I Will Touch the Skies - A Pokemon Fanfiction (OC)

[Soussouni1]

Spoiler: Team

Togekiss/Princess (Hustle) - Pound, Sweet Kiss, Growl, Headbutt, Fairy Wind, Ancient Power, Extrasensory, Thunder Wave, Air Cutter, Wish, Psychic, Shadow Ball, Dazzling Gleam, Moonblast, Charge Beam, Air Slash, Mystical Fire, Tri-Attack, Nasty Plot, Defog

Jellicent/Buddy (Water Absorb) - Bubblebeam, Night Shade, Absorb, Water Sport, Water Pulse, Hex, Poison Sting, Mist, Acid Armor, Shadow Ball, Recover, Brine, Whirlpool, Hydro Pump, Water Spout, Acid, Will-O-Wisp, Ice Beam, Taunt, Scald, Boil, Freeze, Protect, Ice Blade, Rain Dance, Extrasensory

Electivire/Honey (Motor Drive) - Thundershock, Swift, Elemental Swift, Thunder Punch, Charge, Leer, Ice Punch, Thunderbolt, Discharge, Fire Punch, Protect, Cross Chop, Thunder, Low-Kick, Screech, Radiant Leap, Static Shield, Bulldoze, Hammer Arm, Rain Dance, Lightning Bolt

Tangrowth/Angel (Chlorophyll) - Vine Whip, Absorb, Mega Drain, Stun Spore, Bind, Poison Powder, Leech Seed, Ancient Power, Power Whip, Knock Off, Sunny Day, Giga Drain, Sleep Powder, Solar Beam, Solar Blade, Brick Break, Ingrain, Bulldoze

Tyranitar/Sweetheart (Sand Stream) - Leer, Tackle, Horn Attack, Rock Throw, Payback, Stomping Tantrum, Smack Down, Bite, Rock Slide, Crunch, Sandstorm, Iron Defense, Dragon Pulse, Iron Head, Earthbreaker, Aerial Ace, Stone Edge, Dark Pulse, Rock Polish, Surf, Earthquake, Ice Fang, Flamethrower

Turtonator/Sunshine (Shell Armor) - Smog, Ember, Smokescreen, Incinerate, Iron Defense, Flamethrower, Shell Trap, Dragon Pulse, Bulldoze, Scorching Sands, Rock Tomb, Body Slam, Flash Cannon, Solar Beam, Rapid Spin, Scale Shot, Iron Tail, Focus Blast, Sunny Day, Fire Pillar, Flame Charge, Heat Crash, Fire Blast, Shell Smash

Claydol/Cassianus (Levitate) - Mud Slap, Rock Tomb, Rapid Spin, Harden, Confusion, Psychic, Barrier, Imprison, Wide Guard, Light Screen, Reflect, Ancient Power, Teleport, Earth Power, Sandstorm, Scorching Sands

Meltan/Mimi (Magnet Pull) - Harden, Acid Armor, Tail Whip / Not a battler

---

CHAPTER 340

Excitement from the opening ceremony had thrown the entire island into a frenzy of enthusiasm and spending. You couldn't go five seconds without seeing someone carrying something new they'd bought, either for their Pokemon, friends, family, or themselves. I was, as it turned out, horrible with money when pushed by peer pressure. Seeing all these people blowing their cash on stuff they most likely didn't need had me buying even more. Clothes, gifts for friends or my family, or food despite the fact that I was full. Just out of sheer gluttony! Maylene would probably look at me disapprovingly for eating so unhealthy, but if I wasn't going to enjoy this month, what was the point? Plus, maybe I'd be able to convince her to try different kinds of sweets. Or even pizza.

She still had to work for a few hours and handle the end of the ceremony, so I'd be waiting for her a while. Honey helped carry most of the new bags of things I bought, much to his chagrin. He wanted to run off and have fun with his new friends at the Gym House instead of helping his mom shop. Denzel had gone off to interview some trainer he'd found in the crowd with Pauline, so it was just the rest of us. Things were a little awkward. It had been so long since I'd spoken regularly with either Lauren or Mira, and Marley didn't know either of them, so she kept glancing my way every few seconds or so expecting me to carry the conversation. Feeling my throat tighten, I glanced at my phone.

"Forty minutes until the groups are revealed," I said, hoping to lure Lauren into some kind of conversation. She seemed more comfortable now that we were away from the crowd—or as far away as we could get. It helped that her Reuniclus or Mira's own psychics could Teleport us around and she'd had them scout the premises yesterday. "You guys nervous? I'm nervous."

"I'm happy I made it so far already." Marley glanced down at her feet, her voice slightly meek. "Of course, I'd love to go the distance, but I'm… well, I would be satisfied no matter the result."

That got a reaction out of Lauren. She adjusted her glasses as her fingers twitched. "You aren't making it far, then." It was not an aggressive statement, just something she'd said as a matter of fact. A truth—or her truth, at the very least. A curious, mildly offended look from Marley prompted her to continue. "You have to be hungry for it. Hungry for victory. Or you won't ever push your limits and you'll stay mediocre."

Mira intervened slowly, "I wouldn't call making it to the Conference in her first year mediocre, Lauren."

"I—" The raven-haired girl couldn't stop her fingers from moving, now. "I meant it in—"

"I know," Mira said. "But, uh, you don't know Marley. Marley doesn't know you. It might have come off as rude for no reason."

A slight sigh slipped through Lauren's lips, and she averted her eyes. "Okay. My bad."

"It's okay," Marley said. "I, uh, I'm sorry about your—"

Mira suddenly hissed like some sort of wild animal, and Marley quickly caught the hint to not finish that sentence. It'd be best not to bring Craig up at all, or at least in the context of being sorry for her. She must have been told that a million times already, and seeing the government use his death for so much profit had most likely gotten on her nerves. If I had to guess, this would have brought a different kind of anger had Lauren not immediately retreated behind the safety of her noise-canceling headphones before she could keep track of what Marley had been saying. Not the old one where she grew pissed at anyone bringing Craig up out of fear of forever chasing his shadow, but because it was all so tiresome to have people who barely knew her mention it.

She was participating for herself. Not to prove anything to anyone.

While Marley and Mira continued making small talk to get to know each other better—mostly, the latter kept bringing up old traveling stories—I told Honey to stay put and shuffled closer to Lauren, whose head bopped up and down to some kind of music I couldn't hear. I raised a finger to garner her attention, and she made 'can this wait?' eyes at me.

It could, I mouthed at her with a shrug.

She made a knowing smirk at me and pulled her headphones off one ear. "Hi."

"Hi," I repeated. "Been a while."

With the rush to get to the ceremony, we didn't have time to actually talk beyond a polite greeting. Training every day with her and Cecilia while we were in Sunyshore still felt so recent. And it was, technically, yet it felt like a lifetime ago. We'd come far since then, and I'd grown into a better version of myself. The constant journey of self-improvement was an exhausting one, but one I relentlessly chased nonetheless. How had she changed, I wondered? With her, I knew I had to be the one to keep her going in a conversation unless we were talking about battling or music.

"So. You and Mira, huh?" I said.

"Me and Mira what?"

"Dating," I specified like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm happy for you two!"

Lauren blinked so many times I thought something had gotten in her eyes and then nodded, eyes drifting toward her girlfriend with a dumb smile I'd never seen on her face before. "She's nice, I guess. I'm happier and she helps me with a lot of things. Like how to handle dealing with strangers." She nudged her face toward Marley.

I was curious of how things functioned because of all the… split personalities, but I figured I'd only bring it up when we got closer again.

"She'd be perfect if she was a good battler. Too bad she just rolls over and dies whenever we battle because her Pokemon are so weak," Lauren continued a little more enthusiastically. "Her split-second decision-making is decent, and she comes up with unique out-of-the-box moves that surprise me sometimes, but everything else is mediocre. There's potential. Or there would be if she cared about it much." She kept fixating on Mira; her stare was nearly unmoving. "She's said she'd be rooting for me, but I can't help but think she should be rooting for herself. Oh well. At least it's cool."

Oh, she was so in love. "It's cool," I repeated with a smug, knowing smirk that then faltered. "Hey… um, sorry if I'm being too forward. But are Craig's Pokemon okay?"

Lauren took off her headphones fully and placed them around her neck. "People don't really ask about them. Or at least not a lot besides Roxie. Thanks."

A silence settled in for a few seconds, and for a moment I figured it must have been a tough topic for her. "You don't need to tell me if you don't want to. I was just worried." I'd seen Justin's Pokemon struggle with their grief, and every few days, the thought of Lou's Pokemon blaming me for her death reared its ugly head.

"No. It's fine," she said. "It's complicated."

Craig's Pokemon, it turned out, had mostly gone their separate ways. She'd given them all they wanted. Hippowdon had gone back to her herd near route 207 and challenged her aging mother for the right to lead the herd, and she'd won handily. Apparently the League was happy to have a trained Pokemon take control of such a powerful force because it made working with them easier should a problem ever arise. His Gyarados had decided to just swim off into the ocean from Canalave to travel the seas, though he had promised to come back in a few years. He just wanted something different for a while. Snorlax had been loaned to the Battle Frontier for two years—with visiting rights to the family whenever he wished. Typhlosion and Orbeetle had decided to stay with Lauren's parents. The former was still lost and couldn't imagine a life without the family, and the latter because she had vowed to protect them until they vanished. She thought it was her due for failing to protect Craig from Regice. Lauren didn't know, still, and I didn't know if it was because Craig's Pokemon wanted to spare her the pain or if she hadn't asked in hopes of moving on. Eelektross had opted to go and help the Rangers in Mount Coronet, remembering her trainer's dream to stop kids from dying.

It was tragic to hear. All these stories separating, some of them for good. It was like hearing about Mudsdale and Lurantis—who were happy together now, thank the Legendaries—all over again.

"What about Roxie?" I asked.

"Roxie's with me," Lauren said. "Not as a fighter. She doesn't want to do that anymore. Doesn't see the point." Ah. It would have been somewhat poetic to have Lauren bring Roxie into battle, finally winning it all—but that was rude of me to think. People were people. Stories were stories. They didn't have to step into their throes if they didn't want to. "She helps me fly around when I need it, and it's just nice to have her around. She's not with me right now. She's flying around somewhere away from the Lily. She hates the atmosphere; it reminds her of Craig too much. He loved this time of year; it was where he was truly in his element. Among his fellow trainers instead of posers."

"It's nice anyway," I said. "You've known her long."

"For as long as I can remember," she said with a nod. "It's hard, but dad says the world keeps going. The rivers keep flowing, and the earth keeps spinning around the sun." That must have been his way to cope. Lauren stopped for a moment, hand scratching her arm. "You know, for all people talk about him saving the country, I think he would have been sick and tired of it by now."

"Probably," I laughed.

"You know, with your…" Lauren pointed at her ear. "I noticed that the sound was bothering you sometimes. You should buy these headphones. They're decent."

"Oh, don't worry. That's because I'm not great at remembering to turn it off and on in time before I get burned. I'll get better."

She remained quiet for a moment. "Sometimes I use them as an excuse to not talk to people."

I snorted. "What?!"

"You should do it too. Just say you're deaf…"

"I'm pretty sure I'm legally deaf?"

The conversation continued, and eventually we all regrouped when Denzel came back with not just one, but two interviews behind him. Apparently he'd met another trainer who had wanted to get on his stream, and it felt strange for him to be chased and not to be pursuing famed personalities instead. Every trainer participating in the Conference was famous some way or another, even if the levels varied from local celebrities within their community to the most famous like, well, Aubri.

Or me. Blegh, it still felt odd to say it. Like walking in the shoes and clothes of a dead man. Maybe one day, I'd grow used to it. One day.

We were lucky to snatch a few free benches down a less-frequented street for ourselves. The island was quite mountainous the further you went from the coast, and people tended to stick next to the coast, where most of the stadiums were. I used the opportunity to send Princess off with most of the stuff I'd bought back to the Gym House. It was quite the amount of bags to carry with Psychic, but she was capable and faster than Cass. Speaking of, a few hats for them were in those bags; we'd picked them out together earlier today.

Water spilled out of Denzel's mouth as he scrolled through his phone. "Oh shit!" His voice snapped me back to reality—I'd been idly looking forward to Maylene sending me a message telling me she was free. "The groups are out!"

My heart squeezed and sank deep into the depths of anxiety. My thumb slipped when I tried to go to the website the League had set up for the Conference and I accidentally opened my camera and took a picture before I finally got into my search browser.

"Group three," I heard Lauren speak next to me. "What about you guys?"

"Twenty-one," Mayley said.

I stared down at my phone and inhaled sharply.

Group 21

Leyla Harrison
Marley Webb
Hayden Browning
Emerick Wagenaari
Jamie Pearce
Ramon Casaus
Grace Pastel
…

There it was. My name, along with sixteen other people—

Wait.

Twenty-one. My eyes had glanced over her name to find mine, but there Marley was, her trainer ID picture included above her name.

"T—twenty-one," I said. "I got twenty-one too."

Her eyebrows raised a bit. "Fun. It's a good thing I rarely let you train with me. What were the odds of that?"

"Don't trigger her; she'll start talking all about stories and stuff." Mira hopped off the bench and stretched, her long pink hair swaying with her movements. "It's not like it dooms you two to have to fight it out. The top six out of sixteen make it out—at least for your group size. Some are different because of odd numbers and such. I checked it all out with Sirris a few weeks back."

Right. It had just come as a shock because of how low the odds were in the six hundred or so people who had gotten eight badges this year. There was also Ramon and that Galarian frontrunner Pearce. I continued scanning down the list, and thankfully didn't find someone else I knew. The last thing I needed was the significance of a battle with Cecilia right now.

Anyway.

I was of course informed about how the group stages worked—I had been for months, now. Denzel had been the first to tell me about it, but I'd done an ample amount of research on my own. Sinnoh followed a more streamlined model inspired by Indigo where a loss counted for zero points; a draw for one, but for both participants; and a win for two points for the winner. According to Cecilia, Unova, for example, had a far more complicated system where knock-outs were the things that counted for points, so you could have funny situations where someone with more losses could win over a trainer with more victories in some edge cases because they'd kept more of their battles close.

None of that here. It was winner-takes-all.

Three-on-threes with one switch as well, keeping the fights fast-paced because there were a lot of them to go through. Starting tomorrow, the stadiums would have non-stop fights from early in the morning to night for days. Being in group twenty-one meant that I wouldn't have to start battling for quite a few days yet, so I had more time to… settle in, so to speak. Not that this made any difference—it wasn't as if I'd have more time to study my opponents considering everyone I was supposed to fight was in the same boat. Lauren would have to fight earlier than all of us, but she would also have more time to recover. Already, she was entirely focused on her phone screen, probably thinking to herself about how she was going to make it through groups.

As first years, we were coming in at a disadvantage. While we'd progressed far very quickly, people here would be more experienced than us, and that counted for something, but the fact that so many people—six out of sixteen for us—could make it through allowed for some slippage. For example, as much as I wanted to prove that I could stand against the best, there was no way I was winning against Ramon, let alone Jamie Pearce.

There was much to think about, and the online world was most likely going insane. I sent out a pre-approved post on Chatter about how I would give the Conference my all, making sure to turn off the replies because they'd been a toxic cesspool ever since the context of my eighth badge had leaked, and took a deep breath. Later tonight, I'd have a meeting with my team about this and start studying each opponent and their teams as much as I could, just like old times.

For now, however—

Maymay - I'm freeeeeeee where r u

I smiled.

"Guys, I think I'm gonna go."

—

There was something mildly amusing about seeing Volkner soaked in sweat and struggling for every breath as he climbed the hill to come check on us. He was the kind of guy to always, constantly complain about the summer heat even more than I did, and being out and about when the sun was at its most intense was not doing him any favors. Maylene and I weren't really doing anything. We'd ventured off to the uninhabited parts of the Lily, and she'd found a hill shaped like a crescent moon. That had triggered a funky part of her brain, and instantly, she'd wanted to run up it for fun, and I'd been forced to follow her up. This was where we'd spent the last hour, her head in my lap while she lay in the grass and I sat against Angel for support while he slept to the sound of the nearly silent winds, soaking up the sun.

Her hair was softer than it looked. She'd cut it again just before the Conference because it was getting long and 'in the way', so it was back to how it had been when we met. It still felt nice to run my hand through. Short, neat, and practical—just like her. The kind of cut that left nothing to hide behind. It suited her, though. Maylene leaned slightly into my touch and looked up into my eyes—that was how you knew she loved me. Because she was so preoccupied with me she couldn't even stop and make fun of Volkner. I wasn't sure she had even noticed him. Her eyes were still such a striking shade of pink—

"Did you," a ragged voice exhaled and inhaled, "have to go all the way up here?"

Oh. He'd made it up. Volkner leaned against his knees and collapsed on the grass with a groan that woke Angel up. The grass type immediately wiped the sweat off the Gym Leader's forehead even without any idea of what had been going on. Maylene shot up from my lap with a little yelp that made me want to drag her closer and tease her.

"M—maybe learn to climb a stupid hill!" she yelled. Her heart clearly wasn't in it; she was off-balance and it showed. It was all the wrong cadence and with none of the fake venom that made banter with her fun. "Even Grace can do it better than you."

"Hey. Don't just throw me under the bus!" I yelled, faking offense.

"Well, kid, I sit at a desk all day, so sorry if I can't be running around everywhere like you."

"I also sit at a desk all day," Maylene countered. "Yet I also find time to stay active. Curious."

"Pfft. Whatever." Volkner shook his head at her—though he struggled with that, too. "Candice sent me before you," he glanced at me, "could fly off somewhere, 'cause you're apparently going off to see Jasmine?" I nodded and hummed in affirmation. "And you're kind of inattentive, so I wasn't sure phones were going to work."

"I'm not inattentive. I can focus on something very easily."

"She can focus on something very easily," Maylene repeated.

Volkner's nose wrinkled in annoyance. "What? Maylene, you were the one—"

My girlfriend slid behind me and covered my ears for a moment. I figured it was more as a joke than anything because I knew what he was going to say. She'd told him I was inattentive, that little…

"...slander the good name of my girlfriend like this," Maylene finished right as her hands left my ears. "I'll have you know that I'm implementing a new policy to have anyone who badmouths her sentenced to a massive fine. Anyone but me, I mean."

Damn it, she'd sensed that retort coming.

"Woah. You must really be having a good time," Volkner slowly spoke.

"Hm?"

"I mean, back in the day you would have never joked about stuff like this," he added, lifting his phone out of his pocket. "It's a good thing I was recording and I'll be leaking this to the press—"

She stuck out her tongue at him, blowing a raspberry.

"I wouldn't want to be caught in the crossfire of that controversy," I said. "But maybe Volkner should get prison time instead of a fine."

Maymay beamed. "Exactly! And there, I'll come by every day to make him do cardio! He can't leave until he can run for twenty minutes without complaining!"

I snickered. "Oh, you might as well sentence him to life."

"This is what I get for coming to deliver news…" Volkner lamented, shoving his hands in his pockets. The way he turned slightly, I noticed his pretty bad posture, but made no comment. I didn't want to push too far; I didn't really know the dynamics without Maylene here to guide me yet. "Anyway, there's a movie night tonight. Movies plural. We figured we wanted to give you the option to show up, but we don't know if you'll be off training."

"Oh. Cool." I gave it some thought for a moment. "Yeah, I can stay for a while. Dunno if it'll be the whole night, but… a while."

Maylene pumped her fist in a silent celebration, but I noticed her anyway. Angel mimicked her with a bundle of vines. She turned toward me. "Don't work too hard. People can get in over their heads with this stuff and perform worse because of it sometimes."

I nodded. That was why she'd made the entire fight with Gardenia a surprise in the first place, and while I'd fought in front of crowds before, the Conference was different. Yes, there were more people, and yes, there was a live commentator, but that was honestly the least of my worries considering how good I'd gotten at tuning people out when I was in the zone. There was simply more meaning behind this tournament. It was a symbol, the culmination of an entire year of hard work for hundreds of trainers, but also a desperate reprieve for the people of Sinnoh. It was a lot to carry.

"Yeah. I'll handle it, no worries," I finally answered with a smile.

"You better! I'll be rooting for you so loud I bet you'll hear me." It would have been something cute to say had she not looked like she actually meant it. "But you know, also remember to just have fun no matter what. That's the theme this year, after all." She brought her hand close to my arm, then paused as her eyes glanced to Volkner on the right. With a small gulp, she continued and rubbed my skin. I was so proud and happy I was nearly ready to scream. "The world's not going to end no matter what spot you end up getting."

"I'll remember that," I quietly said. "I should probably go. I really don't want to be late. You know, with meeting Brock and Will." It was an old promise now made whole. The two were now finally here on a diplomatic mission, along with an entire team, to cut Jasmine some slack and allow her to relax after the absolute hell of a time she'd had working since the Galactic situation came to a close.

"Oh! Yeah, you really don't want to make people from Kanto-Johto wait, especially not an Elite Four member," she said. "That could be a disaster. I hear they're strict."

We stood in silence awkwardly—this would have been a really good moment to kiss. Volkner cleared his throat and announced his departure, feeling that he was probably not going to want to be around here right now. As soon as he got enough distance and kept his back turned, I lunged—uh, I gently kissed her and felt my leg unconsciously lift behind me when her hands settled on my hips.

It was nice. It was always really nice. I wished we'd be able to practice tonight, but there was no way we were going to get the house to ourselves today, or any day this month, for that matter. There were always a few people inside. I playfully bit on her bottom lip and she laughed against me, giving me butterflies until the kiss ended.

I tugged slightly on the vine Angel had wrapped around my ankle and touched more of his vines until I recalled him, swapping him out for Princess, and I was soon on my way to see Jasmine close to the actual League Building—known and referred to as The Spire in the news or when people just wanted to use its official name because of its architecture. Rare were the times when I'd flown with so many people in the sky with me. Princess made sure to keep a proper distance. If there was anywhere I'd get caught for breaking flight laws, it was here. I needed a clean record to get an equivalent one in Unova without having to take a test again. I'd pass it no problem, but it'd be a chore. Or maybe it'd be a way to meet new friends?

What was I doing, considering breaking the law to make friends? I had a reputation to worry about.

I leaned in close to Princess' ears and asked, "have you been having a good time here?"

We were flying slowly enough to hear her answer; I'd leaned in more out of habit than anything else. The Togekiss said that things were going… fine—with that exact same hesitation. She was excited to get into the battling and acting of it all, but she was unused to meeting so many new people at once.

"Me too," I said. "But hey, things get better. You should stick around with Honey and Angel instead of Sunshine if you want to socialize. Follow their lead; they'll help you out. Or even Buddy!" I quickly added before remembering he wasn't clinging to me. Oops.

Jasmine had said she'd be waiting around the central road leading to the League Building. I could see it easily from up here in all its glory, a structure that felt more like a monument than a mere building. The League rose like a fortress carved out of marble and other stones, its design a seamless blend that came together perfectly and radiated power. Tall, cylindrical towers framed the central hall, their roofs capped with gleaming red spires that caught the sunlight and seemed to glow like embers. Stained glass windows dotted its facade depicting great battles below Arceus' light, for that was what the ones who had built this monument believed themselves to be. This was supposed to be the seat closest to God.

If only they'd known how wrong they were.

We landed on the closest available platform, and I kept Princess around for the time being. She lazily hovered a little off the ground upside down. Buddy deserved a longer break from always being on bodyguard duty, even if he told me it didn't bother him one bit. I felt naked without him. My skin felt so vulnerable to the elements, and I couldn't help but occasionally glance back behind me. It wasn't like I didn't trust Princess to defend me. She'd been charged with keeping me safe with her barriers until Cassianus had come into the picture, after all. It was just—different. There was something about keeping myself wrapped in a cocoon at all times that made me feel safer.

The street here was less filled with tourists and hopeful trainers, and more with government employees buzzing around like Combee. This was around where most of them lived, after all, and they rarely got any time off even in the summer. In fact, this was most likely the busiest time of all for them.

Ah, there Jasmine was, waiting for me with Amphy. There was no one else with her besides the two 'bodyguards' that followed her everywhere—Rynara and Renzo, I remembered. She spotted me first, and her Ampharos swayed from side to side, his tail nearly tripping Renzo as it shone in tandem with the electric type's excitement.

"Grace!" Jasmine spread her arms and wrapped me in a tight hug. She was wearing one of the sundresses I'd come to know her for and sandals. "I missed you. Let me get a good look at you." With both her hands, she grabbed my face and pointed it up, pausing for a few moments. "You look happier."

I let out an awkward laugh, unused to someone just stating that outright. "I am."

Greetings were short, though I made sure to let Honey out so he could see his old teacher. They made a promise to see how far he'd come before we all had to go our separate ways—her back to Johto, and me to Unova. Jasmine was still sad I wasn't coming with her instead, making sure to show me an exaggerated pout that didn't reach her sharp eyes. Once everything was said and done, she told me to follow her. Her two guards followed in silence behind us.

"Not too nervous?" Jasmine asked.

"I'm so nervous I could die," I quickly said. I'd kept it largely under wraps by distracting myself, but the closer we were getting to the moment, the more I was finding my brain making excuses to have to leave. Depending on the first impression I made, I could either fumble everything and ruin two relationships with some of the most powerful men on the planet, or do well and have them like me. If it was something in-between, I'd consider that a win. "But I'm trying to keep it together. Succeeding, even."

"Oh, you don't have to worry," Jasmine waved a hand in front of her face, "they're both among the nicest you could get from our dear Indigo—at least with people on their good side, and I have a good relationship with them, otherwise dear old Lance never would have sent them. If it was someone like Surge or Blue or Sabrina or—it'd take too long to list them all out—they'd be ruthlessly upfront, good or bad, and possibly use you to get to me, but Brock and Will know tact."

"Tact. Right."

She bent down slightly to whisper as we walked. "Remember how I told you about Renzo and his psychic woes?" I did remember—she'd told me he'd been exiled from the Natsume clan because the psychic powers he'd awakened had been too weak. "Well, Will's a psychic in truth. He's a playful man who focuses on finesse and tricks rather than raw power like Sabrina can bring."

"Oh. Is he a Natsume too?"

Jasmine burst out laughing, taking a few seconds to recover. "Oh, Grace! You say the funniest things sometimes." She let out a long, satisfied sigh. "They'd rather die than be involved in each other's affairs. No, no, Will isn't even part of a clan; he just got lucky. Brock is… Brock."

"And that means…?'

"He's got a lot of walls around him, so don't worry if he comes off as cold. Oh, and they're married."

"They're what?"

"Married."

I gawked at her.

"And this is when you tell me?! I could have—I could have walked in there not knowing anything!"

"I did tell you. I told you right now." She shrugged and gently patted me on the back. "It's a funny story, actually. Used to despise each other's guts for years and years back in the day, but I guess they couldn't get each other out of their heads." That reminded me of… well, me and Maymay, just on a longer time scale. Her eyes met mine for a moment. "Don't mention any of this part, by the way."

"I obviously will not."

She led me inside of The Spire, which was my first time in the building and not its side facilities like the public wing of the Hall of Fame, where I'd gone with Cecilia to see the many paintings of the past Champions going back hundreds of years. It felt wrong to be here. Amidst the people who all knew what they were doing, who carried themselves high, and looked like they were never lost. Amongst those who kept this nation standing in the shadows, never to be rewarded for it in the stories and songs.

It made me feel uneasy. Wrongness.

A room had been set apart just for Brock and Will, where they could spend their time whenever work was not calling. Teasingly, Jasmine ushered me in the room first while her guards stood at attention and remained behind the door. The one who caught my attention first was will, for he was dressed like some sort of colorful Chatot. His outfit was flamboyant, almost theatrical, with its sharp, tailored lines offset by bright, clashing colors. Crimsons and purples, golds and blacks. His hair was mid-length and soft purple. He'd been in the midst of reading some book he was levitating in front of him and sitting at a desk, but with one smooth wave of his finger, it fell back on the table with a marker neatly inserting itself within before it closed.

Brock, meanwhile, was dark-skinned, tall, spiky-haired, and nearly utterly still. Staring out the window with his arms crossed, yet I couldn't read the look on his face. Was he worried? Angry? Some form of sadness or melancholy? It was mildly unsettling to the point that the hair on my neck stood on end. When he turned toward me, the movements felt too… they had a certain weight behind them, like he was twice his actual size. It was odd to look at.

"Is this the child?" Will asked with a bright smile. He stood up, body flowing like water, and slid in front of me—so close. "My! What a striking look." He fixated on my burns. "Where did you find her?"

"Through Craig Goodwill," Jasmine said, flicking his forehead back and dragging me closer to her. Her nail sharply scraped the psychic's forehead. "Don't overwhelm her. She's not from Indigo; don't forget."

Will innocently raised his hands. "I was just interested. People don't catch your attention often. There was Gold—oh, you were so shy, back then—"

"Keep talking and I'll slit your throat."

Her threat cut through the room like a freshly sharpened sword. Why had she even reacted this way—I already knew this! And weren't they supposed to be on good terms? My eyes darted between the two, and for a few seconds that felt endless, no one talked. Jasmine leaned forward, hand slowly drifting toward the purse where she'd put back Amphy's Pokeball and where the rest of her team was. Energy started brimming around Will—more than had ever appeared around Lou—and a dark shadow veiled his eyes—

Then, laughter exploded from the both of them. Jasmine's was loud and undisturbed while Will's was quiet, like a whisper.

"Ah, Will! Never a dull moment with you!" Jasmine smirked, and the firm touch around my shoulder let me know that it had all been one big joke despite how real it had felt, thank the fucking Legendaries.

"I've got to keep a lady on her toes! Though we've been over this; there is absolutely no way you would manage to kill me in a fight, especially not with this setup! Your brain would be paste before your hand ever reached your Pokeball!" he joyously exclaimed. "Forgive us for the game, Ms…"

I'd nearly forgotten to breathe. "Uh. Uh. I'm—Grace Pastel. Just call me Grace."

"Grace it is! Brock, say hello."

"Hello," he gruffed. Goodness, his voice was deep. "What's the point of this meeting again?"

"Don't be rude, dear," Will gently chided. "Isn't it just fun to meet Jasmine's pupil?" He spun around in a grand manner, each movement arcing with grace that felt nearly inhuman until his hand calmly settled on Brock's chest.

"Sorry. Nice to meet you." He nudged his head at me. "I hear you have a Tyranitar."

"Oh!" Had she told him about that already? "I do—she's still a baby and growing, but I do. I was confused about how to handle her when she'd just evolved, but I found a rhythm that worked."

"Tyranitar are a great, never-ending challenge, but if you can earn their trust and guide them well, they'll give you more than you could ever ask for—not in terms of strength or power, but they'll always be there for you, through thick and thin." All of my Pokemon were loyal, but it was true that Sweetheart was… the only one who I doubted would question any order. Princess had gotten over that phase. "It's a shame people often think of them as simple brutes. Apex predators have to be smart." Brock's finger tapped his elbow. "Are you looking for advice ahead of the Conference? Because I wouldn't—"

"It's fine—oh, sorry for interrupting."

Once upon a time, maybe I would have begged him to absorb everything he knew of the species. And the temptation was still so sweet. To have one of the few trainers who owned a Tyranitar, a treasure trove of information, right at my fingertips was something few would be able to boast about. Today, however, was different. I was treading my own path, making my own story.

"Good. Through adversity comes strength."

"You're right, but can you turn off the guru version of you in your head and become sweet Brock already?" Jasmine groaned. "Do I need to get one of your siblings on the phone? Suzie?"

"Suzie wouldn't answer," Will said. "Your best bet is Yolanda or Forrest."

Brock's facade cracked; he drew upon the faintest smile recalling his apparent siblings. "I miss them so much… I hope Forrest isn't finding the Gym duties to be too much. Is Timmy's journey going well? What about Salvadore…"

Oh. He was kind of like Craig with Lauren. But as he kept listing out names—Billy, Tilly, Tommy, Cindy—I couldn't help but wonder how many siblings did he have?!

Nine was the answer. Nine. But upon closer notice, he felt less like an older brother worrying for his siblings, and more like a single parent. For a few minutes, Brock vented about his anxieties as he apparently always did when he was away from Kanto-Johto, according to a discreet whisper from Jasmine. Will kept him wrapped around his arm, rubbing his back gently while Brock's head rested on his shoulder. It was somewhat comical, seeing the difference in size.

The moment eventually passed, however. "You asked what the point of the meeting was. And uh, like I said, it's not for advice to do better in the tournament or anything like that." I was trying really hard not to fidget. Brock seemed to hate the fact that I'd seen his weak side. "I guess I just want to connect with people who have left their mark on the world. People who can move mountains with nothing but a word. It's selfish, I know."

Because that is what I wanted for myself.

"But I need it," I finished.

"Do you see it? Ambition blazes in her eyes," Will said with a smug smile. "She wants to steal our fire for herself!"

"I want to." I did not dare deny it. "So tell me about your stories. Tell me what made you, you."

"Very well," Will said with a nod, "I'll begin." A pause, then a look to Jasmine, who nodded as if to say that he did not need to censor himself. "My 'story', as you call it, begins with a handful of murders—accidental ones, mind you. One is always going to run wild when they awaken powers as a teen and they don't know what in the world is happening…"

I soaked everything in like a sponge.

—

Maylene's arms felt warm. So warm I kind of never wanted to leave them.

Every Gym Leader was huddled around, save for Byron. Under covers, sipping on alcohol, soda, or juice. The air was thick with the comfortable sort of fatigue that only came from hours spent lounging in good company. This was the end of our third movie of the night, some sappy romcom about two Trainers who fell in love while chasing after the same rare Pokemon that didn't actually exist. I had paid attention to the acting in hopes of creating more joyous stories in the coming fights. It ended with the two main characters fake catching each other by softly bumping Pokeballs on each other's foreheads, which while cheesy, was also really cute.

Even if Candice laughed about it until Gardenia smothered her in covers. They were getting pretty chummy.

Duty unfortunately called. I could not stay with them too long, or I'd never go and work. Warmth was good, but it was important not to sit still, or the engine would go out and I would be extinguished. Plus, I felt more motivated now. According to Jasmine, Will had loved me, and Brock had… tolerated me, which wasn't great, but wasn't terrible. I blew Maylene a kiss, and her entire family erupted in exaggerated 'oooooohs' before I fled. After grabbing my laptop from our bedroom, I made my way to the yard, releasing my entire team to show them the names in my group.

The wind blew in my hair.

"Here it is," I started. "We've come far, haven't we?"

Noises of affirmation followed, each prouder than the last. Sunshine smirked, heat wafting off his shell and snout, and he added this:

We'll go further, still.

"We'll go further, still," I repeated. "Now let's see what we have to deal with."

---

Thank you to my Patreons - Spandaz, Alex Walters, ObsidianOlive, A Ferret, Oblige, Joe, Emilowish, Sean, Tim Schmidt, Dim, Violett T, Kail H, dragonslaver, Jon, RosaC, TsukiNoNeko, NPM, Jim A, Spicyice101, Vesperal, Addmolition exe, Frogsamurai, Alex F, Kiri, Rhuodric, Nord, Filthymacgyver, Grey J, creativityfails, Spartanstoryteller, Peter D, Bum, Zaire M, Plasmatique, Lodris, Chester, AnotherUser, BeautifulBusinessBoi, Papito12495, KeMon C, Geo, Pedro B, Rat, LR Brantley, ZZStrider, Sharkerxjak, Quakdoktor, nothingtoseehere, Mystic Corn, Paul S, coolblue, Ole W, Daniel J, Cosimo, Nick S, Pharros, Michael J, Jan, ChairmanK-, William F, Zhijia, Andy S, HeyMrJack, NineXO, Exceedes, Gustavo S, Serina T, lepton, sqw4l, Micah T, L'iien, Kisekibigdumb, Nikolai M, David G, endgame13, JK, Ian R, Rain, Jason H, Scandalion, ACertainName, Cosimo Yap, menirx, Pierre-Luc J., Alex A., Bridie, Christopher M

 

[Soussouni1]

CHAPTER 341

Group 13

Jude Wilkinson
Ayaan Warsame
Zuri Mwangi
Josh Erick
Ammar Hamili
Aubri Schneider
Cecilia Obel
…

For the last ten minutes, Cecilia had been staring at her group from top to bottom on her phone. She watched the face of each contestant she would have to fight; some were scarred, some were not. Some eyes were innocent, as if they hadn't ever had one close brush with death while others looked as if they had been to hell and back. It was a group similar to the others she'd checked for… no reason in particular. Near-death experiences or not, many of these trainers were far better and more experienced than she was, but there were also those who were new or those she had a chance to win against. No more information could be gleaned from scrolling through the black and white of the league's website unless she desired to learn their names and faces by heart.

Here was the truth.

She was nervous. Confident enough in her abilities and new fighting style in a controlled environment guided by Temperance, but with the stakes so high and the sheer atmosphere the Conference brought to the table, her assurance had been thrown in jeopardy. Having already obtained the sponsorship with Professor Juniper had made her believe that any good results would be a bonus, a platform from which to launch her career in Unova. But there had been a certain weight to that opening ceremony crowd—a particular feeling she'd never gotten before in her Gym Battles or the Solaceon Tournament that she could not describe, yet that had brought forth immense pressure as if she were in the presence of a Spiritomb.

A worm of a thought had managed to blow past all of her defenses—should she just drop everything and battle as she had before? What if she completely bungled her first attempt and made a fool of herself in front of millions? Videos of this would for sure reach Unovan shores before the day was over, and it wasn't as if she'd been effective at not screwing things up lately. Progress as Cecilia might have, she had left a trail of destroyed relationships in her wake. She leaned against her palm, sitting on a table back at her hotel. Cecilia had wanted a bit of peace and quiet from the constant activity of her friends. A party was being organized for Amber Stewart's seventeenth birthday, and she couldn't currently be a part of it—not that she was good at planning them like Emilia had been anyway.

The skin of her hand felt cold.

Cecilia considered staying here, stuck in her own mind for another few hours, but there was no point. She was wasting too much time here doing nothing, and lethargy would be the death of her. The true death. With a flash of crimson that was so familiar, Slowking materialized in the hotel room, slowly blinking. He must have been asleep.

"If you were sleeping, I can have Scizor escort me once again—"

Nonsense. The psychic waved his arm to and fro, shaking his head to deny her. It's been quite a few days since it's been just the two of us, my lady.

She answered with a hum before speaking. "I try to make time for all of you not only as a group, but individuals—" that had been something important to learn. To spend more time one-on-one with her Pokemon and not merely treat them as a collective. "Have you come up with any new jokes for your comedy routine?" she asked, slowly looking over the room to see if she wasn't forgetting anything. Keycard, check. Purse, check. Phone—in her hand.

Slowking gave her an uncommitted nod. So and so. I need to find the right balance for… actually, I'd make a killing if I had a partner. A straight man who can be my foil. Hold on, let me think…

This was not a conversation pertaining to the looming axe over Cecilia's neck; her future battles would be coming within the next few days. This was a goal of Slowking's. To start a comedy show while he was in Unova. Even in the best-case scenario, his audience would be narrow at first due to the fact that your average person did not have their tolerance to telepathy built up, however, they had stumbled over a rumor when brainstorming ways to bypass this.

A talking Slowking. Articulating words verbally as a Chatot would.

Now, this was a simple rumor of an all-powerful Slowking in an isolated archipelago south of Shinwa, but there were hundreds of witnesses. A cargo ship's crew that had washed ashore in a storm had started the rumor ten years ago and multiple people had tried to find this Slowking since, only to fail.

They weren't going to go there; that would be an exercise in futility. However, if it was possible…

Thoughts for later.

"No one else in the team can talk," Cecilia said before smirking. "Even if Talonflame seems to believe otherwise, with her loud caws and the like."

Slowking slapped his stomach and chortled. Oh! That was a good one, especially compared to the usual attempts.

Cecilia looped her purse in her arm and opened the hotel door with a widening quirk in her lips. "How vicious."

For some reason or another, Cecilia had found herself unable to resist the temptation of being rude to others as a joke. She did not know if this was to cope with her own loss—not of her friendships, because she'd begun this before those had gone haywire, but with her loss of self-esteem. Her Pokemon had agreed to this if they could strike back just as much, and Slowking served as the team's translator as always. She'd cut back on a lot of it since she'd started to like Temperance, but the teasing was still here and there. As in all things, she'd learned, balance and boundaries had to be struck.

Her friends and girlfriend would be, as usual, holed up in Ronaldo's penthouse. While they had enjoyed the Conference thus far, they found trainers too rowdy and loud for their tastes. She chatted with Slowking about her future battles and worries while waiting for one of the elevators—they always took long, given that this hotel was full.

"What do you think?" she asked, idly watching the digital display above the elevator doors as the numbers ticked up, floor by floor. "I'm anxious, Slowking. There's a lot at stake. Too much to risk making a fool of myself."

The water type sighed, hands behind his back, as always. There was pity in his eyes. You've come so far, he said. Too far to give up now. You've practiced day in and day out, leaving little time for yourself to have free time or recover from your trauma. He blinked, taking a step forward. It still clings to you and haunts you; I see it on your shoulders.

Instinctively, Cecilia rubbed her shoulders, feeling the strap of her dress. "What?"

The thought that you will never be enough. You try to run and to keep climbing the steps you tell us so much about—the ones that will lead to you becoming more than you could ever hope to be—but you skip some in a rush to satisfy yourself and issues still remain. Then, they follow and whisper doubts in your ear.

"No. I acknowledge it—"

Cecilia stopped when a family of four walked up to the elevators and pressed the down button. Fortunately, Slowking had no such restrictions and continued to speak while she greeted them. The daughter, the youngest of the two children, hid behind her father's legs away from her.

Acknowledging the problem is the first step, my fair lady. Slowking dipped his head at the family, waving at the little girl until she hesitantly waved back with a tiny smile. Ah. How cute. Regardless, speak to Temperance about it. She'll get your head out of that fog like she usually does. And if she can't, well, there's always Zolst's Dragon Pulse.

The elevator dinged, and Cecilia rode it up in silence, thinking about what Slowking had just said. It was true that she'd felt a certain rush to throw away the shackles that had held her back previously, dead in spirit, but alive in the flesh. She looked at the palm of her hand, slowly closing it into a fist, finger by finger, and felt her nails scrape against the skin. Yes, she thought. Feel. Breathe in the air and let it settle into your lungs. Watch the tiny scrapes embedded in the elevator buttons left behind by tens of thousands before you, the texture of the walls, the imperfections in it all.

"Do not seek perfection, but functionality," she whispered to herself.

She felt mildly better now. The elevator dinged again.

Penthouse two.

With a lighter step, she moved out of the doors and slid a copy of Ronaldo's keycard against the sensor before entering and was met with the familiar sight of her group lounging around the living room, save that they were not drinking.

Cassandra blew Cecilia a kiss. It was a funny sight, considering her bangs nearly covered her eyes. "There you are, Cecilia. I was wondering if you were ever gonna show up—"

Ronaldo cut her off. "We saw your group! I hear Aubri Schneider is the apparent favorite to win. A good showing against her would raise your profile!" Ah, coordinators. They always had reputation at the forefront of their minds—not that Cecilia disagreed, in this case.

"We'll… see," The Unovan said, unsure of herself. "I've told you to call me Cece a million times, by the way."

The noble winced, but it was Cassandra who spoke with a laugh. "'Rance gets fussy every time someone other than her does it."

Hm. Cecilia was quite surprised at how good that made her feel. Like her heart had been dropped into a warm bath. "Interesting. Where is she, by the way?"

"In Kael's bedroom with Amber. And y'know—Kael too," Cassandra quickly added. That made sense. Kael was best at planning these things; he was the most responsible out of them all, given his age.

"For the party?"

"No, no, they're just hanging out. Party planning's lame and Amber repeatedly said maybe she didn't need something big or special." Cassandra lay down on the couch backward, her head hanging over the edge. "Just hanging out like usual would be nice."

A ball of anxiety bubbled in her stomach, but she shut it out immediately. Or tried to. She didn't know which. "I'll go; I need to talk to her for a second."

"Slowking! Hang out with us!" Cassandra exclaimed with a grin. Cecilia nodded at him and left on her own.

Hallway to hallway, her step quickened. It felt as if her organs were being ripped out of her through gashes in her skin; it burned, burned, burned until she couldn't help but slam the door to Kael's bedroom open—

And found nothing out of the ordinary.

Kael at his desk working on his blog while awful techno music blasted out of his laptop; Amber, pale-skinned, on her phone while on his bed and under the covers; Temperance at the foot of the bed, mid-sentence and with her mouth still open.

"Babe!" Temperance beamed. "I was gonna check up on you if you lasted more than an hour down in that hellhole of a room." She shot up and skipped toward her, kissing her cheek. The Unovan noticed a pained look from Amber. "What does your group look like? Ronaldo wanted to tell me, but I wanted to hear it out of your mouth."

Cecilia's mouth felt as dry as the Unovan Desert Resort. She stood there, shell-shocked for a moment before staggering back with a hand on her forehead. She stumbled until she stopped herself with Kael's desk and ignored his worried inquiry.

The world had gone dark for a moment. Just a moment. Cecilia could still hear the blood pulsing in her ears, feel it throbbing through her wrists and temples. Amber's stare had turned to worry too. Maybe that was what made it so much worse.

"I'm okay," Cecilia pushed out, suddenly feeling incredibly exhausted. "Sorry, I don't think I ate or drank much today and the summer heat must have taken a toll."

"I'll go get water." Kael left the room with haste.

"Are you sure?" Temperance touched her cheek and stared up at her. "Cece, you look out of breath."

She slumped down in Kael's chair and recovered for a few seconds, feeling her heart slowly recalibrate itself and all the other little processes in her body that kept her alive return to normal. The sweat slowly evaporating off her skin. The oxygen squeezing into her lungs.

"Hey, sorry Ambs, but can you get out for a sec?" Temperance nudged her head toward the door. Ambs? She hadn't heard her call Amber that way before.

The pale girl glanced between the two of them for a moment. "Oh. Uh, sure."

Having already gotten up, she easily slid off the bed and silently walked out of the room. Temperance waited at the door until Kael got back, grabbed the huge glass of water, and put it on the desk in front of Cecilia. She whispered something to him and closed the door.

"Did you get put in Grace Pastel's group?" the coordinator asked.

"Wha—no." And thank the Legendaries she had not. "It doesn't—it's nothing bad, really." Her arms felt itchy. So itchy. Bugs crawling all over her. "Look, it's stupid. It's about—" Cecilia paused for a moment, finding the perfect opportunity to skirt the truth. "—I'm unsure I can actually perform during my battles. I'm terrified of messing up my debut and making a fool of myself."

There was no need to bring the other issue up. Absolutely no need. She was worrying for nothing; Temperance had not given her a single reason to do so yet.

"Cece…" she slid the glass of water up to her. Cecilia downed it in one go. "Look, in a coordinator's life, there's no way to be certain that a new routine or trick you've been working on for weeks or months will work the day of. Maybe your Pokemon will get nervous, or maybe you'll miss the timing, or maybe you'll push them too hard in hopes of impressing the judges. Or maybe, or maybe, or maybe. It never ends when you give it some thought." Temperance pushed herself up and sat on the desk next to her with the weight of hundreds of performances in her eyes. "It's endless, and you never truly shake the nerves. It gets better, but they never leave. But I like it—shows that I still care."

"You're so stoic in your performances," Cecilia said.

"I'm playing a character. I'm Temperance, infallible, flawless inside and out." She snorted, throwing her head back a little. "The Grand Festival and the Conference are two sides of the same coin. I've been in that seat," she said, looking at Cecilia. "When the eyes feel like a million piercing needles and every little movement is judged by a million people or more." She crossed her legs. "Wanna know what helps?"

"Sure."

She expected something like more breathing exercises, or perhaps a trick to make the crowd disappear like Grace was so good at doing, but instead, she got this:

"I have seen you work hour after hour until you lost your voice and your throat bled. Until your entire body was sore and you pushed yourself beyond even your team. Beyond how much I ever trained all at once." Well, she'd needed to catch up, and fast. It only made sense to— "Hey. I see justification in your face already, but you worked like a madwoman because you were hungry for it, and that was beautiful. So no matter what happens, you have to go in there with the knowledge that you did everything you could, and that if, if it doesn't work out, then you'll get it next time. There are a lot of battles to go through."

Right. Even if she messed up the first, or the first few, there was always the opportunity to perform in the next battles. No one would remember a bungled first fight if she knocked the next one out of the park.

"Thank you, darling. That helps."

"Good. And for the record, I know that you are capable, and I truly believe in you." Temperance bent down and kissed her on the cheek. Cecilia felt light.

Slowking had been correct. How astute.

"Also, today's a mean afternoon, I think." Temperance winked.

—

Cecilia had begun to study her opponents when her worried friends had dragged her away after a few hours due to worry she'd overwork herself. There were many minute details to look at to make sure her performance went well, each opponent with a different quirk to work out. A play against Ammar Hamili would be approached completely differently than one against one of her peers, for example. The brutal Orrean would press, press and press her, always keeping on the attack and not allowing her one minute of respite. Part of her found him quite interesting—she'd always been interested in Orre from a young age, given that the country had been Unova's main geopolitical rival before Moltres burned it to smithereens. Sometimes, she'd hear her father or his entourage raging against refugees crossing the well-manned western border, but she'd never actually spoken to a person from the country.

