballs inside an apothecary shop. It made you wrinkle your nose when you first started working in the Survey Corps, but now it’s comforting. It means that nothing will attack you in the night, after all. 

You set up a pair of cots, then a table and two chairs, then start spreading out your bedroll on the cot. Well, until you start bleeding on it. At that point, you just sigh and resign yourself to the painful process of having your wounds cleaned. You down half the waterskin in one go, then use it to dampen a rag to clean the blood from your face. 

You deserve a little treat after this. 

“Sky-faller?” Volo pokes their head in. “Do you need help with that?”

“Nah. Just setting up camp here. Am I still bleeding?”

“Let me see.” Volo moves closer, studying you in the diffuse light that comes through the tent walls. They’re so close, and you… don’t want them to be. You need space, like the sandshrew’s dilemma, you haven’t yet figured out how to be close without hurting each other and you want to back off. But the last thing you need is an infected head wound, so you stand there and let it happen.

“I can’t really see up there. I’ve got some water, disinfectant, and salve, if you wouldn’t mind patching me up.” You gesture to the supplies you pulled out earlier.

“Of course. Go ahead and sit down, then.” Volo sounds tremendously gentle, which sets you on edge for some reason. You’re really not sure how to handle any of this. It’s got you feeling all out of sorts, the confusion of your feelings for them and the hurt and the fragile new thing you’re trying to build. 

You sit in the folding chair, tugging off your boots and folding your legs up close to your chest for security, while Volo’s fingers start to comb through your hair. The intimacy of it makes your skin crawl.

They part your hair, wrapping it around a finger, and pull just slightly as they start to dab at it with the wet rag. Fuck, that stings. Is this some kind of power play? No, no, you’re just paranoid. You’re just paranoid, right? This constant push and pull of wanting and fearing, provoking and apologizing, it’s getting to you.

“You asked why I’m afraid of you.” Volo’s voice is low and even, setting off some kind of fear response in your brain. “I don’t think that question is exactly fair, you know.”

“I don’t— ow. Shit. Sorry, continue.” Shut up, brain, stop trying to replay that one scene from the Sweeney Todd production you did in high school. That’s not helpful in the slightest.

“I’m scared around you. I’m scared since I met you. New things… even good ones… scare me. You are… everything new and strange, to me.” Volo sets down the rag, bloody, and picks up the disinfectant and a fresh rag. “You want me. Which is— who even am I, what am I doing right that makes you want me? What if I lose it and I lose everything? I’ve never… met anyone like you before. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You’re going to mess— up ow fuck!” The cold alcohol hits your scalp, and you curl into yourself. Fuck, shit, that stings. “I— I just— you’re going to, like, make mistakes, but that’s okay. I mean, you did literally wreck the sky and cause a dimensional rift that I got kidnapped through, and I’m still here. So, it’s all downhill moving forward, right? You can’t do anything worse.”

Volo’s doing something to your hair that you can’t see, tugging gently back and forth. “I suppose that’s true. Usually my past mistakes are fuel for anxiety, not protection against them.”

You bite back the urge to recommend they take Xanax for that. It’s really not a helpful suggestion, not with medicine in the current state it’s in right now.

“Anxiety sucks,” you say instead. “...Right, I promised to tell you what I know about Sinnoh. I’ll probably ask you not to break it to the clans just yet, though. Don’t really want to cause another schism.”

“Oh, they never believed me anyways,” Volo says wryly. “I know that the true Sinnoh is a third, associated with white, gold, and blue. It’s name is Arceus, and it is said to dwell far away. There’s also a sigil of sorts— an X over a pair of crescents— used to represent it. But I don’t know what it looks like, or where it lives.”

“A… void, I think.” You close your eyes, trying to remember that place you’d found yourself floating in. “It was dark. Everywhere was… dark. I think there were… clouds? Like nebula stuff? In the future, we have telescopes that can look out into the sky and view the start of creation. Dead stars, cosmic fields, that sort of thing. It looked like that. Like something primordial and largely empty.”

“You can… view the start of creation. Naturally. Which is a perfectly normal sentence for someone to utter so casually.” Volo gives a strained laugh. “What… did it look like? Arceus.”

“Big. Sort of… graceful, elegant, but not like something that should exist. It— ow— it has a body sort of like a wyrdeer, but its hooves taper off into points that don’t look like they should be able to support its weight. Its midsection has that sigil you described— a golden X with crescents intersecting on either side. There were little green gems set in it, too, I think. Not blue.

“Its body is mostly white, but there’s some grey. Its head especially— it sort of tapers back and sways, and then its jaw never moved when it spoke. I don’t even know if it’s capable of eating or breathing or has… any sort of orifice for that. It doesn’t look like something that should exist in the physical realm and follow the same laws as us.”