Perhaps she would get a chance.

While Amber still made her uneasy, the reassurance from Temperance had helped Cecilia recover nicely, and it was all thrown under the rug. Slowking would say that something thrown under a carpet was still there until it could no longer be ignored, but—

She feared where that conversation would lead. She feared retreading the beaten path, for she knew where it would lead.

Arceus, she was beginning to feel uneasy again. Cecilia's phone rang on the coffee table, and she grabbed it at once, hoping it would free her from these thoughts. It wasn't Emilia like earlier shortly after the opening ceremony, thank the Legendaries. Her old friend had asked to meet again—but no. Why extend her suffering more than it had already been? There was nothing left to be said. She hadn't ghosted her, just told her that she didn't think it was a good idea, and that had been that. It'd be best for Emilia to move on with her life.

Plus, if that time they crossed paths in the item store told her anything, Pauline might legitimately physically assault her, and Cecilia didn't want her to get in trouble.

Ah. She missed Justin. Would she have thrown his friendship away too, she wondered?

But no. It was Sinnoh's Champion, who had texted her. Her heart admittedly jumped, but she was less shaken than she thought she'd be. They'd already spoken many times, starting with long conversations after the Darkest Day in the aftermath of Solaceon. Cynthia had usually always been the one to initiate these; Cecilia believed that Cynthia most likely thought she'd reach a position of power in Unova at some point and she'd be better off cultivating their rapport. She was quite the crafty woman, often planning years into the future, taking step after step to lay down the exact pieces she needed instead of failing to see beyond the immediate.

Cecilia was just confused this relative closeness was apparently still going on now that she'd lost nearly all of the half of her shard. She'd expected the Champion to only see her for perhaps a week after the Conference when they trekked up to the frontier to catch that Spiritomb, and nothing more. She'd expected Cynthia to keep their contact at a minimum.

Regardless of the answer, when the Champion called, one would be a fool not to go. The text itself was quite vague, asking Cecilia to simply come to the Spire for a meeting if she had the time to and to keep it a secret. There were no signs of what it could possibly entail.

She told her friends she had to go for possibly more than a few hours, but couldn't help but notice the glimmer of hope in Amber's eyes.

Cecilia's stomach churned, and her smile twitched, stretching further in an effort not to falter. She beckoned Slowking and left without looking back—

"Distract me."

Huh? Slowking tilted his head.

Cecilia had reached the elevators without realizing; she needed to keep her thoughts from racing. Her feet felt unsteady on the carpeted floor. "Tell me about this possible partner you were envisioning—a straight man for your routine."

Uh. Sure, if you're certain everything's okay.

"I'll get over it. And if I truly can't, I'll talk to her about it and get answers."

Slowking's face creased in confusion, but he knew that when she got like this, pushing for more would only make her retreat within herself further.

And so, he spoke.

—

Louis would have loved the architecture here. The tall spires, the intricate stone carvings that adorned every arch and pillar, and the delicate tracery of the pointed windows all spoke of a bygone era. Cecilia, though? Cecilia just walked in. Amidst hushed whispers of Will and Brock being present—she remembered Grace was supposed to meet them—she pushed past those thoughts and moved deeper into the building's wide hallways. The sound of every step reverberated against the floor and the vaulted ceilings above, filling the vast space with a steady, rhythmic echo. Cecilia's gaze swept briefly across the towering stained glass windows, their colorful depictions of battles and triumphs muted under the dim light of the chandeliers. She avoided lingering too long; the weight of the building's history pressed down on her like an unspoken judgment. If Grace were here, she would have looked at every window and talked about how she wished to be in one of these one day.

They were expecting her already, and so, they let her through the non-public areas, where through asking for directions multiple times, she quickly found the entry point to the tallest spire in the building—the tower leading to the Champion's room. Like a Braviary's nest, Cynthia had a bird's eye view of everything that went on in the League, it seemed.

The climb up was long, and by the end, painful on her ankles; it surprised her that Cynthia hadn't installed an elevator somewhere and that she walked these steps every day. It felt surreal to retrace her steps as if Cecilia were a little girl imitating her idol. Despite the months passing her by, Cynthia Collins was still her favorite trainer.

The door was less ornate than she thought it'd be. A simple wooden frame, darkened by years of wear and a brass handle that was slightly tarnished. Cecilia leaned against the door. "Hello?" she called out, unsure of herself. "It's Cecilia. You called for me?"

Cecilia heard the response muffled through the thick door. "Ah yes. Come in."

Beyond the door, Sinnoh's strongest sat at her desk with her Togekiss in tow behind her, and that white Zoroark Grace had given her was here as well. The ghost's hair was like a cold, wispy flame. He stared at her a moment, then grunted and turned away with an angered stomp until Togekiss chirped at him and he relaxed, albeit slightly. Cynthia herself looked tired as always. Deep bags sat under her eyes from an entire year of sleepless nights, or close to it, her usual sharpness dulled by the weight of responsibility that seemed etched into her every feature. Togekiss bounced behind the desk and waved at Cecilia and Slowking with a lonely wing and forced Zoroark to do the same.

"Don't mind them; they're both harmless," Cynthia said, eyes drawn to an endless amount of papers strewn on her desk. Cecilia was surprised at how little of it was digital—any Unovan politician would have blown a gasket at such a sight. "Come and sit, Cecilia."

The air was heavy with the scent of aged wood, ink, and stone. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with books and trinkets, each seemingly placed with purpose. Cecilia even noticed a picture of a younger Cynthia sitting in the grass with her Gabite and Roselia. The single desk dominated the center, and upon the ceiling was a large, horizontal, circular stained glass window from which the sun shone. Irritating, but she could work with it. The Unovan felt almost forced to listen to whatever Cynthia said. She'd been moving since she'd told her to sit; she pulled one of two chairs, making sure not to drag it on the ground, and sat down before patting down her dress.

Cynthia's eyes—Cecilia remembered they were grey—met hers. "You wanted to see me," the Unovan said. "Here I am. Is this about Spiritomb?"

Pen continuously scratched against old paper. "Not necessarily. I simply wanted to catch up with you—I've heard many things about you and Grace." Cecilia cringed, nearly recoiling in the wooden chair as her eye twitched and shame permeated through her. "Be at ease, Cecilia. Relax. I'm the Champion, Grace's unfaithfulness would have reached me eventually."

"So you were… worried about me?" The notion was so incredulous Cecilia almost wanted to laugh. If Slowking could sweat, he would have, with the way he was staring at her.

"Is that so surprising?"

Cecilia placed an indignant hand on her chest. "I am no longer anywhere as useful to you as I once was. You know this!" Why was she even raising her voice? "There must be something else!"

Still as calm as ever, Cynthia answered, "would it astonish you to hear that I have a soft spot for you?"

"Excuse me?" Cecilia scoffed.

"A child in search of freedom from abuse through strength, and then a purpose." She tapped her pen against her desk. "Someone who's had to throw away a year of her life to save the world, forged in fires far too hot for her, and dying in the process because it was her or our known universe." Togekiss chirped in agreement next to her. "And yet, after all of it, she's the one who's had it worse out of everyone who was involved. I'd be quite heartless to not feel something after getting you involved in this in the first place, don't you think?"

"I—I don't believe you." The thought alone didn't compute.

"Look at it this way," Cynthia said. "We first met when you first got kidnapped by Team Galactic in Floaroma, and I had no idea you would be a Shard, I still stopped by. You believe I am a machine that operates on logic and pragmatism, but I am also human, and I worry for you." She drummed her fingers against her desk and sighed. "So, Cecilia. How have you been doing lately?"

She was still reluctant, but… sinking into her chair, she spoke. "I've been doing fine. Some days are tougher than others, but that's life, isn't it? I'm trying to move on, and I've met new people who are decent to me." Even Amber was. "It's not the same, but I'll be fine. I just need to get to Unova and get a fresh start."

Never mind the crippling worry that something would happen in her absence when she went long-distance with Temperance.

Cynthia hummed; the sound was long and slow. "I see." A beat of silence passed. "You see, I had plenty of relationship issues as a teenager and young adult. I was the problem for most… hm, nearly all of them. I won't say that I ever got cheated on and that I comprehend your pain, but I remember being devastated when my first partner didn't work out. I was bitter at Bertha for eight months," a slight smile reached her lips, "though she would tell you it was more than that. I don't want to bore you with stories of my life, though. Perhaps when we'll be on the road after the Conference."

Cecilia stared at Cynthia's framed picture once again. This was during her journey—before all of this, but it was the only way she had of visualizing a younger Cynthia in the moment. Still tall and lanky—perhaps even spindly, at times. Hair that was so long it must have been a bother to travel with, yet an endless hunger in her eyes for more. Today, it was still there, if muted. Was she running out?

"What happened to you," she began, "is not something you can simply ignore and hope goes away. It is most likely something that will stay with you for years—possibly your entire life. It is no small thing. Not breaking up with someone, per se, but being cheated on."

"Not like I can do anything about that anyway," she bitterly said. "I bet you're happy now that Grace is tied to the League through Maylene—" her teeth gnawed. "Sorry."

"No, you would be correct. It's quite convenient." Cynthia inclined her head. When Cecilia just blinked at her, she continued. "You're smart; there's little point in lying to you." Little. Not no point. "And you'll have to be stronger than this if you truly want a Spiritomb. As you are now, they would eat you alive in a day."

Cecilia's blood ran colder than it already felt. "But you just said that—"

"It would take years, possibly your entire life to get over this." Cynthia nodded along. "Agreed. And don't worry, I won't tell Togekiss here to fix you, even though he would agree if asked." The ease at which she said such things was terrifying. "But having someone to talk to is good, and I've been informed you've stopped going to your therapist the past three weeks."

"Didn't think I needed it," she replied, her voice small. "I was improving and fast."

"I'll be assigning you a new one. Her name is Aliyah—you'll recognize her name because she handled Grace before." Noticing her reluctance, the Champion continued. "You could disagree, but that takes the Spiritomb out of the picture. I am telling you, they prey on mentally weak people for breakfast. Do you want to be told terrible things and shown unpleasant visions until you break and starve yourself to death?" Cecilia shook her head. "Good. She's a little busy this week due to… obligations abroad, but you start next week on Tuesday. Aliyah will be seeing you twice a week until you head out to Unova; that means she will also be following us in the frontier next month."

She clicked her tongue, foot tapping against the floor. "...fine."

"Good. And you can always show up here once in a while if needed. Just be prepared to have accusations of favoritism thrown your way if it's too noticeable." Ah, that must have been why she'd told Cecilia to keep it a secret. "That was all for today, but you can stay if you wish. What I'm currently doing doesn't require much focus; it is simply long. And who knows, maybe this'll let you soak up experience."

Cecilia took her up on her offer.

It was… awkward, for the most part. While being with Temperance had taught her how to speak to people—or at least bettered her skills at it—Cynthia was still Cynthia, and Cecilia did not know how to approach her. There was a real intimidating force about her that was nearly otherworldly, even when she was so tired it looked like she was ready to just about fall asleep as soon as her head hit a pillow.

But it was also pleasant to speak to her in such a casual setting, and to see where the bread was made, so to speak. Things she approved or disapproved of, how she changed her voice every time she got a phone call to sound more commanding, and all the little things that made a Champion beyond the title itself. The Champion mostly asked about Cecilia's adaptation to her new state—the cold, the negativity, not seeing color—and she found herself talking a lot more than she ever had on the matter than even to Grace. After a while, Cecilia decided to work as well, studying the opponents she'd face in her group in silence to not bother Cynthia.

That was, until she spoke.

"I remember my Conference," the Champion chimed in.

"Were you anxious?"

"Not at all after the first few battles and I got used to the crowd. I had a duty to fulfill." She glanced up at the ceiling—no, further, at the stained glass window as if she was reliving the memory. "I will admit, I did start feeling the nerves again once I was set to face Radetic and his Elite Four. I couldn't help but think—what if I faltered so close to the goal?" She felt at the table's edge as if to ground herself. "In the end, I managed."

Cecilia couldn't believe it; Temperance was right. Everyone got nervous, even a Champion.

"You seem surprised," Cynthia said.

Cecilia shrugged. "I don't know. You seem flawless in the ways that matter." She remembered sitting in that hospital bed, both in Floaroma and in Solaceon with Cynthia at her side, wishing that she too could obtain such infallible strength.

"That means I'm doing my job correctly."

Ah. She could be funny too, even if she hadn't meant it.

After an hour and a half, a group of officials knocked on Cynthia's door, saying that her attention was needed elsewhere, and Cecilia decided to leave as well instead of hanging with that bloodthirsty-looking Zoroark alone in Cynthia's office. This had been nicer than she figured she would have guessed had she known what the Champion had wanted beforehand. Cecilia quickly descended the stairs with Slowking back in his Pokeball, finding the descent far easier than the opposite. She paced back to the public part of the League Headquarters, where she found an annoying sight.

She noticed Grace exiting the Spire on her way out. She subconsciously held her breath and blended in the crowd of government employees, making sure to wait another ten minutes before she left, feeling four things.

A subsumed anger at her own self for feeling like she needed to hide when she'd done nothing wrong.

A bitter sense of frustration at the unfairness of it all, the way Grace's mere presence could turn her world sideways without so much as a word.

A stubborn determination to not let the sight of Grace unravel the progress she had fought so hard to achieve.

A need to see Temperance.

Back to her hotel, she went.

---

Thank you to my Patreons - Spandaz, Alex Walters, ObsidianOlive, A Ferret, Oblige, Joe, Emilowish, Sean, Tim Schmidt, Dim, Violett T, Kail H, dragonslaver, Jon, RosaC, TsukiNoNeko, NPM, Jim A, Spicyice101, Vesperal, Addmolition exe, Frogsamurai, Alex F, Kiri, Rhuodric, Nord, Filthymacgyver, Grey J, creativityfails, Spartanstoryteller, Peter D, Bum, Zaire M, Plasmatique, Lodris, Chester, AnotherUser, BeautifulBusinessBoi, Papito12495, KeMon C, Geo, Pedro B, Rat, LR Brantley, ZZStrider, Sharkerxjak, Quakdoktor, nothingtoseehere, Mystic Corn, Paul S, coolblue, Ole W, Daniel J, Cosimo, Nick S, Pharros, Michael J, Jan, ChairmanK-, William F, Zhijia, Andy S, HeyMrJack, NineXO, Exceedes, Gustavo S, Serina T, lepton, sqw4l, Micah T, L'iien, Kisekibigdumb, Nikolai M, David G, endgame13, JK, Ian R, Rain, Jason H, Scandalion, ACertainName, Cosimo Yap, menirx, Pierre-Luc J., Alex A., Bridie, Christopher M

 

[Soussouni1]

INTERLUDE - SPECTATORS

Anxiety coiled around Temperance's neck like an Ekans looking to asphyxiate her. She did not show it—not with so many people around, including her friends. She was perfection, and perfection could not be outwardly nervous. The coordinator was surprised at how many eyes were set on a low-stakes battle such as this, especially with dozens of stadiums to choose from constantly running fight after fight. Granted, in the Conference, one could argue that every battle's stake was high. It certainly felt that way in her heart waiting for Cece's third battle to begin. Her current score was zero wins, two losses, the second of which she could have won had she stood her ground and not let doubt cloud her mind. Losses early did not matter—no, they did. They were mentally taxing and ramped up the pressure, squeezing a trainer's heart to see if it was steel or cloth.

Temperance knew her girlfriend might be able to afford a few more losses, but would that send her spiraling? Her new style, albeit effective, was still clumsily implemented under so many eyes, and trainers did not tend to remember that Pokemon, too, got nervous and felt the pressure to perform. Few people knew this more than coordinators themselves. Again, Temperance's gaze found itself drawn to the enormous corridor Cecilia would be arriving from.

She wished she could have been down there with her to squeeze her hands tight and warm them.

"Who is Cece—" Kael shrunk from the way Temperance glared at him, "—Cecilia fighting again?"

Of course, everyone in the group had come to support Cecilia in her time of need, though amidst these rowdy folk, voices had to be raised to even hold a conversation. If this was the Grand Festival, people would have been speaking in hushed whispers to not disturb each other or the coordinators about to have one of the most important performances of their careers.

"Some brute from Orre." When Cassandra spoke the word, she did so wrinkling her nose. They had all heard the stories swirling around such a place: a land without laws where encountering death was something one had to grow up with. Temperance would have nodded along and grimaced as well, once. "Hamili, I think."

"Ammar's his first name," Ronaldo corrected. "I've heard nothing but bad things about him and his… tactics."

"Sorry, but I'd rather trust a ten-year-old aspirant trainer than you when it comes to gathering info on trainers," Cassandra said with a laugh—though Temperance figured Ronaldo hadn't heard due to all the noise. She was well-positioned to catch every word that was said in the center.

The coordinator felt a pull on the sleeve of her blouse and turned toward Amber, who had sat down next to her. "Yes?" she asked. In the corner of her mind, she imagined Cecilia tilting her head to the side to the point where Temperance feared for the structural integrity of her bones. She'd picked that up from her slightly. "Is something wrong, Ambs?" She could already see it on her face, but she figured she might as well ask. People were more likely to answer that way.

Amber was new and a nervous little thing. They'd met through a mutual friend a month back at one of the endless Hearthome fundraisers, and she had quickly proven herself to be able to stand among Temperance's closest confidants, be it through social acumen or her skills at contests. Not in participating in them, per se—she had no Pokemon of her own—but in analyzing them and knowing the ins and outs of how Type Energy functioned. It wasn't often that Temperance herself learned something new through someone other than herself. No matter what, however, Amber still couldn't be herself in front of her. She was more real than most, which was why she had even been invited here for the month in the first place, but none of them were their true selves to a fault. Even if they had to tell Temperance off, call her names, or just say no to what she asked, sometimes, they only rarely did so. None of them could be like her.

"You know what, never mind," Amber said. "I guess I'm a little nauseous. There are so many people around and you know how I get about violence." She twirled with a strand of her hair and pulled her other hand away.

"Close your eyes if you need to. And you know, there's no shame in leaving if it really gets to you." Temperance watched Amber nervously smile and adjust her position on the admittedly uncomfortable chair. To be heard better, the coordinator leaned in for a second, and Amber flinched. "Want water?" She turned toward her other friends who were engrossed in a shouting conversation about Orre. "I think Kael has some bottles—"

"I'm fine! Uh, yeah. I'll just close my eyes, I guess."

Temperance raised a finger. "But don't forget to tell us if something's wrong. The last thing I want is for you to be that uncomfortable. Cece would understand."

The conversation ended there, and the coordinator refocused toward the door. The crowd was slowly ramping up as the minutes ticked by, still feral despite the fact that there had been a battle here just thirty minutes ago. The battlefield itself was nearly finished being fixed up by an array of Pokemon. Hippopotas and their evolution for the soil and mud, Gulpin and Bibarel to set up for what appeared to be a torrent of poisonous water, Kadabra to move large chunks of rock and Mr. Mime to reinforce the barrier. The last battle had been on a battlefield dotted with island floating with residual psychic energy high above an icy, ethereal lake, and this one… looked like it was going to be a poisonous swamp of some kind. Often, some of these arenas were boring, only being meadows or deserts et cetera, but the League knew how to play ball sometimes.

"...talk about Ammar's violence, but Cecilia didn't seem that phased by it at all when she studied him," Cassandra said, though Temperance hadn't heard the start of that sentence.

"She's seen her fair share of violence. Her face isn't like that for nothing," Ronaldo spoke so quietly Temperance was surprised she caught it. "Poor girl's been through a lot."

If only they knew the half of it, Temperance thought. Not that she knew much either besides the information available to the public. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs before flicking a piece of dust on her shorts. How long had that been there? Had people noticed? She—

Needed to calm down. No one was looking at her—besides Ambs. This was no performance.

Cecilia had always been cold and closed off. She'd gotten better about it, yes. One day, she had come back from some unknown conversation with her friend Chase Karlson and suddenly apologized and they'd had a long talk about boundaries and what was okay and what was not. While Temperance hadn't known it at the time, it had been a welcome change and she wouldn't go back for any reason. It had made what felt like an attraction-based fling turn into a genuine relationship, and she knew now that they would never have lasted this long otherwise.

Yet even still, Temperance felt like there was part of her girlfriend she could never access—the true weakness within. Slowly, painstakingly, Temperance had peeled away at her like the layers of an onion, but the more she progressed, the more it felt like so much of her was hidden away.

And most of it was because of Grace Pastel and what she'd done to her. How the cheating destroyed Cecilia and crushed what remained of her confidence and self-love to a pulp.

But slowly, she was getting closer. Slowly.

"You seem deep in thought," Amber noticed.

Temperance stayed unmoving from her seat. "Oh, it's nothing. I was just thinking about Cecilia and—"

She could not find it within herself to finish that sentence, nor would it have mattered anyway. A cacophonous applause erupted from all around the stands as the announcer began to speak and introduce the two trainers to the crowd. Temperance despised how unrefined she was being, but it would do for this bunch of trainers.

"...side, the wild and brutal trainer from the untamed lands of Orre, Ammar Hamili!" Her voice rang sharp and loud across the stadium. "Ammar's no stranger to high stakes and crowds; he learned the ways of battling in their colosseums, and he's come to the other side of the world to give us a show, so give him a huge round of applause!"

Somehow, the crowd got louder. Ammar might not have been a frontrunner, but from the way Cecilia had talked about him, most people despised him.

Oh. She'd thought the crowd was getting louder, but it had done so with boos.

"Or boo him, I guess," the announcer said.

They hated him because he was the only one actively trying to cripple his opponents through violence and maiming, making sure they'd be in the Center for longer to narrow down trainers' options in their future battles even with the best care available, and the few who had attempted to fight fire with fire had just been worse than him. Even Grace Pastel, the other trainer associated with such tactics, was not expected to go that far.

Temperance was realizing she knew way too much about trainers these days, but unfortunately, Cecilia seemed to enjoy speaking about them. Ammar was already up on his platform, unbothered by the noxious swamp the League had created. He was a confident-looking man with sun-kissed skin, dark stubble, and a constant, smug look on his face that made you want to hate him from the get-go. His arms and face were dotted with scars, some shallow, some deep.

He was also frustratingly attractive, with the way his plain shirt was unbuttoned. Ugh. Like he could ruin her life if he wanted.

"On the other side of the battlefield, we have our famous Unovan! A rising star who's gotten eight badges in her first year, who's helped Sinnoh beat the scourge that was Team Galactic in her time of need despite being a stranger to these lands, I give you… Cecilia Obel!"

This time, they cheered, and loudly. Cece was wearing a fitted sky-blue tunic with a high neckline and a subtle gradient that faded to white near the hem, the fabric soft and flowing enough to move with her but still practical. Her leggings were a sleek silver-gray, hugging her form and catching the light faintly with a metallic sheen that hinted at elegance without being overdone. On her feet, she donned slightly white sneakers with a hint of wear, the kind you'd expect from someone who spent a lot of time on the go.

It was a starkly different look than her usual, one but it was what she needed to embody the theme of this battle, and it would have nothing to do with poison.

The referee announced the rules—no killing, three-on-three with one switch, et cetera, et cetera, and Temperance found herself squeezing the side of her chair. Both trainers had already locked in their first choice before the battle, so it did not matter who sent out their Pokemon first; they both had the same amount of time. Ammar did so, releasing his mighty Fearow. The bird erupted from the Pokeball with a sharp cry, its voice cutting through the air like a blade. Its faded feathers were a patchwork of battle-worn plumage. The crimson crest atop its head was jagged, no longer smooth, with small nicks and missing tufts that told stories of vicious clashes. Its beak, long and sharp, bore faint scratches and a slight curve at the tip as if it had been blunted and reforged by countless strikes.

It hovered there, each flap of its massive wings a testament to its strength and sending blasts of wind below the flying type that might as well have been Gusts on their own. Smart to release a flying type when stepping in the poison would slowly diminish a Pokemon's strength. Cecilia's Pokeball had already been in the air—yes, she threw it just like old timers did—looking at the bird with unabashed awe in her blank eyes and a smile that looked like it belonged to a little girl. Good. It was not so much as being in character as it was understanding that Fearow encapsulated the theme of her play. Cece had also always loved the power that came through raw strength.

And it was also about having a good time.

Scizor would be the first. He appeared amidst the swamp, ankle-deep in one of the shallower parts of the water and unharmed by its poison or fumes even as they slid off his gleaming red plates of armor. Temperance knew that within one of his pincers was a Flying Gem ready to be used.

The referee's arm bore down, and the stadium immediately went quiet.

"Do your thing, Fearow," Ammar lazily ordered in a thick accent before following with a series of whistles. His nonchalant tone betrayed him—Temperance knew focused eyes when she saw them. It was a front to frustrate his opponent, but he was taking her seriously, just as he would every trainer facing him.

Fearow croaked, each movement of its mighty, scarred wings kicking up more and more poison, and dove toward Scizor. The bird was not fast so much as it was mighty. It was like looking at a freight truck barrel at you on a road. There was a sudden sense of inevitableness that made you want to freeze up.

Cecilia took a deep breath and lifted up a hand, her movements smooth like the wind. "Scizor steps forward in a dance."

It would be Swords Dance; it would be Agility—but that was not what Temperance was focused on.

Her voice accomplished three things. One, its tone screamed narration, somehow being fast enough to fit the rhythm of battle, but slow enough for the audience to parse and relish every word; two it was loud—louder than Cecilia had ever used to speak and it overwhelmed the ears and made people focus on her and commanded attention with an almost magnetic pull, every syllable sharp and deliberate, like the cracking of a whip; three—and perhaps it was a little too early for this—it carried an undeniable sense of purpose, as though her voice alone was an instrument in the battle itself.

Scizor moved graciously through the muk; his wings buzzed and he danced, each movement a deliberate motion to make him move faster and faster as his edges sharpened and dripped with a metallic gleam that seemed almost alive. "Each step builds momentum," Cecilia continued, her voice rising in tempo to match Scizor's accelerating movements. "His edges gleam, sharper than a blade, preparing to strike with unmatched precision—"

Just in time, she finished. Fearow descended from the sky like a thunderbolt, a streak of brown and cream against the air. Its wings stretched wide, each feather sharp and bristling with power, cutting through the air with a forceful whoosh that made the crowd instinctively flinch. The bird's talons gleamed with a wicked power—it screeched when Scizor slashed across its legs, but it did not relent and grabbed him by the shoulders, carrying him up into the air. Scizor struggled, but Fearow's grip was ironclad, and beams of light erupted from his body powerful enough to burn the winged beast's plumage. His wings flared with Bug Buzz until Fearow repositioned its grip and tore half of them apart.

The Orrean trainer called for a Drill Peck, but Cecilia paid him no mind. "Scizor panics," she said, slightly breathless, and through her voice that rivals Fearow's screaming, her steel type ceases his thrashing and senseless attacks, "but he sees how high he is, he tastes the crisp air, understands the cost of freedom—"

Ammar scoffed as his Fearow still dominated Scizor in the air. "Kid, what the fuck are you on about?"

"—and he is unbound."

Scizor's claw shone with a brilliant light blue, the color of the sky, and Temperance was overtaken by a feeling she could not name. What it felt to look at an endless expanse and to realize how large the world was. Pressurized air swirled around the two Pokemon until it exploded and separated them. Fearow let out an annoyed grunt, having been far less hurt than its opponent in the exchange, but—

Two-winged, torn apart, and shredded, poison penetrating the tiny openings in his plating,

Scizor flew.

"Sharpened and quickened through his dance, Scizor fights to be free. Close Combat."

The Scizor species couldn't fly. It was impossible. Yet with a little help from a Flying Gem and having trained their control, they were defying the odds. Ammar's eyes widened, but he was undeterred, knowing his Fearow would win in a battle up close through its bulk and brutality.

And yet.

Scizor fought. Each part of his body was a weapon, a blade, a blunt object; each strike was accompanied by a burst of wind that shattered bone or pierced feathers and thick skin. The Fearow shrieked, its wings beating furiously to maintain altitude as Scizor clung to it, his metallic claws locking around its slender neck. The two spiraled through the air, a violent dance of desperation for liberation and violence that left Scizor's armor broken and his body lit aflame. Two wings were not enough to regulate his inner temperature. Cecilia's narration grew faster, more desperate, more hungry, and Temperance noticed that even the battle's commentator had stopped speaking—not that she had ever focused on her. Her girlfriend's voice was not commanding Scizor as much as it was now in lock and step with his actions. She knew him so well that she simply knew what he would do next, and whatever she said nearly always was exactly what Scizor was doing in the moment.

Trainer or not, coordinator or not, one would be a fool not to understand the amount of practice; of blood, sweat, and tears; of trust needed to achieve such a feat.

The struggle between the two Pokemon looked close to the untrained eye, until it simply was not. Using its beak as its implement, Fearow stabbed right into a minute opening in Scizor's burning flesh on his lower abdomen, and just like that, it was over. The flying type croaked, creating an updraft to keep itself still and gather back its strength. Some bootleg version of Roost still useable in the air? Cuts and bruises slowly healed, leaving behind dried blood, yet not wiping the mild exhaustion.

Ammar whistled, and he stared at Scizor's crumpled body collapsing amidst the swamp. "Not bad, not bad."

"What follows an unbounding, the first experience with freedom, is usually a flight too close to the sun." Cecilia ignored him, instead instantly releasing her second Pokemon—her fierce Hydreigon. He appeared onto the field a silent killer, his six narrow eyes facing the Fearow with a surprising amount of intelligence. Yet, Temperance knew, he was restrained.

"Always wanted myself one of those," Ammar quipped, "Fearow." He nudged his head forward and whistled once more, this one more grave and long-winded.

Fearow closed its eyes and began to glow and its feathers stood utterly still in the constant wind.

"Hydreigon," Cecilia started; beforehand, her tone had been wondrous and wanting, but now it evolved to what could only be described as restrained joy, almost terrified, "looks upon the world and finds himself with more power at his fingertips than he has ever expected to own, and so, decides to test its limits and experiment."

Already, power had been surging in all of Hydreigon's throats. One, the central head, cold and blue, its fangs tipped with a cold that smoked amidst the noxious fumes. A beam of ice burst out, but it hovered right in front of his face, growing more and more intense as frost spread among the swamp. The other two heads burned with opposing fires. On the left, a deep, searing red glow radiated from its jaws, embers falling like dying stars. The air around it shimmered and warped, suffused with blistering heat. Flames licked hungrily at its fangs, twisting and writhing like serpents desperate to be unleashed. Each breath sent tiny bursts of fire cracking into the swampy air, the moisture hissing into steam on contact. The right head burned differently—a savage, wild orange with flecks of golden yellow that sparked and danced in chaotic patterns. The fire there seemed alive, almost feral, snapping at the air as if impatient for release. The three orbs combined together into a ying and yang, cold and hot, opposites that had no right to stick together, yet were subjugated by draconic energy peppered throughout its structure. Just like they'd practiced.

"Do you know what it feels like to be freed yet feel trapped at the same time? To still feel the ghost of the chains wrapped around your ankles despite the wind blowing through your hair?" Cecilia whispered, with Temperance hanging on her every word. "It feels like this. Frostburn."

Ammar, who had seemed content to buy time until now, whistled to his Fearow, and the flying type's eyes snapped open right as the orb left Hydreigon's combined maws. It did not rush forth at speeds that would distort the air, yet it turned the battlefield into an incoherent mesh of fire and ice and poison and, and, and. A piercing cry sliced through the chaos. Fearow's wings snapped open with a force that sent a gust of wind rippling through the swamp, scattering steam and ash and cold like dry leaves in a storm. For a moment, it hovered midair, the powerful beats of its wings holding it steady. Then its entire body tensed, talons curling and beak pointing forward like a spear. The atmosphere around it began to shift—an invisible pressure radiated outward, pulling the battlefield's fractured elements into its orbit.

There was an unimaginable focus in its eyes, like it could see things that it never had. Fearow launched itself forward in a burst of speed that was almost deafening, the sound like a thunderclap tearing through the air. Its trajectory was direct, unyielding, and terrifyingly precise, cutting through the mesh of fire and ice with the defiance of a creature that refused to be caged by chaos. The move was rarely seen, but it was known by all because of how iconic it was. Giga Impact. Fearow tore through the orb that had grown to twice its size, and it exploded in a mixture of steam and vapor that suddenly expanded and exploded amidst the barrier. Temperance could not see the results, though she heard Amber shriek, remembering she was not alone. Her breath hitched in her throat as everything slowly dissipated. The mist, debris, flames, and everything you could think of.

Hydreigon was skewered by Fearow's beak like a Magikarp, blood pouring out of his chest with half of his body submerged in the remains of the poisonous bog. Each breath came out as a pathetic wheeze that betrayed that one of his lungs had been punctured. They were wet, weak, and uncomfortable to listen to. Fearow too, had taken punishment. Not only was it more skin than feathers, covered in burns and frostbite, but the talons that once gripped with terrifying strength now flexed weakly against the muddy ground, their tips coated in a thin layer of frost that flaked away with each futile attempt to rise.

Yet it managed to remove and open its beak regardless, and a thin Ice Beam finished Hydreigon off; the dragon went limp in the poison. That was the thing about Ammar, apparently. He ramped up instead of slowing down.

"That sure was anti-climactic for your little show," Ammar taunted with a shit-eating grin.

Cecilia's arms went limp when she recalled the dragon, but Temperance could tell she was hiding a smile. This was even better than what she'd wanted. "He was given too much too soon, and in his confusion, failed to achieve anything at all."

"Roost," the Orrean ordered. He seemingly did not care for switching; he trusted his partner could pull this through no matter what. You could see it in his eyes. A bond a decade old, or perhaps even older than that. Shared scars and death stared in the eye countless times between the two of them. Fearow slowly pulled itself from the muk and began to glow. "Atta girl."

The swamp quaked and was utterly destroyed, with upturned earth and rocks below having mixed with the liquid and turned much of the arena to hard ground. Enough to release one of her land-bound Pokemon if she so wished—not that she had many of those. Slowking could fly on his barriers, Golurk on rockets, and only Toxicroak—

Cecilia grabbed her final Pokeball and prepared herself for the third and final act. "You fail again and again. Countless times until you wonder if life was better before you realized the vastness of the world and how overwhelming it all is." Talonflame shrieked in the air as Cecilia threw her Pokeball the highest she'd ever done—it went on and fell back behind her ramp. "Or," she said, tone rising, "Or," it was feverish now, almost in reverence of flight. Madness, "you can embrace it," Cecilia continued, her voice rising with fervor, almost trembling with the weight of her words. "You can let it consume you, let it carry you higher and higher, until the fear, the doubt, the failures—they're all specks beneath your wings."

Talonflame formed a sleek silhouette of red and white against the sky. She soared with a cry that seemed to tear through the swamp's stagnant atmosphere, her wings cut clean through the haze of frost and the remnants of battle below. Ammar whistled as Talonflame sped up, spinning around the battlefield until she'd created a veritable tornado that seemed to bounce off of Fearow every time it got close. Brute or not, their control is still excellent, Temperance thought to herself.

"These failures are all learned lessons, mind you," Cecilia added, "But Talonflame wishes she could stop fearing an inevitable fall, and thus—" Fearow jumped in the air, rising with a ragged screech as it hungered to destroy, destroy, destroy Talonflame; she was one third its size, able to be torn apart with a single swipe of its talon. "—she finally understands what it means to soar."

The battle began in earnest, the air alive with the clash of wingbeats and shrill cries. Scorching winds conjured by Talonflame's fiery wings were countered by cold drafts, heavy and oppressive, generated by Fearow's own power. Cecilia spoke so quickly, stumbling over her words, but it was half intentional. Passion, joy, and revelation were frantic, and so she would be as well. Brave Bird—no, Acrobatics! She uses Flaming Feathers and, and—it was never-ending, and each strike brought more laughter as Talonflame proved too quick to get fatally hit. Fearow could land a few cuts and grazes here and there, but it had moved on to using Uproar instead.

It warmed Temperance's heart to see Cecilia this way. Weeks ago, when they had first met and she had analyzed her girlfriend's battles, it was not just her battling style that was boring, but herself, for she barely emoted at all. She was not a part of the battle with her Pokemon, but merely a spectator watching from beyond a window. Quiet. Passive.

"Drawing on her speed, Talonflame banks hard to the right, flames trailing from her wings in a fiery arc!" Cecilia screamed.

Talonflame climbed higher, the sun at her back, forcing Fearow to follow her into the blinding light. For a moment, it seemed to work; the larger bird hesitated, its sharp eyes blinking against the glare. Talonflame seized the opening, diving like a comet with a Flame Charge turned Flare Blitz, her body encased in fire as she slammed into Fearow's side as her body gleamed with metal and she generated a shockwave—

A sharp whistle.

Mistake.

Fearow absorbed the impact with a guttural screech, twisting its body mid-air to catch Talonflame, its claws still weakened from the thermal shock wrought by Hydreigon, but still able to rival the fire type's strength. The larger bird lashed out with its talons, catching one of Talonflame's legs in a crushing grip. A sharp cry of pain escaped her as the two birds locked together, tumbling through the sky in a violent spiral.

Fearow's talons clenched tighter, pulling Talonflame closer as its wings flared and fire overtook them, stabilizing their descent. Talonflame retaliated, her smaller talons snapping forward to grasp Fearow's legs in turn. The struggle became a deadly aerial waltz; they were intertwined together, struggling for domination as they tumbled toward the earth and wind turned to battering rams powerful enough to bend metal and sharpened knives that could cut through stone.

Yet Fearow's legs went limp.

Right before they hit the ground.

Talonflame flared her wings wide, straining against gravity with a final burst of strength. She pulled up sharply, her bloodied body trembling as she skimmed mere inches above the dirt, a trail of scorched earth marking where the tips of her feathers had grazed the ground. Fearow hit the earth with a thunderous crash behind her, its massive body rolling to a halt, limbs sprawled in the dirt, unmoving save for the faint rise and fall of its chest.

Temperance couldn't believe it.

A story in three acts, each Pokemon representing a single character that resonated with her. Far from flawless, but at the very least executed correctly—the audience erupted into cheers despite the fact that Cecilia hadn't won. Ammar let out a pensive 'huh' as he recalled Fearow and released a Krookodile without missing a beat on a patch of less-poisoned mud. Temperance noticed a little gasp at the sight of the ground type, but Cecilia had been ready for it. The results were already obvious, but she'd won in everyone's hearts.

Krookodile made quick work of Talonflame, using the earth as a means to hit a sky-bound target. The attempts themselves were clumsy, but they exploded with scorching mud knitted with darkened tendrils that seemed to seek out Talonflame. The flying type eventually fell back to earth.

"It's important to plant your feet on the ground and to remind yourself of where you've come from, sometimes," Cecilia said before she bowed to the audience. "Thank you." She quickly went to pick up Talonflame's Pokeball—she'd gotten a little carried away there—and recalled the flying type before leaving.

Kael, Cassandra, and Ronaldo all spoke of her achievements and praised her performance, but Amber was more restrained. As if she were focused on something else entirely. Temperance hadn't been paying attention to her enough to see if she'd closed her eyes or not, but she seemed to be doing okay.

Amber looked away, then at Temperance, and then away again, like she didn't know where to look. "I was wondering if I could talk to you about something, uh, on my birthday?"

"Sure thing, Ambs," Temperance answered with a slight smile. She was a good kid. Kind of made you want to take off her hat and ruffle her hair a bit. Technically, she was a few months older than Cecilia, but it was just the way she acted… "Let's get going, shall we?"

"Let's."

Temperance checked the time for her phone. Grace Pastel should have been finishing one of her battles right about now.

She was going to try to see her not because she wanted to confront her, but because she wanted to understand how that girl had captured Cecilia's heart and still owned it to this day; she might have told Temperance to stop pretending to be Grace, but Temperance was certain she still thought of her during their nights together—and by the Legendaries, that was frustrating now that she'd gotten a taste of Cece's true affection. With how famous Grace was, it'd be easy to keep track of her whereabouts online.

Really, she just wanted to observe.

It would be alone, of course. She would not subject Cecilia to such torment.

"Cassandra, do me a favor, will you?"

—

The battlefield before Maylene shimmered with gold. No, it was gold. She'd never seen this Pokemon before—Gholdengo, it was called. It looked quite cheerful for a ghost, even if everything it touched turned to solid gold. A flurry of vines shot out from Angel, whipping through the air with precision as they sought to ensnare Gholdengo. The golden figure dodged with an almost whimsical ease, its body turning to shining ribbons as it weaved between each appendage. Spores and the power of the sun exploded from their tips, and Gholdengo let out a pained metallic chime before the golden ribbons reformed atop a rock it had also twisted in its image. From its perch, Gholdengo raised its thumb, flicking a coin with casual ease. The small, gleaming piece tore through the air, breaking the sound barrier with a deafening crack before slamming deep into Angel's hide. The impact left a jagged, golden wound, and Angel staggered, his vines momentarily faltering in tandem with the ghost's laugh.

"Yeah, it's over," Nia whispered beside Maylene. "Surprised she didn't bring out Tyranitar—not that it would have made a difference."

"She's having fun," Maylene grouched.

She still couldn't help but grind her teeth. It wasn't a battle Grace had come in expecting to win, given she was fighting Jamie Pearce. Already, she'd lost her Electivire and Claydol in this fight and had made use of her one switch while Pearce still had his Gholdengo raring to go with a bunch of unknown Pokemon from Galar and Paldea in his pocket. Even then, Grace looked like she was having the time of her life. She was playing Intrepid Explorer this time—hell, she'd even bought the cutest costume, hat and all—and of course, she was decked out in a Poketch Watch and their logo on her back and front.

Gholdengo had been a happy little accident in that regard; now she could pretend she'd come here to loot and use the ghost for her own greed.

A fun story that would end with a human's hubris defeated, Maylene supposed. It wasn't the end of the world. This was only her first battle; she'd just been unlucky to draw Pearce first.

Candice shrugged. "She put up a good fight! Aubri's gonna have her work cut out for her if she wants to win," she nonchalantly chimed in. "Who do you think takes it between the two of 'em, Nia?"

"Pfft, could go either way." The grass type Gym Leader leaned in as Tangrowth this time took a flurry of golden coins. Nearly all of his body was covered in a thick, golden crust, now.

"Solar Blade! I'm not leaving without any treasure!" Grace clamored with a stomp.

Light shimmered through the gold, and Angel exploded with light, his vines glowing with a radiant green as he surged upward. He pushed himself off the ground, his hulking mass surprisingly agile, dodging a well-timed Shadow Ball that swept low, kicking up a cloud of golden dust where it struck. The attack had been aimed to pin him down, but Angel wasn't ready to be outmaneuvered again.

His vines shot outward in all directions, still seeking purchase. The golden terrain beneath him, reshaped by Gholdengo's touch, gave no grip, but Angel found his anchor in the twisted remnants of a once-tall tree now frozen in gold. Using the leverage, he swung himself forward, closing the distance with the elusive steel-ghost. Like bolas, he threw a pair of vines that caught Pearce and his Pokemon off-guard. It wrapped itself around the ghost and tightened with swirling darkness. Gholdengo turned them to gold within the second, but the time bought had been enough for a Knock Off to slam on the steel type's head.

"Fun's over," Nia said.

Pearce calmly ordered a Metal Sound that made Angel and all of the spectators wince. The grass type recovered just in time to have a point-blank Flash Cannon delivered in his gut, and he fell a pile of smoldering vines and gold.

"Tangrowth is unable to battle!" the referee bellowed. "Victory to Jamie Pearce!"

The three Gym Leaders were on their way out as soon as the cheers ended. Grace would need to give her Pokemon to one of the nurse teams waiting in the stadium for her Pokemon to receive the best care available, given her next fight would be in a couple of hours. Sometimes, it wasn't fast enough. The system was unfair, but some said it allowed for further strategizing. Either way, with the way the tournament was organized, they didn't have much of a choice; even if the Conference lasted a month, the group stages were weeks of non-stop battling for every participant. Sinnoh had chosen to create a gauntlet both mental and physical for its trainers and Pokemon instead of the many alternatives available.

Even as Gym Leaders, they weren't allowed in the trainer holding room; they had to wait for Grace to come out instead. She was sweaty, still riding the high from that fight despite the fact that she'd gotten utterly crushed. Luckily for them, she wasn't getting swarmed, just nodding and greeting the people who had come along as fans to cheer for her. Maylene had seen a few of them wearing her merch. Her other friends—Denzel, Emilia, and Pauline—had found her first, it seemed. Marley was preparing for her own fight, and Lauren's group had been going on for days, with Mira going to every single fight.

"Guys! That Gholdengo was crazy, weren't they? I thought he'd bring out someone else, but it played so perfectly! And I learned a lot!" Grace blurted out as soon as she was within earshot. "It's unfortunate that he doesn't have many videos of his battles out! I bet I could take Gholdengo down if I had another try—"

"Relax, okay?" Gardenia said, patting her on the shoulder. "You've got another one coming in a few hours, so you've got to calm down and rest your mind."

Denzel scratched the back of his head and glanced between Candice and Nia. He must not have been used to hanging out with them still, even if they'd met a few times during the Conference already. "Heard a lot of stuff about that. Lots of horror stories about people throwing or not having the right Pokemon ready for a fight."

"Sheesh. Sounds terrible…" Emi muttered. Grace had said there was something off about her.

"Oh yeah, the group stages gave me a headache." Candice gripped her forehead as if she could recall the exact pain. "I was fried by the end and lost a bunch of fights I could have won. Luckily I'd won enough by that time that it didn't matter."

Grace flexed her non-existent muscles—okay, maybe that was too mean—and puffed out her chest. "I can… probably take it. I'm excited!" She turned toward Maylene. "Maymay, what'd you think?"

Grace looked at her with those yearning, Lillipup eyes she always made, and Maylene couldn't help but adjust her collar. "You were awesome, obviously. And Cass has been improving so much I'm surprised at how well they did."

Grace kissed Maylene on the cheek; her heart felt warm and her stomach fuzzy. "Tell them when they're out of the Center; it'll make their day coming from someone else. They're already too used to compliments from me."

"I'll tell them too!" Candice cheered. "Should we go and eat lunch or what? Double date?"

"Candice, please don't be so exclusionary." Gardenia pulled her back to reality and shook her head with a silent sigh. Then, she leaned in and whispered, "plus, Cynth called us over. I think she needs help with community outreach or something like that." No one but Maylene had caught that, though she already knew about this. "You kids feel free to hang out together—"

"I was thinking, we could go the two of us, right?" Grace asked. "Unless it bothers you guys."

"You go ahead and have fun, gremlin. I'll hold down the fort." Pauline gave her a thumbs-up.

"Uh, right," Maylene said. "It's pizza today, right?"

"Legendaries, you'll love it," Candice yelled a little too loudly.

Nia spoke up. "To be honest, I don't really see why people like it so much—"

"Don't listen to her; she's a deviant!" Candice cut in.

Pauline blinked, and something on her face shattered. She nearly gasped. "Wait, she doesn't enjoy pizza—"

"I just think it's not the best thing in the world."

The conversation continued for a few minutes until the group dispersed. There was still a little ball of nervousness in Maylene's stomach at the thought of eating something that deviated from the norm, and her throat desperately tried to get her to say no, but then she stared at Grace and saw her take off her silly little hat and wipe the sweat off her brow before she realized Maylene had been looking at her, and she beamed like the sun.

Everything was so wonderful with her.

There was just—

Just the guilt. Hidden so deep within that even her girlfriend couldn't wrestle that out of her. It was a terrible, terrible thing she'd done, and while Maylene would never give up Grace for anything in the world, it still hurt to think about Cecilia. She'd helped Maylene with her father and her Gym so much, and what had she gotten for it? Nothing. Worse than nothing. A broken heart.

Grace grabbed Maylene's hand, and they made their way toward a Kalosian pizza place up in the hills.

Maylene had told Grace that anything they could both tell Cecilia right now would most likely just make things worse. The Unovan most likely did not want an apology or for Maylene to grovel at her feet, but that left a bad taste in the Gym Leader's mouth. She shielded her eyes from the morning sun and rolled her shoulders—Grace was looking right at her. Don't freeze. Keep walking. Look at her and smile. Her girlfriend sheathed the daggers that were her eyes, and they softened within a second.

Arceus, she was perceptive.

But no. Maylene was not going to see Grace's ex, especially without informing her first. It would be incredibly stupid of her to create drama, even if she was being selfish. After all, had Grace not stood there and taken her… comeuppance, she had called it?

So why?

Why in the world was Temperance in the restaurant when they arrived?

---

Thank you to my Patreons - Spandaz, Alex Walters, ObsidianOlive, A Ferret, Oblige, Joe, Emilowish, Sean, Tim Schmidt, Dim, Violett T, Kail H, dragonslaver, Jon, RosaC, TsukiNoNeko, NPM, Jim A, Spicyice101, Vesperal, Addmolition exe, Frogsamurai, Alex F, Kiri, Rhuodric, Nord, Filthymacgyver, Grey J, creativityfails, Spartanstoryteller, Peter D, Bum, Zaire M, Plasmatique, Lodris, Chester, AnotherUser, BeautifulBusinessBoi, Papito12495, KeMon C, Geo, Pedro B, Rat, LR Brantley, ZZStrider, Sharkerxjak, Quakdoktor, nothingtoseehere, Mystic Corn, Paul S, coolblue, Ole W, Daniel J, Cosimo, Nick S, Pharros, Michael J, Jan, ChairmanK-, William F, Zhijia, Andy S, HeyMrJack, NineXO, Exceedes, Gustavo S, Serina T, lepton, sqw4l, Micah T, L'iien, Kisekibigdumb, Nikolai M, David G, endgame13, JK, Ian R, Rain, Jason H, Scandalion, ACertainName, Cosimo Yap, menirx, Pierre-Luc J., Alex A., Bridie, Christopher M

 

[Soussouni1]

Spoiler: Team

Togekiss/Princess (Hustle) - Pound, Sweet Kiss, Growl, Headbutt, Fairy Wind, Ancient Power, Extrasensory, Thunder Wave, Air Cutter, Wish, Psychic, Shadow Ball, Dazzling Gleam, Moonblast, Charge Beam, Air Slash, Mystical Fire, Tri-Attack, Nasty Plot, Defog

Jellicent/Buddy (Water Absorb) - Bubblebeam, Night Shade, Absorb, Water Sport, Water Pulse, Hex, Poison Sting, Mist, Acid Armor, Shadow Ball, Recover, Brine, Whirlpool, Hydro Pump, Water Spout, Acid, Will-O-Wisp, Ice Beam, Taunt, Scald, Boil, Freeze, Protect, Ice Blade, Rain Dance, Extrasensory

Electivire/Honey (Motor Drive) - Thundershock, Swift, Elemental Swift, Thunder Punch, Charge, Leer, Ice Punch, Thunderbolt, Discharge, Fire Punch, Protect, Cross Chop, Thunder, Low-Kick, Screech, Radiant Leap, Static Shield, Bulldoze, Hammer Arm, Rain Dance, Lightning Bolt

Tangrowth/Angel (Chlorophyll) - Vine Whip, Absorb, Mega Drain, Stun Spore, Bind, Poison Powder, Leech Seed, Ancient Power, Power Whip, Knock Off, Sunny Day, Giga Drain, Sleep Powder, Solar Beam, Solar Blade, Brick Break, Ingrain, Bulldoze

Tyranitar/Sweetheart (Sand Stream) - Leer, Tackle, Horn Attack, Rock Throw, Payback, Stomping Tantrum, Smack Down, Bite, Rock Slide, Crunch, Sandstorm, Iron Defense, Dragon Pulse, Iron Head, Earthbreaker, Aerial Ace, Stone Edge, Dark Pulse, Rock Polish, Surf, Earthquake, Ice Fang, Flamethrower

Turtonator/Sunshine (Shell Armor) - Smog, Ember, Smokescreen, Incinerate, Iron Defense, Flamethrower, Shell Trap, Dragon Pulse, Bulldoze, Scorching Sands, Rock Tomb, Body Slam, Flash Cannon, Solar Beam, Rapid Spin, Scale Shot, Iron Tail, Focus Blast, Sunny Day, Fire Pillar, Flame Charge, Heat Crash, Fire Blast, Shell Smash

Claydol/Cassianus (Levitate) - Mud Slap, Rock Tomb, Rapid Spin, Harden, Confusion, Psychic, Barrier, Imprison, Wide Guard, Light Screen, Reflect, Ancient Power, Teleport, Earth Power, Sandstorm, Scorching Sands

Meltan/Mimi (Magnet Pull) - Harden, Acid Armor, Tail Whip / Not a battler

---

A/N: Been busy with exams and papers, but I'm back.

CHAPTER 342

Like thunder, adrenaline coursed through my veins, each drop a cold reminder that the good times could only last so long before the other shoe dropped and happiness turned out only to be a drop in a bucket. Shortly after sitting at our table, I noticed her in the room, legs crossed as she browsed through her phone without a care in the world. Temperance—Dragonair, Whimsicott… Legendaries, what else?—was as striking as I remembered. I'd only seen her in real life once during one of Emilia's contests. Tall, long-legged and pretty enough to be a model, with how every part of her face seemed to be perfect. Her platinum blonde hair framed it very well. It was difficult to explain the way she was… arranged. It was as if every inch, every minute detail had been meticulously placed to appear flawless; it was like looking at a painting instead of a person. Cold and impersonal. That was just her physical appearance—her eyes and body language were human. Sunny and feeling.

My mouth felt dry, and my tongue felt awkward in my mouth. I clenched my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering, and Maylene touched my arm like it was made of glass. "We can leave; there are other pizza places around." She discreetly glanced toward Temperance, then back at me. My skin felt fragile. I wanted Buddy wrapped around it. "No need to stick around."

There was a restrained chitter in the back of my head. Mesprit couldn't be less obvious if they tried— Sorry, I heard. When Maylene noticed my silence, she grabbed my hand. "Grace?"

"Sorry. I think we should stay."

Quiet, then words. "I hate it when you do this," she said. Her fingers were warm.

Around us, the pizzeria buzzed with a warm and lively energy. The crackle and roar of the wood-fired oven added a rustic charm, the faint aroma of charred crust and bubbling cheese wafting through the air. Bursts of laughter and excitement, theorizing about the Conference, squealing at how good the food was or a cool moment in one of the countless battles taking place.

"Do what?"

Maylene traced the ridges of my knuckles, letting her finger settle in each groove. "Disallow yourself to avoid a painful experience 'cause you think you deserve to get hurt."

I tried looking at Temperance—I just couldn't bear to for more than a few seconds, as if she were the sun. It was not jealousy; there was no longer much of that. It was mostly guilt and fear. How much did she know? What horrible things must Cecilia have told her about me? No, Cecilia wouldn't. But would she? Who cares what she thinks, a small part of me wanted to say, but then came remembrance of all the wrong I'd done.

But I was also a little fine. It didn't feel like I was back in Coronet killing grunts in the cold, or in a battle of wits with Rood and Mallory. It felt like I wanted to crawl out of my own skin into a dark place nobody could see how dirty I was. It was something I hadn't felt in a while, even when speaking to Cecilia herself in that Item Store. Maybe it was because—because she was Cecilia, and this was a stranger who possibly knew everything about me. As if she'd shone a piercing light into the shadows, and the creatures lurking there so comfortable in the dark scattered, their scrabbling claws and frantic movements betraying their panic.

"We can stick around," I repeated slowly. Noticing the coming protest, I added, "remember when we met again after all those months and I let you yell at me because I deserved it?"

Maylene's hand clenched around my own, and her body tensed. "That—"

I took off my Explorer hat, placing it on my lap. "We can't deny it. We can pretend it's not there all we want, pat ourselves on the back at how happy we are—and we are." I bit the inside of my mouth and leaned against a palm, hair slipping down my arm. "But it was ultimately the greatest betrayal of a person I love… loved—love," I settled, "but not like you." It was different now that so much time had passed. Not fading per se, but transformed into something that barely remained romantic. "So if her new girlfriend wants to yell at me, then I'll take it."

"...she could say things that could impact your career," Maylene leaned in to whisper.

"Yeah. She could have all along already, but she didn't," I muttered back. "I think it'll be fine."

"I know, I'm just worried about you."

I smiled at her, slightly tired. "Yeah. Me too."

A waiter came up to us soon after this to offer us water, and we spent some time perusing the menu. Maylene settled on a classic margarita pizza we'd share while she got a side salad and I got mozzarella sticks. Obviously, she judged me for the choice, but it was more her being astonished that I was getting more cheese. Every so often, I'd look at Temperance, but she didn't even look to be staring at me. Had I just been paranoid? No. Having her eat lunch at the exact same spot I was at the same time?

It would be too much of a coincidence for this story.

Whatever she was preparing, I needed to be ready to receive it with an open heart.

—

Hm.

Temperance hadn't really known what to expect when coming here to observe. She'd heard so much about Grace Pastel from Cecilia's mouth—perhaps too much, at times. An idea of the girl had formed in her head like she'd been spinning yarn endlessly, each story and detail adding to the bundle until it became a big, fuzzy ball of impressions. Temperance sliced through her primavera pizza with her knife and fork and observed the girl out of the corner of her eye. For one, she was smaller than expected, not in height, but in presence, at least at first glance. The way Cece spoke about her was akin to a giant one could neither ignore nor look away from. She spoke of an aura that was frankly not there.

Second, Temperance had not expected Grace Pastel to be so unbothered by her presence besides a few glances her way that had faded away as lunch went on. It was somewhat frustrating, how she was so uncaring and laughed with Leader Maylene. They teased each other with food, made Lillipup eyes at each other, and frankly did not appear to care whatsoever for her. It wasn't as if she'd expected them to get up in arms about her mere presence, but a little bit of emotion beyond surprise would have been nice.

Temperance did not consider herself a bitter or vengeful person, yet for Cecilia, she would have loved to see Grace squirm in her seat. Just to give her a little jolt for the amount of hurt she had dealt to Cece and how the Unovan struggled to even connect to people now because of her besides her two old friends. She had not offered her broken heart to reforge connections anew with the endless people Temperance suggested, using her departure to Unova as an excuse when they both knew it was because she would rather keep someone at arm's length or destroy existing relationships because she thought they would eventually throw her away in a fit of betrayal.

Grace was laughing. Enjoying herself. Footage of her battle on Temperance's phone showed her fooling around as if she didn't even care for the results of her tournament. No one had abandoned her, no one knew what she had done, and besides the speed bump that was her controversy with the way she obtained her eighth badge that fed into the nepotism accusations, the little blonde was on her way up in the world. If it were up to Temperance, she would have leaked everything and further obstructed Grace Pastel's career.

But it wasn't up to her. Cecilia would never forgive her. Bless her heart, she was kinder than she had a right to be.

Temperance blinked. Her pizza was getting cold, and she'd only eaten half of it. The utensils' metal was chilly around her digits, and her hands felt numb. She hadn't expected to be the one getting worked up visiting the girl. Emotions were something to be tamed and controlled unless she was alone or with Cecilia. A well-placed flash of anger or stream of tears had won her countless contests when in line with the theme of her performance. Why did her fingers shake so? Why did she find herself hyper-focusing on the pores on her skin, the unevenness in one of her nails, the shape her mouth made as she chewed?

Yes.

Because simmering dislike or hatred toward another could never stray too far from her own self for long.

Yet she was used to living like this, thus Temperance finished her pizza without a word or complaint. As she inserted her card into the payment terminal a waitress had brought her, the coordinator found her eyes meeting Grace's for the first time—different. This was different. There was depth to the green not seen before; sunlight filtering through a forest canopy. A certain intensity that the girl could seemingly turn on and off, an unsettling aversion to blinks, and maybe, just maybe, the slight edge of a well-maintained blade against your neck. Where had this been? This… glare. Was it a glare? Subdued to leave a place for love for her girlfriend during their date, perhaps?

"Thank you for eating at Le Four en Flamme!" The waitress shook Temperance out of her daze and grabbed the terminal. "We hope to see you again during the Conference!"

"Of course," Temperance said, making sure her voice did not stutter. "Would you be so kind as to direct me to the bathroom?"

—

"Stop looking at her like that."

My stare did not drift away from Temperance for a second as she calmly paced herself to the bathroom, even as my eyes burned. "Like what?"

"Like that girl owes you something," Maylene said, finishing her salad. She'd quite loved pizza, and it had been really funny when she'd tried worming herself out of asking to eat here again a few times before the month ended. "It probably unsettled her—and you know, she doesn't actually owe you anything."

Looking back at my girlfriend, I answered, "she does. She can't just show up here, look at me, and then do nothing." I blinked away the sunspots in frustration, running one of my hands over Mimi, who was a metallic ring around my index finger. Occasionally, the steel type had sent vibrations up my finger to soothe me—when they hadn't been begging to eat the forks. "It's like she doesn't even care about the shape of things!"

"Grace, you're basically asking to be emotionally scathed so you can feel bad about it afterward because you think it'd be a way to balance out the bad we did."

I paused my coming retort. Sometimes, Maylene could untangle things and put them in such a simple phrase. "That is—kind of right. But—"

"What we did is already done. It can't be undone no matter who you let yell at you. At us," she finished after a short pause. "What if she really did come here by pure coincidence, and then looked at you once or twice because she didn't expect to run into her girlfriend's ex?" Maylene leaned forward on the table. "What if you're just being paranoid?"

"...I dunno."

"Look, this is the best-case scenario," she gently pressed.

"Feels like an itch I can't scratch." Or like a loop meant to be linked together that would never be tied. A broken circle, so maddening and taunting in its simple resolution. "But you're—right?" Teeth clamped down on my lips. "Sorry, I said it, but I really can't bring myself to believe it. But I can try."

She was right, anyway. If Temperance really wanted nothing to do with me, then I'd look terribly nosey following her into a public bathroom for no reason and even more of an asshole than I already was.

"Thank you for trying." A smile so gentle made it nearly all worth it. Nearly. "Let's get the check—and Grace?"

"Hm?"

"Don't let this cloud your mind," Maylene said. "You can get out of groups. You can. You just can't be thinking about anything else; immerse yourself in the fight, and you'll win."

I nodded.

The fuel had not run out yet, and hopefully, it never would.

—

Knuckles, white.

Face, strained.

Foot, tapping.

What was she doing here?

Temperance stared herself down in the mirror, ignoring blemishes and imperfections as best she could. Had she not run here, she would have let emotions get the better of her and confronted Grace Pastel in public. The ensuing drama would no doubt have sullied her Conference run, but it would have rippled and harmed herself, as well as Cecilia. And what of their relationship when it inevitably leaked? Maybe a curious eye had noticed all of the exchanged stares and was already writing a Chatter post about it. All she'd come here for was to observe and sate her curiosity, yet she'd come close to letting her wings burn up in the sun. Temperance wasn't thinking right—she'd almost been drawn into a confrontation by that girl's simple look. For her to be provoked so easily? Something about her eyes—something about the way she looked felt like falling into a deep, dark well you'd never climb out of if you started playing her game.

Legendaries, she'd gotten unsettled and angry at a girl playing dress-up in a kid's costume.

"You are master of your own destiny," she mumbled under her breath. "Do not get drawn into meaningless drivel and keep honing your craft. You are as close to perfection as anyone will ever get—and if you aren't yet, then eventually, you will be."

A mantra repeated a thousandfold throughout her teenage years, one she had not spoken out loud since the beginning of her new relationship. Cecilia… Temperance would tell her when she came back, though she would omit the part about tracking her down. A little white lie that would not hurt a Cutiefly.

The two girls were paying for their meal when Temperance walked out—splitting the bill. Maylene noticed her first, then Grace noticed Maylene noticing her, or at least that's what it looked like to the coordinator. Temperance's eyes twitched when Grace looked at her, and she paced away, leaving the restaurant with her phone in hand. Phones were a woman's greatest tool. With enough training, it allowed her to look busy or appear unbothered when she was the opposite of that. She sent a text to Cassandra asking her not to speak of this with anyone else and basically ignored her when thirsty for drama as she always was, Cass asked her all of the details of how their meeting had gone down. 'It was meaningless', she answered, avoiding the question, 'but at the very least, I satiated my curiosity and learned about her first-hand.'

The truth was, it only left her with more questions she was sure she would never get an answer to. Cecilia's stories mainly shared Grace's positives, and her own negatives and how she had screwed things up, blaming herself constantly even as a victim of emotional terrorism—Arceus, it was infuriating. Temperance was so caught up in her thoughts that she barely noticed time pass. Once, she had been in the restaurant, and now, she was in front of her hotel, a towering spire of opulence and service to the wealthy. Cross-armed, her finger tapped endlessly against her elbow during the elevator ride up. Knowing her, Cecilia must have been hard at work workshopping her following battle. Temperance wanted to see her before anyone else.

She enjoyed the peace and quiet of their admittedly awful hotel room, away from the activity of Ronaldo's penthouse he had rented out for the month. An excuse, Temperance knew, to facilitate weaning herself off the group sooner rather than later. There she was with her Scizor next to her, who had grown to be something of an emotional stabilizer. It was a little odd—most trainers with a psychic available often picked that one to forge their closest link.

"You took a while," Cecilia said, yet she did not turn from the desk she sat on. Scizor just nodded at her—not respectfully, but a curt one just to be polite. "How was lunch?"

It was difficult not to think it was being said in an accusatory tone. Temperance knew there was no way her girlfriend knew anything yet and that her nerves were playing tricks on her. She knew how Cecilia got when she was angry or accusatory. She loomed tall, cornering her despite barely moving a finger, and her eyes narrowed into white slits that could spell doom in Temperance's heart.

"Decent. Feels good to be alone once in a while, and the pizza was okay," Temperance said. She dropped her purse on the bed she had not slept on even once and looked out the window. "Grace was there. She noticed me."

Fight, flight or freeze—Cecilia was a fighter that would rather see the world and herself burn than to deal with a loss save for this particular topic. Temperance cracked each individual finger to fill the dead air and gave some thought to her words while Cece could barely even turn her head in her direction.

"You don't have to worry." For reassurance, the coordinator dragged a chair next to the desk and wrapped an arm around her girlfriend's waist. "Nothing of note happened. We just… awkwardly stared at each other for a little bit."

The Unovan finally got control of her fingers back. She slowly wriggled them over her keyboard, rewinding the video of her next opponent to the beginning of one of his Gym Battles—he was a second year from what Temperance knew. Cecilia gulped, her fists closed and she took a deep breath. "If that was the end of it, then that's fine." Scizor whirred, a metallic grunt from deep within. "How was she doing? Was she okay? Seeing you?"

"Does it matter?" Temperance asked. So much pain, and she still cared. She still cared.

"No." Cecilia bitterly smiled, lowering her head slightly. "It does not." A pause followed. "I'm going to go see Cynthia again after my battles this evening, so I might not be available. Is that okay?"

Temperance let out an abominable sound. It was somewhat of a groan, but the attempts to restrain it had allowed it to grow long-winded and high-pitched. No such sound should have ever come out of her. "I'd like for us to spend more time together, the two of us."

"Hmmm." The long and teasing hum made Temperance's heart squeeze. Who else would draw that out of her? Who else? Nobody. "Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?" Cecilia let her stew in the warmth of rejection for a few seconds before laughing. It was deep, commanding, and whimsical, and everything. "Fine." The warmth from her smile spread throughout her body, allowing her to relax and loosen up. "Let's go out on a date, just the two of us."

"What about your battle?"

Cecilia closed her laptop. "I'm ready." Scizor hissed at her, clearly disagreeing and thinking that there could always be more to be done. "Oh, please." Cecilia leaned back into her chair and stretched. "I have the script ready, I have a general knowledge of how Samuel fights, and I have the ultimate weapon at my disposal."

The bug type grunted, as if to ask what that was.

"Passion so strong even the blistering sun or thoughts of Grace cannot keep me down for long, darling," she triumphantly declared before getting up. Temperance was still sitting, but she enjoyed… seeing her active. One of Cecilia's hands traced the side of the coordinator's face, and she leaned down into a kiss Temperance wished was longer. "Let me take you into town and let's buy each other an outfit. We can theme it to mean something, and we can try to guess what it is. Three strikes."

Butterflies were still dancing in Temperance's stomach as if they were celebrating life itself. "Don't you need to save—"

She was so close.

"For you, I'll do anything."

The statement left her a mushy pile of love blended with bliss, barely capable of thought for a moment. It was sweeping, yes, but she had said it so forcefully it was impossible for your breath not to shiver. That lie by omission did not seem so white after all. The guilt, it suddenly consumed her. Crawled out of the butterflies swarming her insides and brought with them a tight knot twisted endless times until it was impossible to unmake save for the magic words that next spilled out of her mouth.

"I'm sorry—I hid something." Ashes and poison laced her tongue. "I was… curious. Curious about the history between you and Grace. Curious about if she was as great as you spoke of her—a flawless girl who had only been hurt," Temperance sighed. "I followed her. I didn't talk to her, but—I followed her into the restaurant."

Not anger. Not acrimony. Not anguish.

Disappointment. You could see it in her eyes despite them being white as snow, in her body that turned from being akin to wound up on a string to slack like a leaderless puppet. She did not stumble back, but Cecilia exhaled through her nose long and hard before she looked at Scizor, and the bug type shook his head, his red plates gleaming under the sun filtering through the window. It was morbid to say, but Cecilia was even more beautiful at that very moment. A broken doll, but a doll nonetheless, looming a head above her.

"Thank you for telling me," she said. "I forgive you." She did not. She clearly did not. "Let's get going."

A flurry of statements followed.

"I'm sorry," Temperance lamented.

"I know."

"I won't do it again."

"I hope so."

"Do you still love me? Even as awful as I am?"

"I do. I must have done something wrong—"

Insanity. Temperance gripped her girlfriend by the wrist and dragged her close while Scizor hissed at her. "Listen closely." Why had she done this? Added to the list of people who hurt her, and for what? "My fuck up is not your fault, it is entirely on me." Cecilia glanced away—it was difficult to tell. "It's on me," the coordinator repeated. "Do not let your own head convince you otherwise. You're a brilliant girl, one who deserves the world, but who has been scorned by it at every turn, and I have added to the pile."

"Don't."

"It's true. We've never talked about it in depth, have we? Not since that first night we spent together. I will not force the matter, but listen well, Cecilia. I believe in the strength of the human spirit, that spark that makes the Cynthias of the world. I will not claim you to be close to her, or to even understand what that spark is fully, but—there is a path laid down for you in your homeland, and it starts here, at the Conference. Do not let my mistake squander it. Please."

Cecilia waited before answering. "I will not." Her cold hands touched Temperance's face once more, tracing below her chin. "I would not forgive myself for it, nor would my team."

Thank God.

—

"Challenger? You've won."

The referee's word snapped me out of my battle lust, and I realized that I was no longer in a fight. Already, I'd been supporting myself on my knees, sweat clinging to my forehead and tongue parting my lips, ready to see what kind of Pokemon my opponent would bring out next. He'd been a third year, one who seemed to be following the path of slow and steady growth instead of explosive progress, and the battle had been close. 3-2, with only Buddy remaining, by the end. He had played the role of the cursed weapon very well, draining more and more from the field and myself as he continued being of use. An artifact of some sort found in one of my adventures—gosh, I could not wait to play another role tomorrow!

My opponent recalled his Umbreon from the field and left without a word. I somewhat missed the intimacy of smaller tournaments, where trainers shook hands after a battle and sometimes even spoke for a little while. A victory was delicious, yes, and scraping one always got the fire burning high and hot, but this felt so impersonal. Not that I'd expected him to want anything to do with me with how I had tried to cripple his team so he would be at a disadvantage during his next fight. An explorer had to make sure her enemies wouldn't be able to get back on their feet so she could loot their possessions, after all!

Spectators clapped, cheered, and a minority of them booed, but I allowed it to wash over me like water off a Ducklett's back. There was no point getting hung up on things so long as I had a good time. My energy was better spent on things I could affect. That was one loss, one win in my favor, and I'd need to keep that relatively tilting in favor of wins to have a chance out of groups.

And there'd be another battle today. Three per day for every trainer until each group finished every fight.

Even as I recalled Buddy after some encouraging words, I was raring to go for more. What was this when compared to the gauntlet that was Coronet? Nothing! And this time, it was fun, and there were so many people better than me to learn from and so many of my friends were here and oh, Arceus, had this lunch not happened it would have felt like I'd be on my way to sprouting wings.

Yet it had.

I couldn't shake the edge off. My eyes darted at every corner seeking to find Temperance whenever I was on my own. There was no doubt within me that without Maylene to stop me, I'd have confronted her in that restaurant. Had she come up to me while alone, I would not have cut it short or run off. It was an uncontrollable vice that had me realize something about myself that was somewhat terrifying.

Instead of sticking around with my friends or girlfriend, or studying my next opponent, I allowed myself time to think. I would tell Maymay after, of course, but it had been a while since it had just been me and one of my family members. Sweetheart and Princess were in one of the League's specialized Centers given that I'd used them in the battle, and so were the Pokemon I had used in the fight against Pearce. Cass—who had been healed from the previous battle—Buddy, and of course, Mimi, remained. Sunshine too, but he was often asleep at this time during the afternoon, and I didn't want him to hear me whine constantly. I'd tell him about it later.

The Lily of the Valley Island held a singular river that flowed from the mountain's peak all the way down to the ocean, a cascade and violent flow of water that was impossible to swim through for anyone but water types or Pokemon well accustomed to these conditions. There had been a few trainers hanging about—those who like me could never stay away from the still of the wilderness for long. Without Princess to fly me up here, I'd needed to rely on Cass, but even so, my legs were sore from how much I moved around during battles, putting every ounce of energy I had into my explorer character, but this hike. It was good physical activity, so at least Maymay would be proud. I allowed myself a few seconds to think about her cute face and smiled.

The sound of the water rushing by—Legendaries, it was so loud, roaring like a beast that never tired as water crashed into stone and created foam. But there was a certain calm to it as well. How it had flowed this path or something similar for hundreds or maybe thousands of years, and how it would continue long after you were dead. A comfortable consistency, maybe. However, even it would end eventually. Like everything else.

"Cass," I asked, voice cutting through the noise. "How long do you think this river will last for?"

Under my explorer hat, the psychic's eyes lit up, and they continuously mumbled 'calculating' until they suddenly stopped. Error. I am not sufficiently equipped in potamology to answer this, they levitated a bit of water, crushing it into a tight ball until it heated up and turned to steam in the air, but it would depend on numerous factors such as the river's flow rate, sediment composition, surrounding vegetation, and even the seasonal variations affecting water levels and temperatures. Apologies for failing.

Out of the water, Buddy poked his head out. His red, glinting eyes stared silently at me, and he remained still even in the strong currents. Water froze at the edges of his body.

"Do you think we could, like, put a lasting mark somewhere here?" I asked. "Obviously it wouldn't last forever, but maybe we could make it stick for a few decades. Hell, how about a hundred years?!"

Cassianus blared like a machine. I'm afraid that would go against the Wilderness Conservation Act, last updated in the year 2009, my King, and the Sinnohan government does not recognize your legal immunity as a monarch. A sad, defeated tune flowed through the air. It was a nice idea, however.

I kicked dirt into the river and pouted. "Hmph. Stupid laws and their stupid reasonings." That was an exaggeration. I knew, of course, that without this particular law, our wilderness would be damaged far more than I have probably imagined, by corporations, local governments, and snotty trainers like me. With a saddened smile, I lowered myself and hugged my knees. Mimi reformed their body and crawled up my hand with a worried mewl.

Buddy, meanwhile, saw right through me. He calmly stated that I was overcompensating for something and that there was obviously an issue on my mind. When I hesitated—why even hesitate, when I'd come here to talk about it?—he blew a small stream of cold water on my head. With a squeal, I fell back and laughed.

"Stupid."

His eyes narrowed with a playful murderous stare, and he called me stupid back.

I believe we're all stupid in the grand scheme of the universe, considering the forces at play, Cass said.

Mimi chimed.

I snorted, picking the steel type up and placing them on my head. "How bad is it, you think," I mumbled, "that I miss being in danger?"

Mimi screeched, tail sparking with electricity; Cassianus started to list the numerous ways safety was preferable to crisis after crisis; Buddy's eyes darkened, and this time not in a joking manner.

"It's not like I'm going to seek it out. I'd never do that." It would be an utter betrayal of who I'd become and cause immense pain to the people I loved. "It's just—you know. I saw Temperance today—Cecilia's new girlfriend," I reminded Buddy. He'd always been bad at remembering names of people he would never care for. "And you know something that relatively small," I pinched my fingers together, "is nothing compared to what I've been through. But in the moment, it's terrifying. Like I'm about to go through so much pain. And now that it's done and over with, and I'm done with being scared, I miss it. It's a sick kind of feeling. I feel so happy here. My friends are here, I have the most wonderful girlfriend whose family likes me, and we're all having fun with the battles." I nudged my head toward my team. "So why the hell am I whining? Why can't I help but feel like I'd feel more at home in a cramped cavern fighting for my life every waking moment than here?"

Two of Cass' eyes narrowed, and the Claydol floated close until I could smell the clay. The human brain is so peculiar.

I traced a line in the wet dirt on the riverbank, then a few others until I was left with a sword. Mimi created a needle on the tip of their arm, mimicking the drawing, and my finger gently touched their head as I ignored Mesprit's squeals of glee. "The first thought that came to my head when I saw her wasn't 'oh, Arceus, she's gonna chew me out', it was 'oh, Arceus, she's going to kill me. What Pokemon does she have again? Dragonair, Whimsicott…' blegh. Then I blanked. Could have been fatal."

Buddy shook his bulbous head and said that now I was just being silly.

"I know." I clenched my forehead. "I know that it's stupid, but I have toiled long and hard to put the idea that I was just a weapon out of my head, but every time there's some amount of tension, it keeps rearing its ugly head back. You know, the next time someone tries to kill me, I think I'm genuinely going to be relieved."

This time, Buddy floated out of the water, creating a splash that would have soaked Cass had they not shielded us. The water type rammed himself against the psychic barrier, his body spilling over as he dared me to say that again, and—

A voice to my side around a hundred feet away.

"What the fuck?! Dude, are you okay—"

The barrier solidified, my hand went for my Pokeballs, and I bit down on my tongue to focus.

But it was nothing. It was never anything.

"I'm fine!" I yelled back to the trainer. He'd been grabbing one of his Pokeballs, probably a dark type. "No worries." He muttered something under his breath, and left further upriver. "See what your antics got us?" I said before shrinking under his watchful eyes. "Sorry. I won't say it again, that was stupid."

And please never do that again when I'm involved, thank you, Cassianus asked the ghost before one of his hands gently hit me in the head. They were heavier than they looked. And yes. Perhaps it would be wise to be more tactful with your words.

"Yeah…"

It was a lot, wasn't it? Being happy was just a lot.

But I owed it to myself to try to remain here for as long as humanly possible. I would grip the edge even if my nails bled, even if someone stepped on my hand, even if there was no more strength in my arm, and I would do my best.

"Let's stay an hour before we head back." I pulled out my laptop from my back to start studying my next opponent. Not Marley yet, but the fight was inevitable. "Sweetheart is gonna be so jealous she missed this."

---

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[Soussouni1]

INTERLUDE - CONFIDANTS I

"Hey. Got a question for ya."

Denzel blinked, slowly turning away from his laptop. He uncovered one of his ears, pushed his headphones to the side, and peeked at his friend. For her part, Grace hadn't looked up from her own screen at all. Her eyes darted across her screen, her fingers scrolling through a video of her next opponent's battles with precision and focus. She leaned slightly forward, her superhero costume catching the light from her laptop. The deep red and cobalt blue fabric clung to her frame, the sleek material glinting faintly with each small movement. It looked a bit tight on her, and extremely silly. Her crimson cape draped over the back of her chair pooled slightly on the floor. And her domino mask? Pushed up and resting on her forehead. Denzel had made no comment about it—she was having fun. More fun than ever. Comments online ranged from calling her extremely corny to cute to cringe to everything in between, but one thing was for certain, she sure left an impression. She'd come to his hotel room for some peace and quiet to study, along with information about the trainers she was going to face. He enjoyed her company, especially when they hadn't hung out one one-on-one in a while.

Denzel hummed as he scrolled through stream analytics. His numbers were on fire, but he wanted to know exactly what points of his streams and highlights his audience was most excited about. "Yeah? Shoot."

His friend's fingers drummed against the warmed aluminum chassis. You could hear the fan of her laptop churning ever so subtly, the internal machinery, the engineering that connected so many throughout the world—all of them at his fingertips if you worked hard enough. With a bored twirl of her hair, Grace glanced at him. It was a weary kind of stare, one that worried him slightly.

On the desk was a plethora of snacks—brain food, Denzel liked to call it. Chips, cookies, candy, whatever unhealthy trash they could get their hands on. Grace grabbed onto a bunch of cheese-flavored chips, chewing on them carefully as she thought. "I've given a lot of thought to a lot of things the past day or so—and I was wondering if people close to me felt the same way about things."

Denzel readjusted his posture, nearly rolling his shoulder. "Sure, you can always talk to me."

"Could have gone to Cecilia, but I didn't for obvious reasons," she contemplated. "Chase is the same. Mira… well, I don't want to bother her. You've been in basically the same amount of shit as I have." Her body straightened. "And I don't want you to think that you're like, a last resort or something! I'm just explaining, like, why I'm saddling you with this."

Saddling…? "Grace, you can always come to me with stuff. We're best friends." Even if they hadn't hung out as much as when they traveled together, the bond was still there. An underlying trust that Denzel hoped would remain for the rest of their lives, as naive as that sounded. "What's up?"

Click. Click. Click. She'd pressed back in the video feed until it reached zero seconds and paused, muttering some storyboarding under her breath followed by what Pokemon her opponent would most likely use. "Okay, so," she closed her laptop, "how have you been feeling lately?"

Denzel smirked. "I thought I was the one supposed to ask that question."

Grace rolled her eyes and sighed. "Answer, you ass."

He let a few thoughts settle in his head for a moment, feeling his feet go flat against the floor as if he were grounding himself. "Great." His friend looked up at him with ardency in her eyes. Something burning. "Uh, I guess my career's taking off this summer; I've gone from a popular trainer streamer to the trainer streamer in the country." That was still staggering to think about. Like it wasn't real. "I've been training my team to set up for my next Circuit run." It'd be a doozy to handle all those high-level Gym fights, but he was ready. "Been talking to my parents more, so that's nice. And you know, it's also nice just not having so much to worry about. So yeah, things are going great."

"But…?" Grace tilted her head and leaned forward as if expecting something more. "Are there no buts?"

"What do you mean, but?" he asked, raising a curious brow.

"Nothing else? No insidious feeling deep inside you that it's temporary?" she rambled. "Or—or that it'd be… not better, but that it'd be like, weirdly okay if things went back to being awful?"

"Wha—" the teenager gawked at her, "of course not! I'd have a nervous breakdown! Do you feel that way? Because if you do, that's like—extremely worrying?" Damn it, usually he'd see the signs, but she was just so happy here that he hadn't noticed anything. He hadn't realized the difference.

Denzel rose from his seat, and Grace raised her gloved hands innocently, as if surrendering to some unspoken accusation. In any other circumstances, watching her, a supposed superhero, do this, would have been hilarious. Not today, however. "Grace, this is—there's a word for this. It's something in PTS—"

"D," she finished his sentence, crossing her legs on the chair like a child. "I know. Been brought up to me a few times, really, the first times months ago by Aliyah—the therapist the League gave me. She was great."

Denzel knew Grace was seeing a new therapist based in Jubilife once a week, even currently despite the Conference. He hadn't asked much about it because, well, it looked like it had worked wonders? Now, he just wasn't sure. She was better than before, much better in a way that a person like her just wasn't capable of faking, but what if there was more hidden beneath the facade?

"What'd you tell her?"

Grace snorted—why the hell was she laughing? "I basically told her she was full of it—in kinder and less confident words. Now I think she was right."

"So?"

"So?" she repeated, clasping her metallic necklace—Meltan.

"What're you gonna do about it?"

"Oh, well, I dunno." She shrugged and extended her legs in a stretch. "I'll probably deal with it later."

"What?"

Her face twitched, and her hold on her Meltan grew tighter. "I talked about it, okay? And I'll deal with it," her breath caught in her throat, like she'd held back on saying something else. Finally, she finished, "later."

"Is this because you think it'd sink your chances in the tournament?"

"Obviously not."

"Do you think you're too broken to be fixed or something?"

A saddened smile crept across her mouth. "Used to. Maymay showed me that I wasn't."

Denzel threw his hands up. "Then why?!" he nearly yelled.

"'Cause it feels like it's not a big deal, that's why!" she yelled back. "Sorry. But it's not! It's just not. Not compared to… everything else. It's just a pebble stuck in my shoe, and everyone's having a great time, so why even bother? I should be grateful I've even made it this far."

"Ugh. I'm calling Maylene—"

Something stole the air from his lungs—no, he had just forgotten to breathe after his last exhale. "Do not," she interrupted. Her voice cut through the silence, sharp and final. She held his gaze, her eyes firm, yet not unkind. "I was gonna tell her tonight, anyway. I'm just taking stock first. Seeing what people have to say."

They weren't close friends, but only the Gym Leader had learned to cut through all of this… tape in order to get to the heart of a matter when it came to Grace without her meandering and convincing you that she was fine. Denzel wanted to believe her, even now. Her plea rang sincere. Had she not truly improved since Coronet? She had.

Denzel's back ached with his doubt. "I'll believe you, but I'll text her tomorrow morning to see if you actually did." Compromise was enough for now; forcing Grace's hand was rarely wise. The only other time he'd done so was during the Backlot situation, and thank the Legendaries, it had worked out. Instead, Denzel much preferred containing her, either through ultimatum or things like this.

Grace heeded his answer, breaths steady as she swayed from side to side on the creaky swivel chair before finally nodding. "That's fair. A day should be enough. Thanks." Then, the blonde stood up all of a sudden, eyes flickering to life with luminosity like a candle just lit. "But I should get going and fight my next battle. There are people all over the world who need to be saved!" Hands on her hips, she faced forward like, well, a superhero. "Darn… it would have been better if I had Princess to blow wind in my cape."

Denzel smiled, then couldn't help but chortle. "Remember what I said. Damien's, uh, very concerned about his image. He's a better trainer than you on paper, but make him look bad and he might slip up, giving you a chance to get a W."

Grace visibly cringed, nose wrinkling with a groan. "You stream too much."

"Dude, you're in a superhero costume."

"So?"

"...you know, what, never mind. Just go out there and have a good time."

She pumped a fist. "That's what I plan on doing! Right, Mimi?" The steel type chimed, shaking around her neck. "Mimi's my sidekick. Helps me fight any evil lying about."

"Yep. Make sure to go and defeat those villains—I'll be watching you." He pointed a thumb toward his laptop. He wasn't going to join her today; he would instead live commentate League matches all day with Goalducc and Archive—without feed of the actual battles on his stream, of course, or the League would immediately take the videos down no matter how much he wished they wouldn't. Everything he'd done, and they wouldn't even give him the rights. Unfortunate, but he'd been lucky enough for a lifetime not to complain about it. Viewers would be able to sync the footage, so it was mildly inconvenient at best.

A few more words were exchanged before Grace left, mostly about taking the wrinkles out of her costume and making her look as good as possible before she left for her fight.

But right before she walked out the door;

"Oh, and you wouldn't have a breakdown, by the way," she said out of nowhere.

"Hm?"

"If things turned for the worse, you wouldn't have a breakdown." She looked back at him, holding the door open. "You'd be there for us just like you've always been. I believe in you."

The door closed.

Despite it all, Denzel couldn't help it. He smiled.

—

"I don't think I particularly nailed the story aspect of it." In a bar, Grace tapped her chin with a finger while staring at the ceiling. "I mean, honestly, I think I would have lost even if I'd nailed it, but the fact that I screwed up made it kind of unsatisfying. I wasn't… hero-like enough."

Marley silently observed her friend talk her troubles away, wondering if there would ever be an end to her made-up problems. At the very least, it was intriguing to listen to. Stimulating, even. Sipping on her sparkling water through a straw, Marley listened to Grace speak of how difficult it was for her to act like a stereotypical hero you'd find in a comic or a movie.

She had to admit that life was easier now than it used to be, even if she rarely saw her parents because they'd never accept her for who she was even though they showered her with money. Any moment now, she'd expect it to stop, but it still hadn't after an entire year of being out. They'd even convinced her to join that stupid piano class through her grandparents, and she'd accepted on the off-chance it might make them accept her in turn, yet it had not. That was why she hated spending money—the idea that the tap would eventually be cut haunted her enough to make her neglect eating until she met Grace and Jess. Piano ended up being fun too, just like when she'd been a child.

At the very least, Marley's grandma sent her messages every day about her matches, and endless doting on if she'd been eating, sleeping, and taking care of herself. Of course, there was the mental exhaustion beginning to ramp up from so many fights in a row. While Marley had gone to train in Victory Road—along with the goal of sharpening her Pokemon's skills—to ready herself for this stage of the Conference in an effort to ward her mind against mental fatigue, three days in and she was already struggling. At least her team seemed raring to go, still.

Meanwhile, her friend seemed to be brimming with boundless energy as she spoke. She really didn't understand how Grace did it.

"So what's your score now?" Marley asked, making sure her voice remained steady just like she'd practiced.

The superhero pouted, then placed her head against the table—ew. So many people had been here before them. "Aw, Marley! I can't believe you haven't been keeping track!"

"What's mine—"

"4-3!" Grace yelled, voice muffled by her position against the table. Her words buzzed against the surface. "Which is the same as mine. God, I want to fight Damien Gunnhild again…"

Marley nodded, something Grace barely saw out of the corner of her eyes. She suspected her friend could possibly have been at a 5-2 had she not been so entangled in her silly games. Oh, and there was no way Marley didn't actually know her friend's score, let alone everyone in their entire group; it would be foolish of her not to keep track of the standings at all times. She'd just said no to tease Grace. What was she even doing, throwing matches like this just because she was an agent of justice, or whatever? How was her sponsor even okay with this? Marley sighed and patted the girl on her back. You couldn't help but support her in times like these.

"I'm sure your next battle will go better now that you got your feet wet into your role," Marley said.

"'Sure hope so." Two fingers rhythmically tapped her necklace. "Hmhm. You're right." That was directed not at Marley, but at the strange creature around her neck. "Wait. Marley."

"What is it?"

"You trained in Victory Road all the time until they closed it for the bombings, right?" Grace lazily leaned against the counter, face resting in her gloved hand. At least take the costume off when you're not battling, Marley wanted to beg. Instead, she nodded. "What'd you think of the caves there? You know, I've never been even though it's literally right there. Too dangerous."

Marley frowned at her and pulled a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "It was awful, obviously. Both navigating it, getting through it, and just, you know, living in the wild for days at a time."

"Days?"

"Over a week, but just once. Plus, I'm always forced to wear such dreary clothes." If Marley had one vice, one glaring exception to her habits with money, it was her spending on clothes. Margaretan fashion, mostly; the term had been coined from the era of that very same name, when Galar, heeded by Queen Margaret IV, had been the undisputed world power over two hundred years ago until both Orre and Unova rose to challenge that claim. Today, she wore that same clothing style. A dress of deep obsidian hue layered with intricate lacework, even if it made the heat nigh unbearable—

Wait.

When you really thought about it, no one else dressed like this outside of costume parties, cosplay, and the like. Did—did that mean that she was just like Grace, only a lot more discreet?

"Marley? Anything else to say about Victory Road?" Grace pushed her glass with a finger, intrigued by its movements on the rugged bar counter. She really struggled to sit still, didn't she? "C'mon, talk to me about some stories. I'll pay for the tab."

"You don't have to—"

"Marley, I make so much money that I don't even know what to spend it on. A little bill at the bar won't bother me." She smirked up at her, assured that she had cornered Marley with a flawless argument. It wasn't about money, but about the principle of the thing, but… "We wanna hear about it! Think of it like an exchange of favors—a balanced one."

Although she blew a quiet raspberry, Marley relented. "Fine, stories. Okay. I guess I'll begin at the start. Fresh off winning my eighth badge against Volkner because I skipped him and kept him for last."

"Oh! That's a rare choice; why'd you do it?"

"A lot of his personal Pokemon are known for their speed, along with the electric type in general," she said with passion she could barely contain. Her voice nearly shook every time she recalled that battle—how her Arcanine had finished off the Gym Leader's Raichu in a nailbiter of a duel with their newly acquired Extreme Speed. "I wanted to test myself in a true test of speed to see if I had what it takes. I wish I could have gone against his Electivire though…"

Grace laughed. "Marley! I never see you get like this, oh my God! Look at you!"

"It—I mean, it's nothing." Marley scratched the side of her face, feeling awkward and thanking Arceus Jess wasn't here to tease her about this too. "It's just his starter, y'know?"

"Yeah. Hey, keep this a secret, but I faced him once. He's really no joke," she said, sipping on her fruit punch as if she hadn't just dropped an insane piece of information.

Marley's mouth gaped open. "What?"

"Oh yeah. It was a battle with special rules and stuff. The goal was for Honey to touch him three times," Grace whispered with a hand hiding her mouth. "Anyway, Electivire kind of shattered Honey's back, it was really gnarly stuff. All because he's an immature brat who hates losing."

"Now I want to hear about it…"

"Okay, well, one story at a time, miss," Grace teased. "We should probably order another drink, too."

Marley quickly agreed, but as she spoke, she couldn't shake the feeling that a part of Grace grew restless the longer she recounted just how dreadful Victory Road had been. Grace's concern always felt genuine, but it seemed tinged with a quiet disappointment, as if she had expected something more from those tales. Either way, she paid and went on her way—they both had a few hours before their second battle of the day. When she did, she told Marley something about meeting a colleague.

—

Aubri might have only had one eye, but setting it on Grace Pastel made her want to pretend she'd never worked with Poketch. Sharing a company with this clown made her want to crawl into a hole she'd never come out of. She was a sight for sore eyes, with her costume being slightly too small for even her. Plus, she was still wearing white sneakers which broke immersion, and it was wrinkly all over, and the gloves left part of her wrists exposed, and, and, and—you'd never run out of things to complain about. Not only had this girl texted her, asking to meet at one of the most crucial times in Aubri's life to talk about whatever nonsense it was she always brought up, but her attempts to get her to talk to someone else like Ramon had failed—Pastel wanted her.

Aubri hated her.

"You've got some nerve coming here after that Gardenia nonsense," Aubri said, eyeing her own fingerless stump of a hand. Purple and broken skin covered her right arm, a landscape of deep burn scars that twisted and puckered the flesh like melted wax. The scars crawled up to her shoulder, usually a permanent reminder of the cost of carelessness, but now an added twist that she'd been refused this kid's position because she was a sorry sight for the eyes. All of her talent and hard work, her years of service to Poketch, thrown away. How did one reconcile the trainer she had admired, worked herself to death to catch up to at the expense of her own body, had caused this? All of that for what?

And she hadn't ever had the opportunity to really chew into him. To really ask him why, to really let her have a piece of her mind. A planned final showdown at the Conference where she would finally have bested him and proved to him that she'd been the one to deserve it all.

And she would never get to.

"You already barged into this Pokemon Center to talk to me, so just hurry the hell up and make it worth my time!" Chatot squawked on her shoulder. Her trusted partner had been about to say more, but she raised her hand. The one with fingers on it.

Grace had always looked uncomfortable with Aubri around. With the Poketch guys, she kept glancing back at her as if Aubri would just launch into a tirade, or maybe even physically strike her sometimes. Alone? She fidgeted, hugging herself and tapping a restless foot against the ground. Biting the inside of her mouth to distract herself with a bit of stimulation. Since her arranged and unfair fight with Gardenia—one that had made Aubri think far less of the Gym Leader and her entire clique—they had only spoken in short instances for their jobs. Aubri suspected Poketch itself kept those interactions at a minimum. So much to protect this single person, to string her up despite all of her fuck ups. It was so frustrating; and all of that for Grace to beg for a meeting, yet to not have the confidence to even speak up?

Damn it. So fucking pathetic. So fucking… damn it. "What do you want?" Aubri sighed, running her hand over her face. Her voice, as always, was raspy and deep from the time she'd caught her Salazzle—same reason the burns were there, sunken into her right arm. Like a mockery of what she used to sound like.

"Err." Unsure of herself, as always. "I've always had this deep sense of respect for you, Aubri. You're—you're so cool. And like, your battles are really a testament to your skill and perseverance. I look at you and I see a story of someone who's been chasing something for a long time but who'll never get it. Um, sorry. But your fights don't seem to excite you as much as previous years."

Had she watched Aubri's previous battles? Of course she had.

"It's no fun rolling over people over and over without a good struggle." Excuse, for they both knew that was not even close to the reason. Aubri enjoyed crushing the competition, close battle or not, and now, this crazy girl liked pretending to be someone else.

Grace walked around the Center room and leaned against the wall, finally relaxing some. "You're undefeated in groups so far; that's extremely impressive. My friend Denzel says—"

"I don't care about what anyone says." Aubri turned away from Grace, and Chatot chirped in anger. "I didn't let you barge in here so you could psychoanalyze me. This is my last time asking before I kick you out: what the hell do you want?"

The blonde deflated, seemingly smaller than she was just ten seconds ago when she thought she was getting somewhere. Aubri wouldn't listen to her crazed ramblings, especially not when she was dressed like a kid for their eighth birthday.

"Fair. Sorry." A pause, punctuated by a particular expression that could only be described as regrouping. A regathering of her thoughts as if she needed to reconsider he entire approach. Seconds passed by the dozens until finally, a minute later, she struck. "Like me, you've been through a whole lot of stuff 'cause you train in places like Victory Road. I'd like to know if you ever have issues coping with this."

Ha!

A question without any games or bullshit? She'd come to know Aubri didn't like to waste time. She scratched her Chatot's head with a gentle finger.

"Woah. You're smiling."

Aubri clicked her tongue. "I'm not. Shut up." Grace promptly did so without even a scared squeal. A shame. Aubri pointed up at her blindspot, an eyepatch that covered much of her face. "When I first set out of Jubilife and tried to get a wild Spearow at the edge of route 203 because I heard you might catch a stronger one close to off-route, it called its entire flock and I came out of it with a missing eye." It had crushed her at the time, but today, she could look back on it and shrug. Smile, even. "When I started training in dangerous routes and got deeper into Eterna Forest than I ever had," she showered Grace her wounded hand where only her thumb remained, "a Leavanny took half my hand. When I heard a Salazzle had snuck onto an Alolan ship and fled into the Sinnohan wilderness, I went and caught her. For that, she nearly killed me and became my ace." On her shoulder, Chatot eagerly nodded at each story, for he had been here for every one but the first.