“Green, and not blue,” they muse. “Funny. It must have been a translation error. I have so little to rely on and extrapolate from… history is a fickle thing.”

“Yeah. Sometimes, your best guess can’t come close to the real thing.” You think about Cogita, and the scraps she desperately wanted to preserve. A recipe. Poetry, far more emotional than anything she ever spoke aloud. A mediocre horse girl novel. What would it have been like, if you’d been isekai’d into the Kalosian War instead?

“I’m done with the alcohol,” Volo says, setting down the bottle and picking up the tub of salve. It hurts a little when they dab it on, but not nearly as much as the alcohol. “I braided your hair, to keep it from getting in the way.”

“Oh!” You hadn’t realized that’s what they were doing. But, raising your hand to your head, you can feel that it’s in a sort of elaborate style that sweeps around and to a corner near the nape of your neck. “Thank you.”

“I’m… sorry again about Chara attacking you,” they say, finally moving around to sit on the chair across from you. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again— even if this is… upsetting, and strange, the alternative is worse.”

“The alternative is that literally everyone dies? And you get cursed?”

Volo coughs, looking rather self conscious. “Yes. Ah, that. Well. It is good that you haven’t… that you don’t hate me. I’ll do my best to earn your trust in days to come.”

“There’s one more thing,” you say. “In my bag, there’s… it’s called the Arc Phone. It’s sort of like a magic mirror? Or a camera? It’s complicated future stuff. But the point is, Arceus used to communicate with me through it. Asked me to seek out all pokemon in the land. But… it’s gone dark ever since the sky changed. I think Arceus really has abandoned us altogether.”

“They probably have.” Volo starts fiddling with their own hair, pulling it out of the falling-apart bun to restyle it. “I… thought Arceus would be the one to stop me. Then, I figured you might. I really don’t know what I want, in the end.”

“Well, you wanted to kill everyone because you were depressed. Now you’re… less depressed? I don’t know, having the will to live is hard. You have to make decisions about what to do with your life besides end it. So, maybe your happiness bird is wrong! Maybe the unhappy route is the best— oh shit I just remembered.” You bury your face in your hands. “Fuck my stupid baka life, we still have to fix the sky. Do you want to make ice cream with me once we’re done? I’ve got a rotom-possessed ice cream machine back in Jubilife. Just need some milk and salt, and maybe some chopped fruit.”

They frown in confusion. “I… don’t see what this ‘ice cream’ has to do with any of this?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that I need some kind of little treat to keep me going,” you explain. “Like, it is thankless fucking work sometimes. I’ll fucking do it, but gods alive. That’s why I have to give myself little rewards. Because no one else will.”

Volo nods, then sits up abruptly. “Oh! I think I have something in my bag that might work for that! There’s a small bottle of wine—”

“I am not getting drunk with you, I don’t trust my self-control enough.”

“ —that I could use for cooking! Don’t worry, the alcohol cooks off, so you won’t get drunk. Leave everything to me,” they promise. “Can… I have some too?”

You stare. “Hold the fuck up. You think I’m just going to make you starve?”

“Well, it’s meant to be a reward. If I haven’t earned it—”

“Fuck’s sake, Volo, you just talked about your feelings, like, twice in one day. Of course you deserve a reward! Let’s go gather some ingredients; I know there are some wild vegetables nearby.” Feeling refreshed and emboldened, you tie your bandana back on and push yourself from your chair. “Both of us deserve a little treat, and we’re going to get our little treat, and then we’ll deal with whatever fuckshit life throws at us next.”

Volo laughs nervously, holding the tent flap open for you. “Well, that’s good. Because I think we’ll need to climb a mountain to fix the sky.”

Oh, fuck your stupid baka life, you’re going to need way more carbs for this bullshit. But hey, at least there’s sootfoot root nearby. If you can get a delicious meal as a tasty treat, maybe you can keep going tomorrow.

Chapter Text

In the end, you make yourselves a dinner of venison with wine sauce, potato mochi, and sautéed vegetables. Volo is a surprisingly good cook, when they allow themself to be. It makes you wonder how much of their backpack is filled with tiny glass bottles, smidgens and samples and castoffs. It takes three bottles to get enough smoliv oil to make a good sautee, coated in dried bayleef leaves for stamina and garlic for flavor.