Where was she going with this? Here.

"You carry them your entire life, your scars. They stick to you like tattoos you never asked for. They stay with you, etched into your skin, into your memory, shaping the person you see in the mirror. You can try to cover them up, try to ignore them, but they're still there. A part of you, whether you want them to be or not. Your scars can't be ignored—it's what people first see when they look at you." She tapped the side of her head as Grace rubbed the burned side of her neck. "That goes for mental scars too. People may not know they're here, but whether they and you want it or not, they'll come up when you interact. You can't run away from them—not forever, at least."

Grace's eyes were wide with admiration Aubri frankly did not care for. "Woah… you're so responsible…"

"What? Did you think I'd just let you walk in here like a sad, pathetic wet cat and let you leave?" She should have. That would have been great to see.

Grace shook her head. "I know you're nice, deep down." Aubri glared at her. "Not deep down! You're extremely nice inside and out!" she yelled with a hint of panic, shaking her hands innocently. "Um, can I have some battling advice—"

"Goodbye. If you're lucky, I'll see you out of groups and show the board how I'll put you in the dirt."

"That sounds like I'd learn a lot, so sure!" she said before leaving.

"Don't show your face here again!" Chatot squawked.

And Aubri meant it. She'd had enough Grace Pastel for at least a week.

—

Busy, busy, busy. Jasmine couldn't believe it, but she'd thank Lugia himself when her feet touched the sands of Olivine again. Sinnoh had felt so much better when all she'd had to do was fool around all day and spend time with Volkner. Now, it was meeting after meeting after meeting. Diplomats, Elite Four Members, League officials, economists; she wanted out of here and fast, but Lance had saddled her with so much work, and his nosy self couldn't help but call every few days to hear a needlessly long report about how things were going as if he didn't already know every time a Cutiefly moved around these parts with how deep he'd spread Indigo's influence around the country since Unova's diplomatic fuck up. Hmph.

At least Brock and Will were working just as hard now, even if they never complained and whined like she did.

She'd always make time for her only and favorite student, however. Grace had texted a few hours ago asking for Jasmine's available hours. She'd nearly had to consider cutting a meeting with a team of Indigoan and Sinnohan politicians about relaxing trade and visa restrictions even further. Unlike his predecessor, Lance was no advocate for autarky, but he was no fighter for free trade like those money-grubbing Galarians either. It was a surprising step forward, especially considering how much opposition he'd face at home for the move. Jasmine figured he'd consider burning decades' worth of political capital if it meant putting Sinnoh under permanent Indigoan influence.

It certainly would put them in the best position they'd ever reached since the birth of their union. Although Kanto-Johto had been birthed by war and fear of the Gods, Lance knew times had changed and navigated these peaceful times extraordinarily well. It was a good thing Unova's Champion was sleeping at the helm and constantly dealing with internal strife, those lazy fat Glameows.

But really, that was Lance's game. Jasmine enjoyed seeing the region she'd spent so many months in getting back on its feet this quickly—

A knock at the door of the office she'd been given at the Spire made her put away those thoughts for now. "Grace? If it's Grace, come in. If it's not, I'm exceedingly busy."

"It's not Grace… it's Lady Justice." The voice was low and foreboding, with a hint of a threat that made the hair on Jasmine's arms stand on end and made her hand creep toward her Pokeballs neatly arranged on her desk, always just a reach away. But it was also just Grace. "Open up and surrender, or I'm afraid I'll have to make you."

"Grace, I can clearly tell that's you. Who even is Lady Justice—" she opened the door, "—pfft."

Maybe, just maybe, Jasmine laughed for the following minute at Grace's getup. Maybe she had tears in her eyes and her mouth hurt because of it afterward. Maybe she'd been so hysterical a League official had shown up asking about all the noise. Maybe all of that happened.

Look—

Jasmine just couldn't believe that Grace had walked into the official League HQ with this costume and didn't seem to care.

"I thought you were gonna asphyxiate to death from laughing too much," Grace said, rocking back and forth on her chair. That was the best part! She didn't even seem to care what people thought! "It's just a costume."

"I thought I was going to asphyxiate to death!" the Gym Leader cackled, nearly kicking her feet. "Oh, Grace, you're so wonderful. Every time I see you, you just make my day." Jasmine stood up to once again hug her student, who remained seated. "What brings me to you—sorry, what brings you to me." Legendaries, she was still out of it.

"Oh, not much." Grace looked around the office; it was quite impersonal, considering it wasn't actually Jasmine's, and modernized instead of old like it probably had been once akin to the Champion's. The walls were plain, painted a sterile white, and the furniture was utilitarian, devoid of personal touches or character. A standard-issue desk sat in the middle of the room, neatly organized with only a laptop, a few stacked papers, and a pen holder to break the monotony. "But remember when I saw you after Galactic was destroyed?"

"Yes. You looked quite lost, back then."

Her student nodded, pointing at Jasmine with a finger. "Exactly. And I'm not lost anymore, which is great. But I'm also kind of lost still?"

The Gym Leader had grabbed a pen, and twirled it in her hand. "My dear, those are two opposing statements."

"Do you not feel the two mesh together still?" Grace questioned with an unsatisfied frown. "Don't be so rigid in your view of things, Jasmine."

"Look at you, giving me lessons."

"The point is, I have a path to walk on, but it feels like I have a few demons shackling me. And you know, maybe they'll always be there. That'd be fine. I'd love to reconcile missing war, though. Feels off."

"Oh. Easy." The pen stopped in Jasmine's hand, and she snapped her fingers, a sharp sound that resonated through the office. Grace blinked, surprised by the sudden gesture. Jasmine leaned forward, her gaze steady and deliberate, as if she'd just solved a puzzle only she could see. "You don't reconcile it," Jasmine said simply, her voice calm but resolute. "You accept it."

"Now who's being vague? Does that mean accept that I'll always miss it—" the metallic necklace around her neck grew spikes, "—relax, this is a hypothetical."

Jasmine smirked. "It's a simple statement. Missing war doesn't make you a monster, Grace. It makes you human. People talk about war like it's all bloodshed and suffering, and while it's a lot of that and I wouldn't wish it on anyone, especially not children, you and I both know it's more than that. It's purpose. It's clarity. It's knowing exactly what's at stake every single day."

For a while, there was silence as Jasmine waited to see if Grace would say something else. Her pen rested forgotten on the desk as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Peace isn't like that. Peace is messy, uncertain, full of choices you're never sure are the right ones. Of course you'd miss war—it's simpler. Capture this city, secure this objective, kill, kill, kill until it feels like nothing. Even when the walls and your body's soaked in blood, everything is laid out in black and white. There's no ambiguity in war if you're a footsoldier—just orders to follow and goals to achieve. You're the good guys fighting the bad guys; the constant edge of survival sharpens every decision. It's easy."

Something clicked in Grace's mind. You could see the gears turning behind her eyes.

"But peace? Again, peace is gray. It's the little things that for some reason matter so much even if you aren't fighting for your life every day. When I was killing Rocket Grunts left and right, I didn't have to worry about love; no one was harassing me about how much alcohol I drank. And for your information, that amount is still zero."

"You're… kinda right."

"Of course I'm right."

"But not completely right!" she exclaimed as if a lightbulb had lit up above her head. "It's true that things are simple. Not easy. Simple." Grace paced around the room, cape flowing behind her. "But that's not because those little issues don't exist, it's because we keep putting them off. Ignoring them, so it's as if they aren't there until it's too late to keep doing so. We can look back fondly on those times, thinking that all we had to think about was what was right in front of us, but that's really doing ourselves a disservice. All of it always mattered, we just couldn't see it because war isn't easy, it's blinding. It hogs your attention and makes it so you can hardly think of anything else until it's over, and it leaves you in the dark to deal with everything you've been putting off."

Jasmine was—

A little stumped. She kept clicking on her mechanical pen, letting the tip constantly poke at the skin of her arm, because she did not enjoy how correct that sounded, and how the words could have come right out of Lieutenant Surge's mouth if she'd been closing her eyes and Grace's voice had been numerous octaves lower.

"I suppose you'd be correct."

"Of course I'm right," Grace mockingly mimicked her. "Do you wanna hear about my character tomorrow? I went 2-1 today, but I'm sure I can do better when I come dressed as a Kalosian knight. Do you think I should be doing an accent, or would that be offensive? Fantina told me to go for it—"

—

Grace was late, and Maylene was worried.

The last message she'd gotten from her girlfriend after her third and final battle of the day had been about meeting Jasmine for some 'advice', as she'd been doing with multiple people the entire day. It wasn't that they hadn't seen each other much today—even though she was a little sad about that—it was that Grace could sometimes get carried away, and by the time you realized, she'd be fifteen steps into a nonsensical, roundabout plan to do something you'd never even think of. Ever since they'd come across Temperance at that Kalosian restaurant, Grace had been just a little off in ways only few were capable of catching.

"She'll come home soon," Nia said behind her before placing a hand on her shoulder. "She must have gotten carried away and not noticed the time."

"That does sound like a Grace thing to do…" she gazed past the sliding glass doors across the garden, beyond the pool, and at the gate of the Gym Leader house. It was so late they'd all eaten dinner already and the adults had gone back to their own home on the other side of the property. "I texted her, but she hasn't read them."

"Well, I'll be in Candice's room. Call us over if you need us."

A silent nod, then footsteps that got further and further away. Maylene considered just going back to their home, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone wrong. Jasmine… was Grace's teacher, and Maylene respected that fully, but like that Hatterene, she sometimes put bad notions into her head due to her upbringing. Unable to contain her worry, Maylene dialed Denzel, the person who she knew Grace had met first.

A hoarse voice answered her. "Grace, what is it—"

"It's Maylene."

"Wha—" there was a crash on the other end of the line, and then a scramble to stand. "Sorry, I thought Grace was calling me through your phone."

"Has she… done that?"

"Twice. Both times because she wanted to prank me and see me act stiff—I'm sorry for the confusion."

"No, no, it's fine." Maylene restrained a smile. "I was actually hoping you knew where she went?"

What followed was a game of telephone, tracking Grace's day through word of mouth. First came Marley, who she called despite having never spoken to her one-on-one. Then came the Poketch sponsees she was closest to—first Ramon, then Bobby, and then somehow, it was Aubri, whom she had gone to see. Those she'd needed to get the hard way. Messaging them on Chatter through her official Gym Leader account and chatting through direct messages. Schneider kept the exchange short and was nearly downright rude, but that was okay; at least she'd answered.

A common theme espoused through each meeting was a ravenous intrigue at one location: Victory Road. Maylene's anxiety reached a fever pitch, and a continuous flow of paranoid thoughts of Grace delving into those caves because of some Graceian plan. Would she? No, she wouldn't. Not after so much progress, and certainly not without telling her. But what if Temperance found her, or vice versa, or they met by pure coincidence again? What if she really did confront Grace? And why had the expression 'Graceian' even popped up in her head—should she grab her Pokemon and go check Victory Road? Not without telling the others about it—

Maylene paused, her breath catching as she felt it—a faint yet unmistakable warmth brushing against her senses like an old companion's hand on her shoulder. It wasn't overwhelming, but a steady, familiar pulse that made her heart settle in her chest. She couldn't see Grace, not yet, but she could feel her. That aura, so distinctly her own, like the soft glow of a candle in a storm, always burning, always present. "Thank the Legendaries," she whispered to herself as she opened the sliding glass door. This feeling was akin to a melody she could sing by heart, an unmistakable sensation that pushed Maylene to run to the gates.

In a few seconds, she was already there, and it was here that she saw the flame around Grace illuminating the dirt road in the dead of night. Its edges were sharp and angular, slicing through the air like shards of glass catching the light. The blue hue wasn't serene—it was electric, humming with an energy that felt alive, almost predatory in its focus. Yes. This was someone whom, once an idea materialized in her head, would move heaven and earth to make it a reality.

Still in her costume, Grace's eyes widened when Maylene ran up to hug her. The Gym Leader grabbed her girlfriend by the face and held back a sob. "Where were you? I was so worried—I texted you like twenty times!"

"Oh. Oh. My phone died, sorry. I used it too much today and I never came back home to charge it." Grace hugged her as well, hands snaking toward her back. "I guess I never opened my laptop. Sorry for worrying you."

"Arceus… so you were with Jasmine, still?"

"Oh, no. I left her hours ago because she was busy; I was on my own walking around the wilderness of the island and thinking about things. It was a pretty productive day."

"Okay. If it was just that, then fine. I was worried for no reason—just, let me know next time?" Maylene knew Grace well enough to understand that one bad day could undo months of progress, and there were plenty of people here who could press that trigger. It was always fine for her to be alone, just—half a day without any news, and one started to worry. "Oh, by the way, I might have been extremely panicked and texted like, everyone you met with today. And Bobby and Ramon."

Grace grabbed her by the hand, and they started walking back through the garden. "That's fine. And I should tell you what today was about—but first, I'll tell you this: I should probably try harder the next time I see my therapist, I think."

Oh.

Maybe Maylene had underestimated Jasmine.

---

Thank you to my Patreons - Spandaz, Alex Walters, ObsidianOlive, A Ferret, Oblige, Joe, Emilowish, Sean, Tim Schmidt, Dim, Violett T, Kail H, dragonslaver, Jon, RosaC, TsukiNoNeko, NPM, Jim A, Spicyice101, Vesperal, Addmolition exe, Frogsamurai, Alex F, Kiri, Rhuodric, Nord, Filthymacgyver, Grey J, creativityfails, Spartanstoryteller, Peter D, Bum, Zaire M, Plasmatique, Lodris, Chester, AnotherUser, BeautifulBusinessBoi, Papito12495, KeMon C, Geo, Pedro B, Rat, LR Brantley, ZZStrider, Sharkerxjak, Quakdoktor, nothingtoseehere, Mystic Corn, Paul S, coolblue, Ole W, Daniel J, Cosimo, Nick S, Pharros, Michael J, Jan, ChairmanK-, William F, Zhijia, Andy S, HeyMrJack, NineXO, Exceedes, Gustavo S, Serina T, lepton, sqw4l, Micah T, L'iien, Kisekibigdumb, Nikolai M, David G, endgame13, JK, Ian R, Rain, Jason H, Scandalion, ACertainName, Cosimo Yap, menirx, Pierre-Luc J., Alex A., Bridie, Christopher M

 

[Soussouni1]

A/N: Happy new year! Here's the final part of this interlude

INTERLUDE - CONFIDANTS II

The hum of the world was a song he always heard but never understood. Vibrations threaded through his exoskeleton, a constant rhythm that spoke of prey moving, hiding, breathing. Each tremor was a verse, every whisper of movement a stanza in the predator's symphony. He did not see the world as others did—the numerous colors Slowking or Toxicroak spoke of were muted. It was, however, a more brilliant world than his trainer could ever hope to see. A large hat covered Cecilia's head to keep her eyes shielded from the sun; she leaned back into a chair and sat on a terrace belonging to some feeding establishment. The terrace buzzed with the idle chatter of humans, an endless stream of soft voices and softer bodies. Scizor scanned the crowd, instinctively assessing. None of them would last more than a second should he rise, should his predatory gaze mark them as prey. Their confidence baffled him—so exposed, so unguarded, as though the fragile shell of their lives was impenetrable. Perhaps he would never understand them.

Still, he obeyed. Cecilia had ordered him to sit, and so he did. The chair beneath him was too small, too fragile, creaking under his weight. His claws rested idly, twitching now and then, craving purpose. The air carried the scent of food—sweet, savory, fleetingly warm. It stirred nothing in him. "It tastes good," Cecilia had told him, her tone light, pleased. He did not care. Food was sustenance first, nothing more.

"Sorry to bring you all the way out there," his trainer said, voice soft. "I've wanted to eat here for a while—you were at the Pokemon Center when it caught my eye."

Needles in his joints, the coldness of gloved human hands, blinding lights, and a consciousness that was barely even there. These so-called 'Centers' were unpleasant, but they allowed him to fight and to push himself further and further. Scizor did not answer; he nodded instead, inclining his head to his trainer. He listened as she kept commenting on the intricacies of the food, a leftover trait from her earliest days as an offspring of her well-off family. He did not particularly care for it, but he engaged. Scizor pointed at the tastiest-looking morsels, and she would tell him what it was, let him taste it, or tell him that she could order one for him if he so wished.

It was pleasant.

His trainer adjusted her hat, leaned forward on the table, and smiled lazily at him as if she was not about to face certain loss in her next battle. She did not care, he knew, because win or lose, a battle, albeit a mockery of a fight for survival he had been through countless times in Eterna Forest, was fun. Her theatrics were fun. Her eccentricity was fun. Her sense of self had been born, and it had brought with it enjoyment beyond her or his wildest dreams. He did not understand most of it, but the voice at his back seemed so engrossed in the clash that he could not help but fight twice as hard.

It was the end of Cecilia's time to feed, now, and she looked rejuvenated, ready to face the giant that would be Aubri Schneider. Her blank eyes were difficult to judge, even now, but the stare felt as if it was longing for something. A ceaseless hunger to be more. It was a look that unsettled many of her fellow humans.

"How well do you recall our first meeting?"

It was crystal clear.

He had smelled them entering his territory and observed for a time, gauging his chances until he'd been ready to strike. He steps out of the shadows and presents himself with a screech in hopes of making the humans and their Pokemon flee, breaking formation so they become easy pickings, but they stand their ground. And so, he lunges forward, going straight for the Pokemon he now calls a comrade—Zolst.

I do as if it was yesterday, Scizor answered. A grin followed, and he snapped his pincers together, attracting attention. Easy pickings.

"What a day that was," she said. "I valued my life so little that I held my friends hostage in order to catch you." Her head cocked to the side with a fluid, unnatural tilt. "I suppose it was a kidnapping."

For a moment, Scizor believed an apology was coming, and he prepared to rebuke her—not because she hadn't done anything wrong. Part of the steel type believed in the rule of the strong, and she had not defeated him on her own, let alone overwhelmed him with numbers. So what worth had she been?

But no. They had hashed out their differences long ago, and through her, Scizor would be able to obtain far more strength than he would alone. Enough to eventually destroy the Sleeping Mother that was Eterna's beating heart and shake up its order.

Why reminisce? Feeling nostalgic? Scizor wondered with a chittering, metallic laugh.

Cecilia could not understand his words, not exactly. But she had learned enough about him by now, and been through enough with her team to understand the gist of most of whatever they said whenever they spoke.

His trainer laughed too, a hearty sound that made his wings flutter despite his best efforts. Her laughter spilled from her lips like it had no bounds, her body moving with it in a way that was too loose, too free. Her head tipped back abruptly, as though a string had been yanked. "Sad?" So she had misunderstood nostalgia for sadness—close enough, in Scizor's eyes. He nodded. "No, no, I'm… no, not always happier than back then, but I certainly am better. I was just thinking about the amount of change a person can go through in such a short time. Such a violent alteration of the self."

Scizor shrugged. His head was more in the coming fight than philosophy; Slowking or Talonflame would have been better partners for this discussion. Still, she had picked him, and he would listen, for that was his duty to her. Sure, he reluctantly said. Experiences make people change, humans faster than Pokemon. Throughout the years he'd spent in the forest, he did not remember changing. New tricks, new ways to fight, new territory, but his way of thinking had remained the same. The bond between human and Pokemon, the shared experiences, learning to know others instead of viewing them as prey or a threat; they had changed him more in a few months than the length of time between when he crawled out of his egg and he was caught.

Finding himself suddenly interested, Scizor did his best to explain this concept to Cecilia. She got the gist of his message, even if some of the details were lost in translation.

"Do you know what the most morbid part is?" she chuckled. "I think that I was stuck in that forest for a while. I was you." Scizor's eyes narrowed and his claws flexed, preparing to snap, but he did not call her stupid quite yet. "Learning how to fight more effectively—how to better kill, but never anything else." She did not lower her voice, and quite a few heads turned her way, some wary, curious, and a few plainly unsettled. "But now I'm out. I can see the sun unobstructed by any canopy or fog, and it's so blinding." She raised a hand to call over a waiter, asking for the bill. "You know how it is, to see our star after a long time without it. It's all-encompassing, and you can hardly make out anything other than obstructing light."

Stop meandering, Scizor said. I already know what you mean.

"Right? I'm changing every day, even now," Cecilia said. "And while I've already burned many a bridge, seeing more of them set aflame would be a shame."

Temperance. She was talking about Temperance.

"You were a solitary soul with no one to leave behind and thus the transition was easier, but I ask you this." A finger tapped their table twice. "How is one supposed to go through this without destroying what they built beforehand, and how do they prevent it?"

A hefty question, one Scizor figured he was ill-fitted to answer, yet she had picked him. His mind did not dare to even think to offer someone else in his stead. You truly do like her, Scizor sighed. So I cannot tell you to burn it like you did with the others—to free yourself of their expectations of you.

"That would have been just like you."

He couldn't help it; he leaned in, and the table clattered. Then why ask if you expected to hear something you didn't want to?

Her face softened—he had learned human expressions well. "That would be because I trust you. I would not just cut her out like a rotting limb just because you'd tell me to, but I would appreciate hearing your thoughts."

Does she make you happy? he hesitantly asked.

She looked like she'd heard the question many times, the familiarity of it all reflecting in her relaxed state. "Of course. The issue is—it's difficult to trust her. Can I love someone if I look her every action over twice?"

Scizor shrugged. He did not know that type of love, and he did not care for it. When one did not understand something, they were better off telling the truth. After a few moments, he answered, I watched the blonde in silence, observing her before we left southward. The desperation to lie to herself. It had been irritating, even if he hadn't known what it had meant back then. I can tell you that this new one is not the same. She breached your trust, yes, but she came clean soon after. She wants to do good by you.

For a long while, they stayed silent. Enough time for Cecilia to pay the bill and for them to start walking toward the stadium to meet the very woman they'd been talking about and her friends. Scizor loomed behind her, a silent guardian meant to shadow her at all times to show support, but his trainer's face lit up like morning sunlight filtering through the scant openings in Eterna Forest when she saw her mate, and he couldn't help but restrain mocking laughter.

He kept his posture stiff, his gaze scanning their surroundings for anything that might disrupt this nauseatingly sweet reunion. Cecilia gently caressed Temperance's cheek, and one of the friends—a pale girl—stared away with a smile that reminded him of his trainer when she forced herself to look happy.

Back in Eterna Forest, many Pokemon feigned readiness for battle when they crossed his path, and he had done the same—flaring his wings, puffing out his chest, and hissing in a show of bravado. It was all a desperate act to appear stronger than he truly was, hoping to intimidate opponents who could have easily overpowered him.

Scizor thought this girl—Amber—to be horrid at acting.

—

The Floaroma Sanctuary sat on the outskirts of the northern part of town, blending seamlessly with the vibrant flower fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was a place of purpose and quiet care, dedicated to providing a home for abandoned wild Pokemon and those left behind by deceased trainers. Those who had nowhere else to turn to in the face of loss so devastating, or simply somewhere Pokemon could rest if they were tired. Paths of worn dirt and stone curved through the sanctuary, dividing the sprawling fields into distinct yet interconnected areas. Each path was lined with wildflowers, their summer blooms swaying gently in the breeze, creating natural boundaries between the habitats currently being built by the staff. They wouldn't be as expansive and detailed as the Hunters' 'daycare', at least for now, but they would do.

It was the place of Louis' dreams.

Buildings had sprung up, dotting the meadow here and there, but most of it was unobstructed wilderness. Already, Pokemon wandered in occasionally. Justin's Ludicolo hopped and sang to a pair of Buizel near a pond, accompanied by his dancing Audino. Sometimes, Louis would spy Corviknight flying overhead; the steel type could come and go, leaving for days at a time, but he always came back eventually. The rest of Justin's Pokemon were out of view, as were his. He imagined Gabite to be making the rounds, guarding the edges of their territory despite the surroundings being relatively peaceful. He had already gathered an entourage of underlings wanting to grow stronger with his guidance—perhaps these would be the bulk of their security one day. Vespiquen was thinking of starting a colony around here with a few of the wild Combee she had added to her thrall, and Louis figured selling the honey would be an adequate source of income. Ninetales enjoyed speaking to people, whether human or Pokemon. Already, she'd helped at least a dozen wild Pokemon get back on their feet with one of her famous pep talks.

Empoleon… was still finding his footing here. Louis' starter still felt out of place, a malaise-like feeling that he swore he would push through. He had, after all, never done anything but be Louis' loyal and first Pokemon.

Louis ran a hand through his hair, letting out a satisfied sigh. He enjoyed watching everyone going about their tasks; a few dozen feet away, an older man in a wide-brimmed hat adjusted the ropes on a canvas awning shading the future feeding station. With practiced ease, he tightened the knots and tested their strength, giving a satisfied nod before moving to inspect the wooden tables underneath. As he worked, a Linoone scurried by his feet, carrying a bundle of towels that someone had clearly entrusted it with. Closer to Ludicolo and the pond, a young woman crouched by the water's edge, her hands submerged as she carefully rinsed smooth stones. She placed them one by one along a winding path meant to guide Pokémon safely to the water.

He had made it happen. With money coming from Justin's father and Grace's help finding the location, but Louis had coordinated all of this. It had been endless, but satisfying work, and he was still vibrating with more ideas to implement—

A light tap on his shoulder. Louis turned and—

"Gah!"

He stumbled back, nearly tripping in the process until he planted a strong leg on the ground and let out a ragged breath that only managed to squeeze past his tightened lips. Cecilia stared down at him with an apologetic look that he would have struggled to find in her empty eyes, once. Back when they first met, he used to be a smidge taller than her. "S—sorry? I was calling and you didn't say anything, so I figured a tap… are you quite alright?" She patted him on the shoulder and craned her neck to look to his side.

"I am, I am." Goodness, to be scared by your own friend? How embarrassing. Getting a better look at her, she was wearing all black—obsidian, even. Maybe it'd had something to do with her battles today. "I wasn't expecting you, is something wrong?" They'd seen each other a few times, but none of these had been since the Conference began. He'd expected her to call as always. "Did you fly here?"

"It pays to help save the world." Cecilia pointed back with a thumb at a nice-looking Kadabra. "I wouldn't have the time to fly—I have another battle in a few hours."

Louis' eyes widened. "Oh, how was your battle with Aubri—"

Suddenly, the Unovan burst out laughing, holding onto her stomach. The two long scars on her face stretched and bent with the laughter. "She wiped the floor with me!" Louis struggled to see the hilarity there, but seeing her laugh was enjoyable. "Even Scizor's armor just dissolved in the face of her Salazzle's poison. It was quite the show." She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Ah… what a rush. I didn't even get to finish my play, she just shut me down entirely. She has a way of just… closing doors and destroying your options. Oh well, it was fun, still." A mildly threatening look glinted in her eye. "I got good data out of it, and I barely managed to strike down that Salazzle. Then again, it felt like she wasn't trying as hard as she could have been… but I'm rambling."

"It's fine," Louis said. "I'm not busy at the moment. Want to sit and watch the sanctuary while you talk?"

She nodded, patting down behind her skirt the moment she sat on the grass. Without wasting a breath, she talked of her fight. Of how she used Golurk to set up and break the field, steal light itself with a technique he couldn't even wrap his head around, and make music linger long enough for Scizor to appear on the field and remain a red, beating heart whose attacks would make him shine ever brighter in the pitch black and he was all the audience could look at or hear. She even showed him the video!

It was too bad that Salazzle just shut down Scizor in a mere minute and thirty seconds.

"Aubri's an analytical fighter, but not like Grace, studying every move and tactic and whatnot, or Gardenia who gets into her opponents' heads. She's like a surgeon, see?" Cecilia explained, pointing at her screen. "Even in the dark and over shattered terrain, her Salazzle has immaculate spacing; not a movement of theirs is wasted. They always remain close enough to be a lethal threat, but far enough to be safe from Scizor even when he's using Agility. It's disgustingly efficient." Cecilia tapped the edge of her phone. "It makes me shiver just looking at it."

"Does anyone else battle like her?" Louis asked.

"Plenty try, she's just the best at it if you ignore Cynthia and Lucian." Cecilia looked longingly ahead. "And a few of the Battle Frontier, maybe."

"You'll be headed there, soon, right?"

"The day the Conference ends. To be honest, I was nervous about it now, but the truth is, I cannot wait. I'd like to spar with Cynthia at least once even if it would be akin to challenging a God. She promised me."

Louis hummed in surprise, leaning back in the grass as he watched a few of his employees pass them by, carrying crates of care supplies. "When she told you about Spiritomb?"

"No. When we first met in this very city."

Her eyes burned so intensely that he mistook the life in them for pupils. She'd found so much to latch onto, was so much better than she used to be, that it was like night and day with her. Louis was elated for her. When he looked at his friend, it was like her entire body was screaming as one for the challenge even if she'd get crushed.

"But how are you doing—"

"You know," Louis interrupted her with a smile. "I'm glad you met Temperance."

She squinted at him—not maliciously, but out of pure nonunderstanding. "What does that mean?"

"I'm happy you met her," he repeated. His legs went flat against the grass, and he stretched with a groan. "I'm sure your Pokemon are as well. It's as if she breathed life into you."

"I don't like the idea of needing someone to do that," she stated plainly and slowly. "But I suppose you're somewhat correct. She made me love battling instead of seeing the practice as a means to an end. When I fight, I remember that I'm alive. I feel the rush of blood through my veins, I welcome the nails that dig against my palm, I await the soreness that overtakes me afterward. It's a wonderful experience."

He understood that, even now, despite not having reached as high as she or Grace had.

"I considered bringing her here for you two to finally meet," she continued, "but she didn't feel like going out."

"That happens sometimes."

"Hey, Louis." Cecilia hugged her knees, her long arms draping around her legs. "Do you think I'm capable of this?"

He wondered what she meant. "Of what?"

"Sometimes, when it's dark and late at night, it's pitch black, and it's so quiet that all I can hear is my beating heart," you could barely hear her, now, "I get flashes in my mind. Visions of distilled agony."

"Can you tell me what those are? You know I used to get… dreams." A crack opening atop Coronet, howling and howling until they could only hear its songs and the screams until it swallowed the world whole. "Though I suppose Grace fixed those."

One of her eyes twitched. "I don't know. It's shameful."

Louis flinched back—

"Not you. Sorry." Cecilia nibbled on one of her nails. "I feel so much shame all the time, and no matter how many steps I climb toward my journey to reincarnation it's always there, right behind me. No. I have to carry it with me, and it's grown so heavy." The Unovan sighed, shielding her dark skin from the sun with an open palm. The light filtered through the opening in her fingers. "It was easier when I was so angry I couldn't tell it was there."

He understood the… gist of it, or at least he figured he did. Louis awkwardly dragged Cecilia into a side hug. It wasn't smooth—his elbow bumped against her arm, and his hand awkwardly rested just above her opposite shoulder. "Love's hard. I get it. But I discovered something after, uh, you left us that letter and you left running in Coronet. And then when you came back, my hopes and dreams of bettering myself for you were crushed." It was funny to look back on now, to think he had a chance. Back then, however, it had shattered him into a million pieces. Maeve had helped pick them up, and Mira had tagged along for the ride…

Maeve, uh.

He wasn't romantically interested in her, still, but he did miss her. She'd all but vanished, checking in via text once in a blue moon.

"I believe that before you can fully and healthily love another, I think you have to first love yourself," Louis said. "But that's a… utopic vision of it I hold. Insecurities can work to crush a relationship, so I think that if you just bring it up, she'll accommodate your fears."

Cecilia bit her lip. "You're right. You're right, I want to make this work. I'll talk to her—I'll tell her tomorrow. After her friend's birthday party later tonight."

Louis nodded. With how ashamed she was of this topic, he figured she needed time to prepare. "Great."

"So now… how are you doing?" Cecilia asked.

—

Sinnoh's Champion traced a spreadsheet line with a finger, adjusting her reading glasses. Every week, each Sinnohan city and town sent her an expense report, along with budgetary needs she needed to sign on. It was quite the busywork for the people who had to compile all of this, but little for her so long as she looked the numbers over.

For Cynthia, life was an endless stream of work. Sometimes, it was a torrent that threatened to wash her away should she not tighten her grip around her most trusted advisors and her Elite Four, and sometimes, it was like today. A trickle, barely a stream. She had delegated tasks well, and now found herself with only menial work to do for the rest of the day, and it would most likely remain so for a while. She would, after all, be absent for a few weeks after the Conference with the very trainer sitting in her office. Though she'd remain reachable for much of that time, thanks to their proximity to the southern tip of the Battle Frontier, the eventual stretch of radio silence would be inevitable. It would do well to let Sinnoh breathe and function without her while she was gone, even if she felt like the place would collapse without her.

It was not a realistic worry, but one borne of her being so hands-on with every facet of her cherished nation. Togekiss chirped behind her, sending endless waves of soothing calm that kept her going so long as she didn't close her eyes for long. The nightmares—seing that thing every night, observing her silently—would most likely not be something she would ever get used to. With a heavy breath, Cynthia ran a hand through Togekiss' fur—the fairy leaned into the touch—and she glanced at a framed picture of her twin sister, grandmother, and herself they had taken recently near their home with Garchomp behind them. Of course, her dear draconic sister never looked at the camera, and she was blurry.

Cecilia Obel hummed a tune she was preparing for her next set of battles tomorrow. The sun was about to set, with her record for the day being one victory and two defeats. She was in the middle of the pack, but she would need to ramp things up should she want to progress past groups.

At least she looked to be enjoying herself. Cynthia dove back into her spreadsheet—

"That's your sister, right?"

Cecilia leaned forward in her seat, eyeing the side of the framed picture. Cynthia smiled, turning the picture so she could get a better look. "Celeste, yes. That's my grandmother, Carolina." She pointed at the older woman. "She'd dislike you."

The teenager deflated. "Why?"

"I just know my grandmother." Oh, she'd be polite to her face, but behind closed doors, she would talk all about how the kid's behavior unsettled her and how 'nosy' she'd be. "My sister would like you, though. She'd find you interesting."

Cecilia's blank eyes fixated on the picture. "I wanted a sister when I was young. I thought that we'd be able to go through everything together. That I'd keep her protected from Clarence." A sad smile reached her lips, and she put the frame down. "A foolish endeavor. It's a good thing he didn't put any more children into the world." She returned to humming a song—quite an upbeat one. She seemed in an optimistic mood despite the somber topic. "I thought of Amy Saunier as a sister, once."

"People change," Cynthia offered; the statement seemed to resonate inside of Cecilia.

"Some for the worse." The Unovan shook her head in disgust. "What's it like to have a family?"

"It is… a lot of work," the Champion said, "it's a bond you have to constantly nurture, despite what people may tell you. But you know about that already. For a while, I let this bond decay, but I'm hoping to make the most of it now." Pride surged in Cynthia's chest. Bubbling excitement surged within her, forcing her to push words out. "I'm going to be an aunt."

"Th—that's the fifth time you've told me that since we started these meetings."

"And I'll tell you a sixth," Cynthia shot back without hesitation. "You're starting to sound like Bertha. Can you imagine it? Celeste with a kid—Arceus, that feels so strange to say, but I'm so excited to spoil the little one… I can't wait to teach him all about battling."

Togekiss let out a worried chirp, telling her to calm down, but she ignored him. There was no age too early to be taught about Pokemon.

"Why is that strange? She's your age…" Cecilia muttered, nearly under her breath.

Cynthia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Of course, she wouldn't understand—not yet. That kind of perspective only came with time, when the years began to slip past unnoticed, and news of friends marrying or starting families became the norm. Life had a way of moving faster than anyone was prepared to admit.

"Did I say something wrong?" Cecilia's tone rose in a mild panic.

"You'll get it one day—ah, yes, family. Nurturing bonds," Cynthia continued, finding her footing. "This is the case with every relationship, be it a friend, a partner, or even a co-worker. You tend to it like a garden. Some days, it's easy—sunshine, fresh soil, everything flourishing without much effort. Other days, it's storms, droughts, or pests trying to tear it all apart. But the key is consistency. You don't give up just because it's hard until you're certain your plants are irreparably damaged and dead."

Cecilia had already begun to diligently write notes on her laptop—

"Do not do that," Cynthia said.

The girl's fingers froze. "Take notes?"

"Yes. Do not take my word for anything unrelated to Pokemon battling or governance." Sometimes, she forgot the image she'd cultivated over the years. The infallible Champion who could never lose nor be wrong. "I'm just giving my opinion."

"Your opinion is still… appreciated." Cecilia gulped and scratched her neck; she was the picture of anxiety in that moment. Blinking rapidly, dry-lipped, twitching. All of that lasted barely a second. Cecilia pushed her chair back with a soft scrape, the hesitation in her movements giving way to a growing steadiness. "I'm going to try even harder from now on."

"Good. Don't forget—in two days, Aliyah will be here."

The Unovan nodded, thanked Cynthia for her time, and left.

"It's just you and me now, Togekiss," she muttered. "Let's move on to Floaroma's spreadsheet…"

---

Thank you to my Patreons - Spandaz, Alex Walters, ObsidianOlive, A Ferret, Oblige, Joe, Emilowish, Sean, Tim Schmidt, Dim, Violett T, Kail H, dragonslaver, Jon, RosaC, TsukiNoNeko, NPM, Jim A, Spicyice101, Vesperal, Addmolition exe, Frogsamurai, Alex F, Kiri, Rhuodric, Nord, Filthymacgyver, Grey J, creativityfails, Spartanstoryteller, Peter D, Bum, Zaire M, Plasmatique, Lodris, Chester, AnotherUser, BeautifulBusinessBoi, Papito12495, KeMon C, Geo, Pedro B, Rat, LR Brantley, ZZStrider, Sharkerxjak, Quakdoktor, nothingtoseehere, Mystic Corn, Paul S, coolblue, Ole W, Daniel J, Cosimo, Nick S, Pharros, Michael J, Jan, ChairmanK-, William F, Zhijia, Andy S, HeyMrJack, NineXO, Exceedes, Gustavo S, Serina T, lepton, sqw4l, Micah T, L'iien, Kisekibigdumb, Nikolai M, David G, endgame13, JK, Ian R, Rain, Jason H, Scandalion, ACertainName, Cosimo Yap, menirx, Pierre-Luc J., Alex A., Bridie, Christopher M

 

[Soussouni1]

CHAPTER 343 - HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Alcohol flowed freely as Amber Stewart's birthday party came to life inside Ronaldo's sprawling penthouse. The living room buzzed with energy, a whirlwind of people and Pokemon moving to the pounding beat of the music. Cassandra, ever the clown, belted out off-key lyrics for the crowd's amusement, drawing laughter and groans in equal measure. Meanwhile, Temperance's Whimsicott danced with Kael, leading him in a playful whirl under the gentle breeze she conjured. Temperance herself was doubled over with laughter, her Dragonair draped lazily across her lap, letting out an indignant growl whenever her hand paused mid-pet. Amid the chaos, Amber sat stiffly beside Temperance, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. Normally, her sharp wit had no trouble cutting through Cassandra's antics, deflecting Kael's doting compliments, or matching Ronaldo's long-winded speeches. But tonight, she was quieter, her usual sharp tongue replaced by nervous silence. Her shyness was never far when Temperance was around, but tonight it seemed magnified, her unease more noticeable against the laughter and cheer echoing around her.

Cecilia herself couldn't focus, either. She no longer found dancing enjoyable—and they knew as much—so at least she had an excuse to be sitting. She found refuge at the bar away from Temperance's worried gazes, her gaze drifting toward the glittering lights of the League outside, as if anchoring herself to the world beyond the party. She wished, more than anything, that she could allow herself a drink, let the alcohol dull the edge of her thoughts. But not tonight. Tonight, her mind had to stay clear like the sky on a beautiful day.

Still thinking? Slowking said beside her, his hands behind his back. He curiously browsed the selection of drinks at the counter—Tanqueray Gin straight from Galar, Chardonnay from Kalos, Paldean Wines from Ronaldo's family's vineyard, and all kinds of the usual hard liquor and mixing beverages. You ought to rip off the band-aid. Carefully. Like, you know when you douse it under warm water to get at the edges, but at the end of the day you're gonna have to get to it anyway—

Cecilia exhaled long and hard. "I know what taking off a band-aid is like." She reached for her glass of cold water and took a swig, enjoying the frigid sensation within her. "And I hate that metaphor."

I mean, we can talk metaphors all night; we can also just differ in opinions and cut to the chase. Slowking took a step in the air, the invisible barrier not even making a sound under him, and he sat on one of the high chairs next to her. His stubby legs dangling up and down were quite cute. Unless you do want to talk about metaphors all night. Wouldn't surprise me—

Cecilia threw the rest of her water at him, knowing he'd easily stop it. The gem atop his Shellder shone bright red, and the liquid turned to a thin line, snaking its way back into her glass with an elegance fit for someone who'd gotten water thrown at them their entire life. That was before the psychic nudged his head up, and a few drops of water flew on Cecilia's face.

"My makeup!" she whined and lunged at one of the napkins.

You dish it out, but you can't take it. Slowking winked, evaporating the water in an instant. Did our fighting like a couple of children make you feel better?

She gave it some thought, leaning against one of her palms as she twirled her glass around. Cecilia hadn't realized she'd been smiling, but the respite only lasted a moment. Despair and shame quickly clawed their way back into her, tunneling through skin like worms into soil until they reached her heart; they clung to her, making her body feel like lead. Her ankles, her wrists were rigid; her knees would have buckled under the weight of such pressure had she been standing. The Unovan finished her water, and Slowking gave her a refill by dragging some out of the tap and levitating it directly into her glass. She needed more—she was out of breath, she was—she was cold—her fingertips felt so numb it was as if her hands weren't hers—

A hand and a dull claw gently scraped across her back. Why don't we go somewhere more private? He looked around nervously to see if anyone had noticed, but Cassandra's latest fall had everyone enthralled. Temperance will most likely come check in on you soon; she doesn't like it when you're isolated too long.

"And this time I don't have 'studying for a battle' as an excuse." The Unovan wiped cold sweat off her face, and her fingers lingered on the edge of her biggest scar until feeling returned to their tips. "I don't think I was this nervous when I was about to face Jupiter, even."

Adrenaline and not caring about your life back then was a horrible mixture. Slowking waved a hand dismissively. So? Shall we?

"Mhm."

She carried her glass of water like it was her lifeline, making her way over the edge of the busy living room. Music boomed in her ears, the vibration going through her as if she were in a concert. Would they get noise any complaints tonight? Did it even matter?

"Cecilia!" Cassandra called out, nearly out of breath. Her body was covered in sweat, and multicolored lights reflected on her skin—or at least she'd been told it was multicolored. "Stop sulking about some battle and come dance with us!"

"There's no us! Gah!" Ronaldo screamed when Whimsicott blew a gust of air at him, and he stumbled back. "Temperance! Get your foul beast off me—ah!"

They were fun, these people. Out of touch, perhaps, but as kind as they could manage. Kinder, even, than she had ever been in her days as a sheltered rich girl. The same, she supposed, could be said of her friends.

Oh. She'd forgotten herself. Her old friends.

"I'll come by later, I just need to discuss something with Slowking," she said back. "We'll be just… ten—twenty minutes. Sorry, Amber. I know this is your birthday, but…"

Amber, for her part, answered with a ghost of a nod, not even meeting her eyes. Temperance did not say anything, but her eyes betrayed the clarity with which she saw Cecilia. Slightly narrow, eyebrows raised with worry, and an unspoken expression that seemed to ask if she needed her. Cecilia bit her lip and mouthed back a 'soon.' She just had to get her thoughts in order. She just had to get her thoughts in order. She just had to get her thoughts in order…

Room. A bedroom, to be exact. You could tell it was Ronaldo's by all of the Paldean things he kept in it. His family's heraldry hung on his wall: a stylized Bombirdier give that the species roamed the mountains of his house. A handwoven rug he had transported up here was spread across the floor, its bold light colors forming patterns reminiscent of Paldean tapestry. Paldean books, brands, everything and anything. You could tell he was somewhat homesick, even if he had come here to spread his wings away from his mother's watchful eye.

"I hope he doesn't mind." Cecilia wasn't sure he would approve her being in here, but already, her breaths came easier. With a hand on her chest, she took deep inhales and exhales. "I'm okay. Don't touch anything."

Wasn't going to. I'm not Toxicroak. After a pause, the water type raised his hands with a grin. She might hit me over the head if she hears. You wouldn't sell me out, would you?

Cecilia leaned against the walls with her arms half-crossed and imagined it—a well-placed Brick Break right on Slowking's head. "I won't. Or I will if you don't focus on the matter at hand."

I'm trying to make you relax.

"It's unfortunately working," she answered dryly.

He paused, the words lingering on the edge of his tongue as he seemed to weigh his options. Cecilia braced herself for a witty retort or one of his signature bad jokes. Instead, she got this. How may I be of help, my lady? Why are you finding venting about your anxieties to your own partner so stressful?

Hm.

She knew the answer. It wasn't as if she hadn't hinted at it all throughout this day when she had gathered advice from people she thought would be of help.

"Picture a basement. It used to be a box, but it grew into a chest, then a vault. Over time, it got bigger, more reinforced. Every worry, every fear, every doubt I've had about Temperance's fidelity—I packed them inside and locked them away. And now…" she trailed off, blinking rapidly. "Now I have to just let it out. All of it. It's grown so, so big. It used to be tolerable, but I can't bring myself to fully trust her. I get thoughts. Horrible n—nightmares." The words came out with a shiver. He had seen her waking with tears in her eyes.

The Pokemon tilted his head, letting the words sink in. Do you think she'd refuse to accept you? I am certain she would understand, especially since she knows your history. Temperance is an understanding human. Empathetic toward those she keeps close.

The Unovan did not even hesitate for a moment. "Of course, she would. That's what scares me."

Acceptance?

"Accommodation. As it stands, there'd be no way to fix the way I feel unless we took drastic measures. I'd need—I'd need so much reassurance… it would border on the—no, maybe we could reach compromise." A pause. "Compromise. I start therapy soon. Then maybe. Maybe." She kept whispering the word over in over, thinking about every single way this could go and no doubt not even scratching the surface. "There's also the shame," she said, quieter.

There's nothing to be ashamed of. You were hurt, and now it's like you're expecting to be able to just be able to walk on with a gash in your leg. He pointed at her scarred limb for effect. Grace was the Krokorok in this instance, and this time you didn't kill it.

"Please refrain from bringing her up, especially if it's to put that picture in my head."

The psychic sighed, not understanding, but complying. My apologies. He bowed with an arm on his chest. Let us speak of shame, then.

She chuckled bitterly, tasting bile in the back of her throat until she sipped on more water. "The Copperajah in the room? Sure, let's talk about it. I've felt ashamed of myself for getting my heart broken since that day. I go outside, and it feels like people would laugh at me if they knew. I hear someone talk about her, and I feel the need to quicken my pace to get away from her name. I see her, and I stumble over my words and feel the need to say sorry even if I should not." She'd nearly run out of oxygen. "All I feel is shame except when I'm battling, the only method I have of expressing myself freely."

Wouldn't that mean it would feel good to tell Temperance everything? Isn't that expressing yourself freely?

"I will tell her tonight; I'm tired of running. It's just… I need to work my way up to it. Plus, I wouldn't want to ruin this party for Amber. Arceus, I wish I could hate her." The crush on Temperance was… Cecilia figured it was obvious. Sometimes, she imagined getting in between the two of them and telling Amber to back off.

Oh, who was she kidding?

She'd be too scared of being dumped again. The fear of being abandoned for someone better—more stable and understanding—while she dealt with her issues was a constant pressure that had her feeling like she hadn't taken a clear breath since that evening in Canalave. Stuck in place, dying of thirst around an oasis with so much water available around her.

Cecilia looked down at her near-empty cup, seeing her distorted reflection in the glass. Fingers clasped tightly at the receptacle, a sad smile building upon her visage that hurt the corner of her lips.

"Killing is so much easier than this."

That, it is, Slowking agreed. Let us speak more of this.

—

Nine minutes—no, ten. Ten minutes since Cecilia had gone off on her own, and over forty since Temperance and she had spoken a word to each other. Slightly over an hour since the party had begun. Temperance craned her neck toward the hallway until Dragonair bumped her in the arm with her head. Ever the histrionic dragon, this one, but Temperance loved her all the same. The coordinator gently ran her nails under Dragonair's chin, eliciting a soft vibration from the delicate wings on her head. Even the tip of Dragonair's tail responded, the two pearls at its end softly clinking together as they rattled in delight.

To head over there or to not head over there? Temperance knew Cecilia needed her space when she got like this, or she would close herself off even more and stare you down in… she still didn't even understand what it was. Not anger, but disappointment? No, it wasn't. She knew what disappointed Cecilia looked like. Temperance watched Cassandra collapse on one of the couches for a break with ragged breaths so loud they broke through the music—the music that Kael lowered now that everyone was done dancing. Fear? What did a scared Cecilia look like, even? She'd scantly seen that look on her face. God, why was she so bad at deciphering her own girlfriend's expressions? Cecilia wasn't easy; she could be quiet, lived in her own world most of the time, and despised—truly despised being vulnerable. She was a book closed down by a clasp, shoved into a safe that had been dumped to the bottom of the sea a continent away.

Kael clapped his hands to gather their attention. "Should we do gifts? Ambs, what do you think?" When he did not get an answer, his brows creased with worry. "Ambs?"

Amber was paler than usual—you could tell even with all of the party lights bouncing around. She kept fidgeting with her thumbs, looking down at her lap and mouthing something so quiet no one could hear but herself. Whimsicott spun in the air, growing closer and closer with curiosity until Amber yelped and backed up against the couch.

Temperance wished her girlfriend was this easy to read. New members of her entourage were often nervous around her before they grew used to her presence, either because of her standing amongst those in the coordinator community, some crush or both. Ronaldo had been only a crush, since he was already used to mingling with those society designated as 'above' him in society. Cassandra was her oldest companion, and there had been one-sided sparks there for a while until Temperance talked her down. Kael, meanwhile, did not have a crush, but he had stumbled over his words the first few weeks they'd interacted because of how terrified he'd been of making a social faux pas. Amber had been the most obvious of all, asking Temperance about what she and Cecilia thought of open relationships a few weeks ago with the subtlety of a Snorlax attempting to tiptoe in a library.

Really, the only reason Temperance hadn't privately shot Amber down yet was because she worried about the reaction the little critter would have. She was bright, brimming with potential, and filled with so many great ideas, but she was also… she was also Amber. Skittish as a Wimpod and ready to run at the first sign of hardship. Her life had been blessed by good looks, talent, and intuition; she had not truly faced rejection ever, romantic or otherwise.

Long story short, Temperance would have to pick her words very carefully to not hamper her future. Once upon a time, she wouldn't have cared much; things were so much easier back then.

"Earth to Ambs," Cassandra joked. "Come on, did you get hit by a Confuse Ray, or what? Whimsy, did you—"

The grass type hissed in indignation, a sound that did not sound like it should have come out of her mouth, as if to say she technically didn't know that move, even if she could technically replicate a bootleg version of it that looked pretty.

"Sorry. Erm, if that's—if that's okay with everyone…" Amber trailed off.

Ah. There was her opportunity. "Shouldn't we wait for Cece? Actually, let me go get her," she said before they or her jealous Dragonair could react. Not that they would have said no regardless. They all agreed as she made her way toward the hallway—

"Um—Temperance!" Amber's voice cut through the living room, stunning the coordinator like lightning. "Before we do gifts, actually, could we talk about something, just the two of us?" She gripped the sides of her dress like a child. "It's, um, contest related."

It wasn't contest-related, that much was obvious. Temperance looked back toward the hallway, noticing the light under the door to Ronaldo's bedroom and catching the quiet sound of Cecilia's voice now that everything was so still. She then glanced at Amber, who was trembling like a leaf and looked like she was about to have a heart attack. She was putting everything on the line for this. Oh, dear. Saying no here would destroy her; she could see Amber tearing up already. The coordinator ran her hands through her hair and gave her a reassuring smile.

"Sure, Ambs. Let's go for a walk for a second." Her friends all knew already, having opted to let Temperance deal with this on her own this entire time. "Guys, if Cecilia comes back, you let her know that we'll talk when I'm back."

When she'd said go out for a walk, she had meant it. The ride down the elevator was quiet, but Amber looked just about ready to collapse in on herself. It was quite admirable, to see the girl push herself to. The little rituals she had to calm down—the muttering under her breath, the constant tracing of fingers against her palm, the way she nodded as if to reassure herself. None of it would matter, in the end. Ding, the elevator rang, and they made their way out of the extravagant hotel lobby. Dinners and conversations, laughter and joy, to be surrounded by such things and to be about to crush a girl's dream was… it had to be done.

Even if the Lily was active during the night, it was nothing compared to daytime. One could easily find a deserted street or alley or bench or park for themselves. Temperance did not know where Amber and she were going, but it was only a matter of time until her friend gathered enough courage for a confession. So long as they didn't stray too far and it didn't take too long, the coordinator was willing to make this as easy as possible.

Eventually they stopped a few minutes later in a small, tucked-away park nestled between two towering apartment buildings. The dim glow of streetlights filtered through the sparse canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows on the worn cobblestone path. A single wooden bench sat beneath an old lamppost, its light flickering faintly, giving the space an almost ethereal quality and inspiring a million contest routines. It wasn't grand or picturesque, but there was an intimacy to it. Was that why Amber had chosen this spot? She looked striking under the soft, flickering glow of the lamppost, the light catching the subtle shimmer of her brown hair, which had been styled into loose waves that framed her face. Her pale skin seemed almost luminous in the dim surroundings, a stark contrast to the dark fabric of her dress.

Amber took a breath. Here goes.

"I—" Amber clearly wanted to stop, every nerve in her body was screaming at her not to do this. Clenched fists, tightened jaw, and a whole lot of desperation. "Temperance, I'm sorry to say this when you—you have a girlfriend. But I can't take advantage of your kindness any longer!" Was that how she saw it? Taking advantage… maybe from her perspective, it could make sense. Amber clutched at her heart, wrinkling her clothes. "I'm in love with you. I'm so in love with you that every second spent thinking that I might never get to date you hurts like my heart's being run through a blender. I can't do this anymore." She laughed nervously, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. "So I'm putting it all on the table."

Oh, Legendaries. Temperance wished she would have given up eventually; she figured Amber would have, given that the girl had never been inappropriate with her. Temperance's saddened gaze lingered on her, and she blushed bashfully, face turning away. Boring. Too childlike. But not her fault.

"It must have taken a lot of courage for you to say this," the coordinator sighed. Amber was barely holding it together; this was not what someone wanted to hear after their confession. "I'm sorry, but I don't reciprocate your feelings. I love Cecilia."

The dam broke. She could not hold onto her tears any longer. "I—I figured as m—much," Amber sobbed. "Yeah. You two probably want me out of your hair. I'm sorry, I'll go—"

"Do not." Temperance knew how this ended. First, she'd go sleep somewhere else, then they wouldn't speak for a few days, and they'd slowly drift apart. "I mean, obviously you can leave if you want because I'm sure you'll need space, but hey." The coordinator stepped forward, sitting on the beach before patting the space next to her. Amber didn't move. "Crushes are hard, I get it. Sometimes, they're hopeless, but you can't help but want to get it off your chest so you can finally move on."

Amber nodded amidst her sniffles and sobs.

"I still want you to be a part of the group, not only because you'll squander career opportunities if we aren't close, but because I like hanging out with you… though I haven't seen you be normal next to me in quite some time with your anxiety around me and whatnot. When's the last time we had a conversation about ideas for performances? It's been over a month!"

Amber let out a lachrymose laughter, full of tears and regret, and she wiped her face with her arms. "I'm sorry. I guess I've been a bother." She laughed again, this time harder. "Arceus, I forgot—I had this whole pitch about how good of a duo we could have been with me helping you come up with routines for contests."

Temperance smiled. "Did you forget?"

She chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, I just completely forgot." She slid onto the bench—but stayed at the edge so she wouldn't be too close. "I think I knew I had no chance, deep down. You're right that I just needed it off my chest—I feel like I can actually function around you now and it hasn't even been ten minutes."

Good. That had gone as best as it could have. "If you want, we can stick around here for a bit while you calm down before we head back—if you want to." Now all she'd have to do was tell Cecilia while they talked.

Amber glanced up at the moon, half hidden behind a cloud. "I have gifts to open, don't I? Let's stick around a little and then head back."

—

It wasn't perfect. It just wasn't, but maybe it never would be and that was okay. Cecilia stood perfectly still in front of the door, not even a finger twitching. She was real. She existed, and she could feel her feet against the ground; the air working its way past her nose, throat, and into her lungs; the cold spreading across her hand when she wrapped it around the doorknob. Slowking had been helpful just listening and challenging her ideas; Cecilia knew she could count on her Pokemon for everything and anything. They were so good to her even if she had rarely deserved their kindness.

Today, Cecilia was ready to say that she had worked her way up and that she deserved them again. She was nervous—of course she was. The little voice in the back of her head told her that she needed to silence herself if she wanted this relationship to last, but she knew the trickster was only scared to wear her heart on her sleeve.

You can do this, Slowking said.

"I can do this."

Cecilia slowly pushed the door open. She let the sound of the outside world sink in for a moment. Voices, music, Pokemon, flowing drinks. She imbibed it to center herself and anchor her newfound courage to this reality. Momentum carried her, for she could not allow herself to think too long. She reached the spacious living room and found the usual suspects, meeting them with a smile—they were all sitting on different couches, though Dragonair had claimed a beanbag for herself coiling up so she could fit. Cassandra browsed through her phone, occasionally joining in on the conversation between Ronaldo and Kael. Cecilia scanned the room—

Her smile fell. "Where are Temperance and Amber?"

"Went out to talk," Amber said. "Odds are the newbie's shooting her shot and confessing. They'll be back soon, but odds are…"

Cecilia didn't hear the rest of that sentence. Her ears were ringing—had she been stabbed? She slowly looked down at her chest, expecting to find a blade or a spike embedded in her ribs, for blood to be pouring down her skin and clothes, but found nothing. Where was this hurt coming from? Her vision was spinning as if she were drunk—she didn't even feel alive. An out-of-body experience that left her staring down at herself and taking in a spoonful of agony at a time. It was happening again. It was happening again. She'd been too slow to act out of fear of being replaced and in turn, she was being replaced. She could have stopped it she could have said something she could have intervened she could have saved herself and now it was over over over over over.

Had she even changed at all?

A hand and a dull claw gently scraped across her back.

Cecilia! Slowking screamed into her mind.

"Cecilia?" Kael was close to her now. Too close. He tried clasping her shoulder, but a hand rebuffed him—it was her hand. She hadn't even registered the skin-to-skin contact or noticed she'd been moving. "O—oh. Sorry? I was just worried—Cass didn't speak right—"

Cassandra held her hands together and made an exaggerated bow. "Sorry!"

"—she meant that there was no way Amber wouldn't be rejected. I mean, it's obvious, right?" Kael finished.

"Even Ronaldo had better odds," Cassandra mumbled.

"Screw off," he grumbled.

"Spare me your platitudes." Cecilia shambled along the living room; her knees felt like they were carrying Coronet itself. Slowking kept calling out her name, but it didn't matter. It was too late. The laughs and giggles, the time they spent together on their own, how much Temperance brought Amber up unprompted even when they trained—the signs had been there. No, it hadn't even been too late. There was just nothing she could have done; they were destined to be together. She would have fallen off the wayside eventually. One of the best coordinators in the country and a girl who was being heralded as a Type Energy genius across the community? The writing had been on the wall. "I'm leaving. I'm so tired."

They tried stopping her—it was all a blur. She lashed out without thinking, calling them unserious clowns who ought to experience ten percent of what she had before telling her that it wasn't a big deal. She yelled that she'd never see them again and that she would be all the better for it. She tore into them until they stopped trying to reason with her, and despite the anger feeling good, despite it being a veil to hide her fears and regret behind, she knew she did not mean any of it before the words even left her mouth.

She'd torched her only new friendships for a few minutes of respite. Not that they were ever real. Just like with Temperance, it was only a matter of time until they saw the ugly part of her and threw her away. No, they were real. But were they? They were; it was just easier to pretend they weren't to facilitate tolerating what she'd just done. Tears were slowly running down her cheeks, but she did not sob. Not since she'd died.

Now, they just flowed.

Whatever.

They were in the lobby now, and she was hugging herself, lying down on one of the public couches. The small ones that were never sizeable enough to contain her, and so her legs dangled off the side and every so often someone would ask her to pass, and she would ignore them, and they'd go around her with annoyance in their eyes until they saw what she looked like. Some fled, some apologized, some—

That wasn't a very good thing you did, Slowking said. I almost considered knocking you out with Hypnosis, but decided against it.

That was the understatement of the century. It wasn't as if she was going to stay in the group and pour endless salt into the wound, watching Temperance and Amber be with each other. Just imagining was enough to get her sick—oh God, she couldn't throw up here. Cecilia rushed and crawled toward a bin next to the couch, but only managed to cough over the can.

"I think I'm sick." She looked around—people were shooting her concerned looks. Luckily, it was late, so the lobby wasn't as packed as it could have been. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. Cecilia wiped the corner of her mouth. "I need to…"

A bit of psychic force pushed her upright. If you puke, I'll pick it up before there can be any issues, Slowking spoke into her mind. Are you going to run away?

She gave it some thought. "No. I was going to wait upstairs, but evidently my emotions got the better of me." She wiped more tears from her face, taking deep breaths of fresh air to keep her stomach from acting up. "What now? Do I just wait at the hotel entrance and let her break me?" she whispered. "I'd like to go out there and meet them to quicken the process, but I don't have the tools to find them in the middle of a city."

The water type shook his head. You didn't listen, but the others were thinking Amber was going to get rejected—

"It won't happen. No, it might happen tonight, but eventually… eventually it'll be over." Just like before. "It's just like you said. I don't want to limp through this a second time, hoping I'll be the one who gets chosen in the end. It's okay."

Slowking clicked his tongue. Hear her out! You're being like this for no reason—no, not for no reason. I apologize. He shook his head and circled around the lobby's couch. You've been hurt; you think you'll get hurt again, but confessions aren't a zero-sum game.

"We'll see," she whispered, already knowing that everything was doomed.

Eventually, Cecilia started feeling well enough to walk, but as the minutes passed, she started figuring that if Temperance had rejected her, there'd be no reason for them to be out this long. How many minutes had it been? It felt like nearly an hour, but her phone told her twenty-three. Cecilia waited, waited, and waited until she noticed them come in. They looked quite unbothered—they were smiling, even. Jealousy burned within her, a bonfire high enough to reach for the skies, intense enough to sear all that would reach too close. It didn't even matter what Temperance and Amber were like. One simple fact already spelled Cecilia's downfall.

Both of them were here.

Even Slowking had doubt etched on his face. She wanted to slip away and to pretend she'd never known these people.

"Do you think they were planning to deliver the news together, or just Temperance?" Cecilia asked. "Not that it matters. I'll engage them on my terms."

Once again, she would enable a new couple's happiness and fall on her sword for them. She'd already caused enough damage upstairs, so she at least owed them this—and wasn't it better this way? They could be truly happy, and there was technically no infidelity afoot. In fact, this is what Grace should have done.

Yes, things were better this way. It hurt, but it was better. "I'll tell you how it went." She recalled Slowking, who despite the look in his eye, did not protest her tackling this on her own. She threw his Pokeball up and down, feeling mildly better now that she'd gotten thirty minutes to think. Around the central help desk, beyond one of the hotel's restaurant, and onto the elevator hall. Her steps carried her further than theirs; she reached them quickly.

—

A haunting voice fit for an evil spirit startled them.

"Evening, you two."

Temperance flinched, and Amber's soul nearly jumped out of her skin—she would have fallen over had Temperance not grabbed her by the arm. The coordinator recognized the voice, but she did not like Cecilia's horrible tone. Defeated, yet resigned. Nails against chalkboard, each word forced through her esophagus like toothpaste through a tube too tight. The white in her eyes was tinted red, a sign that she'd cried some, and she used her height to loom over them like a Pokemon wanting to appear more threatening than it was. Why wasn't she up at the penthouse? In the moments that followed, a deafening quiet overtook the three of them.

Until Cecilia spoke again, fangs bared. "What? I'm making it easy for you, so just come out with it. At least say it to my face."

What the hell was she even talking about? "I think there's—there's a misunderstanding here. Why don't you go upstairs and wait for us to come back, Ambs?" No answer. Temperance glanced to her right and saw her frozen in place. They weren't really cornered and about to die, but Cecilia had a way of making you feel you were. "Amber." Temperance shook her friend by the shoulder."

"S—sorry."

"Go up to the penthouse. We'll meet you there."

She nodded meekly, following her guidance to the letter. She stood there awkwardly until an elevator came and climbed on.

"So it's just going to be you?" Cecilia said.

"I—Cecilia, what's wrong?"

The Unovan's eye twitched, and her fist clenched. Temperance had said something wrong. "I know she confessed to you already," she growled. "Were you going to tell me today, or were you going to string me along? Until when? The Conference's ending so it didn't affect my performance in the tournament? Give me a break." Cecilia moved in closer, hunching over until they were at eye level. "After I told you everything, you would do that to me?"

In this instant, something clicked in Temperance's head and she realized something.

Her relationship was now on a knife's edge.

"Cece, I was going to tell you as soon as we came home." She spoke fast—she had to if she wanted to rectify this. "Yes, Ambs confessed to me—"

"Ambs. Always Ambs. She's the only one that gets her nickname used as many times as me." Cecilia laughed, and her hand touched her forehead. "I'm always so blind—"

"No, no. Let me speak." She had to put her foot down, now. "I rejected her, Cecilia! Nothing is going on between us. I told her clearly that I didn't like her back."

Her face was still the same it didn't work why didn't it work— "then tell her to get out. Kick her out of your group, block her on everything, and never talk to her again."

"Come on, that's a bit extreme—"

"I see. Then it's over."

Why was she being—no, it was obvious why she was being like this. Temperance's mind was racing; what should she say, how should she react, how could she salvage this? "Cece, I'm willing to spend less time with her—I can do that. I can stop calling her Ambs, I can—I can do whatever you want," Temperance said. "But I can't… exile her. I—you know that I have a lot of clout. People will talk, wonder why she was given the boot so soon after being accepted, and the gossiping will ruin her career before she could ever get her foot off the ground." It was dangerous to be her friend. She was not the best coordinator in the region—although she was close—but she was easily the most famous. That was why she usually kept everyone but a few at arm's length.

Something akin to clarity reached Cecilia's eyes.

—

I see.

Cecilia tried making sense of it in her head instead of attacking, attacking, and attacking to shield herself from the pain for just a few more minutes, and she truly gave it some thought. It was true that Amber's reputation would most likely never recover so long as Temperance was on top of the coordinator world. And surprisingly—

Cecilia did not want this. She found herself caring when she wished she did not.

"I understand," she said, her limbs going limp at her side. "I get it."

"So, can we… just pretend this never happened?" Temperance's voice trembled with a desperation Cecilia had rarely witnessed. It twisted something inside her—an uneasy mix of guilt and gratification. She hated herself for the flicker of warmth that came from knowing she did truly matter to her. She found herself disgusting. "Let's just head back to our own hotel room? I just—I can't handle a party tonight."

Yeah.

Yeah, Cecilia could see herself accepting this. An apology, a smile, a hug, and an 'I love you' whispered in Temperance's ear; it would be easy, too. She might even be forgiven for her outburst toward her friends given a few days despite not deserving that at all. Things would eventually go back to normal, and everything would be fixed.

Everything except for her.

"I'm sorry." Cecilia noticed the shattering of a face—like porcelain under pressure. "I can't."

The words were barely out of the Unovan's mouth when Temperance followed up with a "why?!"

Why?

Because she would never be able to shake the feeling of an impending betrayal. Grace had said the same thing, after all. That she didn't really like Maylene, that the Gym Leader had been but a friend, and then something more then a friend but less than a girlfriend, and then she was gone for a few weeks, and then they made out behind her back.

"I'll never trust you. It's not your fault, but I never will."

"Have I done anything to erode that trust?" Temperance asked, desperate to understand.

"No. It's not your fault," she repeated. "I'm just… not right. I'm going to Unova soon, and every day, I'll wonder if you aren't doing things without my knowing. I'll start wanting to micromanage you, and then I'll start hating you. It won't work." Even if it hadn't been Amber, someone else would have inevitably used their long-distance relationship to confess to Temperance. Their relationship had just been doomed because her sense of trust was broken. "We can't date anymore."

"But we love each other. I've never loved someone as much as you!" she begged.

"We do."

"I—I'll—I changed my mind," she forced out, her breathing uneven as she struggled to form the words. "I'll… I'll do what you asked. I'll talk to Amber and say she can't stay—"

"You don't really want or mean that. You're a good person, Temperance."

Her shoulders sagged. "You start therapy soon. Maybe we can work something out—"

"I realize now that it's meaningless. I'd break up with you now either way. I'm sorry."

Tears in her eyes. "We're so good together."

Tears in hers, too. "We were."

Then, silence. Perhaps a hope from Temperance that Cecilia would change her mind, perhaps a hope from Cecilia that she'd find a way to make things work. Nothing came up.

"Can I go get my things from our hotel room?" Cecilia asked. "If you want, I can come another day—or I can send one of my Pokemon to get it—"

"Just get it now." She hid her eyes with a hand and whimpered. "Just—just get it now so it's over with."

Cecilia called for the elevator, waited what felt like an eternity, and then hopped on, but she was surprised to see Temperance get on, too. Not because she figured the coordinator would try to win her back somehow, but because of how awkward it was going to be—not that Cecilia cared much about such a notion. She just thought Temperance would.

"She ruined you," Temperance hissed through clenched teeth and paced around the elevator. "Grace Pastel broke you like a piece of frail wood over her knee, and now we both suffer for it while she goes around in costume like some cheap… some cheap jester."

"Yes."

She kicked the elevator wall and then moaned in pain. "Fuck. Fuck." She sobbed and stared up at the elevator lights. "How can you forgive her for this? There is not one ounce of regret in that piece of shit."

Cecilia allowed the urge to defend her first ex-girlfriend pass and watched the numbers tick by. Floor 18, 19, 20—it helped. "I was angry for a while. It felt good. Righteous. I raged against everyone and everything around me, which is why I treated you so badly at first." The Unovan stood utterly still. Every extremity felt frigid. "It makes you feel active. In control. It's a very potent illusion, I think." Even before Grace's infidelity, she'd found herself getting angry beyond control. Maylene's mere presence, Coronet in general, Justin's death and her thrashing that house… "I was scared all the time in my childhood, and up until very recently. All the time. So I overcompensate by getting angry and burning everything down. But I'm not angry right now." She finally moved, running a hand through her loose hair. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired."

Temperance blinked at her. "You can say whatever you want; I will never, ever forgive her for taking you away."

"And that is your right." 25th, 26th, 27th floor. "I hope you don't do anything rash."

"...you're too good to her."

"I've seen her down the deepest throes of depression. If I let you hurt her—" and by the Legendaries, Temperance could do so easily "—what does that do for me? Does it bring my sense of trust back? Obviously not. In fact, it probably damages it further in the long run. It doesn't even bring me… petty satisfaction. It's nothing. Just nothing. Smoke. I wasn't a good girlfriend, so she chewed me up and spit me out. It is what it is."

Ding. The elevator doors opened on the 38th floor, and they set out toward their room. Cecilia could tell Temperance walked slower than she could have. The Unovan humored her.

"People will talk," she mumbled, "about the breakup. It'll tarnish your reputation, even if I put out a statement that makes you look good. I mean, I will."

Of course, it would. Two breakups so close to each other? Not only had Grace's rather toxic stans been a sight for sore eyes—already, they'd noticed that the friend group had split completely in Grace's favor; clearly this must have meant Cecilia was a demon who deserved nothing, so she was sure they'd rejoice—but Temperance's was older, more seasoned, and larger.

"Thank you." Cecilia dipped her head. "I appreciate it. I can't do anything about it regardless. No use crying over the inevitable. I'll keep a low profile."

"...are you sure there's really nothing I can do to salvage this?"

"Nothing."

"Damn it."

Their hotel room looked more somber than usual. Beyond clothes and her laptop, Cecilia didn't have much here. She didn't have much in general; nothing kept her tethered to this world. No more friends she could frequently see, with how busy Louis and Chase were these days, no more girlfriend, no more connections. Sometimes, Grace, when it was late at night and neither Grace nor she managed to fall asleep out of fear, her ex often talked about what it meant to be remembered, and what she could do for her name to echo generations beyond their death.

Beyond her Pokemon, Chase, and Louis, Cecilia figured she'd be forgotten in about a few years should she die. She'd be an afterthought in a few minds—remember that Unovan trainer who was in the Conference as a first year? Oh, what was her name again? That would be it. She had no roots planted anywhere, no place to call home, nothing that anchored her to this place. She might as well drift away in the wind as soon as her echo returned to Distortion.

Temperance lent her a bag she could pack all of her clothes in so she wouldn't have to make two trips, and honestly, she didn't feel like having to explain this all to Slowking before she settled inside the nearest Center—Arceus, would there even be room this late into the Conference? Would she have to camp out in the wilderness or sleep on some bench and wait to use the showers in the morning? Two heavy duffel bags in hand, she stood at the door of their room.

"So this is it, then? Nothing to be said to me—you'll just put your head down and pretend all of this is your fault?" Temperance demanded to know.

"It isn't fully—I acknowledge that."

"I—I hate that you're doing this. And—and Grace gets away with this scot-free."

"I think that if the opportunity came by, I'd want to talk to her one last time," Cecilia admitted. "For the last time in a while, at least."

She wanted to gently caress her cheek, to offer her a hug so overwhelming she would no longer be crying, but it would just make things hurt more for the both of them.

"If you start battling worse because of this, if you let this hamper you, I'll make sure you hear from me," Temperance threatened with her arms crossed.

"I'm afraid you've instilled a love for battling in me that is strong enough to withstand this. Even now I'm excited for my fight tomorrow—hopefully, my team cooperates."

"Good."

"And I want to take this opportunity to thank you for everything," Cecilia said. "I—I was lost and at my worst when I found you. I still kind of am, but at least I—at least I'm better. I think." Good enough to see beyond wanting to destroy anything mildly unpleasant, at least. "I honestly had no right to date you—"

Temperance's eyes moistened. "Stop…"

"It's true. I was awful to you in every sense of the word, and you put up with me until I changed. You're so kind, Temperance. Kind, driven, well-spoken, social, at the top of your field—you're everything I aspire to be. I was lucky to have you."

The coordinator rushed forward, wrapping Cecilia into a tight hug, who couldn't help it; she let her bags go and felt her back. It hurt. It hurt a thousand times. A self-inflicted splinter beneath her skin buried deep and bleeding her drop by drop. It was final. It was also soothing, and Cecilia finally got that undisturbed breath she longed for. The embrace felt like an eternity, but it was still too short.

"Thank you for everything," Cecilia said, grabbing her bags one last time. "Tell the others I'm sorry for lashing out at them. I said a lot of unsavory things that they didn't deserve." She turned to open the door but didn't move. She'd nearly forgotten. "Oh. And tell Amber happy birthday for me. I never did tell her."

"I will." A pause. "Think of me once in a while. Take care."

She left.

—

Lehmhart sang a sappy tune, his internal chords producing a melody that was akin to a melancholic piece on a violin—perfect for what she needed. The soft hum of his gears provided a rhythmic undertone, like a metronome with a mind of its own, occasionally skipping a beat. His fingers moved in perfect sync with the music.

Zolst had sprawled across the grass, his central head resting heavily on Cecilia's lap. His snores were enough to make a child stumble, though Slowking would have a lot worse to say about it. Speaking of, nearby, the psychic was nearly finished weaving invisible, opaque barriers around their makeshift camp, enclosing them in a bubble of quiet safety. If they had to sleep under the stars tonight, then they would do so in a sanctuary of their own making. Cecilia exhaled softly, her frustration still lingering from her earlier attempts to find shelter. Four Pokemon Centers, each one turning her away with the same apologetic explanation: no space. The rest of her team, meanwhile, was still at the nearest Center being treated after her latest battle. They'd discover her predicament soon enough, and she could only imagine the reactions.

These three had reacted with… more understanding than she'd have thought. Even the Hydreigon on her lap.

"I'm exhausted," she sighed. "I think I'll go to sleep right away. I have to wake up early if I want to catch a shower. Then I have clothes to iron for my outfit of the day tomorrow…" she'd never ironed before. Something to learn, she supposed. "Yeah."

I'll wake you, Slowking said. Good night, my lady.

Cecilia slid away from Zolst and hopped inside of a sleeping bag.

A hand and a dull claw gently scraped across her back.

---

Thank you to my Patreons - Spandaz, Alex Walters, ObsidianOlive, A Ferret, Oblige, Joe, Emilowish, Sean, Tim Schmidt, Dim, Violett T, Kail H, dragonslaver, Jon, RosaC, TsukiNoNeko, NPM, Jim A, Spicyice101, Vesperal, Addmolition exe, Frogsamurai, Alex F, Kiri, Rhuodric, Nord, Filthymacgyver, Grey J, creativityfails, Spartanstoryteller, Peter D, Bum, Zaire M, Plasmatique, Lodris, Chester, AnotherUser, BeautifulBusinessBoi, Papito12495, KeMon C, Geo, Pedro B, Rat, LR Brantley, ZZStrider, Sharkerxjak, Quakdoktor, nothingtoseehere, Mystic Corn, Paul S, coolblue, Ole W, Daniel J, Cosimo, Nick S, Pharros, Michael J, Jan, ChairmanK-, William F, Zhijia, Andy S, HeyMrJack, NineXO, Exceedes, Gustavo S, Serina T, lepton, sqw4l, Micah T, L'iien, Kisekibigdumb, Nikolai M, David G, endgame13, JK, Ian R, Rain, Jason H, Scandalion, ACertainName, Cosimo Yap, menirx, Pierre-Luc J., Alex A., Bridie, Christopher M

 

[Soussouni1]

Spoiler: Team

Togekiss/Princess (Hustle) - Pound, Sweet Kiss, Growl, Headbutt, Fairy Wind, Ancient Power, Extrasensory, Thunder Wave, Air Cutter, Wish, Psychic, Shadow Ball, Dazzling Gleam, Moonblast, Charge Beam, Air Slash, Mystical Fire, Tri-Attack, Nasty Plot, Defog

Jellicent/Buddy (Water Absorb) - Bubblebeam, Night Shade, Absorb, Water Sport, Water Pulse, Hex, Poison Sting, Mist, Acid Armor, Shadow Ball, Recover, Brine, Whirlpool, Hydro Pump, Water Spout, Acid, Will-O-Wisp, Ice Beam, Taunt, Scald, Boil, Freeze, Protect, Ice Blade, Rain Dance, Extrasensory

Electivire/Honey (Motor Drive) - Thundershock, Swift, Elemental Swift, Thunder Punch, Charge, Leer, Ice Punch, Thunderbolt, Discharge, Fire Punch, Protect, Cross Chop, Thunder, Low-Kick, Screech, Radiant Leap, Static Shield, Bulldoze, Hammer Arm, Rain Dance, Lightning Bolt

Tangrowth/Angel (Chlorophyll) - Vine Whip, Absorb, Mega Drain, Stun Spore, Bind, Poison Powder, Leech Seed, Ancient Power, Power Whip, Knock Off, Sunny Day, Giga Drain, Sleep Powder, Solar Beam, Solar Blade, Brick Break, Ingrain, Bulldoze

Tyranitar/Sweetheart (Sand Stream) - Leer, Tackle, Horn Attack, Rock Throw, Payback, Stomping Tantrum, Smack Down, Bite, Rock Slide, Crunch, Sandstorm, Iron Defense, Dragon Pulse, Iron Head, Earthbreaker, Aerial Ace, Stone Edge, Dark Pulse, Rock Polish, Surf, Earthquake, Ice Fang, Flamethrower

Turtonator/Sunshine (Shell Armor) - Smog, Ember, Smokescreen, Incinerate, Iron Defense, Flamethrower, Shell Trap, Dragon Pulse, Bulldoze, Scorching Sands, Rock Tomb, Body Slam, Flash Cannon, Solar Beam, Rapid Spin, Scale Shot, Iron Tail, Focus Blast, Sunny Day, Fire Pillar, Flame Charge, Heat Crash, Fire Blast, Shell Smash

Claydol/Cassianus (Levitate) - Mud Slap, Rock Tomb, Rapid Spin, Harden, Confusion, Psychic, Barrier, Imprison, Wide Guard, Light Screen, Reflect, Ancient Power, Teleport, Earth Power, Sandstorm, Scorching Sands

Meltan/Mimi (Magnet Pull) - Harden, Acid Armor, Tail Whip / Not a battler

---

CHAPTER 344

"Oh shit. Did you hear?" Rare were the times these days when Emilia looked shaken to such an extent—at least with me. Wide-eyed, she stared right at me with an iron grip on her phone. "Shit, shit, shit."

I glanced at her for a moment, finding it difficult to rip my attention away from studying Marley's battles. She was a real headache to plan around for given that her Pokemon could easily run circles around mine save for Honey, who I hadn't used all day specifically for this occasion. There was also my costume to adjust and plan for—since we were friends, I was going to wear a special one for our battle and not just go with the multiple I'd been repeating en masse. Emilia called my name again, and I spun toward her on my chair, sinking deeper into it as if I were melting. The Kalosian Knight idea had gone over well, even if it was delayed due to costume issues until Melody finally got it delivered to me. The accent was… a work in progress that Poketch stopped me from doing because it'd be offensive. A brand risk, they'd called it.

"When I took refuge in your room, it was to really get away from all the noise." If I'd stuck with Maylene during study time, I never would have been able to focus and I would have been trying to hang out with her within twenty minutes—plus, she had work to do for the opening of the knockout stage; Denzel was streaming, most of the time with some people I didn't know online; Pauline had just been here, but had gone to buy us lunch while I holed up in this Pokemon Center. "If I lose this next battle, I'm screwed. I won't get to fight anymore."

I'd gotten enough pressure from Poketch telling me that it would be really great if I got to the knockout stages given that this was when the majority of TV and internet viewers started tuning in to understand not to screw around and apply myself meticulously. So far, I'd basically been living a dream, fluttering my wings to carry myself from one fight to the next, caring more about the hilarity and adrenaline of a battle and about what was learned than the results themselves.

If it were up to me, that would still have been the case. I wasn't nervous; I just knew that a lot of people counted on me to make them a crap ton of money.

Only the top six would be allowed to advance within our group, and both Marley and I were jockeying for that position, somehow having exactly the exact same win-to-loss ratio. In these final days of the group stages, there was no room for error. That did not mean fun was out of the picture; it was just that every single angle had to be considered. Honey would be instrumental in the battle, but Marley was smart, and she knew this. What measures would she take to counter him, did she have Pokemon unavailable to fight, did—

"I think it'd be better to tell you instead of you finding out."

—counter him? Crobat's going to be a factor for certain, but who are going to be the other two? Arcanine? Electrode? Having to consider which of my own Pokemon to bring in factoring on my opponent's hadn't been something I'd been too experienced with before this month. Only Gym Battles had filled a similar niche—

"Cecilia and Temperance broke up… a few days ago," Emilia said all of a sudden, "It was announced today on her socials—not that I look at them often or anything. Haha…"

I snatched her phone from her hands faster than she could react. The statement Temperance put out was short, to the point, and eerily similar to mine. Hauntingly so, in fact. There was an obviously hidden facet that people would be able to glean: there was more behind the breakup than an 'amicable split' as was described. I read it. Then I read it again, and again, desperate to decipher these platitudes, to read in-between the lines to understand what happened because—

Because despite it not making any sense, I still felt involved in Cecilia's life. I had hurt her so terribly in a way I possibly could not fully understand despite knowing how awful my actions had been, so hearing that she'd moved on to someone else… it hurt me at first when there was still enough fuel for jealousy within me, but now, I was just happy for her. Had been happy for her.

My heart felt cold. Charred sticks and spent coal, smoke, and ash. The afternoon sun shone brightly through the living room's curtains, casting long, jagged shadows across the floor and pooling like ink in the corners. There was not one cloud in the sky. The light carried with it a weight that felt nearly suffocating, like hands covering the room, spreading until they'd choke the life out of everything they touched.

You flew too close to the sun.

Emilia let out a long sigh. "I want to say I told her being single was better but… it'd be in bad faith; I'm obviously biased." She slowly outstretched her hand, expecting her phone back. I moved my arm—I tried moving my arm. It was heavy; the device felt like one of Maylene's heaviest dumbbells. "Grace? Are you—"

"I'm okay," I forced out. "Well, no. Not really, but I'll deal."

"You look really pale."

I gulped and grimaced. "I'm just…" this time, it truly felt as if I were melting in Emilia's chair. "It had been a while. I thought they were going to go strong—I thought she'd be able to be happy. And if she can't do that, well, I—I—"

Did I deserve—

There was a soft prickle on my wrist, followed by one of Mimi's soothing vibrations. Reflexively, my hand found itself touching and feeling at the warm metal. How the tremors spread through the tip of my fingers, down the skin and bone, and then reached up to my shoulder. The rhythm was soothing.

"I'll be fine," I exhaled. I'd nearly been about to call Maylene for help—oh, I had to text her about the break-up, too. We were involved in Cecilia's troubles, the two of us, whether we liked it or not. My legs pushed me back toward my laptop, where a video of Marley's Crobat in action was paused. Poison was just about to gush out of the flying type's wings, as if had with each flap of his massive wingspan. "Right now, I need to focus on this." The words rang hollow. I glanced at my phone next to the laptop. "Right after I text my girlfriend."

Surprisingly—or many might say unsurprisingly, Maylene had texted me about the news two minutes ago, asking if I needed to see her. The first urge that flared up within every nerve, every synapse, was to fire off a quick 'no,' using her work as an excuse to shield myself away from the world and to pretend it'd be a good exercise in independence. Urges were just that: urges, and Candice's words echoed in my head. It was fine to depend on her, just as it was fine for her to rely on me.

And by the way she texted, I could tell she wanted to see me too. There were no grammatical mistakes or shortenings. I told her we could meet when she was free in about an hour.

"Can you close the blackout curtains and turn on the lights?" I asked. "The room feels too bright."

"Too bright?" Emi looked around. "I mean, I don't see it, but sure." She moved to close the window, looked through it for a moment, and then drew the curtains together. "Are you certain you can deal?"

"I gotta, anyway. Not like I can go and talk to her about it," I said. Legendaries, I wished I could so dearly—a heart-to-heart, this time, and not a shouting match. "I gave away that privilege a long time ago, and I shouldn't have spoken to her in that item shop." My stomach rumbled, and I rubbed a hand over it to soothe the ache. "Where's Pauline? I'm so hungry."

Everything felt mildly uncomfortable. The weight of my hair brushing against my neck, the hollow sound of my nails tapping the keyboard, even the rhythm of my own blinking—it all grated on me. And the lights. Those relentless, artificial lights. They burned too bright, sharp enough to scorch the edges of my skin and dig deep, as if they could settle beneath the surface and fester. The glare bounced off my laptop screen, piercing straight into my eyes, and I couldn't shake the desperate urge to crawl under a bed and never come out.

I changed my mind and asked for Emilia to open the curtains again. The sun was indifference. A giant ball of plasma incredibly far away that skewered the world with light not out of malice or purpose but simply because that was its nature. The bulbs on the ceiling felt… too personal. A magnifying glass on my person meant to look at my sins.

Fortunately, Pauline returned with the food not long after, offering an apologetic smile as she set the bags down. "Sorry for the wait," she said, brushing a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. "There were a fuck ton of people out there. You'd think they'd get bored after spending so many days on here." She'd picked up a few neatly packaged meals, the kind that came with utensils tucked in the wrapping, and the faint aroma of roasted spices and something fried filled the room almost instantly.

She took the news of Cecilia and Temperance breaking up…

Not mockingly. That would be wrong of me to say, but she did not feel bad about either, and I could swear I heard her mutter 'told you so' under her breath. It did not do much to assuage my worries—in fact, it mildly frustrated me, but I stayed silent and ate my food. Crispy breaded chicken with steaming white rice nearly smothered in some kind of sauce. Neither Pauline nor Emilia said much about the break-up other than a few theories about what could have happened, but it was clear that they didn't want to speak on this topic with me in the room.

The meeting with Maylene was soon approaching, so I gave them what they wanted and left the Pokemon Center, forgoing my armor, plastic sword, and helmet to go out in normal clothes. The last thing I wanted right now was to attract any attention. Usually, when I walked around the Lily in costume, people couldn't help but look at me. Some pointed and laughed, some just glanced, some asked for pictures, but they looked. I was radiant, giving light and shine of my own.

I was in no mood for that this afternoon.
I considered myself decent with people. Not great, but decent. That was why I expected Temperance to be absolutely furious at me from our previous interaction at that Kalosian restaurant—or the lack of it. Maylene believed it to be a coincidence, but there was no way it wasn't linked in some way. Just no way. That could only mean that she was a woman of action and that an attack would be coming any time now—figuratively speaking. I deserved it. Of course, I deserved it. But I still couldn't help to theorize. It wouldn't be a reveal that I was a cheater, given that this would hurt Cecilia as well, but…

Gah. No use catastrophizing about something out of my control, even if that was easier said than done.

We could have met anywhere but opted for the Gym House away from the crowds and prying eyes. I kept Buddy out during the half-jog there, wrapped tightly around my skin more for comfort than for protection at this point. The Jellicent was soft and had made himself warm like a blanket. Every so often, his tendrils shifted, anchoring lightly against my shoulders or waist as if to remind me he was still there. The sensation used to be strange, somewhere between a hug and a second skin, but it was welcome. Really, it felt as if he were doing half of the walking, keeping me from tripping while running uphill or pushing me forward when I hesitated.

Maylene was already waiting at the gate beyond the narrow road leading to the property, cross-armed and with a frown strewn across her pretty face. Her hair looked like it had been ruffled recently, probably by Candice or Roark looking to cheer her up. Just seeing her made me feel ten times lighter; she could purge the tar around my heart and fuel it for what felt like a thousand years to come.

Buddy slipped through my sleeve the moment my hands motioned to hug her. "Maymay," I said with a satisfied sigh. I felt so safe in her arms. "I—things feel like—my demons are finally catching up to me, and it's making me feel awful because this—this feels like I'm trying to make it about me and—"

She gently grabbed my head and placed her forehead against mine. Her pink eyes could see right through me. "I get it. I feel the same way." I could tell she was trying to keep her speech pattern steady to reassure me, but it ended up sounding mildly unnatural. Either way, it somehow worked. "Wait. Your costume…?"

"Left it at Emi's," I mumbled. "Didn't feel like getting people to look at me today."

"Oh…" her voice trailed off, fizzling off into the wind. She looked behind me, making sure I hadn't been trailed by some rabid gossiper. If I had, Buddy would have warned me. Maybe scared them off too. "Wanna head inside, or…?"

"Sure."

The tone I took reassured her for an unknown reason, but I could tell it did. Maybe it was the fact that I could still answer questions with a minimal amount of aplomb, or maybe it was something else, but Maylene gave me one of her reassuring smiles and held my hand until we were through the garden, patio, and inside the house. I shook my shoes off at the sliding glass door leading up to the living room. Buddy remained outside, vowing to chase away any wannabe paparazzi.

"The others are still out—I came here as fast I could and they told me they'd take over my work." Good. We were alone, away from so many eyes. Maylene trudged through the kitchen, opened the fridge, and leaned down to look inside. "Want anything to drink? Nia bought, uh, grape juice earlier. We were out."

I flopped head-first on the couches and groaned. "I feel physically unwell," I spoke into the seat with a muffled, whiny voice. "I don't even know how I'm going to battle today—and I still have Temperance to worry about, and I'm gonna have to deal with people being weird about it online and out on the street—I shouldn't even worry about that." What I was dealing with must have been so small compared to Cecilia's heartache. "I shouldn't even worry about anything. I'm making it about myself." A lack of concern was unrealistic, maybe I was making this a bigger deal than it was? "Plus, Pauline was being super weird about it. She's still hung up on their fight. It might cause tensions in the group—"

The couch sank slightly, and I felt Maylene's hand on my head. I allowed the silence to settle for a few moments, enjoying the safety her touch afforded me. Like a worm crawling through dirt, I crept toward the warmth of her skin and placed my head on her lap. As usual, she was wearing shorts; her skin was soft. I clung to it like a lifeline, wrapping my hands around her stomach and holding on for dear life.

"Why are things so hard?" I sighed.

Maylene's fingers traced the outside of my ear. "Wish I had an answer."

"Sorry. I know this is hard for you too, but I haven't even… asked." I turned to face her, still resting on her lap, but finally releasing her from my latch. She'd placed a glass of cold juice on the table.

As always when I caught her, tension spread across her legs, disappearing momentarily. "I'm—" she made a little choked sound, then released a tight breath. "Yeah. I was—thinking back when we were walking toward the restaurant." She laughed; it was a small and awkward chortle. "I feel so awful for what we've done that it's slowly been eating me inside…" she rubbed her forehead and sighed before looking off into the distance, her eyes searching for something far away—somewhere I'd never be able to see. "I keep telling myself that—you know, it'll pass eventually, but should it?"

"I knew there was something off about you back then."

Maylene scratched the back of her neck. "Yeah. You nearly caught me—it was kinda terrifying. I didn't want to say anything because I thought it was a little silly of me to want to make amends, especially when I'd just told you to back off."

"That's fair. Maybe we—"

"It's still a bad idea," Maylene meekly interrupted. "You want to right now because you feel like you caused this… and we don't even know if we did." She tried. Really tried to sound sure of herself, but to no avail; Maylene was an open book, and she spelled regret and ire at herself for actions past.

I rose slowly from her lap, placing my head against her shoulder. We were selfish, the two of us. We'd grasped onto the last threads of love, desperately holding ourselves up, but allowed Cecilia to fall in the process. "I'm here, you know?" I said, the words unyielding.

Her lips twitched into a smile. "I know." Her face went a little red up to the ears. "You, uh, doing better?"

Leaning forward, I grabbed the juice off the table, enjoying the cold condensation that had wrapped itself on the glass. "I feel like the last thing I want is to have so many eyes on me. I'm usually good at tuning out the crowd, but… I'm nervous."

"Are you still going to do your costume idea?" she asked.

I took a sip. "I don't know. I might message Melody and call it off. We can sell it as me wanting to be serious for such an important match—I only have a few hours to decide."

"Okay. Well!" Maylene clapped her hands. "You studying right now wouldn't do much—let's get your mind off of things and watch a movie or something. No phones."

"Sure! But why no phones…?"

"You'll browse Chatter and get angry at people."

I wanted to retort but came up empty. "You know what, fair enough."

—

Maylene waved her girlfriend farewell, wishing they could have spent more time together despite the fact that they were practically glued at the hip these days, but Grace had nearly forgotten she'd promised to spend some time with her parents before her match. The blonde was... relatively fine. Surprisingly so, even, having built up her mental resilience over the last few months, but she still wasn't going to go battle in costume. She watched her Jellicent slip under her clothes again as a second layer of skin, watched her fingers graze her Meltan around her wrist, watched until her head dipped below the hill, and then she turned back toward the house. Candice and Roark—who had come back while Grace and she had been hanging out—asked Maylene about her for a few minutes, but the Gym Leader didn't want to go too deep into Grace's troubles without her there. They knew the gist of it: the breakup had caused speculation to run amok online. Candice especially had made herself busy fighting random people online with her endless burner accounts.

She ran a trembling hand through her hair the moment she was back in their room. Such a stressful day. Grace had evidently forgotten to make the bed—again. The sheets were a tangled mess of navy and white, twisted up like a storm had passed through. A single pillow lay on the floor, half-covered by a discarded hoodie. From there, you could trace her laptop charger from the floor all the way to the plug under their small desk. It was still plugged in from this morning—darn. Hopefully, she wouldn't run out of battery—no, if she did, Denzel had a million cables to lend her. It was easy to tell that Grace had probably gotten tired of studying at her desk in the morning and had laid down on this pillow instead. On said desk was her ideas notebook and an empty glass of juice. She needed to drink more water.

Maylene hadn't realized she'd been smiling. "Dummy… what am I gonna do with you?" she lamented as she started cleaning up the room. Clothes returned to their drawers, the desk was cleared, the bed was made, and the window was opened to ventilate the room. "Now what?"

There was still a while until Grace's battle, and Maylene had endless options at her disposal. Hanging out with her fellow Gym Leaders or even some of Grace's friends to get to know them better, logging into the League's issues network to know if any department that ran the Conference needed help—the latest news she'd seen was from security having to detain some stupid kid who had tried stalking one of his idols after sending her creepy messages all Conference. There was always at least one such incident during this month, with so many personalities concentrated on a single, tiny island. Maylene's Pokemon were spread around the League with only Machamp being in her Pokeball, so there was also the option of spending some time with her.

The fighting type appeared with a flash of scarlet, easily towering over her trainer. She blinked for a few seconds, having been asleep to pass the time, then grinned and patted Maylene on the arm with two of her hands. The impact was enough to make Maylene take a half-step back, though she didn't lose her balance.

"Easy there, Machamp," she said with a laugh, rubbing her arm where the massive Fighting-type's enthusiasm had landed. "I might need that arm for a spar later."

The fighting type apologetically caressed her arm with a single, coarse finger and croaked, complaining about something Medicham did yesterday—some kind of prank involving cotton candy.

"I'll scold her for you later," Maylene said. "She always gets rowdy when we're out of the Gym!"

The Gym Leader never thought she'd be capable of saying this a mere six months ago, but she missed her work. Whenever she fell asleep, most of what she thought about had to do with her Gym—how to raise its efficiency in all departments, new tactics to use on challengers, new strategies to keep her trainers and Pokemon motivated. Maylene's eyes drifted toward the window, where the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds. She stretched her arms over her head, feeling the slight ache in her muscles from the morning's workout. Summer was a well-needed break, but sitting idle didn't suit her; it never had.