The venison is salty and tender, cooked down until it practically falls apart in your mouth, with a hearty wine sauce unlike anything you’ve ever tasted. It’s fruity, complimenting the gamey taste well, but also has something else underlying, something you don’t have the vocabulary to identify. It sort of reminds you of bitter tea, but not quite. There’s some wild onions in there as well— you’d only managed to find a few, but they add a lot to it. It’s a meal that makes you wish you were a foodie, so you could properly appreciate it.

Maybe it’s not too late to become one.

For your part, you contribute the mochi— Cogita’s recipe is rhymed well enough to stick in your head, which is probably the point. You were never much of an athlete, but you know that carb loading before a big event of any kind is important, and the humble potato (or at least, the genetic precursor to the modern one) has plenty of those. It’s not much compared to Volo’s cooking, but the nutrition will keep you going tomorrow.

“Okay, where— where did you learn to cook like this,” you mumble through a mouthful of venison. You’ve plowed through about half of it without even realizing, that’s how good it it.

“Ah— most of our imports tend to be gourmet goods, so I suppose I just picked it up,” Volo says, looking embarrassed. “Anything below a certain quality isn’t really worth the trouble of shipping, so we mostly trade in these sorts of high quality goods on an international level. The apprentices and the retired masters will trade in domestic goods on more reliable routes, while those in their prime such as myself will travel. It’s a sign of a good merchant to be well informed about what we’re selling, and sometimes I get recipes in return for my services. It’s nothing special, really.”

“Nothing special? You’re making a gourmet meal out of what we scrounged together from free samples, wild plants, and travel food. Have a little pride in yourself,” you say firmly. “It’s better than anything they’ve ever served me at the Wallflower.”

Volo shakes their head. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you. I had no idea where any of these vegetable patches were, or how to identify them. I live off the food in my backpack. But you know all the places to gather fresh ingredients, and how to forage safely.”

“Well, that’s just part of my job. There’s a pair of apprentices back in Jubilife who showed me the ropes, and I just used what they taught me. But… I guess you and I made a pretty good team, huh.”

“Is that what we are?” Volo tentatively meets your eyes, then looks away. Their vegetables move in anxious circles driven by their fork. “Sorry. I’m just… I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either.” Before, maybe you were interested. But now, you’re tired and hurt. It’s going to take time to heal that. “We should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“I suppose it is.” The two of you sit and eat in silence for a while, a somber mood settling in. Volo finally starts eating, and you wonder if they’re getting enough food. Sure, they’re strong, but it’s all lean muscle. 

And maybe you think it would be hot if they felt safe enough with you to gain some weight from your caretaking. Ugh, you don’t need those thoughts, damnit! You’re trying to get some sort of emotional distance so you can figure things out, process your hurt before you get close again. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” you say, setting down your plate. “Or, whatever counts for morning these days. When I’m done sleeping.”

“Of course. Leave your plate; I’ll do the washing up.”

“Thank you.” They dip their head in a nod as you leave for your cot, body language difficult to read. 

Gods. All the talk about honesty you preached, and you don’t know what the two of you are or what you want. Do you even want to go home, or stay here in Hisui? Do you want space, or intimacy?

The tent is quiet enough that you take some time to mull it over. For all that you’ve coaxed Volo into trying to imagine a future, you’re struggling to see one for yourself. Your imagined future stops at getting celebratory ice cream. Which is leagues better than omnicide, sure, but that’s a low bar to clear. The future is an ominous fogbank, and you coax yourself through like a nervous rapidash with carrots. 

Maybe things will be easier when there isn’t so much at stake. You can go back to Jubilife, just to have a warm bed to sleep in at night, and get some of the things you left behind. You can make ice cream, and… yeah, you aren’t very good at this. Apple cider? That’s something you can do?

Yeah, you don’t know. The uncomfortable truth is, you’re not so far off from Volo. You just have better ways to cope with the existential malaise. Maybe you can teach them. Maybe you can pat their head and tell them they did a good job and deserve a treat, and they can—

Nope. That’s getting into horny territory again. And you do not want to be there of all places right now. 

Instead, you fantasize about ice cream to fall asleep. Pumpkin ice cream with bits of walnuts and ginger, as much as you can make. You’ll have to buy the milk from the clans and boil it first, and maybe that snover you caught for research could help…

You wake up to the scent of eggs and bacon. 

“How did you find eggs around here?” you mumble, clambering out of the tent. “Did you get mauled for it? Please tell me you didn’t get mauled.”

“My togekiss laid them,” Volo says, offering you a plate. Scrambled eggs with hard cheese and bits of jerky, and cured bacon. “She’s without a mate, so she lets me take them. I really am sorry about her attacking you, by the way.”

“Eh, I’ll live. Oh my gods, you could open up a restaurant,” you sigh, as the flavor hits your tongue. “Have you been holding out on me?”