Thinking about her Gym made her check on a few of her contacts in Veilstone. Half the reason was to pass the time, and the other half was to check up on what her father was doing. She'd half expected him to come here to embarrass and make things awkward for her as some sort of power move, but instead, Oscar had decided to stick in Veilstone to drum up support. Last she'd heard, he was working toward opening some kind of dojo—an unofficial 'Gym' in name only—where trainers would be able to battle him and get advice on how to raise their fighting types. This was legal, and fully within his rights. The practice was more common in Indigo, but Jubilife had a few unofficial Gyms. Maylene could have harried him with lawyers, but she wanted nothing to do with him and he would win the case eventually. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to delay the construction because she'd basically have no standing.

As innocent as he tried to frame this, it was fairly obvious to anyone with a brain that he was jockeying for influence within Veilstone. Maylene eventually wanted to get a mole within Oscar's circle, but for now…

For now, just checking in would do.

—

Like usual, the stadium was chock-full of spectators from every corner of the region, and Maylene figured they were even more excited than usual. Tie breakers like this were always electrifying to the public, especially when it was between two friends. The arena looked to be some sort of volcanic plateau with a dormant volcano at its center—though cracks sometimes formed and spewed hot air and flames through the gaps all throughout the battlefield. Knowing Grace, she would have lamented it not being lava, but even at levels this high, the League wanted no accidents. To her right was Candice, and to her right was Volkner, who had decided that he would rather go and watch this battle than to do any work like the rest of the Gym Leaders. Cynthia was nice about off-time during the summer, but everyone still wanted to help her. They knew she was struggling. That was why Nia wasn't here.

Maylene tried closing her eyes to feel Grace's aura, but there were far too many people here for her senses to reach that far. Maybe Lucario would have been able to, but hers just got overwhelmed. There were nowhere near this amount of people at Craig's Ceremony.

"She's going to get here when she gets here," Candice yelled in her ear. "No need to crane your neck like a Farigiraf!"

"I'll have you know my neck is normal-sized!" Maylene tried to answer, but she had to literally lean right next to Candice's ear for her to hear. Volkner looked miserable, cradling his head and possibly regretting his choice. Maylene would have teased him had he not looked like he was about to die.

She checked her phone—eleven minutes left until show time. Friends in Grace's group chat were sending last-minute good luck messages just in case she was looking at her phone, so Maylene opted to do the same. Knowing her, she was so focused that she wouldn't even be looking at her Poketch, though—

A tap on her shoulder. Maylene turned to look at Candice, who was still observing all around the stadium like a little kid. She thought it must have been a prank, but she noticed a paper note on her lap, neatly folded. With a frown, she opened it to read.

Meet me in restroom C close to that souvenir shop with the awful Garchomp plushies and the aloof Cynthia figurines alone. We have a lot to talk about. - Temperance.

Maylene read it again.

And again.

This couldn't be real. But it was. Maylene quickly scrunched the paper, shoved it into her pocket, and gripped the side of her chair until she remembered she might crush the armrests. What did she want—no, it was obvious what she wanted. Should Maylene even entertain her? Getting involved in this spelled trouble, but what if she spoke to Grace when she was out? What if she'd already spoken to Grace—no, there was no way. That made no sense; they separated right when she'd walked to the waiting room.

Her first worry was sound, however. Every time she blinked, nightmarish visions of Grace broken and sobbing at Temperance's feet flashed in her mind. It could be a trap of some kind, but…

Fine.

There was no way out of this.

"I'm going to the bathroom."

Maylene was too out of it to wait to see if Candice or Volkner had heard. She shimmied her way out of the bleachers, and down into the stadium's guts. Down here, where the halls were wide and empty save for the occasional straggler trying to rush to their seat, she could sense individuals. She followed Temperance's flame to the designated bathroom, having nearly caught up to her by the time they were there due to how fast she'd been walking. The door was closing when Maylene made it.

The Gym Leader slapped her cheeks to shake herself out of this haze. She needed to focus.

Maylene pushed the door open and entered the coordinator's lair.

She had felt Temperance, but it was only now that Maylene got a look at what she was wearing. All black, akin to a widow mourning her husband or wife at a funeral. Even her hair was as dark as the night sky. The fabric of her dress was smooth and satiny, draping her form with an elegance that seemed frankly out of place in the public restrooms—and even then, Maylene was the one who felt underdressed in her t-shirt and shorts. Everything was so quiet you could hear one of the faucets leaking against the sink accompanied by the occasional muffled cheer from the battlefield, audible even from this far. Maylene bit her lip, not knowing what to say. Wasn't it up to Temperance to speak given she had asked her here? The Gym Leader was starting to regret following her. Maybe she should leave; it wasn't as if Temperance could actually stop her. Yes, she'd gotten in over her head.

Enough of this!

"I'm leav—"

Temperance cut her off. "I considered whether to do this endlessly the last few days." Her inflection was a tired one, worn down by what could have been screaming, crying, or both. "Cece would probably hate that I'm doing this; she said not to talk or do anything to Grace—oh, poor, innocent Grace." Her tone dripped with irony as she glared at Maylene. "But she said nothing about you."

"I don't think this is a great idea—"

She interrupted her again, taking a step forward. "But you followed me here because you're curious, aren't you?" she hissed through her teeth, each word popping with frustration. Temperance paused, taking a breath that seemed to calm her. She nearly stumbled, leaning against one of the sinks, and muttered something under her breath. "Listen, Leader Maylene. I'm not going to… berate you. I'm going to try not to yell at you. I just tire of imagining the two of you going about your happy little lives as if nothing happened. As if you didn't ruin a girl's confidence, self-esteem, and trust because you couldn't be bothered to wait a few weeks before you kissed. You knew her. You knew her, went through hell together, she helped you with your Gym, and you stabbed her in the back."

Oh. Oh, she knew so much more than what Maylene thought she would have; the knowledge the coordinator brought to the table was enough to make her skin crawl. It was so shameful that she could not help but lower her head and stare at her feet. Temperance must have had the wrong idea about them from the time she'd seen them at the restaurant. "It's not a good thing we did," Maylene acknowledged. "I won't defend it. Grace was in a terrible state of mind, but—I could have helped her without going so far."

"Hm. I expected such sanctimonious behavior; none of it matters. I'm just here to tell you what your actions have caused because I know that you are… a 'decent' person," she wrinkled her nose, "in theory. You're free to leave, but—"

"I'll stay." Maylene clenched a fist, feet firm against the ground. She'd nearly slipped and panicked, but better she listen to this than Grace; the Gym Leader would tell her in a way her girlfriend could better digest as soon as her battle was over, win or lose. Grace Pastel was many things, but she even now after her improvements, she could still be fragile like glass. Maylene knew herself to be mentally strong enough to take this.

And she did not trust Temperance not to tell Grace anyway should she not get what she wanted here.

The coordinator scoffed. "Very well."

Then, she started to talk with eloquence Maylene had rarely seen. It was slow at first, a story of a girl who did not know how to interact with people because she had never learned, yet had caught her eye one night in Hearthome. As Maylene listened, she could hear the passion in Temperance's voice whenever she spoke of Cecilia—still affectionately using her nickname. But intertwined with that passion was a lingering grief, palpable in the way Temperance's breath hitched ever so slightly at the end of each sentence as if each one carried the weight of realizing she would never get that love from her ever again. Temperance spoke of cracks forming under the surface of their relationship; those cracks, she could not spot, because she too had never been serious about someone, and Cecilia did well to hide her pain in secret.

Maylene got the entire, summarized story until they broke up.

"I share some of the blame," Temperance said. "I did not know what was hiding below the hull, could not see the fractures forming until it was too late. I was too caught up in the surface—too enamored by the image of us and our apparent progress to realize that we'd begun to take in water." She once again leaned against the sinks for support with a tired look in her eyes. "But you," she exhaled until her lungs were empty. "You two damaged her in such insidious ways that she… she…" Temperance paused. "She looked like she'd just seen the end of the world when she finally understood."

Maylene sniffled. She'd teared up—not a surprise for her. She tried to speak, but did not know what to say. Her lips quivered when she opened her mouth and felt so alien that she nearly forgot how to move them. It was just as Grace thought, and just as Maylene had feared. She'd brought up that her father had never found someone else earlier today—more than a decade after the incident.

"I must admit." Temperance wiped a tear of her own with a finger. "Though it is fairly obvious, I came here for selfish reasons. Cecilia is so harsh on herself, but she wants to move on rather than get bogged down in the trenches here with us." The coordinator laughed tearfully and grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser to wipe the corner of her eyes. "She thinks I'm a good person, can you believe it? The fool." She turned to throw the tissue in the trash, slamming her foot down on the pedal. "I came here to see you weep. And maybe tomorrow, or in a few days, or in a few weeks, I'll regret it. But right now?" She trudged past Maylene but stopped when they were level. "It feels like there's a little justice in this world."

The bathroom door opened, and Temperance left amidst another round of cheers. Grace's battle had started already—how would she even tell her after it ended?

Fuck.

She needed a minute.

---

Thank you to my Patreons - Spandaz, Alex Walters, ObsidianOlive, A Ferret, Oblige, Joe, Emilowish, Sean, Tim Schmidt, Dim, Violett T, Kail H, dragonslaver, Jon, RosaC, TsukiNoNeko, NPM, Jim A, Spicyice101, Vesperal, Addmolition exe, Frogsamurai, Alex F, Kiri, Rhuodric, Nord, Filthymacgyver, Grey J, creativityfails, Spartanstoryteller, Peter D, Bum, Zaire M, Plasmatique, Lodris, Chester, AnotherUser, BeautifulBusinessBoi, Papito12495, KeMon C, Geo, Pedro B, Rat, LR Brantley, ZZStrider, Sharkerxjak, Quakdoktor, nothingtoseehere, Mystic Corn, Paul S, coolblue, Ole W, Daniel J, Cosimo, Nick S, Pharros, Michael J, Jan, ChairmanK-, William F, Zhijia, Andy S, HeyMrJack, NineXO, Exceedes, Gustavo S, Serina T, lepton, sqw4l, Micah T, L'iien, Kisekibigdumb, Nikolai M, David G, endgame13, JK, Ian R, Rain, Jason H, Scandalion, ACertainName, Cosimo Yap, menirx, Pierre-Luc J., Alex A., Bridie, Christopher M

 

[Soussouni1]

Spoiler: Team

Togekiss/Princess (Hustle) - Pound, Sweet Kiss, Growl, Headbutt, Fairy Wind, Ancient Power, Extrasensory, Thunder Wave, Air Cutter, Wish, Psychic, Shadow Ball, Dazzling Gleam, Moonblast, Charge Beam, Air Slash, Mystical Fire, Tri-Attack, Nasty Plot, Defog

Jellicent/Buddy (Water Absorb) - Bubblebeam, Night Shade, Absorb, Water Sport, Water Pulse, Hex, Poison Sting, Mist, Acid Armor, Shadow Ball, Recover, Brine, Whirlpool, Hydro Pump, Water Spout, Acid, Will-O-Wisp, Ice Beam, Taunt, Scald, Boil, Freeze, Protect, Ice Blade, Rain Dance, Extrasensory

Electivire/Honey (Motor Drive) - Thundershock, Swift, Elemental Swift, Thunder Punch, Charge, Leer, Ice Punch, Thunderbolt, Discharge, Fire Punch, Protect, Cross Chop, Thunder, Low-Kick, Screech, Radiant Leap, Static Shield, Bulldoze, Hammer Arm, Rain Dance, Lightning Bolt

Tangrowth/Angel (Chlorophyll) - Vine Whip, Absorb, Mega Drain, Stun Spore, Bind, Poison Powder, Leech Seed, Ancient Power, Power Whip, Knock Off, Sunny Day, Giga Drain, Sleep Powder, Solar Beam, Solar Blade, Brick Break, Ingrain, Bulldoze

Tyranitar/Sweetheart (Sand Stream) - Leer, Tackle, Horn Attack, Rock Throw, Payback, Stomping Tantrum, Smack Down, Bite, Rock Slide, Crunch, Sandstorm, Iron Defense, Dragon Pulse, Iron Head, Earthbreaker, Aerial Ace, Stone Edge, Dark Pulse, Rock Polish, Surf, Earthquake, Ice Fang, Flamethrower

Turtonator/Sunshine (Shell Armor) - Smog, Ember, Smokescreen, Incinerate, Iron Defense, Flamethrower, Shell Trap, Dragon Pulse, Bulldoze, Scorching Sands, Rock Tomb, Body Slam, Flash Cannon, Solar Beam, Rapid Spin, Scale Shot, Iron Tail, Focus Blast, Sunny Day, Fire Pillar, Flame Charge, Heat Crash, Fire Blast, Shell Smash

Claydol/Cassianus (Levitate) - Mud Slap, Rock Tomb, Rapid Spin, Harden, Confusion, Psychic, Barrier, Imprison, Wide Guard, Light Screen, Reflect, Ancient Power, Teleport, Earth Power, Sandstorm, Scorching Sands

Meltan/Mimi (Magnet Pull) - Harden, Acid Armor, Tail Whip / Not a battler

---

A/N: Been a while; I'm kinda burned out so it took a long time to get this over with and I might be a little rusty. Sinnoh's almost over, so fuck it I'll manage to finish it without as large of a break. We ball.

---

CHAPTER 345

A person could look back on their past and wonder how they'd arrived at this moment, unable to grasp how they'd made it this far. Not just in the life-or-death crises—the narrow escapes, the chances seized to keep going—but in the quiet, ordinary things too. Even now, as the battle unfolded before my eyes, it felt distant and strange, like something that was never meant to be part of my person. A pillar of fire erupted from the volcanic grounds, weaved into a powerful jet of blue flames by Sunshine's will. It was loud, so loud the crowd was nearly inaudible behind the roar of the fire which was almost animalistic in nature. It bent at an angle toward the Electrode who blurred to the side with Agility. The fire singed the spherical Pokemon's flank, but he used his momentum down the slope, his body bursting with electric power rivaling Honey.

Good.

I called out, "Shell Tr—"

Sunshine already knew, but Marley and Electrode knew as well. The electric type reacted beyond what we could even dream of, sliding out of the explosion's way before the dragon had even managed to spin around. With a booming laugh, Electrode fired off another Thunderbolt toward the glowing shell to trigger the explosion, and Sunshine growled in frustration, turning more of the earth beneath him into molten slag.

We were not fast enough to catch them even with our 'flying' with Shell Trap trick, but Sunshine's defenses were so high that they were struggling to break through. The battle had turned into a battle of attrition that we were neither winning nor losing. As it stood, it was advantageous for the both of us to not use our switches this early in the fight and to allow the likely trade to take place. Eventually, the heat from Sunshine would allow us to triumph, or Electrode would defeat us with a thousand cuts, I would send out Honey to take him out, and then Marley would follow suit with one of her own teammates. On and on, and on and on. Most likely, she had registered in Pokemon incapable of taking out Sunshine on their own, otherwise she would have switched already—most likely Ninjask along with her Crobat.

There was no story behind it. It was a rigid arrangement of tactics and spacing and efficiency and strategy and giving and taking—and that was good. Even with the new style I had made my own, that still remained to a large extent, but always the backdrop of a larger tale. Never the focus, but always at the edge of thought. And maybe, maybe if a decision was incoherent with the story I attempted to weave but the best strategically available to me, then I would not take it.

Now?

I used to battle like this?

It wasn't… bad. I could still recall the exhilarating rush of adrenaline during close calls, the thrill when a hard-fought strategy finally paid off after countless twists and turns. But what once felt electrifying now felt ordinary. The excitement had dulled, leaving the world muted and colorless, as if all the magic in the art of battling had quietly slipped away. It was like—you tasted french fries from Arlyle's, and you couldn't go back to other worse fast food places no matter how hard you tried. There'd always be an inescapable blandness about it; they weren't as crisp, as warm, as well-salted.

And you tried to go back. Oh, Arceus, you tried.

But maybe I still had it. A pivot had presented itself, half luck, half stratagem. The large 'volcano' at the battlefield's center had slowly grown more and more unstable throughout the fight, spewing fire and ash and taking stray hits from both Pokemon. In the highest echelons of battling, the trainer took more of a backseat, having come up with a plan of action before the fight itself and trusting their partner to see them through.

But when opportunity presented itself and your Pokemon was too embroiled in the fight—or in this case, so angry he might as well have been blind beyond what Electrode was doing—it was a trainer's role to know which artery to insert the knife into to see your opponent bleed out.

"Rock Tomb—the volcano!" My voice cut through the battlefield, echoing across the mountain's slope. The very same slope we were aiming for.

The Turtonator's eyes widened, but he immediately understood. Fiery rock at the mountainside turned molten under his influence, and he turned the volcano from pale mimicry spewing flames to a malevolent throne ejecting flows of lava.

"Get back here!" Marley screamed. The subtle fray in her voice betrayed the panic she was trying to hide. It wasn't the same given that she would be alive at the end of this, but I had heard it in dozens of Galactic grunts and their Pokemon.

Electrode sparked with the brilliance of a star, thinning and thinning until he grew indistinguishable from pure electricity. Before the sides of the mountain collapsed into a mess of lava that would trap him on the other side of the field, the electric type made it past our trap in one piece. Burned, but alive. At least Sunshine was focusing now that Electrode's permanent grin had been wiped off. It was surprising, with how shy the electric type was outside of battle.

Damn it. I was rusty. I clenched a fist, ignoring the irritation in the back of my head. I glanced at Marley through the dissipating toxic gases and saw her struggle. She was fighting for her life: a spot at the top 256, and you could see it in her movements. Every order came with a certain trill in her voice that made it break, with movements wild and unrestrained. Meanwhile, I had to contend with irritation, not fun. So what was the point? Why was I battling? A good finish in the Conference no longer seemed appealing if every battle was going to be like this.

Suddenly—

The world buzzed and came alight with electricity. Balls of lightning glided into the skies, each one pulsing with a steady, synchronized glow. For a moment, the battlefield below was bathed in a strange, flickering light, as if the sky itself had been netted in electricity. The hum of charged air grew louder, a tension building in the space between earth and sky, until it felt like the entire world was holding its breath.

A trap of their own. I could tell she'd been holding onto this because she'd only be able to use it once; it was a finisher, the kind of move that would wipe out your own Pokemon's energy.

Then, all at once, the Electro Balls began to descend—not with chaos, but with precise, calculated intent. They rained down like falling stars, each one targeting its mark with ruthless accuracy, each hitting a singular spot in Sunshine's chest until he retreated into his shell, but even then, they kept hammering him until it was nearly broken and nigh unusable. It was not the strength of the attacks that would do us in, but their pinpoint precision. Like a drop of water digging into stone for a decade, it had punctured us.

Could I counter this—yes, of course I could. Flashes of brilliant ideas, threads nearly within reach that I had grown too lazy to grab onto. Unwilling to let himself be bested without a fight, Sunshine roared from within his shell, flames spilling from every opening, begging to burst at its seams. The jet pushed behind him; he traveled up the molten slope as fast as he could. The jet of fire surged behind him, propelling him up the molten slope with blistering speed. As he barreled forward, the ground trembled beneath his weight. Chunks of hardened lava cracked and shattered, flung into the air like volcanic shrapnel.

He could see his opponent again, and he struck. His shell brimmed with power—Shell Smash—he was quicker, stronger, more determined than ever, and he barrelled down toward Electrode with the heat of a small star at his side. A game of cat and mouse ensued, one I felt nearly absent in. He chased, and Electrode ran; he brought heat upon the electric type like a physical force, a hammer on a nail visible through the way the air vibrated, and Electrode summoned a Light Screen and Reflect to bear the relentless attacks at the cost of much of his speed.

Not enough of it, however, for even then, he was quicker than us. Splitting the field in two had allowed us to cut off the amount of space they had to play with in half, but Electrode still managed to chip us down.

I hadn't really felt a part of that.

The battle commentator buzzed on and on about the state of the fight—obvious statements for the people sitting at home in front of their television instead of for me, so I paid him no mind. Rolling my shoulders, I recalled Sunshine and moistened my lips. They'd rarely felt this dry.

"...job Electrode." Marley's voice came into focus. Her Pokemon grinned and sparkled with electricity even while tired. "Keep going! You've got this!" Quickly, she stared at me, dark blue eyes piercing with… wanting. "Grace, are you—okay?"

There were murmurs in the audience, the highs from the first bout having now abated. Thirty seconds to speak—less than that now. Her voice somewhat snapped me out of my autopilot. Already, Sunshine was back in his Pokeball; he would be a hassle when he was healed. It would take a week for me to hear the end of it.

"Yup." My words resonated in the microphone, which hopefully hid away the bitterness in my tone. "Just dandy."

What next? I could take a risk and go with Princess, hoping that Electrode was tired enough to take down, or play it safe with Honey and give her the tempo back right after Electrode fainted. He'd suffer from the heat, but with Rain Dance and general use of ice TE through Ice Punch…

"You seem out of it. Where's—you don't have a story?" she hesitantly asked. She usually wasn't one for attention like this. "Everything seems flat." I gave her a look, not knowing what to answer. "This isn't… what I really wanted."

I grabbed Honey's Pokeball. "Sorry, I guess." I had too much on my mind for this. My focus was already fraying some now that there wasn't action right in front of me. Time was running out. "What did you want?"

"Haven't I shown you?"

I did not know if she'd answered like this because she had no time left, or because she truly meant it.

Honey materialized onto the field, his feet and fur catching fire until he flexed and frost returned cool temperatures to his surroundings. It wasn't perfect—but we'd practiced giving everyone their little ways of surviving one of Sunshine's rampages for the stories we'd come up with. Still, he suffered under the remaining heat and summoned a Rain Dance whose drops turned to steam before they could even touch the ground, blanketing the battlefield in a dense fog and hiding Marley away.

The fight began in earnest with Honey blurring across the field until he disappeared in a fog and all I could see was a clash of yellow and blue electricity. It coiled around the vapor like living serpents, crackling and hissing as they fought for dominance in the thick, damp air. The fog pulsed with each surge of power, flashing bright enough to momentarily carve out silhouettes within the haze.

Through her actions—those of an eager girl in the most exciting, high-stakes battle of her life—she'd spoken to me. This was life and death for her, given that we were both on a knife's edge. I had never considered her a rival, but she had, hadn't she? From the day that we had met, she had opted to hide her tactics away from me.

Ah.

She'd be disappointed if she won like this. And maybe I would be, too. A battle without meaning, made up or otherwise, was no battle at all.

The clash between Electivire and Electrode was short-lived as expected, with my electric type besting hers in around twenty seconds. The electricity slowly subsided, and everything went quiet for a moment after the referee announced that Electrode had fainted.

"I don't know what happened, but Grace, I think you inhibit yourself too much." Her words cut me deep, even if I couldn't see her. "I know you want to let loose. So let loose and do what you want to do. The world isn't holding you hostage." A pause. "You're better than this."

"You don't…" understand, I wanted to say, but it wasn't that complicated, was it?

Something bad had happened to Cecilia, and it was most likely my fault, so I just couldn't help but self-sabotage. Self-sabotage. It was at this moment that I had just realized I'd wanted to lose as some sort of punishment for myself, some sort of way to balance the world. You put it in words so strikingly straightforward, and it sounded so silly.

The world was complicated, but sometimes it was simple. An opponent faced me, and I needed to beat her until she was incapable of fighting back. I gripped my wrist, feeling at Mimi, and took a deep breath.

Chains, broken—no, there were never any in the first place. I just imagined them to be. "Let's do this, then," I declared right as a flash of red appeared in the vapor.

I recognized that screech, high-pitched and ragged, like frantic chittering undulating across the battlefield. Crobat might not have been Marley's starter, but she had turned her into one of her most vicious fighters. Instead of clearing the mist, the bat sank into its depths and grew so quiet she might as well have not been there. Electric energy sparked around Honey, keeping him protected from attacks up close, but Crobat's true threat lay in her poison and her attacks at a distance. Their hit-and-run tactics had the potential to destroy us.

And then, I heard it. The sizzling of poison melting through fur and skin, pained groans, and flashes of electricity exploding outward in Discharges large enough to cover nearly half of the battlefield.

There was a story to seize, to grip within my palm without letting go even for a second. Not one of a trainer tired and who had lost her flame—that wasn't what this was, and I would be retreading the same grounds I had sworn would now be unneeded. No, there was something else which was far more obvious. A trainer who unbeknownst to her had met her match, a final clash of rivals where to err meant the unraveling of a year of work and the bitter taste of defeat. I had beaten her easily over and over and hadn't taken her seriously until now, when the realization that I might lose had finally sunk in. Added weight.

"Honey!" I bellowed, cupping my mouth with my hands. Color returned to the world. "Clear the fog!"

Two of his fists shone brightly with Hammer Arm, and he clapped his hands together—the fog shuddered under the pressure, twisting and peeling back in ragged sheets as the nascent shockwave tore through it. Honey was in quite a sorry state, burned by acid, his skin punctured with holes that crippled him in all the ways that mattered. He had obviously been poisoned and was now on a timer.

I pointed toward my rival. "I guess you've made it here for a reason. Maybe I'll have to take you seriously after all!" I boasted with a haughty grin. "Let's bring the fight to them! Railgun!"

Though the shockwave had cleared much of the fog, it had also shattered the earth into many pieces—rocks Honey gathered around himself with electric currents like spiderwebs. They clung to his two fists, turning into larger and larger spheres and building up into what we needed, but Crobat was not idle. In between Air Slashes and torrents of poison she brought forth with each flap of her wings, Marley had another trick up her sleeve. A shrill screech tore through the clearing mist, sharper than before, and suddenly Crobat split into dozens of flickering afterimages, darting through the air like a swarm of shadows.

With some luck, it wouldn't matter. Honey's arm bulged, vibrated with a high-pitched hum and shone once more with an electrified Hammer Arm until his entire limb was alight. Then, with a thunderous crack, Honey thrust his arm forward and the rocks flew off like shrapnel. Each fragment was the size of a pebble, but fast enough to puncture metal. The rocks shot through the air in a blinding volley, propelled by electromagnetic force, and left streaks of light in their wake. The electrified projectiles dissolved Crobat's clones in a single hit, but none of them got to the real—

"Behind—"

"Leech Life!" Marley laughed.

The real Crobat. She'd disappeared somehow and snuck up behind Honey, something they'd done before in the videos—some kind of U-Turn trick that tricked the human brain by overwhelming it—but to reposition, not to get up close. Honey flashed with Discharge, then built it up into a Thunderbolt and then a Thunder, but Crobat's sharp teeth were locked tightly onto his neck, no doubt sucking up his energy and injecting poison at the same time. You're not going to outlast us, I thought as sweat dripped off my cheek, but then I realized their Toxic was going to be the great equalizer.

Crobat fell apart first, her remaining clones disappearing and the poison type collapsing onto the volcanic grounds, but Marley made use of her thirty seconds and Honey followed on the twenty-third. Effectively, it was a draw, because even though she'd have to release her last Pokemon first, Princess was already locked in and I wouldn't be able to adjust my choice. It was all or nothing.

Marley's final Pokémon emerged with a constant, grating buzz that set my teeth on edge, eerily reminiscent of Louis' Vespiquen, but sharper—if less all-encompassing and unnerving. It felt like it burrowed beneath the skin, a droning vibration that made the air itself seem thin and brittle. Red eyes gleamed in a darkness that wasn't even there. Already, Ninjask was a blur of motion smeared across the air, more of a splattering of beige, black, and red than a concrete shape. Aside from the occasional sonic boom, I had no way of knowing where Ninjask currently was. Her fastest Pokemon. She was putting it all on the line.

My teeth unclamped from the inside of my mouth. "I didn't know you'd grown into a risk-taker, Marley," I probed, hands immediately going for Princess. With Speed Boost, there was no way I'd let her gain any more time. "You've surely grown, but it won't be enough to defeat me!" My tone was corny, but it was fun again.

Out into the air came Princess, but she was attacked before she could even take stock of the situation. Slashes and cuts relentless and too fast to even see. Ninjask was so quick he might as well have been everywhere all at once; he was an omnipresent enemy that would be nigh impossible to beat conventionally. He was more like a force of nature than a singular opponent.

Princess exploded with a burning Dazzling Gleam to get Ninjask away from her, but he managed to slip away and only got slightly burned—or at least I thought he did, it was difficult to tell. Bloodied but far from beaten, Princess summoned burning, red-hot flames that she spun around herself like a ring that then stretched into a sphere.

"Barrier!" I commanded.

It was solid now. A bubble of fiery wrath wrapped around a psychic shield. It would cost us speed, but it wasn't like it mattered given that we were fighting Ninjask. The bug type buzzed in irritation, a sound that was everywhere all at once, and darkness blurred—Night Slash—it broke Princess' barrier at the cost of heavy burns, but his claws cut deep and left behind lingering consequences. Damn it, everyone knew that trick now. It wasn't perfect, but the time it took for Princess to make her barrier appear would now be longer, and in this fight, that was the difference between five hits and none.

The assault began anew, and again we were on the defensive. Ninjask was relentless, sticking to us like glue. The moment Princess left an opening in between a Dazzling Gleam or Mystical Fire or an omnidirectional Air Slash, he was always there—an impossible blur against the sky. Ninjask darted through the air with a speed that felt unreal like he wasn't flying but teleporting from one angle to the next. Princess tried to climb higher, banking hard to gain distance, but it was useless. He was already there, slashing at her flank with claws glowing dark as pitch. Night Slash again. Were they hoping to make all types of TE slower to use and slowly cripple us?

That was the thing with Marley's team. Offensively, they weren't that tough to deal with, Ninjask especially, but the damage added up. Attacks requiring concentration like Moonblast were impossible to use under such conditions. We'd fought battles where we hadn't been the fastest in the air, but rarely had she been dominated so.

"Cut!" I bellowed the order, feeling my voice rasping against my throat.

Nearly invisible, belief streaked through the air like razors against reality. Little tears she had willed into existence. My jaw unclenched for a moment when I caught a glimpse of a shape, a slowness that could have only meant Ninjask had gotten hit, but my expression fell when he—

I didn't think it possible to be so fast you could go through belief. Princess was fighting a force, not a thing with a tangible shape. There was no meat to cut into, and so her cuts frayed and allowed Ninjask to slip past. A shockwave burst right next to Princess, stunning her—Arceus, breaking the sound barrier right next to your opponent to confuse them; they did that?!—and a splattering of mud landed on the Togekiss' eyes, allowing for something deeper.

I recognized that particular gleam, and the weight added to Ninjask from Metal Claw slowed him some, but he was still so quick he cut across Princess' flank, dealing real damage.

Things couldn't keep going this way, or we would lose. Marley would snatch victory for the first time and ruin us. We were better than that and better than her. Princess didn't know where to aim or what to do besides attacks that hurt the world around her. We had harmed Ninjask throughout this, but we needed something decisive. A trap that would take them down in one fell swoop. Ninjask was fast, but he was frail. Able to be crumpled like a leaf underfoot.

My fist clenched with that thought, and my eyes focused on the remains of the volcano amidst cheers, gasps, and screams from the crowd. It was nearly all collapsed, but it was what remained under that interested me, the bits and pieces that hadn't been fully cooled by Rain Dance. Fire and hot air expunged by the occasional geyser turned to molten rock and toxic gasses. It was all there, but trapped, having suffused below the earth and building up with pressure.

My eyes darted back toward the sky—Princess, bloodied fur, bruised skin, and half blind, but not broken just yet. She had used everything in her power to stay alive, and she was still hanging on. The Togekiss was losing altitude due to Ninjask's constant harassment, and I assumed Marley's goal was to ground her permanently.

I snapped my fingers and whistled sharply. Cool, calm, and collected in the face of what looked to be certain defeat; that's my character. "Down," I ordered, waiting, waiting, waiting as she fell further and further toward the ground like a fallen angel. Ninjask followed closely behind, catching up in less than a second. My face remained neutral, waiting for our opportunity, waiting for Marley and Ninjask to overextend. That familiar gleam of Metal Claw hoping to finish us off—"Ancient Power! Blow up the earth!" the words spilled out of my mouth as fast as they could.

Turning on her back and remaining afloat, Princess responded instantly, her wings flaring out wide as a shimmer of energy pulsed through the air. The ground beneath us groaned, a low, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate through my bones. Marley's mouth gaped, the confidence in her stance faltering as the earth itself seemed to come alive under Princess' command. The battlefield cracked and split, jagged lines racing outward like veins, glowing faintly orange from the heat beneath. Princess burned, but she could still summon a barrier even if it took seconds—an eternity on the battlefield. Meanwhile, the defenseless Ninjask's entire body caught fire, leaving afterimages of himself burning as he followed Marley's orders to flee back into the sky.

Lava spewed up from the ground in great bursts, partly cooled but still functional. Princess widened it, casting a wide net that made Ninjask flee and gave her the space needed for this.

"Moonblast, gravity."

The sphere materialized in front of Princess, glowing with a soft, ethereal light that belied the sheer force simmering beneath its surface. A perfect replica of our dearest moon that gathered rocks—molten and solid—under its thrall. Ninjask darted through the air, wings a blur of desperate motion, but even speed couldn't outrun gravity.
The bug type burned to a crisp soon after.

It had been difficult to tell how much damage exactly Ninjask had taken due to how fast he'd been, but he was a sorry sight. Ignoring the obvious burns, he had plenty of cuts covering his body and residual glamour from Dazzling Gleams. Princess was worse for wear too, nearly incapable of even floating and covered in shallow wounds that must have hurt like hell. I hadn't even noticed the cheers rising up and up and up, along with the referee declaring my victory.

My legs were shaking. Top 256.

It didn't feel real, and thank the Legendaries, I was brimming with excitement—not that I had forgotten the Copperajah in the room. Cecilia was in pain, but… I could worry about her without destroying myself. I recalled Princess, letting my shoulders sag, and I wiped the sweat off my forehead. Mimi vibrated in glee around my wrist, and Mesprit giggled in the back of my head.

Rarely did trainers come and meet each other beside the field in the Conference outside of the knockout stages, but this fight was too important not to. Marley's eyes were red with tears when I got close to her. Heat and poison coiled beside us right behind the psychic barrier. Many words could have been said here: apologies for getting her out of the tournament, affirmations guaranteeing she would do better next year, or that it could have gone either way, but that wasn't what she wanted to hear or what I would have wanted to hear had I lost.

"Thanks for battling me. That was an awesome fight." I smiled at her. "And thanks for shaking me out of my… issues. I hope you had fun too."

It wasn't… a great story. I'd pulled at the nearest thread on the spot and used it as a springboard more than committing to a character for much of the battle, but it had pulled me out of my funk and served its purpose.

"Are you kidding?" Marley let out a sniffling laugh and held out her hands. "I'm still shaking, look." She could barely keep them still. "That—I felt alive. I don't think I've ever spoken that loud."

"Your voice has gone a little."

"It would have been embarrassing if I'd had to keep going with a raspy voice like this." She gently rubbed the front of her throat. "The lava—Legendaries, that completely went out of my mind after Rain Dance. I thought I had you afterward, and with your Turtonator gone, Ninjask had nothing to worry about."

Which explained why she had sacrificed her Crobat to set up for a one-on-one. Ninjask's biggest counters were large changes in temperature, and she'd taken care of that. Her strategy had nearly worked. It would have with a little more power behind her attacks.

"Your Ninjask sure is a piece of work," I sighed. I'd expected him to have much less stamina, but the last time he'd been used in a public fight had been her eighth Gym Badge. She'd kept his progress hidden this entire Conference.

"He's pushed his limits."

We didn't have much time left, but we promised each other we'd talk later and tell each other about how we'd strategized to beat each other.

We shared a hug before leaving.

—

Maylene had two kinds of anxiety. The one where it concerned herself—for example with her father or Gym—and it made her want to avoid even thinking about it, throw herself into work, and lash out at people before finally accepting help. Then, there was anxiety for others, which was a much more restrained affair. Fidgeting fingers, darting eyes, and the desperate need to say something despite clearly not wanting to. Finally, she leaned against the stadium hall's wall and took a deep breath.

"Temperance came to talk to me."

I froze for a second, but nodded, letting her explain what had happened. Temperance had spoken to her just to hurt in an attempt to heal her broken heart.

"It's gonna be okay," Maylene rambled in a whisper. "Just keep your head in the game for your tournament—didn't Melody call you? You should—"

"Maymay." I looked up at her. "I'm fine." And I was fine, in the literal sense of the word. The guilt was there because it had never left, but things were going to be okay just as she said. Maylene's eyes widened, but I continued before she could speak. "There are words we left unsaid, Cecilia and I. I think we need to have a heart-to-heart—if she wants to."

Enough avoidance, enough self-harm, enough of it all. I didn't think it would clear the air between us and we'd go back to being friends or even acquaintances—far from it, but there was so much more I wanted to say.

She leaned in and murmured, "a—are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I know her," I said. "I think she'd want it, but I'll let her take the first step."

Only a few days later, the group stages finished, and my first battle of the knock-out stages was revealed, along with the entire bracket.

Grace Pastel v Cecilia Obel

The world had a way of doing these things.

A heart-to-heart, I had wished for, a heart-to-heart, we would get.

---

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[Soussouni1]

Spoiler: Team

Togekiss/Princess (Hustle) - Pound, Sweet Kiss, Growl, Headbutt, Fairy Wind, Ancient Power, Extrasensory, Thunder Wave, Air Cutter, Wish, Psychic, Shadow Ball, Dazzling Gleam, Moonblast, Charge Beam, Air Slash, Mystical Fire, Tri-Attack, Nasty Plot, Defog

Jellicent/Buddy (Water Absorb) - Bubblebeam, Night Shade, Absorb, Water Sport, Water Pulse, Hex, Poison Sting, Mist, Acid Armor, Shadow Ball, Recover, Brine, Whirlpool, Hydro Pump, Water Spout, Acid, Will-O-Wisp, Ice Beam, Taunt, Scald, Boil, Freeze, Protect, Ice Blade, Rain Dance, Extrasensory

Electivire/Honey (Motor Drive) - Thundershock, Swift, Elemental Swift, Thunder Punch, Charge, Leer, Ice Punch, Thunderbolt, Discharge, Fire Punch, Protect, Cross Chop, Thunder, Low-Kick, Screech, Radiant Leap, Static Shield, Bulldoze, Hammer Arm, Rain Dance, Lightning Bolt

Tangrowth/Angel (Chlorophyll) - Vine Whip, Absorb, Mega Drain, Stun Spore, Bind, Poison Powder, Leech Seed, Ancient Power, Power Whip, Knock Off, Sunny Day, Giga Drain, Sleep Powder, Solar Beam, Solar Blade, Brick Break, Ingrain, Bulldoze

Tyranitar/Sweetheart (Sand Stream) - Leer, Tackle, Horn Attack, Rock Throw, Payback, Stomping Tantrum, Smack Down, Bite, Rock Slide, Crunch, Sandstorm, Iron Defense, Dragon Pulse, Iron Head, Earthbreaker, Aerial Ace, Stone Edge, Dark Pulse, Rock Polish, Surf, Earthquake, Ice Fang, Flamethrower

Turtonator/Sunshine (Shell Armor) - Smog, Ember, Smokescreen, Incinerate, Iron Defense, Flamethrower, Shell Trap, Dragon Pulse, Bulldoze, Scorching Sands, Rock Tomb, Body Slam, Flash Cannon, Solar Beam, Rapid Spin, Scale Shot, Iron Tail, Focus Blast, Sunny Day, Fire Pillar, Flame Charge, Heat Crash, Fire Blast, Shell Smash

Claydol/Cassianus (Levitate) - Mud Slap, Rock Tomb, Rapid Spin, Harden, Confusion, Psychic, Barrier, Imprison, Wide Guard, Light Screen, Reflect, Ancient Power, Teleport, Earth Power, Sandstorm, Scorching Sands

Meltan/Mimi (Magnet Pull) - Harden, Acid Armor, Tail Whip / Not a battler

---

CHAPTER 346

Life was often stranger than fiction. Cecilia took the stairs of the Spire two at a time, nearly bounding toward Cynthia's office with her phone clutched in her hand, its battery hanging on by a thread. It was tough to charge things when you were homeless. There were plenty of outlets to use around, whether that be in Pokemon Centers or other public buildings, but they were nearly all occupied at all times of day. She had checked her side of the bracket once, twice, a dozen times to be sure she hadn't misread or imagined things. Then a dozen more, just to be certain. But the truth remained: in three days, she would be battling Grace Pastel.

The final step sent a faint tremor up Cecilia's leg, giving her pause. She never showed up to the Champion's office unannounced, but this time, she had no choice. This—all of this—had Cynthia's fingerprints all over it. She had been of great help this entire Conference, but Cecilia remembered now why the Champion had gotten to where she was. Cynthia Collins had a way of arranging events in ways that would benefit her.

But that was the question, wasn't it? Cecilia's fingertips felt cold as her hand reached for the door. How in the world did this benefit her? What wheels had she set in motion, and to what end? Her head went spinning with each answer that appeared on the tip of her tongue. Ratings from the potential drama—no, of course not. She wasn't that shallow. A way to mend things between them? No, Cynthia herself had said that it would take much that this single Conference to even do that. Special training of some kind? While Cynthia did not really have plans to directly train anyone who wasn't her unborn nephew, she did enjoy throwing people into the deep end of the pool and letting them either sink or suddenly muster the capacity to swim—

Cecilia jumped, hearing the Champion's voice through the door. "Well? Aren't you coming in?"

Taking a few deep breaths to settle down, the Unovan pushed the great wooden doors open and entered Cynthia's office. She was at her desk, as always, with her Togekiss with her, as always, and with a mountain of paperwork waiting for her, as always, but what was different today was the particular stone she had in her hand. Weighty, creased, and weathered by the centuries as it may have been, Cecilia recognized Spiritomb's keystone that usually rested deep inside Cynthia's pocket. The tall woman toyed with it with a nonchalance that felt alarmingly dangerous, turning it within her palm while she gave Cecilia a long look.

"You came to speak," Cynthia said before nudging her head toward one of her two chairs. "Come and sit."

Cecilia gulped, eyes stuck to the keystone, but she followed suit and—jumped when wisps of ghostly energy roiled around Cynthia's palm when she rasped the chair against the floor. Togekiss giggled, wings fluttering at his side.

"They don't like the noise," the Champion said.

"S—sorry." While Cecilia had seen it before, it had been in the midst of what had felt like an endless fight for life itself atop Coronet, so she'd been too emotionally exhausted to care. The teasing sight of a sliver of Spiritomb left her heart feeling like it was stuck in her throat, especially when the Unovan knew how… vulnerable she could be at the moment. Everything was still so raw.

Cynthia placed the pulsating keystone on her desk, tapped it twice with a finger, and all activity ceased within a few seconds. It did not all cease instantly, but was a lagging decision taken by the one hundred and eight souls within. For a while, Cecilia was caught up in the routine questions: how are you today, have you eaten, do you need me to procure you a room, how are you feeling, et cetera, but eventually, she put her foot down, literally and figuratively.

"You've seen the bracket of the knock-out stage, haven't you?" Cecilia asked in an accusatory manner. "I'm against… Grace."

"I've given it a look or two," Cynthia banally answered. She tapped a pen against her chin and leaned forward on her desk. "Stranger things have happened."

"Don't spew lies at me," she hissed in between her teeth.

"Craig Goodwill went up against Sarah Newman the first time he got out of groups in the midst of a personal falling out." That was the example Cecilia knew of, but Cynthia continued listing battles between friends, enemies, exes, and everything in between that had gone on throughout the years. "It happens."

"You say all of this," the Unovan noticed, "but you never explicitly denied not having anything to do with it."

There was a subtle shift in Cynthia's eyes, though Cecilia couldn't even come close to knowing what it meant. The blond woman, worn out by decades of rule and what it implied, stared Cecilia dead in the eye with none of the warmth she had gotten used to these past two weeks. It was not a killer's look, but it still took her so aback that it robbed her lungs of their air—or perhaps she had simply forgotten to breathe. The unpleasantness that followed was akin to the jarring sensation of plummeting through empty space, that brief, stomach-dropping lurch before waking from a nightmare. She almost expected Spiritomb to be acting up, but the ghost was still inactive, resting within their keystone.

"Are you a fatalist, Cecilia?"

The girl blinked for a few moments, not knowing what to say. "I—no?"

"You came up here multiple times in our meetings, telling me how you wished you could talk to Grace one more time." Like a blade back in its sheath, sentimentality returned to her gaze. "Now, obviously I have nothing to do with this matter, but I can tell you that this is not meant to force some reconciliation."

It was as Cecilia thought—there would be no advantage. Grace was already in her grasp through Maylene, and Cecilia wouldn't be of use there. Granted, the Unovan doubted everything was such a zero-sum game for Cynthia as Mira had once guessed.

"A battle is many things, Cecilia, but it can also be the purest form of conversation if you let it." She tapped the table four times, enunciating the last four words. "Speech through actions and through your dearest comrades," she placed a hand under Togekiss' chin and gently scratched, "equal footing impossible anywhere else. Whether it be a fight for sport or a fight for survival, there is no better or purer form of communication."

Yes, Cecilia thought, there's the madness in her.

"Furthermore," a pause, "it's what you wanted."

"Not like this."

Cynthia's lips quirked upward. "Look at you, already thinking destiny is set in stone." She sighed, and Cecilia knew it to be the beginning of a lesson. "To be a living creature is to have agency, and to have agency is to have the capacity to inflict change upon the world." She stood up and calmly walked toward her window, hands behind her back. Traces of sunlight danced across her face. "An individual may be told they cannot do something their entire life, that it would be all for naught, but they are not alive until they take their own destiny into their own hands and face the world with grit. Even if it brings failure, humiliation, or what have you, at least you're living." She slapped her palm with the back of her hand. "You have to act. You have to act on the world, or it consumes you."

Once, a girl had lamented in the rural north of Celestic Town, a backwater that barely anyone bothered with. How many times had she been told she couldn't do it? You can't be a trainer, you can't join the Circuit, you can't get a badge, you can't reach the Conference, you can't win, yet suddenly, within the year, she was Champion. She had seized the region by its throat despite the naysayers and had been ready to reshape it in her image.

Cecilia might not have expected the lesson, but she managed an answer. "I get what you're saying, but I've been given enough metaphors about life and death for a lifetime."

Cynthia grinned. "They do that a lot, don't they?" She walked back to her desk and raised an eyebrow at Togekiss having stolen her seat. She gave him a joking look, and he jumped off with an innocent hum. "But the point remains the same. This is a two-pronged lesson: one, you want something, and the opportunity's fallen into your lap, so get it. Two…" she grabbed Spiritomb's keystone again. "Better get everything off your chest before meeting your own ghost. What were your last few interactions with Grace like?"

Cecilia sighed. Hiding from her in this very building, awkwardness beyond relief in that item store, and then a shouting match in Canalave.

"Not good," Cynthia guessed. "It makes your job in a few weeks harder if you have nothing but painful memories to remember recently and the good is further away."

The Unovan slumped in her seat, convinced, but not ready.

"Here's the thing. I dislike people who believe events are set in stone. That the world is rigid and their fate is sealed and that nothing they do can change it." Ah. That must have been what that glare had meant when she'd asked if Cecilia was a fatalist. "You're acting as if you've already lost in all of the ways that matter."

"I'm not—"

"You are. That kind of thinking is a self-fulfilling prophecy." Cynthia leaned back in her chair and rested her head on a loose fist. Golden curls of messy hair got in Togekiss' face. "Sorry if I'm being harsh on you, I just want you to make use of this opportunity, because it is an opportunity, not just a risk."

Yes, it was a risk. A risk to be unmade.

But she was right. One could avoid Grace to heal without getting into a fit of anxiety every time she was mentioned. The thought of facing her was still a haunting one, but it was…

"There you go," Cynthia said. "Now you get it."

Cecilia felt her lips curving. "Yes. Yes, I do."

—

"...oring the drama, could be anyone's game. I mean, both of these trainers have radically changed their styles recently, seemingly to a lot of success. They've shown themselves capable of reaching the knock-out stages in their first year! Granted, there are more than them. Barry Lane, Lauren Goodwill…" Goalducc listed more names, some of them I hadn't heard about. "It's a shame the bombings cut so many first years' Circuits short! Before we go into details about their Pokemon and each of their capabilities, Denzel, what do you think about this battle?"

My best friend looked in his element without a shred of nervousness to his tall frame. "I mean again, right? Everyone keeps talking about the low odds of this matchup, but for the results, I think it really depends on who manages to snag a switch advantage early and who presses that into real material gains…" Denzel kept droning about what he thought the battle might look like in ways that were so rigid I could have wept. It annoyed me, so I decided I'd stop listening to the livestream for now and maybe get back to it later. I closed my laptop and stretched; the grass prickled the bottom of my legs as I observed my Pokemon do some light training in the distance. I had to remind Sweetheart that it would remain light every five minutes, or she always started going crazy and I was sure Cassianus didn't want to get pelted with Dark Pulses. Other than Honey, Princess, and Sunshine, they were all near the cliffs save for Mimi, who was napping on my laptop.

The news of the coming battle had me somewhat anxious, but calmer than I had any right to be. My mind wasn't racing about what I'd say or do, or how I'd perform, or if I even deserved to win. Instead, I had the jitters one would have before any important battle. Maylene and Emilia were more nervous than I was! It was difficult to believe that in two days we'd be fighting.

I'd thought about a pep talk with my team, but they already knew what was at stake, and this wasn't as important to them as this was to me. For Sunshine or Buddy, for example, this would just be another battle. The difference, however, was that they knew how much this mattered to me.

The day since the announcement had been spent studying Cecilia's new style and workshopping my own strategy with my family. I'd stayed away beforehand because it hadn't felt… proper to check up on how her battles had been doing. The only time I'd seen her enjoy herself as close to that much in a battle was during our first fight with Chase and Denzel in Hearthome. I was glad it had worked out for her and happier that Temperance had taught her so much in such a short amount of time. Outside of actual Pokemon training, I was confident I would have beaten Cecilia from two months ago with a decent performance. Today was a different story; there was a lot to worry about and keep track of now that her Pokemon were so versatile. Marley had offered to help me train, but other than general advice, I'd refused—not because I didn't want to win, but because no one else could interfere.

This was going to be our battle. There would be no meddling, no one influencing the decisions I took.

"I guess the break's done," I whispered to myself.

With renewed vigor, I pressed on, playing video after video, looking within every frame, every nook and cranny I could find. The more informed I was, the more I'd know how to approach this entire fight. I was not going to come in a silly costume—she was owed more than that—but I still needed to decide exactly what narrative to take. It was already taking shape within the back of my mind, and if—if I went with this, I just hoped it wouldn't come off as too pretentious.

To Cecilia, not the audience. I didn't give a crap about the audience.

Less than forty-eight hours remained until the battle. I'd better make good use of them.

—

And I did. Time with my friends was put to the wayside these past few days, and although I still made time for Maylene, it was less than I'd wanted to have. Sometimes I wished there were more than twenty-four hours in a day. There was a certain vibration in the air—a constantly beating drum hammering against my skin as the fated hour approached. I felt ready, or as ready as one could be considering the circumstances.

But that was only for the battle itself.

The knock-out stage functioned differently not only in its rules, but in every clash's importance. This was when the majority of the viewers would tune in outside of the Lily, when so many battles would stop happening simultaneously. With fewer battles to cover, the media could zero in on the most compelling clashes and launch interviews on a massive scale. I was no stranger to attention after my time with Poketch, but that didn't make it any less aggravating. They were pushing a narrative now—spinning our old relationship into drama to juice their ratings. Despite wanting to tell them to screw off, I was all smiles when what felt like the fiftieth microphone was shoved into my face on my way to the stadium.

"Ms. Pastel! Ms. Pastel!" a freckled, round-faced woman called out. "I'm Regina with the Hearthome Herald!" She looked a tad nervous. Her eyes didn't know where to look and her hand was shaking a little—was it because Maylene was with me? "Could you answer a few questions about the battle if you'd like?"

And to think that Craig would set up literal press conferences for these. I gave her a smile and nodded, gazing at the massive camera her colleague carried on his shoulder. He was tall too, assuring that he'd tower over the masses to get a good shot of whatever was needed. "Sure thing, but please keep it short. I wouldn't want to be late."

"Thank you! And of course!" she practically squealed. "Now, plenty of networks have asked you about how you feel and what you expect, but we'd like to know what you expect from this battle? Besides a simple victory, of course."

There was no way to delve deep into this question without unraveling all of our history, so I decided to keep the answer simple. "Battling is my passion—there really isn't anything else that makes me feel the way this sport does," I said. "So what I really want for today is for the both of us to come out of this satisfied no matter the result."

It was a bit of a cop-out, PR answer, but it was the honest truth. A win or a loss here was secondary—this was my truest of goals. A few more questions followed, the most notable of which was the reporter asking me what I thought of Hearthome and if I'd ever decide to spend more time there before my departure to Unova. She was probably looking to boost her city's reputation with my words, which was somewhat surreal, even after all of the fame.

"For our final question," the reporter said, "if you had one thing you wanted to tell your fans ahead of this pivotal moment, what would it be?"

I paused for a second, hand reaching at Mimi around my wrist. "I'd tell them that I'm happy they stuck around for so long, through thick and thin." My fist clenched. I was a murderer, violent, crazed, and eccentric, but they still remained. Despite us not interacting as much as we could have, I appreciated them. A legacy was what I wanted to leave behind. "And that I'm going to etch this battle into Conference history."

The reporter seemed to like that line—it would make a good headline, wouldn't it? The live feed was cut off soon afterward, and I finally allowed myself to relax, even if I still had an approachable look about me.

"Your opponent has been rather silent and is rather difficult to approach, so we appreciate your cooperation! If only she was like you…" Regina trailed off.

My smile twitched, but the moment I opened my mouth, I felt Maylene's hand gently grab mine. She'd been sidelined in a lot of these interviews, so I felt somewhat bad for her, but she'd decided to brave them anyway to support me for as long as possible before we had to go our separate ways. She'd be cheering me on as a spectator soon enough, but her presence was a blessing. Instead of making a scene wanting to say that neither Regina or any news network was owed anything, we moved on toward the towering stadium.

I didn't take any more interviews after that.

"You okay?" she asked in a low voice. The fact that she was still holding onto my hand with so many people around was a testament to how much she'd been worrying. "Your body feels tense."

There was an unsavory joke to be made here but now wasn't the time. "A little. This is important." I rolled my shoulders, trying to unloosen the metaphorical knots in them. "I just want to be standing on that platform already."

Maylene let out a soft chuckle. "At least you're eager." A pause. "I'm looking forward to it too, you know?"

"Hm?"

"To hear what you both have to say," she added.

The stadium loomed ahead, a monolith of steel and glass that seemed to swallow the sky. Its sleek, curved walls reflected the overcast light, casting distorted images of the crowds gathering below. Massive digital screens wrapped around the upper levels, flashing highlights of both Cecilia and my earlier group stage battles, and occasionally our faces, including my horrid trainer ID picture I took at the start of the year in Sandgem. Unburned, innocent, and clearly so, so nervous. Strangely enough, even if the option was available for a fee that was honestly paltry, I'd never wanted to change it. It felt like looking at a time capsule, the key to an easier time, which was the energy I would need to channel soon.

Stepping inside and getting through the maelstrom of people at the entrance, I met my friends in one of the halls leading to the bleachers. Everyone was here—even Louis had come around for the day, though from what I knew he'd stopped by to see Cecilia first. My parents too, even if they were a little separated from the group due to the age gap. Marley seemed to be talking to them a bunch, though. Lauren was off to the side with her headphones scrolling through her phone, most likely listening to music. Mira was chatting and catching up with Denzel, Pauline, and Emi—seeing her and Pauline talk amicably was a sight I would have thought impossible a few months ago.

They all had words to say, whether that be good luck, or quiet reassurances that were honestly quite welcome. Denzel clapped me on the shoulder with that familiar, easy grin, though there was something steadier behind it this time—an understanding of what this moment meant. Mira's enthusiasm was like a spark, practically vibrating with energy as she rattled off encouragements so fast they blended together. Lauren nodded in the distance with a discrete smile. Pauline offered a quick nod, sharp and confident, her eyes carrying a fire that said win, because I know you can, not out of a desire to see Cecilia crushed, but out of genuine support. My parents gave me a warm hug and both said they were proud of me. The support made my heart swell. Yes, this was my fight, but having people at your back was never unnoticed.

Cecilia didn't have all of this support. She had Louis and Chase—but I was sure something must have felt like it was missing.

Twenty minutes spent chatting, and it was time to go. Maylene cupped my cheek and whispered "go out there and have fun," in my ear, and I pecked her on the face quickly before running off.

Having all been built or renovated after the Final War, most of the League's stadiums had a similar inner layout despite minor differences like size or their outer layer. Where I was led by this League Trainer wasn't where I was accustomed to, but a shorter path that would lead to, according to them, a different waiting room. The halls quickly thinned, and soon enough it was just us two. The distant roar of the expectant crowd faded into a dull hum behind thick concrete walls. Each step echoed faintly against the sterile, polished floors—an empty rhythm that felt louder with every turn we took.

Then, a sliding door. Before entering, he fitted me with the usual lapel microphone.

"Now remember," he said, "you've got to walk out together."

"Huh?"

He opened the door to a spacious lounge filled with comfortable-looking couches, snacks, and drinks lining the counters. My eyes darted toward the only other individual in the room. Cecilia had come dressed quite simply. Her tunic was loose and a dark gray while her trousers were flexible, a dark charcoal with reinforced stitching along the knees and sides. Her dark boots were the most worn part of her attire almost in an artificial way—like how you could sometimes tell if someone had ripped their jeans on purpose or not. On her face was eyeliner with sharp, geometric shapes around the eyes—like winged tips that stretched farther than usual along with simple, bold golden eyeshadow.

Her white eyes widened a smidge when she looked at me. I was, after all, wearing what I'd had on the day we met—truly met. Floaroma. Baggy jeans and a wooly blue t-shirt the color of the sky. My hair tied in a ponytail from my run that very morning. Cecilia dipped her head, greeted me with a simple, smooth 'good morning', and grabbed a pack of cookies to munch on.

Barely given enough time to think, the League Trainer ushered me inside. My legs felt a little stiff, but I managed to sit down on to closest couch, remaining in silence as the seconds passed by and the League Trainer left. How had I missed this? When I'd watched the Conference in my childhood in the knock-out stages, the two trainers had always come out together, waving at the spectators for a bit before splitting up and walking toward their respective platforms. There was probably an email or message I'd gotten I hadn't paid attention to because of how engrossed I'd been in planning. Cecilia didn't seem surprised at all.

I silently gulped and started to slowly relax. The room had a strange physicality to it. It wasn't just tension, though that was there, thick and undeniable. Awkwardness, maybe, but something else lurked beneath it. Anticipation, perhaps. Whatever it was, it clung to the air like smoke—dense, lingering, something you could almost reach out and tear away. This wasn't like in the item store; there would be weight behind every word spoken before this fight.

It was she who broke the silence.

"How are the others?" Cecilia asked.

"Oh. They're doing good; they're very excited, obviously." I didn't stumble over my words. It was strangely normal. I briefly went over each member of our old group. It was awkward small talk, but it was something, even if I felt like this would be so much easier in a Pokemon battle. "Is Chase around?"

"He's finally taken a break from non-stop work and is somewhere in the stands. He complained about how much of a pain in the ass it was to navigate the island with so many people, but he managed."

"He does usually manage," I repeated with a few nods.

"It's a wonderful thing, to have his drive and spirit. I hope I channel some of that today." She crossed her legs. "Are you nervous?"

"Kinda. You?"

"Deathly so. I feel like my body's going to explode," she laughed softly. "But I'm looking forward to it."

I mirrored her smile. "So am I."

An alarm blared above, telling us that it was time to get going. We stood together side by side as a timer counted down above the door from thirty.

"Remember when you'd just come back from Lakhutia and we explored the island together?" Cecilia reminisced, stretching and cracking each finger.

I touched the Pokeballs at my hip. "Hmhm," I softly said. "We found a stadium much like this one, didn't we? I wish it was the same one."

"That's just like you."

"But I remember that promise," I whispered. "I always remember."

The doors swung open.

A wall of sound crashed over us—cheers roaring, relentless, and deafening.

We both smiled, raising our hands in unison to wave at the sea of faces beyond.

Yes.

I was ready.

Just let me get to the battle already!

---

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[Soussouni1]

Spoiler: Team

Togekiss/Princess (Hustle) - Pound, Sweet Kiss, Growl, Headbutt, Fairy Wind, Ancient Power, Extrasensory, Thunder Wave, Air Cutter, Wish, Psychic, Shadow Ball, Dazzling Gleam, Moonblast, Charge Beam, Air Slash, Mystical Fire, Tri-Attack, Nasty Plot, Defog

Jellicent/Buddy (Water Absorb) - Bubblebeam, Night Shade, Absorb, Water Sport, Water Pulse, Hex, Poison Sting, Mist, Acid Armor, Shadow Ball, Recover, Brine, Whirlpool, Hydro Pump, Water Spout, Acid, Will-O-Wisp, Ice Beam, Taunt, Scald, Boil, Freeze, Protect, Ice Blade, Rain Dance, Extrasensory

Electivire/Honey (Motor Drive) - Thundershock, Swift, Elemental Swift, Thunder Punch, Charge, Leer, Ice Punch, Thunderbolt, Discharge, Fire Punch, Protect, Cross Chop, Thunder, Low-Kick, Screech, Radiant Leap, Static Shield, Bulldoze, Hammer Arm, Rain Dance, Lightning Bolt

Tangrowth/Angel (Chlorophyll) - Vine Whip, Absorb, Mega Drain, Stun Spore, Bind, Poison Powder, Leech Seed, Ancient Power, Power Whip, Knock Off, Sunny Day, Giga Drain, Sleep Powder, Solar Beam, Solar Blade, Brick Break, Ingrain, Bulldoze

Tyranitar/Sweetheart (Sand Stream) - Leer, Tackle, Horn Attack, Rock Throw, Payback, Stomping Tantrum, Smack Down, Bite, Rock Slide, Crunch, Sandstorm, Iron Defense, Dragon Pulse, Iron Head, Earthbreaker, Aerial Ace, Stone Edge, Dark Pulse, Rock Polish, Surf, Earthquake, Ice Fang, Flamethrower

Turtonator/Sunshine (Shell Armor) - Smog, Ember, Smokescreen, Incinerate, Iron Defense, Flamethrower, Shell Trap, Dragon Pulse, Bulldoze, Scorching Sands, Rock Tomb, Body Slam, Flash Cannon, Solar Beam, Rapid Spin, Scale Shot, Iron Tail, Focus Blast, Sunny Day, Fire Pillar, Flame Charge, Heat Crash, Fire Blast, Shell Smash

Claydol/Cassianus (Levitate) - Mud Slap, Rock Tomb, Rapid Spin, Harden, Confusion, Psychic, Barrier, Imprison, Wide Guard, Light Screen, Reflect, Ancient Power, Teleport, Earth Power, Sandstorm, Scorching Sands, Hyper Beam

Meltan/Mimi (Magnet Pull) - Harden, Acid Armor, Tail Whip / Not a battler

---

CHAPTER 347 - TURNING POINT VI

If one is to speak of promises—those curious arrangements of words and will that bind people across time—then one might speak of a promise made not long ago, in the fleeting span of months, between two girls. It was simple in its terms, but heavy in its weight: they would survive at all costs through trial and tribulation to face each other at the Conference. Yes, the promise heralded a fight, but it was not just about the battle; it was also something else. Something more. A pact that promised that they would live to see the summer.

Grace Pastel and Cecilia Obel saved the world, ironically nearly destroying themselves in the process. They emerged from the experience changed for better or for worse, and Team Galactic had been scattered like ash to the wind.

And yet, one battle remains. It waits not to decide the fate of the world, but to hopefully tie together all that has been unraveled. The two teenagers stare at each other as they wait for it to commence, eager for the fight. The arena itself is a dry lakebed. Its surface is pale and cracked, the color of old bone, with jagged lines spiderwebbing outward in every direction. The ground is brittle underfoot, as though one careless step might send the whole thing collapsing into dust. Faint traces of water remain in shallow depressions, and worn-down stone pillars are scattered across the field, some tall, some broken.

Cecilia's body feels confined, even in the looseness of her gray tunic and dark trousers. She coils with tension as if preparing for a blow. Sweat traces a slow path down her face, and her fingers twitch restlessly around her first Pokeball as her lips curve upward in anticipation. Excitement practically spills out of Grace, yet she desperately tries to get in character—still herself, but perhaps something heralding more innocent days. Softer eyes, a more relaxed demeanor, a timid smile that remains ravenous despite her best efforts. They wear their eagerness in different ways, but the feeling is the same, and it hums between the two like a taut string waiting to snap. Here they are, in the midst of the largest and most consequential tournament of the year.

They'd met a year ago in the most random of ways, nearly sparking conflict. Their relationship had taken shape after shape.

At the beginning came friendship. It was tentative at first, then certain. From friendship grew love, and from love, a kind of dependence that bordered on ruin. They became each other's refuge, each other's vice, each other's drug, and when it all fell apart, they were left as nothing more than broken shards of glass capable of hurting those around them who were left to pick up the pieces.

The referee announces the start of the battle, but like the swelling audience, he may as well not exist. Both girls' arms snap forward; they wordlessly release their Pokemon.

For a moment, Grace is somewhere else. She pictures their first encounter: Togetic facing Fletchling under a pale sky. She can smell the sweet scent of Floaroma's endless flowers, feel the chill of autumn wind blowing in her hair. She is no one. A first-year trainer looking to make a name for herself, a helpless girl with a crush on someone who seems a world away and who always looks past her. Bygone times could be so addicting if one let them; they always beckoned in your ear in the darkest of nights, asking what if so and so had been different. Grace Pastel looks to the past, and Togekiss materializes in the air with a sing-song cry. The flying type's fur shimmers under the summer sun, where she sparkles like glitter. Her first child—her baby. Her everything who had known where when she was a scared city girl terrified of harm befalling her.

Cecilia looks to the future. She sees herself one, five, ten years from now with everything she has to deal with behind her. It steadies her fraying nerves, makes her stand up straighter, more confidently, and it allows her to look far ahead. It is the ultimate high that gives the illusion of certainty, and one she will have to be careful not to chase. A desk inside a high rise with all of Castelia below her, where she stands as Gym Leader; A clipboard in hand atop Mount Vertress, advising an Elite Four member with practiced ease; a brief, glorious moment atop the Draconic Throne as Champion herself. That is the thing about the future: unlike the past, it is a tentative thing. Uncertain, unfocused, a puff of smoke. One can dream as big as they want without putting the effort in. Golurk emerges from his Pokeball a stalwart figure that seems larger than life. First on one knee, the automaton rises to his feet, each movement smooth and deliberate like Cecilia desires to be. The ground sinks slightly under his weight; however, it solidifies when Golurk orders it to do so.

The referee slashes his hand down. This was, is, and will be for everything.

The battle begins.

"Lehmhart sets the stage for those who will come after," Cecilia solemnly starts.

Music spills out of the construct in ghostly waves. Like an ominous wind, it presses against any who would hear its folly unprotected. So much is its weight that it makes the entire ground vibrate and bend under the beautiful melody. Through shifting of its inner workings—low grinding gears, the rhythmic pulse of pistons, the hum of ancient mechanisms moving in concert—a song is created. Yet Togekiss' domain are the skies, and a barrier isolating for sound is made in a flash to counter. The fairy circles high above. Missile-like artefacts of stone peel off the lakebed and follow her every move, each as large as she and as sharp as a honed spike.

Words continue to leave Cecilia's mouth. "His shell is iron made manifest." Golurk's clay armor glimmers with a metallic sheen. The Unovan thinks forward, always forward, to every machination Grace could trap her with, but their opponent already takes action.

"S—slam them down on his head!" Grace yells with uncertainty. Cecilia remembers this is how she used to speak in her first few battles; she has seen the recording of her battle against Roark. Grace is inexperienced. She doesn't yet know what can work and what won't, which commands carry importance and which ones are little more than noise. She is grasping at instincts that haven't fully formed, hoping they'll be enough, but she will grow quickly.

To Golurk's right stands one of the pillars littering the lakebed. Order and narration flow from Cecilia's mouth, and the ghost picks it up, splitting it in two over his knee. As dust and shards of stone cloud his surroundings, the first of Togekiss' missiles catches fire. Then another. And another. They slam into Lehmhart, but the automaton stands true. Both of Golurk's arms rumble, flying upward like jet engines and still carrying the two broken stones.

"He wishes so dearly he did not stand alone. He wants a future to fight for. Friends. Family. Poltergeist!" the Unovan says. Ghostly abominations crawl out of cracks left by Golurk's wind and possess the two pillars. They split further and further aided by Golurk's arms—Togekiss tries to slow things down, but if there is one thing the fairy has rarely faced, it is fighting an opponent capable of juggling as many tasks as she is. "Never alone will he face life's troubles again."

Togekiss tries to wrest control of the stones from Golurk through Ancient Power, but his friends remain by his side. Grace realizes something as her daughter fights to dodge and counter every Shadow Ball that the possessed shard of rocks throw at her, burning away the hungry souls that risked clipping her wings with her Dazzling Gleams.

They have lost control of the skies.

She steadies her excitement and bites her inner cheek so hard it burns raw. She's nervous, but excitement at the passion for battle sneaks up on her like a Kecleon. Her inexperienced mind races to find a solution—she did not expect to be caught off-guard so quickly. This is a story, yes; in fact, it might as well be the climax. But it is also a battle. A fight in the mud for a knife that spells your devastating doom or your glorious victory. Character or not, she is well to remember this.

The Poltergeists flicker out like candles in the wind when Togekiss' light singes them; they scream and scream and scream as the object that binds them to this world can no longer hold onto them. They try to overwhelm her, but only few make it to her barrier and begin to eat at it. Grace rubs at her wrist, her Meltan, and her teeth flash for a split second before she catches herself. She plans to evolve this battle—to change in the span of minutes instead of months—but not so soon.

"Light him on fire!" Grace tries. The flames catch slowly at first, as if unsure whether something so ancient and clay-bound can truly burn. Then, it takes. It licks up the Golurk's body in long, deliberate tongues, casting its towering frame in hues of orange and blue. It does not hurt him much, not yet at least, but it will remain constant. "Now concentrate your wind."

There is another wind that permeates the battlefield other than Golurk's hymn of machinery he somehow makes sound like an orchestra. A wordless one borne of belief that Togekiss brings with her whenever she goes. It is always so subtle it is nearly silent, but then it gathers around Golurk in concentrated hues of pastel pink that feeds the flames. In another story, Grace tells herself, this would have been a good representation of the fire that now burns in her heart. This attack is not without cost, however. Togekiss' barrier breaks down with a wordless scream and souls crawl across her body, staining it with their negativity. Another Dazzling Gleam bursts out of her, but it fails to expel every ghost and more are on their way. They leave a trail of sickly purple as she flies, whispering horrible things in her mind that beckon distortion, leading her toward—

Grace's eyes focus.

Toward one of Golurk's hovering fists.

Cecilia's own shimmer with hope as would two lonely pale stars in the night sky. They had been lying here in waiting, hovering in the air. A Dynamic Punch capable of shattering the little fairy's body should it make full contact. The fist closes and shines bright white, illuminating the entire field in its awesome glow, and flies to meet its mark. Like a lighthouse steers wayward ships home, the souls direct Togekiss as a mere suggestion she believes to be her own. Grace yells as her daughter slowly turns toward the arm. They are on a collision course that almost feels set.

Grace smirks and recalls Togekiss at the last possible second right before impact. They got her quicker than expected. She rolls her shoulders and rubs the side of her neck. How grand, she thinks, for Cecilia's Golurk to catch them so. She must have predicted this. Known that Grace would lead with her first Pokemon and used this tactic to counter them. Meanwhile, she had believed that maybe Cecilia would match her. That they would recount their journey together and parse through the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Cecilia Obel is her own person, even now. It is a toxic—albeit not entirely unfounded—belief that this entire battle revolves around her relationship with Grace that made the blond teenager believe she would lead with Talonflame. The fire type has the advantage in the air, or at least that is what Grace thought Cecilia believed. For as much as Grace has changed and wants for Cecilia to move on, there remains an infinitesimal part of her that thinks she could have made Cecilia sing to the tune of her own song. That she would mirror her own intentions.

Grace grabs her next Pokeball and faces the remaining Poltergeists. Golurk still burns, even if the fire is less intense, but the pink flames cling to him stubbornly, and the edges of his body have begun to melt like candle wax. The ghost's arms return to his body just shy enough of the flames, able to still serve their original function. The girl's face grows a little more stern, for she has now brushed close to death and injury, but there is something else. A nascent thirst for violence that would only grow in time.

Yes, Cecilia tells herself. I know you, Grace Pastel. Now send out your next Pokemon and let us spar some more. Let this moment last an eternity. The girls' eyes meet; thirty seconds have gone by.

The embodiment of a living mountain spews out of the Pokeball, and her roar shakes the foundation of the very ground Golurk stands on. She, too, sinks deeper in, breaking the earth with her weight until she solidifies it enough to stand on. Darkness spews out of every crag in her armor and oozes throughout the battlefield, sending the Poltergeists reeling. The golem's wind and song bounce off the mountain like it is an immutable wall. The Unovan's face falls. Has she misread Grace—no, she is piecing their journey together and her progression as a person, looking to the past, recounting every tale and retracing every step. That was why she had come dressed in the outfit they had met in, why her face is now so guiltless.

So why did she release Tyranitar and not Jellicent, her second Pokemon?

No matter. It is not like she has time to think on it. Grace has already let her Tyranitar loose, and the rock type gathers water from shallow pools to Surf on. At first, it is but a trickle, but from a single drop, the mightiest of rivers can form. The liquid seeps through the cracks in the ground, and Tyranitar mounts a massive slab of stone, riding it with impossible speed as the water surges beneath her. "Golurk steadies himself and prepares to strike at a distance with Hammer Arm," Cecilia narrates. He follows her every word, once again sending his limbs away. The glow is less than Dynamic Punch, but pressure ripples in waves as they fly toward Tyranitar.

Grace laughs and grins like a child does discovering candy for the first time. She knows how it feels to win, now. To see her opponents broken at her feet. "Dark Pulse, Sweetheart!"

Black, undulating beams shoot out of Tyranitar. They shimmer at the edges with absence—void given form, humming with the low, guttural sound of the mountain's muffled roars. The air distorts in their path, warping like heat haze under a sunless sky. Cecilia screams; Golurk's eyes shine brighter, the music swells, and every Poltergeist throws itself at the advancing Tyranitar. They helplessly bounce off of her like pebbles thrown upon a brick wall, and they are unable to assail her mind, but it is naught but a distraction. The automaton's arms dodge the first Dark Pulse, then the next, and the next—but then one gets hit. Its engine stumbles like it is catching its breath, and it collapses against the lakebed. The second? Grace knows there is no time to intercept.

"Iron Def—" she stops herself when she sees the confidence in her youngest's back. There is no more tension in her stance, no fear in her shoulders. Only excitement. "Crunch!"

What is it that makes children so wondrous? The purity of their curiosity. The unfiltered need to know, to touch, to feel everything the world has to offer and to absorb all the information like a sponge. Put the average adult next to a Hydreigon, and they will scream, cry, run, freeze, or perhaps beg for mercy. A child, proven they are young enough, will look up at the dragon and tilt their head in awe. They might reach out a hand, not to strike or shield themselves, but simply to understand. To feel the texture of scaled skin, to ask—without words—what are you? Can we play? Tyranitar—Sweetheart—is a fierce Pokemon, an apex predator, and also, some might forget, a toddler.

This is the second leg of Grace's journey. She unearths the pleasure of violence, of winning, and it is where anything seems possible. She doesn't know her limits—she has not even begun to understand the complexities of the world. She believes she can unseat Cynthia and become Champion in a year, despite not even knowing why she would want to. She believes she can delve into Coronet, saving Cecilia from her doom even though she would be going against one of the most powerful families in Unova. She believes that she can convince an agonized Turtonator who has lost everything that she can heal his heart and will burn half her body for it. She is brave and foolish and hurt.

Sometimes, that bravery—that trust—pays off.

So when Tyranitar's darkened, endless teeth sink into the side of the arm, catching it mid-air before she can bear the brunt of the Hammer Arm's impact, there is no surprise. All she thinks is, 'of course I can do that.' The Surf hits Golurk at full force, extinguishing the flames around him, and then Tyranitar does what she does best. Her claws find heated softened clay and tear through it with ease. She drives him back, dragging his weight across the flooded ground as if he were nothing but a lump of rock. He kicks, clumsily and off-balance; he collapses the earth beneath with a stomp, causing them to sink. It is no use. Cecilia lets him fall, watching the violent display to the end.

She is mildly unsettled. How can she not be? To have gotten the Pokemon order wrong means that she no longer knows Grace as well as she thought she did. Still, Cecilia does not let this shake her. She steels herself, recalls Golurk, and clears her throat. "Lehmhart may have fallen, but his influence lingers," the Unovan says as all the Poltergeists crawl back into Distortion. Even now, his music permeates the battlefield. "His love and kindness will ripple for time immemorial."

For those who come after. What a nice thought. Beyond the obvious glance into the distant future, it is also the sentiment that history is not moved by a singular Great Man, but by the countless, unseen hands that keep the wheels turning. From the smallest village to the world itself, you are naught but a cog in a well-oiled machine. Stories are just that. Stories. To move the world itself, you need influence. Reach. People. This runs counter to everything her opponent holds true; this is the antithesis of Grace's understanding of the world.

Cecilia Obel is a newborn. She barely has anyone left to cut out, and only one that she can call herself truly close to other than her Pokemon.

The Unovan grabs the next cog in the machine. "Golurk was meant to fall," she announces, "given that he was The Foresight To Think Ahead."

Something smaller emerges from the crimson light. Red claws drip with poison that bubbles on contact with the damp earth, eating shallow pits into the stone. Her frame is lean, all sinew and sharp lines, and her yellow eyes pierce into the large Tyranitar as her throat swells with a croak. The music does not affect Toxicroak, not because of her typing, but because of Lehmhart's care.

"Toxicroak walks a treaded path," she quickly says. While Tyranitar had beaten Golurk handily, he had still helped them some. Cracks on her armor had formed around her jaw. Sand spills out of every crevice inside of her, darkened and silent, letting only whispers of Lehmhart's music through. In a moment, the Sandstorm has swarmed the entire battlefield. "She stands vigilant, poised to strike at any moment." She scans the arena, unable to see anything. She can't even see Grace on the opposite platform. Can Toxicroak even hear her? Remembering the voice lessons Temperance taught her, Cecilia yells as loudly as she can. "Pursuit!"

For a few long, aching seconds that stretch into eternity, nothing happens. The sandstorm rages, pelting at the barrier in front of Cecilia like rain on a window. Even in her monochrome vision, the world beyond is grainy, blurred, and indistinct. It makes her feel an agonizing absence. Everything is so quiet it feels disconcerting. Wrong. Fighting a Tyranitar should be all screaming and terror, but it is not. They tame the darkness of caves, the sandstorm and sand dunes of the deserts, and they ambush their prey, overwhelming them until they are dead before they can even fight. They are true apex predators—rulers of their environment.

The Unovan allows herself to smile. Toxicroak, weak as she was when the Unovan found her, was only so in strength and not in spirit. It was her, after all, who had tried to fight against Abel to save her friend Wooper from being kidnapped, even when she was hopelessly outmatched. "But once in a while, something has the Audacity To Fight Back."

Pursuit, Cecilia has found, is a peculiar move. It can be used to disturb a Pokeball's energy, making it easier to hit before it is recalled, but it can also be used to track. Not in the way one tracks footprints or scent, but through motion itself—through intention. It latches onto the thread of an escape, the barest twitch of momentum, and so, it can be used to sense movement. Of course, in a Tyranitar's tailor-made environment, it might be too much to ask, but with a Dark Gem…

The sandstorm wanes, allowing her to peer through for a moment, and she nearly gasps.

There are two impacts. The familiar soothing glow of a Drain Punch blooms against Tyranitar's abdomen. The light seeps into her plating, and a spiderweb of fine fractures spreads across the green armor. Thin, branching lines that shimmer with residual energy before settling into stillness.

She's been hit. Truly hit. Pain flashes across her face, her breaths are heavy, and she struggles to stand up straight.

And then the second impact comes.

Beneath Toxicroak, the earth shakes with terrible force. A sudden, upward shock splits the ground open, and jagged stone spears erupt from below. Soil and steam explode into the air as the battlefield bucks beneath the two creatures' weight. Grab her, Grace yells, and Tyranitar does so, using the Earthquake to her advantage. Toxicroak is stronger than she looks, but she can't possibly break out of Tyranitar's hold should Cecilia order it.

Yet, the Unovan stays calm. Hands neatly folded behind her back, she watches as bright flames bulge in the goliath's throat. For once, she is silent and lets the action speak for itself. The fire swallows Toxicroak whole; it engulfs her with a roar that would burn any man to smithereens. It floods from the creature's jaws in a chaotic torrent without care, and behind Tyranitar is an unrestrained smile. The fire is Grace, and Grace is joy.

Cecilia smiles back. "Toxicroak takes her Revenge."

The fire ripples like water, and a limb covered in burns bursts through the blaze. Unlike Hammer Arm or Focus Punch, this one neither glows nor howls with power. It does not warp the air or make it heavier. It is sharp, deliberate, and quiet, just like its wielder. Toxicroak, Cecilia knows, has never been one to be flashy. It is not meant to impress.

It is meant to land.

The fist punctures Tyranitar's stomach like a blade finding its sheath in one smooth motion. The entire ordeal lasts one to two seconds at best, but Cecilia knows that it must have felt like an eternity to her companion. Toxicroak slumps soon afterward, collapsing as the flames dissipate. Tyranitar stumbles, blood pours out of her wound, the sandstorm stops completely, she gasps and—

Remains standing, even in the sunken ground. Not that it matters in the grand scheme of things. Her next Pokemon would swiftly deal with her. Cecilia knew coming into this that Tyranitar would be the single, biggest problem to her team, and now she has been dealt with, if at a great cost. That is not to mean that she is doing fine, however. Cecilia knows she is behind.

Grace knows it, too. She wipes the sweat on her hands off her jeans and licks her lips. She had not expected Toxicroak to be capable of staying conscious long enough to strike when besieged by such a close-range Flamethrower, especially with her Dry Skin, but she is still in a good position to complete her story first. "You did great, Sweetie," she praises, but her daughter is too weak to respond. She considers recalling her, but decides not to—not when there is a chance she could land a hit on whoever Cecilia sends out next. Right now, it appears she is waiting to weaken Tyranitar as much as she can.

Ah. Grace feels her thoughts racing; she considers every possibility as she always does when there is even an ounce of respite. While half of her imagines what she will do against every Pokemon her opponent might send, she narrows in on a previous thought—finishing her story first. She cannot gauge what tale Cecilia is weaving so far, but feels the need to cut her off. She believes Cecilia already knows hers, but perhaps not what it is meant to say.

Face me. Look at me—every part of me that you've seen. That, and something else—

No more time. Cecilia releases her next choice. The psychic rises with no effort at all, lifted by something unseen and a flicker of his wrist. In the air, he remains perfectly still with his hands behind his back, mirroring his trainer. Tyranitar offers a weak roar of defiance scraped from the bottom of her lungs, but Slowking's eyes scan the field with a calm sigh. There is no urgency in him. He does not attempt to escape or rush to the fight; he is instead above it all, literally and figuratively.

"Dark Pulse." Grace tries to hope that it will land. The darkened rings tighten in Tyranitar's mouth, and she lets the beam out with a muffled grunt; Slowking simply floats out of the way and counters with Water Cutter. The current bends and divides into a dozen different jets that twist and turn, then convert directly on Tyranitar's wound. Her eyes roll into the back of her skull, and she falls without a word.

New experiences allowed the Grace of old to savor the delicacy of battle—of the thrill of being steps away from victory or defeat, to be on either side of a knife's edge. Freedom away from her parents made them not realize who she was becoming, and her friends were too inexperienced with life or preoccupied with their own affairs to notice until it was too late.

The only time Grace remembers the audience is to honor her parents, friends, therapist, and girlfriend who have pulled her from the brink.

But for now, she must look back and become cruel.

Cecilia stares at the dragon who faces her with a breath held tight in her chest. The air around the creature simmers and shakes. White-hot flames leak from his snout that burn the very essence of the earth, and water evaporates around him in seconds. His tail scrapes the fragile ground, leaving black streaks in its wake. There is no familiar roar, no posturing, no Flamethrower up at the sky, but a calm stare up at Slowking. Turtonator is the promise of something violent. He moves slowly, deliberately, dragging his bulk like a siege engine given consciousness. Jagged spines rise from his shell, designed to maim and scorch whoever would dare strike.

Cecilia begins to understand Grace's aims, now. Where she herself seeks meaning in fragments—six reflections of a self still forming—Grace wants her entire team to reflect her journey as a whole. She understands what each Pokemon she has used represents. Disturbed by the remnants of Golurk's song, Turtonator squints and shakes his head in discomfort. The ground beneath him, already weakened by heat and weight, sinks slightly, and he stumbles a little. His very own presence can be a terrifying one, but he seems uncomfortable. As if his very existence is an uneven, ugly thing.

This is it, the Unovan thinks. An opportunity to equalize—

Grace glares, points up at Slowking, and slips into a grin. Cecilia flinches at the familiar sight. "Get up here and cripple him," Grace says savagely. She has learned to enjoy violence; it is new, fresh, liberating, and most of all, it makes her believe she is just so powerful. Such a potent lie for a child to fall to.

Turtonator slams his tail against his shell, and it erupts. The blast scorches the earth beneath him in a violent bloom, sending up shards of stone and a cloud of smoke thick enough to blot out his silhouette for a single moment. He emerges from the smoke in an upward arc. It is not graceful, but it need not be. Turtonator doesn't ascend so much as detonate his way skyward, each burst from his shell an exhale of fury too dense to stay bound to the earth. Young cruelty is a wild thing. It does not strategize. It does not hesitate. It takes the most direct path to its destination, and whatever stands in the way is collateral.

"Slowking evades and clips Turtonator's wings with Disable," Cecilia quickly narrates. The psychic's eyes dull for a moment, and the next time Turtonator slams his shell, nothing but a pathetic gout of fire sputters out. Better cut off the TE at the source than constantly evade, especially when Slowking is slow in the air, she thinks. "He follows through," Cecilia murmurs, "and seals away the fire entirely."

Turtonator collapses back to earth with an ear-shattering crash. He immediately scrambles up as Cecilia orders more attacks at a distance, retreating into his shell just in time to hide away from more Water Cutters. They strike like thin and merciless whips, slicing into his armor with sharp, wet cracks. He endures it only long enough to build momentum, then scuttles away in a blur of motion, spinning low to the ground in a Rapid Spin that throws up grit and steam in his wake. Occasionally, he tries to retaliate. Dragon Pulses lack in their usual fiery luster and wash helplessly against Slowking's barrier without leaving so much as a crack; Scale Shots burst from his shell like shrapnel, but they are far too scattered to land at range. The dragon's mastery of Rock Tomb finds itself too lacking to reach that high as well, and without the sun overhead, Solar Beam proves slow and cumbersome enough to simply dodge.

He is a beast, yes, as is Grace, but they have been caged, and should Grace be unable to fulfill his narrative, then her entire battle plan would fall apart. Without fire, Turtonator is naught but a child raging at what he cannot control. Finally, he roars, shaking his head at the incessant music that disturbs his concentration that might just break him out of this disable, and suddenly, cruelty appears a lot more childish than it did at first. No longer will this have the narrative punch Grace desires. Slowking does not laugh, nor does he mock. He would rather execute. He has done well to cut off the dragon's fire, but they need more to take him down. Turtonator are coldblooded creatures that are not fit for frigidity. Ordinarily, he would burn hot enough to stave off the cold with his sheer presence. But now, robbed of his inner blaze, they can bring him down through temperature alone.

Grace is frustrated—how can she not be? Their wings have been clipped. They can endure, yes, for Slowking was never built for swift destruction, but endurance means nothing when all roads lead to a slow, quiet loss. She seethes, jaw clenched and knuckles white, her gaze fixed on Cecilia with enough anger for her head to spin. Her enemy pays her no mind as if she does not exist. Grace hates this feeling. Hates the stillness. Hates the helplessness that wraps around her like cold iron. She would make them all pay the long price. She commands ruin, holds devastation that is capable of killing anyone in her path, yet once that is taken away, she is nothing but a girl. Only Grace Pastel. It is in moments like these that she closes her eyes and remembers that red-haired woman toying with her, haunting her nightmares—

"It is never good to get lost in your own head," Cecilia whispers. This battle, she speaks partially to herself. It is a comforting way of taking stock of everything she must change. "That is why, Slowking knows, one needs the Acumen To Take A Step Back." Another barrage of blades of water strike at Turtonator's shell. Cracks keep spreading, and the dragon groans in pain. "To sleep on things before making a rash decision, to take stock of your options, and maybe, just maybe, to not be so serious all the time."

—and Grace sinks deeper into the pit.

Break out of the cage.

A joke is told by Slowking and Cecilia. Laughter rings around Grace's ears, but it grows deformed and twisted. Snowflakes begin to fall onto the lakebed.

Break out of the cage.

Water spun from Slowking's will hits the ground and turns to ice in seconds, webbing over the terrain in gleaming veins. A low, creeping fog follows, curling around the broken pillars and stretching across the arena like a shroud.

Break out of the cage.

A groan escapes Turtonator. He tries to stand, but slips onto the ice and cannot even get back on his feet. With what little remains of his strength, he looks back at his trainer, unconsciousness calling. She has been silent for so long—why? Was she not a warrior who commanded his respect, his leader to follow in battle? His fire had been taken away, but where is hers?

But then, for a moment, his eyes meet hers, and that is all he needs to feel reassurance.

A cornered beast is a creature stripped of all but instinct and the desperate will to live. It has nothing left to lose. And so it lashes out, desperate for survival, clawing and biting at anything that moves. There is something almost pitiful in the way it fights. It is wild and aimless, driven more by fear than fury. Yet, even in its despair, it remains dangerous.

"Shell Smash!" Grace's throat hurts because of the force of her words; her fingernails dig into her palm.

With the last of his energy, Turtonator cracks his shell open right down the middle with a splitting, explosive sound, and Slowking gasps; the psychic's eyes lose their dull grey color, and the dragon's fire roars back to life. The thread has been cut. Disable, at its most complex form, is capable of cutting off the very lifeblood of a Pokemon's capabilities, but it is a punishing, complex technique. The sudden burst of energy surging from Turtonator overwhelms Slowking's deep concentration entirely like a controlled blaze growing wild in an instant.

Flames pour from the breach in Turtonator's shell, licking up the brittle air and painting the cold fog in shades of molten white gold. He is a star born from rebellion, from the refusal to stand down, from what makes him a dragon—but he is a weak one. His light flickers as much as it burns, his breath is ragged, his footing is uneven. And yet, that is what makes it beautiful. Not because he will solve everything, but because he dares to exist and defy their fate at all.

"Slowking cuts off the beast's flames again!" The surge of panic in her voice is like music to Grace's ears. "He flies up and—"

"Get up there and drag that little worm back to the ground! Supernova!" Grace screams with a feral grin. It is her first time giving this order, but her partner understands immediately. He has all the tools at his disposal.

This time, there is no stopping them. Turtonator blurs in a mess of flame and color, washing away the snow around the arena. He leaves behind a trail of gouging flames that burn with the determination to live as its fuel. Countless detonations burst beneath his shell in rapid succession, so many so fast that it appears as one continuous explosion. Calm and composed as always, Slowking's wrist flicks up—but in barely two seconds, the gap has already closed. The drake tears through the air in a spiral of fire, and when he reaches the psychic, it is like a dying star hurled against a mirror. The first barrier shatters on impact, bursting in a wave of colorless light. The second groans under the pressure, but is destroyed all the same. The third bends, warping like heat-blurred glass.

And then it is burned to smithereens.

With a tired, satisfied grin, Turtonator latches onto Slowking, and they begin to sink like a falling star. The psychic's pained groans are obscured by the roar of the flames, but despite this, he manages to gather his thoughts and assault Turtonator's brain. Blood seeps from his eyes and instantly evaporates, but the dragon refuses to let go. He glows brighter, burns stronger, bites into the Slowking's throat with burning fangs, becomes a hypnotizing sight until—

Ah.

He lets go.

He tumbles down, crashes into the lakebed with an impact that splits the earth. The ground caves beneath him, brittle and sun-bleached, and for one terrible second, everything holds still. Grace holds her breath.

Then the explosion comes.

It is deafening, all-consuming; it is a sound that feels too large and encompasses the entire stadium and beyond. Fire blossoms outward in a blinding sphere and turns the cracked earth of the arena into jagged ruin. Both girls shield their eyes, but the brightness pierce their eyelids as if they aren't even there. Stone pillars crumble where they stand, collapsing as the shockwave ripples out from the crater. Turtonator's aspirations crumble, and he is left a smoldering ruin, his body broken and shattered. Only unconsciousness spares him an agony his body cannot endure.

Grace glances up and sees Slowking, burned, but living. He floats unsteadily in the sky without his usual poise. Chunks of his pale pink hide are scorched raw, blistered and peeling where fire had licked too long. The Shellder crown fused to his skull is smeared with soot and blood, some of it his, some of it not. He lets out wet, raspy coughs, and with each breath, a trail of smoke hitches from his throat. One arm hangs limp at his side, trembling, useless; blood runs slow and steady from the deep gash along the side of his neck. His eyes are glassy, half-lidded, but the light in them has not gone out. He is a sorry sight, mangled beyond the pale, yet his mental fortitude keeps him standing.

Surprisingly, there is no rage that consumes her. Instead it is something cold that comes from the depths of her mind, thoughts her current self is now desperate to keep hidden. She's tried to bury them, the part of herself that thinks in absolutes, in costs and consequences, that every deal has a winner and a loser, but she lets them surface now. Just this once. This time, Grace does not wait. Not for the thirty seconds granted, not for the smoke to clear, not for the ache to settle. There is no mercy in battle. In one smooth motion, Turtonator is recalled and no warmth is given to the dragon that so desperately fought in her name. There is no time for pleasantries when they have a fight to win. Victory or defeat, after all, is the difference between survival or death.

Cecilia wipes the sweat off the back of her neck and takes the small opportunity to breathe. She understands that Grace is trying to reminisce on their journey, their time together, so she already knows that only one Pokemon would fit her narrative next.

A creature of the depths emerges, ancient, bloated, and still. It floats without movement slightly above ground like a corpse forgotten in the ocean. Red, lidless eyes pierce through the dust and flames still ravaging the arena after Turtonator's explosion, and a soft, pleasant series of whistles and clicks spread through the battlefield. The sound feels far too charming to come from such a monster, yet it is also slightly distorted, as if it had come from deep below the waves.

Cruelty has multiple facets. When one discovers how much power they truly wield at their fingertips and use it for any means they desire, it can feel like a high rarely ever reached by anything else. Power is a drug, but it is also a means to an end, and tolerance for it builds quickly. Adrenaline-pumping fights soon become cold and calculated—you clear your mind and try to find the most efficient way to kill, because twisting the knife for the fiftieth time just isn't fun anymore. Sadism withers and soon gives way to apathy.

Jellicent has spent decades embodying that emotion. He lay in wait, months at a time, conserving his energy, and struck at whatever he could drain and kill. Back then, time had just been another tide to wait out. Grace whispers something, and the ghost dissolves into mist that spreads throughout the entire arena. Not even Lehmhart's music disturbs the sea monster; he seems at home in it and its ghostly whispers.

"Slowking deftly lands back on the ground and cuts off water." That last word is said with bite. Already, the pink-skinned psychic drops down to earth. His eyes flash grey, and—

Another whisper from Grace, and Jellicent's eyes within the fog dim. Slowking's own widen, and an uncharacteristic rage takes hold of him. Water surges from his mouth in a high-pressure torrent, smashing into the stone below with such force that the ground splinters apart. Shards of shattered rock levitate around him, caught mid-air in the grasp of his Psychic, and without a pause, he flings them forward. They helplessly penetrate the mist and fly through without causing any harm. "Slowking focuses," Cecilia tries. "He focuses." He does not; he has been overwhelmed by anger and the urge to fight.

Taunt, the Unovan realizes. Her partner would grow accustomed to it if given enough time, but did they have that? The mist envelops Slowking, remaining thin enough to see him through, but then it enters him. It crawls through his nostrils, mouth, and even eyelids. For a heartbeat, terror grips Cecilia—she remembers the many times Grace has told her that this was the most efficient way Jellicent had of killing—but she remembers it is nothing but a battle. Cecilia shakes it off just as Slowking convulses, his body arching as thin strands of violet smoke begin to seep from his pores. They whisper out of him like pressurized steam from a cracked pipe. The monster is boiling Slowking from the inside and hitting him with a Hex.

Cecilia stops herself from clicking her tongue. Take a step back. Take a step back. Unlike Grace, her own Pokemon are but facets of the personality she wishes to have. While her having recalled Togekiss had essentially killed her narrative purpose in the fight and so effectively rendered her unusable, Cecilia's plan was not so convoluted. She recalls Slowking before the damage grows irreversible, a beam of red light rescuing him just as he gets down on one knee. He is badly hurt, but perhaps a Slack Off as soon as he reappears may salvage this.

What now, she asks herself. To fight this version of Grace is to meet her at her worse, at her most ruthless, at her most difficult to battle. Oh, they had done terrible things together, hadn't they? Snuffed enough lives between the two of them to have potentially affected thousands of people—their families and friends. Some of these were warranted. Self-defense cases where it was truly her or her opponent—but others? Blinded by the rage of Justin's death, the Unovan had not tried to spare them like Grace had.

She hadn't even tried.

The idea of revenge always feels so good. Once upon a time, Cecilia wanted to hurt her father for hurting her, to beat her brother and take the Championship away from him for leaving her behind and for saving their father's skin, to kill Jupiter and as many Galactic grunts for taking Justin away from her. Revenge consumes a person's mind and turns them into a machine capable of only caring for a single thing: the rush you would get once you finally got what you wanted. But the pain always remains. It is what has made her lose her friends, what made her lash out and use people, what made her not realize that she almost lost her dear Pokemon she cherishes so much her heart feels full whenever she is in their presence.