“I didn't think it would matter.” Volo stares into the pan, and oh damnit they’re thinking about their ideations again. “I… didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to make it worse. The more you liked me, the worse I knew I’d feel when the truth came out. But I couldn’t help myself from making little… affectionate mistakes.”

“Well, delcatty’s out of the bag now, and I’m glad I get to enjoy your cooking.” So much has happened, and to be honest, you’re trying to block out most of the bad stuff. If you just focus on the next carrot, you can keep putting one foot in front of the other. “So, uh… Cogita said we might have to fight the Unknowable One?”

They wince. “I hope not. I… it’s part ghost type, I know that, but not much more. I… should explain. There are Plates said to hold a fraction of the creator’s power, one for each type.”

“Oh yeah, we had those back home. I think our archaeology department had a full set?” You think you visited once, but you were pretty lost and trying to find the professor for office hours.

Volo looks taken aback. “A full— that’s not possible. All of them together could summon the Original One! They have immense power— are you certain that’s what you saw?”

“Not really. I think they might be… replicas, or something? They definitely don’t have that much power. All they do is give pokemon moves of the same type a little boost, not even enough for competitive use. There was… a theory that an original set might exist, but in my time, they’re reasonably common and there are multiples of each Plate.”

“Fascinating!” Volo hastily shoves some sand over the fire and takes their own plate to sit down next to you, practically wiggling with excitement. “I wonder if they were somehow split, to dilute their power? Or if the theory of them being replicas is correct. In any case, I’ve only heard of them in legend. Do you have any theories? Oh— and tell me about the archaeology department!”

Wow. So the ten slabs of stone you have back in your room in Jubilife Village are wayyyy more valuable than you thought. That’s going to be a conversation for sure. On one hand, you’re trying to be transparent to avoid the hurt of any more secrets. On the other hand, those are really, really powerful artifacts.

“Uh— right, archaeology department,” you say. “I guess colleges wouldn’t really be familiar to you. Well, they have access to huge research databases that you learn how to use for sources, and then once you graduate you lose all access. Although, the champion— best trainer in the region— takes one class per semester so she can still use it, which is kinda cool. Oh, and sometimes they have some artifacts for the students to work with— heck, I could probably be the most popular person there if I brought back some normal objects from around here. Dishes, clothes, books the like. They’re worth a decent amount of money if they’re in good shape, too.”

“It sounds like a dream come true…” Their gaze is wistful. “All those books, all those artifacts. Having… any sort of place to belong like that.”

“Wouldn’t say I belonged. But… yeah, it was nice. Lots less dangerous than Jubilife, and there was more to do.”

Volo seems lost in thought as they eat, little strands of hair falling down their cheekbones. They’ve started doing different hairstyles lately, which is probably a good sign. It means they’re in a better place mentally, right? It makes your heart skip a beat to see it, though.

“So,” you eventually say, once both of you have finished eating. “You found the ghost type plate.”

“Yes. I… did.” They fidget in their seat, playing with their hair. “Through that, I first heard the Unknowable One’s voice, instructing me on how to… allow it to open the sky, start weakening the boundaries of time and space. It’s very angry, and bitter, and it can only be contacted from the peak of Mount Coronet, but maybe I can talk it down. We have some sort of pact that I don’t fully understand, so I might be the best shot we have. If that fails, ah… perhaps gathering enough of the Plates would be enough to get Sinnoh’s attention?” 

You raise a hand, like you’re still in class. “So, this may be a bad time to mention, but in the interest of transparency. I think I might know where, like… ten of the plates are?”

“Tell me, please!” Volo’s in your face, their hands pressed to your knees, hair tickling your cheeks. “Did they have—”

“Too close— please back off.” You put a hand on their chest and gently push them back to their seat. They stare at you like a lost growlithe, all big eyes and drooping shoulders. “Sorry. I know… I know. It’s going to be weird.”

“Oh. Well, in that case I’ll just kill myself,” they say awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I. I don’t even know why I said that.”

“Please don’t say that? Please say literally anything but that, I really do not want you to be on suicide watch.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Just like that, whatever comfort you’d found in each other is lost, and you’re left floundering for something to say, something to fix things. You should have said something earlier, should have said it last night, but you didn’t. You should have said something when they were delicately braiding your hair, but you didn’t. 

“I’m not trying to push you away as any kind of punishment,” you clarify, hoping to maybe smooth things over. “This is a me problem. I need some space to figure out what I want.”

“It feels like a me problem,” Volo says. They start messing with their hair again, twisting it around their hand. “I did something wrong and now you hate me.”

“No, I don’t hate you. I just… need space. It’s me, not you.”

“But there’s no difference when the two of us are—” They make a vague gesture to indicate the both of you.

“There should be— there needs to be!” you insist. “Look. You like your bird and she hates my guts. It’s fine. We can figure it out. We can coexist because we’re separate people.”

“I don’t want to be separate people, I’m tired of being separate, I want to belong!” Volo looks like they want to say something more, but then their face scrunches up and their posture goes tense. “Sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have let myself want anything. I should have just kept it to myself.”

“I don’t owe you my consent,” you say, and it comes out harsher than you intended. “...fuck, I’m sorry. I just… I want to fix you, I want to help you, but I can’t do it all. I need you to work with me, and I need you to be okay with it when I’m not everything you need.”

Volo is quiet for a long time. You stay, frozen in your chair, scared that they’re going to do something stupid and you’ll have to talk them down from the ledge.

Then, they pick up their plate. “I’m going to need more breakfast if I’m going to deal with this. You can… go pack up the tent or something.”

After your first breakup, you cyberstalked your ex. The snide little comments on social media about how she was breaking free of toxicity, the cutesy aesthetics she posted, the comments she left. It made you feel sick, but you kept coming back to it like your addictive poison of choice. 

When she was happy without you, you were infuriated. When she was upset, you were smug and vindictive. You swung back and forth so hard it gave you emotional motion sickness. You weren’t dating anymore, but you were still obsessed. It got to the point where you made a single elaborate sockpuppet account and never used it out of fear that she would see right through to the pathetic person behind the screen. 

You had to train yourself, deliberately, not to go looking. You had streaks, broken days, streaks again. You always relapsed. She’s married these days, has one kid with an ugly as fuck name. She glued a flower to the baby’s head so everyone would know her wrinkled little goblin was a girl. 

You never did manage to kick the habit of checking up on her. Only managed to make the dry spells last longer. It’s habit now, carved into your brain like a river, to prod at that old wound instead of letting it be. 

Letting it be is a skill. And you need to learn it and Volo needs to learn it. But gods if you don’t want to leave the tent and poke that wound. What if they still need you?

You peek under the canvas walls of the tent to see Volo petting a massive fuckoff garchomp, who gives you a scathing stink eye. You decide to leave the wound well enough alone and brush your Typhlosion’s fur while you wait. 

“I’m normal now,” Volo announces about an hour later outside the tent. “Should we get moving?”

“Uh— right. Yeah. On my way.” You ball your typhlosion, since he can’t fit through the entrance of the tent anyways, and step out to meet them. “Ready to go? I can call Lord Ursaluna to carry our things again.”

“Would it not be more prudent for him to simply give us a ride?” Volo tilts their head, frowning. “Both of us can fit, after all.”

“Uh.” You were hoping they wouldn’t bring this up. “I mean, technically, yeah, but…”

“But what?” they prompt.

“We’d have to sit. Kind of close.” Shit, you don’t want a repeat of the earlier mental breakdown. “But if walking doesn’t work, we could probably go for another option? How’s your team for riding; is your togekiss okay to fly you?”

“She’s… still pissed and brooding.” Volo makes a face. “Honestly, she’s so needy… what about your pokemon?”

“Yeah, I really just have my typhlosion,” you admit. “Everyone else I was carrying at the time I got banished were just new recruits I was researching. They’re pretty weak and might not listen to me. I… probably should have trained up a full team, but he’s the only one I got attached to. What pokemon do you have?”

“Togekiss, garchomp, spiritomb, growlithe, roserade, and lucario,” they list off, looking embarrassed for some reason. “...don’t judge, okay?”

“Genuinely, what reason would I have for judging. You could probably kick my ass in a fight, and the unknowable one’s too.” Suddenly, you’re very glad you managed to accidentally seduce Volo to your side. Trying to fight them would be a nightmare.

“If you don’t know— then. Never mind. It’s embarrassing.” They tug their cap over their eyes. “Anyways, garchomp are fast but don’t have much stamina, and no one else is big enough.”

“Arcanine is,” you point out. “I’ve got a spare fire stone lying around, if you’d want it?”

“Oh— I don’t have anything to trade or pay you with, but I—”

“Take it,” you say flatly. “If you’re willing to evolve your pokemon for the occasion, we can get there a lot faster. I can probably have Lady Sneasler carry us one at a time when the mountain gets really rough, but most of the way there is just flatland and established paths.”

“I… will accept your generosity, then.”

Okay. Good communication for the win! You have successfully avoided an explosive fight or consent difficulties! It’s… not easy trying to work things out with Volo. But you think you’re getting somewhere.