She'd done so much wrong.

Fingers clasp around the metal of a Pokeball. She remembers meeting her first Pokemon for the first time, that feisty little Deino that tried to scarf down everything that would get near him as if it were food. He had nearly chewed her hand when she tried to let him smell her. While Talonflame came close, he had known her the longest.

What Cecilia finds beautiful about the way she is battling is that none of her Pokemon changed themselves to fit what she needed to showcase what she hopes to become in the future. The truth of it all is, she has seen them, fought with them, experienced everything with them, and now they each embody a part of what she wants to become. She wants them to be the sum of her parts. When one thinks of a Hydreigon, they think of the embodiment of rage—a three-headed hydra that would blast anything encroaching too close to its territory and leave its corpse still scorched with draconic burns as a warning. In Unova, they are seen as antonyms to civilization. Tales are woven about them to scare children to force them to behave; they are the beasts that lurk in the darkness, high up mountains, ready to sink their teeth into your flimsy flesh.

One might think, then, that Zolst represents a streamlined, focused anger that Cecilia could control, one she could direct at those who deserved it. If she is to be honest with herself, Cecilia is tired of being angry, and there is another facet to Unova's most famous dragon.

Hydreigon are also revered for the way they carve through the world without flinching. They are creatures of conviction who rarely doubt themselves, and for that, humans across Unova have looked upon them with awe. They adorn old regional flags and war emblems, their three heads painted in bold strokes beside swords and laurels. A child with a temper might be nicknamed little Deino as a sign of affection. In old towns, folk still recite sayings like 'All three heads must sleep before a Hydreigon rests,' spoken about relentless people who can't relax until every task or worry is settled.

Cecilia summons her dearest Zolst with a deep breath, and he responds in kind. He emerges with a calm exhale and his wings stretched wide, his silhouette cutting against the smoldering crater beneath him. Ash and dust stir at his arrival, drawn upward in loose spirals that scatter across the battlefield. His heads do not snap at the air, begging to be let loose against an enemy; they stand at attention, eyes narrowing at Jellicent, who had reformed himself and drifted back to Grace's side of the arena.

"You've been with me since the beginning, seen me change the most. Down south, you learned just as I did." Somehow, the music swells with her words. She tries to hold her voice steady, but it breaks. What the three Gengar who had killed her and remade her anew had taught her was not only that she was a fellow ghost who had so far left no mark, but this. Despite the terror one has wrought in the past, despite how they can be perceived, "is there anything sweeter than—"

Jellicent moves—Grace must have whispered something.

"—the Heart To Be Remembered Fondly."

The ghost lunges in a jet of compressed water, then vanishes into vapor halfway through, his body slipping back into the fog like he was never there. Here they come, the ultimate foe. The want to do good against the want to hurt. "Zolst stands perfectly still." Not one head moves even an inch. Only his wings are a continuous shift of motion. Cecilia can see her starter's breaths—the temperature is plummeting. "He gathers electricity in two mouths and draconic energy in the other."

The left head crackles first, sparks coiling along its fangs like threads of golden wire pulled too tight. Cecilia imagines Temperance's lessons, the way her voice strains when the Unovan makes—made mistakes. Then, the second, its electricity wilder, freer; it expands with a flash and blooms like the laughter of a child running downhill. Cecilia blinks and sees Ari's booming smile and lust for freedom, of Lehmhart and Zolst taking him to fly like he wished so dearly. From the central head, the glow builds—deeper, slower, a heartbeat of draconic force gathering behind gritted teeth. Within a second, the three energies gather in front of all heads and mix together with a delicate balance that had blown up in their faces hundreds of times.

Yet, this time.

"Stormsurge."

This time, it flies.

Turquoise lightning, almost alive in the way it is shaped like a drake's maw, in the way it lets loose a roar that makes her inner ears rumble, in the way it spreads and forms teeth and a body and—Grace's eyes widen. She hasn't seen Hydreigon do this before, not even in the battles she has studied, but she is no longer that child who gets caught off-guard by a hidden technique every Gym Battle, that little girl whose legs shake at the sight of the unexpected. She barely has time to whisper to Jellicent.

"Scatter. Lure the electricity—"

The mist divides like the tide withdrawing. Tendrils of vapor twist and peel away from his core, unspooling like silk caught in a sudden wind. Some race low along the ground, curling around rocks and craters, while others rise upward and thread into the sky like climbing smoke. A bit of himself remains and liquefies the moment the electricity hits and directs it away, but it is a breathing, living thing, infused by the draconic urge to conquer and rule. It doesn't lash out. No. It swarms them and coils through the fog with a dull hum, freezing him in space.

Fighting Jellicent is a headache. Even Grace herself can and has admitted that. She'd even made him leave a little bit of mist close to her so she could speak to him through the barrier instead of a real, tangible part of him that can be blown away as Byron had done to her.

They have, however, found a way to make the damage stick. As Jellicent reforms slowly, like a clump of cells knitting themselves back together, his red eyes flicker and the turquoise electricity fries him again. He tries once more, only to get the same results; the ghost lets out a wordless, frustrated scream that makes the temperature plummet into the negatives. Grace's mind races with a hundred ideas at once within seconds.

Recover doesn't work he can hurt us he can kill us we can't enter him think think think what can I do can we stall with Protect can I make him run wild with Taunt even though he's a dark type can I pressurize Hydro Pump strongly enough to pierce his scales what about Night Shade bombings ice ice ice use ice—

The stream is never-ending, and she does not panic. This version of her has managed to cut off that weakening emotion like a rotting limb. It is the kind of thought process that lets her torture an overworked Gym Leader in need of help, that lets her kill a hostage just to get to their assailant, that lets her cut into a man's legs and watch him get mentally tortured until he takes his own life. So once more, as Cecilia wastes her time with pretty words and descriptive narration and Hydreigon gathers his strength, Grace asks herself: what does the girl want?

To kill—

To win at all costs. She does not even think about the battle as a whole, just about the current fight in front of her, because that is the essence of survival. To put one foot in front of the other before worrying about your destination.

She has it. She whispers a series of orders so quickly she can barely pronounce the words. It has been eleven seconds since Stormsurge hit Jellicent.

Something begins to gather in the crater.

"...so once again, call upon those who lay the path for you. Draconic Remembrance!"

The world darkens, not with the familiar void of Darkness, but with the familiar chill of ghosts, and it is not Jellicent's doing. The sea monster spills out into the world and expands into a blast of salty frost as Lehmhart's song beats the last of its notes. Like the final part of a song played on a piano, but somehow stretching and stretching forever until it surrounds and disorients her. Grace cannot believe Hydreigon can push, pull, and command ghosts—even with help—but she has no time to worry about it. From little cracks in the air crawl cold, purple horrors, each malformed and lined with countless eyes, teeth and tentacles. They scream, but their voice is drowned out by the music.

Jellicent doesn't have time to make them look right. They fly in an arc like a barrage of missiles as the world itself goes turquoise. Zolst rises to meet them; one head shoots it out of the sky with Dark Pulse while the others continue to tame the lingering ghostly energy in the air; however it is only one head, and dozens of Night Shades. Some land, and when they do, they coat Hydreigon in ice and turn him sluggish just as they'd done to Turtonator. Jellicent reforms as a gaping maw below the floor and swallows Zolst whole until he is blown apart by another darkened blast and has to retreat.

Everything is but a distraction. Grace covers her ears and smiles as she keeps whispering orders.

That is the thing with grand attacks—they need time and concentration.

Theirs would be grand, too.

Each part of Jellicent which had been blown up slithers across the ground like Ekans lurking in the undergrowth. They circle the crater's edge, dig through the cragged earth, and leave behind trails of frost that glitter like glass. They all gather back to their objective all along. The final Night Shade is a true giant. It towers inside the crater, tentacles flowing like kelp in the sea, its body moving as if it floats in water only it can feel. Ghostly mist clings to its form, pulsing in waves, and above it, countless red eyes blink open, one by one, in silent rhythm.

Then, the real Jellicent arrives—no longer whole, smaller, and severely weakened due to Recover being cut off—but enough. He slips into the giant's chest, and the mist welcomes him. His body unravels into tendrils of fog that weave through the tentacles, the bulbous head, and the eyes until he is spread thin.

The clone straightens. The frost deepens. The blinking stops, and resumes, this time with all eyes in unison.

A single, deep whistle reverberates through the arena, this time possible to hear through the music.

The Night Shade lives.

"Zolst focuses; he knows he can do this—he has worked too hard and come too far to fail now," Cecilia says warmly, and somehow, that is all that is needed.

Grace scoffs in disbelief, but they are in too deep to stop now. Hydreigon steadies in the air, wings held wide, and all heads seem to smile. Little purple dots light up all over the arena like stars through thick smoke. "Hydro Pump," Grace whispers. The sheer amount of water that gathers in front of the abomination's mouth would be enough to fill the massive crater twice-over. It coils and churns in the air, thick with pressure, glinting with frost.

The dots flash. The music swells.

Then they start to detonate.

Not all at once—no, they go in rhythm with the music, like a heartbeat unraveling, a chain of turquoise draconic fire snapping into place around Zolst. Each blast hangs in the air after it bursts, suspended by ghostly energy—glowing, spinning, waiting. They refuse to fade; they are a continuous cacophony of explosions.

Still, the Hydro Pump fires.

It crashes through the arena like a tidal wave that would drown and wash away anything in its path. Hydreigon's two heads roar for the first time, their eyes flash, but their paltry hold over water—one of their weakest elements—renders this attempt no better than trying to empty a lake with nothing but a cup. He tries to get out of the way, but it follows him and hits the dragon at full force. The explosions hit the shade, chewing at its edges at first, and then unraveling its entire structure exponentially. Segments of the Night Shade's vast form collapse inwards like dried skin, arms drooping and vanishing into black mist, the crown crumbling like coral dried in the sun. For a moment, there is only the sound of rushing water and the shimmer of detonations flaring behind it, then even that goes quiet, and Lehmhart's song finally ends.

Jellicent is nothing but a puddle on the floor, if even that. He has rarely been weakened this badly, and there are naught but slivers of him left scattered all over the battlefield. He has traced a ravine in the arena with his Hydro Pump, from the crater all the way to the edge at Cecilia's platform. His Night Shade is gone, only leaving the faintest trace it has ever existed in the form of lingering miasma in the air. Everything is flooded with only a few remaining pillars rising above the surface; the water still churns and churns, creating large waves that wash way harmlessly against the barrier. Something else lingers in the air, fading, darkened nuclei that her opponent had detonated.

Hydreigon remains afloat, coughing water out of his lungs through all of his mouths and barely hovering in the air above the water. His chest is caved in, nearly all his scales have been peeled off, and he barely hovers in the air. His eyes flicker, still with a smile on his face, and he stares Grace down from below as if to taunt her. Grace understands him. Good triumphs over evil eventually, he hacks out. Fortune favors the kindhearted.

Grace scoffs. It doesn't. It clearly doesn't. Throughout history, tyrants have ruled swathes of territory, criminals have wrought untold pain upon the earth, people like Backlot and Mars and countless others have managed to live their lives undisturbed until she put a knife to their throat and made them stop. She hurt them like they hurt others, like they hurt her.

Yet, the words stick with her.

She finishes recalling Jellicent and thinks as she bites her lip. She remembers a time—a time where she would go out of her way to do good, even for strangers. She helped the girl who now faces her despite barely knowing her and her having threatened her in a bathroom stall, befriending her without any advantages. She helped a Larvitar who had lost her mother, adopting her as her own. She helped Turtonator while he grieved for his trainer, scarring her own body to reach his heart.

Through the silence, Grace laughs, surprising even herself. A moral lesson? From a Hydreigon?

Arceus bless him, he may not be right, but Grace wants to believe him. She is a monster, but he reaches out regardless and gives her a chance to rekindle her humanity. The teenager affectionately rubs the metallic bracelet around her wrist and finally remembers who she is; she has scared even herself, sinking back into a way of thinking that had made her nearly lose everything.

She must learn how to be a person again, and she knows who best would help her write that story.

"...yet, their presence still lingers," Cecilia finishes, wide-eyed and lips hurting from smiling. Zolst has performed beyond her wildest expectations. They've practiced eight of these hybrid techniques—carefully mixing and matching Type Energy, measuring out just enough of each to avoid collapse. Precision over power. Art over instinct. And all of it is only possible thanks to Temperance's patient guidance. Yet much like hopes of becoming a full-fledged person, he is a flailing newborn learning to walk in this department. It takes a lot out of him, and he can't use a third. "You feel it in the air, don't you?"

Here is the thing about ghosts: they remember. They last an eternity and will think, feel, experience until the world itself unravels and withers. It is written into the world that ghosts are harbingers of negativity. Sorrow, anger, envy, regret, on and on, and on and on. One might sometimes wonder, then—most of the time children learning about their dear world in class—if ghosts can ever truly be happy.

Cecilia spreads her arms open. "Unbridled joy!"

Of course, they can! The spirits laugh and laugh as they swirl around Hydreigon, their forms bright and fluid, glowing a vibrant turquoise. They hold onto this world without a ghost type's guidance by clinging to the draconic energy lingering in the air like a lifeline, and she will need them for the rest of this battle. She has helped them see the world again, helped them listen to music and had Lehmhart converse with them, and so they would pay her back in kind. Was being remembered fondly not wonderful? Did it not fill your heart with happiness to the point of overflowing into your body and altering your own behavior? The way you stood a little taller, breathed a little deeper, smiled without meaning to? Did it not soften the way you moved, loosen your hands, draw your shoulders back as if you were being held by something unseen? Cecilia can scant remember a time she has been this joyful.

Finally, Grace's eyes meet hers again, and she releases her next Pokemon. The red beam strikes above a half-submerged pillar and brings forth another automaton, built at the hand of Man to serve, protect, kill if need be, and little else. It floats just above the stone, limbs splayed at its sides with geometric precision, its shell a faded clay hue, polished smooth by time. Claydol sluggishly opens its eyes, blinking and analyzing its surroundings as it floats higher and announces its presence.

"Enemy detected: Draconis Tricephalus," it chimes for all to hear, its outer voice cold and unfeeling. "Commencing defense protocols."

And so, another bout begins. Hydreigon and Cecilia now know that the dragon can rush in without risking the immense danger Jellicent poses, and she wastes no time narrating him that way. Severely wounded but undeterred, Hydreigon descends from above like a meteor given life, his six wings tucked close, his three heads laughing with glee. Grace can feel it too—what remains in the air—but Claydol cannot, at least not yet. Around the psychic, gallons upon gallons of water rise in shifting, transparent cubes levitated by its will. It hurls them in front of Hydreigon, who blasts them away with Dark Pulses, but the liquid serves as a good enough disturbance to shield them from the dragon's eyes. It all collapses down in a waterfall that refracts the arena's turquoise light into chaotic scatterings across its psychic walls.

"Teleport and Rock Tomb," Grace orders, eyes unblinking. Her voice is still stilted. Cold. Masked by the noise of the water.

When Hydreigon passes through the cascading waters, he meets nothing to sink his teeth into or blast away with energy. Instead, above him, sinks rocks as large as he is, still wet from their submersion in the makeshift sea. The first strikes Hydreigon's shoulder and sends him careening sideways, wings scrambling for lift in the humid air. The second glances off his tail, but the third—

Claydol loses control of the third when one of the faded lights explodes at its side. Even now, the influence of those who have come before remains in Cecilia's favor. Hydreigon has already recovered and hits the psychic with a Dark Pulse from below, and for a moment, things already seem lost.

Grace knows that Claydol is at a disadvantage, but she believes it will pull through. That is the thing with love and trust: it is often nonsensical in nature. It defies calculation, it allows people to throw themselves into hopeless odds not because they expect to win, but because they cannot imagine doing anything else. This entire year, through every up and down, through becoming a monster, killing dozens, hurting hundreds, she has not once not trusted her dear children.

"Alert: Energy levels critical. Operating at 47% capacity," Claydol blares; their voice is accompanied by flashes of red and continuous alarms.

For a moment, there is a break. It has not been agreed-upon beforehand, but neither trainer orders their Pokemon to strike. Claydol floats above, listing off warnings, and Hydreigon flies below and remains conscious by a thread.

"How robotic," Cecilia notes. The Unovan wipes sweat off her forehead and can't stop herself from smiling. "I know you can do better than that." She did not mean in terms of battle abilities, but humanity. "You're better than me at it, after all. Both of you." Grace has touched so many lives, changed the fate of many for the better. Cecilia wants that for herself. She wants to matter.

A pause. Grace breathes heavily into her microphone and leans against her knees. "Will you teach me?" she asks.

"Your emotions have been sanded off," she declares. "With mine, I am learning as you are, Grace." Cecilia's face shines. "You're good, deep down. I tried to embody you, to make myself into someone you'd like, but after a long, long year, I realized that I'd rather try my best at being myself. Whatever that means."

The blonde blinks. "And you want that person—you—to be good."

"Who would not? It's tiresome, being so… lackadaisical about myself and what I can, and cannot do."

The desire to do good.

For Grace, it had never truly gone away—just been warped into a parody of itself until she would unironically deliver men to be tortured to death in the name of justice. It had been 'good' because she had wanted it to be, but that was, and is, not how this works. Being good, as Denzel once said, is hard, sometimes thankless work. Aliyah had told her that it always began by trying your hardest, that burning desire in your heart to improve.

"I want it," Grace breathed out. "Our paths might differ, but that's okay. We're okay."

"Then let us begin once again." The Unovan's smile never leaves her face. She inhales loudly, and her voice changes, growing more commanding and deeper. "Hydreigon keeps battering away with Dark Pulse; he is relentless, never allowing any respite," Cecilia says.

Grace's voice brims with hope. "Intercept with one of your hands! Keep moving and avoid the explosions!"

Claydol's arm jerks outward. One of its floating turret-hands disconnects from its body, swings in front of the incoming Dark Pulse just as it detonates, and the impact rocks the air, swallowing the space in black light and draconic heat. The hand cracks down the middle, scorched and trembling, but it holds. Just barely, but another one of Hydreigon's belated explosions rocks the psychic's very core. It must act now.

It. It. It.

Dehumanizing your enemies—or even yourself—makes it easier for you to kill them. But behind every pair of eyes is something that dreams. Something that hopes. Something that lives.

Grace opens her mouth not to give another order, but to remind her Claydol—and by extension, herself—that she is a human girl just like everyone else. "Cassianus!" she yells.

They dreamt in the past, too. Hushed ideas of their favorite song, color, joke, or story. Of their favorite part of Lakhutia's castle, and even that the King's crown might look good on them if they could try it on one day—blasphemous thoughts.

Cassianus' eyes flash, and the psychic is gone, Teleporting faster than they ever had before. Hydreigon scans the length and width of the battlefield, using his three heads to sweep the arena, but his opponent has disappeared.

Something foams under the water. Neither Grace, Cecilia, or Hydreigon notices it at first. The water pulls outward, drawn into something deeper, a light that rises and spreads through the entire sea, then concentrates into a single point.

A wide blast of plasma tears upward, and in an instant, everyone recognizes it. Hyper Beam. The water splits around it, flung outward in violent sheets as the beam carves through the air and hits the arena's shield's ceiling. It is a torrent of blinding light tinged with gold and red, so hot it warps the air around it; steam explodes upward in thick plumes that superheat the air.

It hits Hydreigon head-on and keeps going, swallowing him whole. The beam holds for a few seconds, but by the end, the dragon is an unconscious mess of peeled scales and burned flesh; the ghosts under his joyful thrall finally retreat and the turquoise that tints the air recedes all at once.

Grace doesn't understand—well, she understands, just she does not know how. Never had they used that move together before, never had Cassianus given even an inkling of being able to use Hyper Beam. From the raging, burning sea emerges the psychic, untouched by the water thanks to a body-tight barrier they had encased themselves in just as they Teleported.

"That was scary," they say with a few blinks. "Ow."

Grace laughs, eyes still wide. "You can't feel physical pain, silly."

"Don't take this away from me."

She wants to ask how, but she will not get that answer until the battle ends. Within every Claydol, carved into their biomechanical innards as inscriptions no one remembers how to read, rests the innate knowledge to use Hyper Beam. Few Pokemon hold this privilege, but they are one of them, and unlike their biological counterparts, when they grow powerful enough, experienced enough, and the situation is desperate enough to call for it, it triggers like a memory in waiting.

Cassianus whispers in Grace's head while Cecilia recalls her Hydreigon, something only the blonde can hear. Are you having fun, my King? The question snaps her out of her character-driven daze for what feels like the first time this entire battle. She blinks, not knowing what to say. Lakhutia's Kings always thought about a glorious past or their future legacies and would forget what was right in front of them. It's important to live in the moment, the psychic adds, their voice accompanied by the turbulent waves below and the roar of the crowd she finally remembers. Do not forget the present.

After a short pause, she nods and is wrested back to earth. She feels like herself again—because she can become herself again. She had gone through every transformation she had undergone and was now free to look the present in the eyes. No grin splits her face in that moment, nor does she laugh, or show any excitement. A sudden calm overtakes her, and everything seems slow enough to make this battle last forever. She sticks out her tongue and licks her upper lip, inhales slowly through her nose, and swallows. Tingles reverberate across her skin. She is as focused now as the time she faced down Saturn and his grunts and won, but no one will die at the end of this battle, win or lose. The sun will keep rising every day, the earth will keep spinning around it, and one day, this will all be memory.

But today? Today is happening now.

Yes.

She is having the time of her life.

Cecilia can barely believe it. She clasps Zolst's Pokeball within her palm and thanks him for his help. She thought she had Grace dead to rights, trapped within a cage of her own making—her laser focus on linearity of her story. Time, after all, only flows in one direction, and Claydol is the perfect representation for a girl trying to learn how to be a person again. Not that she could have done much good with Tangrowth in this environment anyway—though she is the one who flooded the arena in the first place and—

The Unovan shakes her head and rolls her shoulders. She cannot get caught in Grace's rhythm, otherwise she has already lost. Much of the water has been lost to Hyper Beam's sheer heat, but the field is still akin to a shallower sea, where landbound Pokemon would do nothing but flounder. She knows Grace is in the same position as well, so if she manages to take down this Claydol…

Cecilia smiles thinly, and realizes there is only one option. "There comes a certain freedom with clarity one gets when they take flight." With less than thirty seconds, she speaks quickly. "When you are high in the sky and everything seems so small. Your doubts, your past, the voices telling you to stay grounded all vanish. Up there, it's just you, the wind, and the Freedom To Try Something New."

The Pokeball tears open with a high, bombastic cry, and from its light tears forth a blaze of crimson and fire. Wings outstretched, Talonflame screams into the sky with untold joy to be able to fly again. The heat trailing her feathers warps the air behind her, leaving streaks of flickering gold in her wake as she climbs higher and higher, until the psychic ceiling itself groans under the force of her ascent. Her flight seems so fluid, so free; she has wings and eyes Cecilia only wishes she could have, the ability to see and fly over the horizon whenever she wishes.

Once upon a time, a deep fear used to permeate in the Unovan's head. Talonflame had, and has always been an independent mind, flying away and exploring for hours at a time—and more recently, days. Terror used to rock Cecilia's mind each time her little bird would fly off; the thought that she might just not come back would haunt her, seizing the moment to free herself from her earthly shackles. Just like her brother had done to her back in their childhood the moment he began his journey. After all, who would bother staying with her?

The Unovan snaps her fingers and points forward. "Talonflame outruns sound itself and sends an array of feathers to pierce Claydol!"

A shockwave tears through the arena as Talonflame speeds up, a stream of Tailwind that feels more like a Heatwave at her back and Agility in her blood. Behind her, she leaves a trail of flaming feathers sharpened with Steel Wing—but they are different than usual. Faster than usual, as if the psychic energy from Agility remains within them. They do not rush toward Claydol all at once, casting a wide net to force the ground type to widen its psychic focus.

"Barrier! Keep them close!" Grace orders—

"Talonflame uses Secret Power!"

The water below them rises in a single, sinuous line. It slithers upward from the lake below like a snake, undulating with a hypnotic rhythm as it climbs toward Talonflame's beak.

As Claydol takes the feathers for themselves and sends them back toward the fire type, the water threads itself in front of her mouth with a silent snap of tension, and forms itself into a ring. With a screech, she releases the Water Pulse. It is, however, not only weak, but slow. As much as Temperance has helped, a fire type working with water can only progress so quickly.

However.

"She hones her claws, and launches into a Brave Blitz that radiates like the sun." Already, she had already been moving. Cecilia's Pokemon have gotten used to acting as she speaks, and Talonflame is as astute as they come. She folds her wings tight against her body, dives, and becomes a comet. White fire erupts across her feathers; the heat shimmers, blinding and pure, and every beat of her wings feeds it—not that they are visible. Within an instant, she is high in the sky, and the next, she is right about to ram into Claydol with enough momentum to break through steel.

Grace doesn't have the time to speak, given that she has barely opened her mouth, but Claydol reacts. The speed of sound is plenty of time to think. They have already run through the options. Teleporting is too slow, especially given their energy reserves after that Hyper Beam; barriers might have worked should they have formed at least ten, but it is too late for this; no, there only remains one option. The psychic understands that this offensive move is to disorient them enough to let the Water Pulse hit them, at which point their body would give away at contact with said liquid.

To be alive, to be a person, is to take destiny by your own hands and to swim against the current. Cassianus embraces the impact, allowing Talonflame to ram into them like a bullet, but when the bird tries to break away, she finds her body held fast. Cass has to act quickly; they can't keep Talonflame pinned for long. Mud gushes from the Claydol's body, splattering over Cecilia's embodiment of freedom. It cools rapidly, hardening into stone and locking both Pokemon in a single, unmoving mass that still leaves bits of their bodies exposed.

Then, they fall.

And fall.

And fall.

Who would blink first? While the sea has again lowered, either through Talonflame's Heatwave or naturally seeping into the porous dry lakebed, both Pokemon sinking here would spell their end—but Cecilia believes that maybe, just maybe, she can make this work. Claydol is weaker to water than Talonflame, being unable to even feel the patter of rain without being severely weakened. All she would have to do was wait five, maybe ten seconds, and she would be able to recall her Pokemon and have the clear advantage to win—

"Break away!" Grace says, licking her lip.

This is where Cecilia was mistaken. This was not a play for Claydol to take Talonflame down with them, but a way to finish her off in one fell swoop. They are alive; like in every creature that dots the earth, they hold the burning desire to live, and will go down kicking and screaming instead lying there and accepting it. The solid mass of rock breaks in half, and Cassianus manages to hover right above the waves while Talonflame falls and sinks below the sea. The Unovan wastes no time and recalls her, though this battle, she realizes, has just gotten a lot more difficult.

"I told you that you were good at this," Cecilia chides. "I had no idea this was coming."

Grace stretches, breathing a sigh of relief. "I didn't either, at first. I just went along with the flow."

Claydol lets out a cheery sound effect and lets out a synthesized, "surprise!" Their voice crackles like the sound of an old radio.

The Unovan has no choice. Scizor would get destroyed in this environment, and she knows it. Part of her still can barely believe Claydol is giving her this much trouble—it was all of Grace's other Pokemon she worried about. She closes her eyes and imagines, tastes victory for a moment, and all the jubilation it would involve. Finally being able to move on, to face the world with her back straight, chest puffed out, and a confident smile as she learned to be more than she ever hoped she would be. Then, she sends out Slowking.

The pink psychic type sinks into the water immediately, and she orders him to use Slack Off. He is in a terrible state, still burned and mangled beyond recognition, but if they could use the water as a shield…

"He's weak!" Grace calls out. "Into the water, too! Hound him—speak into my mind if something goes wrong!" she quickly adds.

She is correct. If Slowking were healthy enough to act, he might have been able to challenge Claydol's psychic abilities, and most likely overpowered them to poke holes into their protective bubble—at the very least, he would have forced them to stay on the defensive and neutralized all of their offensive options while underwater. But now? Neither Cecilia nor Grace can perceive what is happening underwater; they miss the sudden burst of searing earth erupting underwater, forced up through artificial geothermal vents borne of Claydol's nascent will. Smoke, ash, heat, and mud surge upward beneath Slowking, the explosion jarring him awake and tearing him out of his Slack Off.

He has, however, recovered enough to offer some resistance. He raises his good arm, eyes flashing grey, and attempts to Disable Claydol's psychic abilities. Cassianus stalls for a moment, but rebukes him without hesitation. Behind them rises great pillars of earth and mud, solidified until they go above-water and act as miniature islands—and when Cecilia sees them poking out of the fading sea, she realizes her mistake.

Enough, she thinks. Enough. She has come too far to lose control like this, and she would not go gently. Cecilia's hand hovers over her dear Slowking's Pokeball, but it does not grab it. No, instead, she decides to employ everything she's learned. Taking a step back, and looking at the situation as a whole; attempting a strategy she would never do in a new and fresh take; the ability to think beyond this one match, and to look ahead.

Ahead. Ahead. Ever further ahead. She shall reach for the stars and grab them, or she would have nothing at all.

Luckily for her, Slowking finally comes through. A sudden frost spreads outward from his hand, locking the water around Claydol in a jagged prison of ice and is now primed to defeat his rival in a battle of the minds. The ground type floats up like an iceberg, and those precious dozens of seconds it took until they broke out is all it takes. Cassianus' barrier folds and bends by the time they break out of the ice and plunge back into the deep; all of their efforts are spent staying dry. For all both psychics pride themselves as barrier experts, Slowking has been honing his skill far more consistently and for longer than Cassianus. With both Pokemon exhausted, it is a slow and sloppy duel that ends in Claydol's defeat, their biomechanical brain fried from so much invasive activity.

Grace is so proud of them. So, so proud; and yet there is much to be done. Even now, after Cassianus' defeat, stone and mud still fills the water, and it slowly seeps deeper into the earth. The sea is now shallower than it has ever been, with dozens of pillars raised like islands dotting an ocean. It reminds her of the battle with Barry Lane, the fight that showed her how deep the gulf was when it came to her improvising skills. She has come far, since then.

She is human again, able to feel and empathize even for those who have wronged her, able to give second chances and turn the other cheek when she can. If Grace Pastel has one wish, that by the end of her life, her name might be sung from shore to shore. Across the hills of Shinwa and the rolling fields of Kalos and all of Solante, through the hungering sands of Orre and the wartorn continent of Ransei, even to the isolated settlements of the ranger-run regions far to the south, and the isolated settlements without master that dot this earth. Few in history have achieved such a feat, but whether evil or good, they were all extraordinary.

But that is the future, is it not? Grace inhales sharply through her teeth; the air feels warm and soothing. She thinks: what can I do right now, and the answer comes instantly. She wants to cap off her story, and she wants to have fun doing it. The teen grabs her next Pokemon, who appears with a flash of gold. The aspiring hero—the one who had pulled her from the brink of monstrosity—who emerges on one of the islands and crackles with barely contained energy. Muscles coil beneath a hide striped like storm clouds, and arcs of blue electricity dance across his body with each breath he takes. Electivire slams a fist into a palm, creating a thunderclap, and points a single finger in the air, letting the audience's cheers bask over him.

"Honey, you show off! Your opponent's Slowking underwater, though I'm not sure you want to go for a swim!" Grace laughs, clapping her hands. "Electric Swift!"

Electivire summons a set of stars that spin around him, collecting electricity until he launches them forward. Each as far too quick for anyone but Talonflame to dodge, and Slowking is a sitting duck wherever he is. Unfortunately for them, the sea having so much sediment and dirt means that it isn't a great conductor and she believes they probably can't just fry him out of the water. They need a needle and thread, not a hammer. The stars, for their part, easily manage to track Slowking in the muddy water. As Cecilia guesses through her narration, he raises a hand and raises a barrier, but he does not know he has already lost.

Electivire whirrs like an engine, and Grace asks, "you found him?" He is electricity, feels it wherever it goes. The needle and thread had not been Swift, but this. "Then use Lightning Bolt!"

Storm clouds gather above the hero's head, and lightning strikes down into his waiting hand, coalescing into a jagged, crackling lance of pure power. He barely seems to wait to aim—he doesn't need to. Grace watches, heart pounding, grinning like a girl half her age. Isn't my family just so damn cool? With a childlike scream, he hurls the lance into the lake. It pierces the surface with a hiss, and then the world beneath explodes with light. Electricity branches out in every direction, illuminating the depths in a web of searing brilliance. The water slows the bolt down, but barely, and when it reaches Slowking, it shatters his barrier and pierces his gut.

Cecilia calls out for him a few times—but she hears nothing but a faint whisper in her head as she grabs the psychic's Pokeball. Your eyes… are looking… far away, my Lady. Very far away. Beyond your horizon. You might miss the—

The voice cuts off. He has fallen unconscious. As there is no response from him for thirty seconds, the referee calls for her to recall him and release her next Pokeball. He is gone, but his words stick with her. What was he going to say? What could she miss? Was it not great to aspire to be… to be…

"Hey. Cecilia." Grace snaps the Unovan out of her thoughts. "You look stressed out."

She blinks, realizing Grace speaks the truth. She wipes her moist palms on her clothes, places a hand over her somehow still slow-beating heart, and smiles. When did she start getting anxious…?

"Battle's far from over," Grace adds. "It'd be a shame if one of us stopped having fun."

"I'm afraid you're right," Cecilia says—though calling it 'far from over' is a big stretch. They're in the endgame now.

Two options lay in front of her, but only one makes sense. Her only choice is to send out Talonflame into the fray again. Her final Pokemon cannot match Electivire in terms of speed, and he has experience when it comes to navigating this type of terrain. Talonflame's wings are the only thing capable of outrunning the sheer speed of Electivire's attacks—for a time. The choice is made quickly.

"Thank you for letting me know I was being stupid," the Unovan says, Pokeball in hand. "Talonflame emerges from her Pokeball, crimson against crimson—" Cecilia swallows her next words when a brilliant blue flash explodes out of Electivire's hands. "Me First!"

In the same instant, the fiery predator screams out a Thunder of her own, shrieking as the attack tears through the air. The twin bolts collide mid-flight with a deafening crack, the explosion shaking the battlefield. The charge in the air is so intense that her feathers puff up, crackling with static. "She bathes the world in heat, ridding it of its water!" Each beat of Talonflame's wings brings with it scorching heat that turns the sea to vapor. Even with Agility and Tailwind, they can barely dodge Electivire's attacks. Swift and Thunders tear across the sky, and he uses both attacks expertly. The stars corner her slowly, swarming around her, until she has to use Me First to not get hit by a Thunder.

"Again! Again! Again!" Grace exclaims with sheer delight. With each strike, she throws her hand forth as if she is the one throwing out Thunders, and not her Pokemon. Once, twice, thrice, this happens again and again until— "Eat up!"

Cecilia's eyes widen when Electivire's electricity suddenly disappears as soon as the cycle repeats and Talonflame sends a Thunder hurtling his way. The bolt crashes into his chest with blinding force, and he harmlessly absorbs the lightning. Muscles twitch, veins pulse with raw power, and his eyes burn brighter than before. The Unovan gulps.

She messed up.

Before she can force Talonflame to flee back into her Pokeball, utilizing her final switch, a Thunder falls so fast it doesn't even register. There is no buildup, no warning crackle in the air. Just a thin line of light, sharp and silent, connecting Electivire's body to the sky and then to her Pokemon in a single blink. It is so quick that Cecilia sees it before sound can catch up. The Unovan moistens her lips, yet no panic takes hold of her. Cecilia scans the arena and takes a deep breath. The sea is now shallow enough to have retreated fully into the crater save for some stubborn puddles, the entire battlefield is shrouded in warm, humid vapor, and the islands Claydol had raised are now thick pillars jutting out of the earth unnaturally. She thanks Talonflame for her service and recalls her quickly.

The lakebed isn't dry anymore. It has taken a beating, but it has been fed, too. Water has seeped into every crack, and the churned-up sediment has settled across the basin in a thick, dark layer. The kind that plants would grow from eventually. The kind that sticks to boots and skin. The kind that remembers what it's like to be alive. The land could support life again. Certainly not soon, and never in the same form, but perhaps one day.

Cecilia pauses for a moment, and not to think of strategy. That road is already set in front of her with no further options, and she believes—truly believes—that her Pokemon will pull through. Slowking's words have stuck with her, even now. She lets her final Pokemon's Pokeball rest in her hand, and brings it against her forehead. The metal feels cold against her, but permeates with a certain warmth nonetheless. She's doing it again, looking too far away instead of right in front of her. Wanting to jump up the entire set of stairs instead of climbing it step by step as she did every few days to visit Cynthia. It is this mindset that made her crash and burn these past two months, losing all of her friends in the process save for Chase and Louis.

She is endlessly thankful for their presence.

"Focus not your entire width on what you will be tomorrow; remember what you are today," she murmurs to herself. The microphone picks it up, but she does not care. "Scizor is the oldest in our merry band—" Lehmhart does not count, given that his sapience is a few months old. "He was born in Eterna Forest's outer ring, where the Pokemon are fierce enough to scare away most children but are in the grand scheme of things, nothing. Weak."

She's out of time. The Unovan releases Scizor, who—even though she cannot tell—gleams with a radiant red. He lands lightly, wings thrumming with energy, his polished crimson shell catching the light through the fog in a way that makes him seem almost ethereal. For a moment, she believes Electivire will attack and that she will have to continue when there is a lull in the fight, but they do not. Grace tells him to wait, and he does, arms crossed and tails brightly swaying in the thin fog.

Cecilia mouths a thank you, though remains unsure of if Grace can see it, and continues. "From the day he was born, he has fought for survival, fought to get stronger, and of course, he has failed. Who hasn't?" Scizor's wings beat with reticence, and the Unovan smiles fondly. His dream is to beat what sleeps at Eterna's center, and he has often taken fights he could not win in hopes of getting stronger. "But his will is ironclad, so he gets up, again and again, as is your duty once you are born into this world. With every failure comes the opportunity to grow and learn. He has the Discipline To Try Again."

"Get up in his face and Fire Punch!" Grace screams as soon as they finish.

Cecilia guffaws. She couldn't wait even one more second, could she? Electivire turns into living lightning, snaking across the arena and around the pillars Claydol had raised. They could, however, use these to their advantage as well. "Scizor—" No time. "Agility and Swords Dance!"

Scizor doesn't hesitate. His body loosens, motion flowing like the wind as he kicks off the ground and jets backward, wings screaming with speed. As he moves, his arms rise and cross in an awkward dance because there is simply no time. If they are to beat Electivire, they will have to give everything to their offense. Electivire's hand catches fire and reaches out, grabbing Scizor by the throat.

"Thunder!"

"Bullet Punch into Fury Cutter!" Cecilia screams.

The flurry is so quick it appears as a blur endlessly slamming into Electivire's chest; the final hit is a cut that cuts a deep wound across his chest. The electric type groans in pain and lets go while Scizor blasts him with a bright, high-pitched Flash Cannon coming right out of both his claws. Electivire covers his face and grunts, digging in his heels, and by the time he can see clearly again, Scizor is gone. Cecilia can see him, skulking behind a pillar, but Electivire and Grace cannot. They'd nearly lost right then and there.

Try again.

"Hiding I see! We'll find you!" Grace quips.

"In your fucking dreams, Grace!" She swears, but she is all smiles and expectation. "Just you wait, we'll get you!"

"Ha! Honey, take down those pillars!"

The pillars shatter.

Electivire barrels through them like a force of nature, twin tails glowing, each swing sending stone flying. Dust and debris choke the air. Scizor darts from pillar to pillar, flickering into view with a flash of red for a heartbeat before vanishing again. Flash. Scizor reappears—barely. A gleam of metal, a hiss of air, and he strikes. claws wielding an even more powerful double Fury Cutter crash into Electivire's side in a flurry too fast to follow, but Electivire does not only move fast, he thinks fast. He twists with a growl, grabs hold of one of Scizor's arms mid-strike, and slams a Hammer Arm into the steel-type's chest. The Fury Cutter only grazes him, and Scizor is sent back skipping over the ground like a ragdoll.

Try again.

"Get up! Get up! You can do it—" Scizor listens to her immediately, ignoring the cracks spread across his chest. "Now—"

"Stick close and we'll win!" Grace interrupts.

Electivire is relentless in his pursuit, never leaving them a second to breathe. He is a constant opponent from which there could be no respite. Cecilia is sweating bullets, but she has to time this just right. Wait. Her head spins. Wait. Her eyes are wide open. Now.

"U-Turn!"

Scizor swerves around Electivire with a sudden burst of speed from his wings and slams a claw onto his back. No respite. Another burst of Flash Cannon, this time wide and short-range, flies out of the claw and burns the electric type's back before he backhands Scizor with all his weight and his arm sizzling with flame. The impact rings out like a cannon; Scizor is flung through the air, limbs flailing, but he stabilizes himself and lands on his feet. The electricity constantly coiling around Electivire seems to slow Scizor down. Static Shield.

Try again.

"Bulldoze them!"

"Up—"

"Radiant Leap and give 'em a big old hug!"

The Bulldoze call is a trap. Scizor is already airborne when Electivire surges into lightning again, leaping up with such force that the ground caves beneath him. At such a close distance, Cecilia's mouth can't react. It just can't. But Scizor can. Electivire clasps him tightly as they fly through the air in an arc, but the steel type slams his head clad with iron into the would-be-hero's own. They tumble, spinning out of control. Then—crash—they slam into a pillar, shattering its base in a hail of dust and rock. The structure groans, begins to fall, but both Pokemon leap away before they can be hit. Electivire and Scizor stare each other down, the former with his bloodsoaked fur and the latter with his body fried and fractured, split in a fine lattice. Sparks still dance across Scizor's carapace, crawling through the damage like insects. His limbs twitch from residual voltage. It is difficult to have the momentum when Electivire is faster than eyes can follow, but as always.

Try again.

"Didn't get a Fury Cutter off this time, huh?" Grace teases. She is having so much fun.

Cecilia rolls her eyes to humor her. "We'll get you. You think you can just keep coming at us and do the same thing over and over? It's getting old, try something new!"

"I guess you're right. You two are trickier than I thought—" the blonde's eyes focus again. "—Railgun!"

Shattered stone levitates around Electivire, and within a second, they are electrified at the tip of his fingers. He shoots them as if his hand is a gun, and six of them lodge themselves within Scizor's cracked armor.

"Now!" Grace yells.

Electivire's arm pulls back sharply as though tugging on an invisible rope. And Scizor moves. He's dragged through the air, helplessly reeled in by the charge buried inside him. The ironclad bug knows there is no fighting this, and so he embraces the risks and decides to go on the offense—

Which is exactly in line with Cecilia's thoughts. "Aim for the legs!"

"Jump!" Grace counters.

Another Fury Cutter goes wide as Scizor passes underneath the soaring Electivire, the slice passing through nothing but air and wet earth, but the steel type doesn't stop. His momentum carries him forward, claws dragging sparks from the ruined ground, wings flaring with a burst of speed. He twists, plants a foot, and launches himself straight up. One claw reaches out—sharp, focused—and strikes. It catches Electivire's leg mid-air—or would have had he not put up a Protect right away. He spins in tight, claw gleaming white-hot from a charging Flash Cannon, and fires straight into Electivire's barrier, using the opportunity to jump back and purge the stones out of him.

Again and again, this exchange is done. They trade blows for what feels like forever, yet barely lasts two minutes in truth. Electivire is the one pressing forward, driving the rhythm with wild, thunder-fed momentum. He moves like a storm barely held together, fists sparking with electricity and flame, each step crashing into the ground with enough force to leave shallow craters behind. Scizor is fast—but not faster. Not now. He's on the back foot, ducking and weaving, his claws raised more to shield than strike. A haymaker arcs through the air and clips Scizor's side, sending him spinning. Electivire is on him before he lands, grabbing at his leg, dragging him through the mud and slamming him into a pillar hard enough to crack its base. Scizor scrapes free and retaliates with a sharp Fury Cutter across the ribs, leaving a sibling to his previous cut.

Each order from both teens is feverish now, spoken without breath, driven more by instinct than strategy. They cut each other off without care, shouting over one another, leaning hard against the barrier as if willing themselves into the fight. They get lost in the pace of battle, the ever quickening flurry of blows, the raw rhythm of movement and impact, the sound of fists meeting steel and steel striking back. Everything becomes a blur of motion and heat and noise. There is no room for thought anymore. Only reaction. Only momentum.

Scizor is exhausted; only one choice remains now. They have waited this long, been on the backfoot this long, and it just feels right now. "Let us throw everything at them!" Cecilia closes a fist as she yells.

Scizor's wings begin to buzz and blur, and a Tailwind blows at his back. He rushes forward with unprecedented speed— faster than he had ever been in this battle. His body screams for release; he pushes himself so much his carapace starts overheating—a fire sparks, and it begins to melt, yet he pushes on, because when one fails, they try again. For a moment, for an instant, with the Bullet Punch to carry him further, he is as fast as Electivire.

The electric type reacts, because he always does. He explodes with a Discharge that lights the battlefield in a wash of crackling white and blue lightning. Scizor doesn't stop. He can't stop. He's like a bullet already fired; there's no turning, no slowing, until it hits something. Electricity tears across his frame, crawls into the cracks of his armor and boils beneath the surface, but he keeps going, claws drawn back, every step another piece of himself given up. He is going to hit, or he is going to break trying.

Well.

The hit never comes.

Scizor collapses mid-charge, his body giving out all at once. One leg locks, the other buckles, and he crashes into the ground at Electivire's feet with a heavy, scraping thud. Steam hisses off his back where the electricity cooked straight through the plating. His claws twitch once in defiance, then fall still. "Get up!" Cecilia orders—not maliciously. She simply cannot comprehend that Scizor has fallen, that he is out of tries to give. She blinks for a few seconds, recalls Scizor when she realizes he has lost consciousness, and her hand goes to her next Pokemon…

Her next Pokemon?

She doesn't have any. The battle is over.

"Scizor is unable to battle! Grace Pastel takes the win 4-6!" the referee says.

It sinks in now, and it hits her like a bucket of cold water to the face. Until she had met Temperance, battling was enjoyable, yes, but also a means to an end—it accomplished the nebulous goal that is 'getting stronger' even though it is but smoke and mirrors. Refining her craft was elating now, but never has she fought someone to have made her get lost in the joyful frenzy of battle. Cecilia ignores the cheers and blinks the tears forming away. She doesn't understand why she is crying, exactly. It is not sadness, nor is it joy, but something else. Perhaps it is simply the finality of it all finally settling into her bones.

Grace's legs tremble as she stares down at Electivire. Instead of celebrating or basking under the audience's cheers, he looks back at her in silence and nods, offering a thumbs up. He knows how important this was, and how important it will be. She mouths a thank you, voice caught somewhere between breath and feeling, and recalls him. Her steps down the metallic stairs are slow, careful. The adrenaline still pumping in her veins makes everything feel slow and surreal. Meltan slides up her arm, perches on her shoulder, and wraps its little hands in her hair. "I forgot to…" she trails off. She had bungled up her final message meant to come with Honey because she had been so caught up in the delirium of the fight. Meltan cries out again as if to tell her not to fret. "Huh."

Her steps feel strangely light as she goes to meet Cecilia down the side of the arena—a formality amongst opponents. This battle has not lasted long, in the grand scheme of things—Grace certainly has faced longer trials—but it feels like a lifetime has passed.

The blonde looks up at her ex-girlfriend when they meet, into her pale, blank eyes which still leak tears, then offers a hand. Cecilia smiles and shakes it, and the tension melts away.

"It seems like I did not win narratively or as a matter of fact," the Unovan laments. "It is your complete and total victory. Congratulations, Grace." She clears her throat. "I wanted to win, of course—every cell in my body screamed for a win, but I wanted to at least force you to send your Togekiss out again."

"I…" Grace stops for a moment. "It would have wanted to. That was the plan from the start, to show that little girl who set off from Jubilife was still in here, you know?" she points at her heart. Cecilia's eyes widen, and she throws her head out, barking out a laugh. "It's—all arbitrary anyway!" Grace quickly adds. "It was fun, wasn't it? That's what matters, in the end."

Cecilia knows she wants to spare her feelings, but as she says none of it matters. "Agreed. I've rarely felt so alive." She has lost, but it doesn't feel that way.

"There's a lot I forgot to say, y'know." Grace hugs herself. The microphones are off, now; they are free to talk undisturbed. "Like… my dad explained it to me. And Temperance." Cecilia winces, imagining how the coordinator must have chewed Grace out. "I'm sorry for ruining your sense of trust and I was supposed to go into this whole thing where—"

"It's okay," Cecilia says. "It's okay. We all live with the cards we are dealt with, and I'm tired of just wallowing in self pity. Go and be happy." She had said it before back in Canalave and meant it then too, but today, she speaks without burden. Her body feels light. "I'll work and better myself, brick by brick, day by day. It's important to remember—"

"The present," Grace adds at the same time as her. Laughter is shared. "But still, I'm sorry. I'll always be sorry." A short pause lingers. "You're leaving for Unova soon, then?"

"Now that I lost, all that remains is my promise with Cynthia once the Conference ends." Cecilia would be leaving sooner than Grace is. "I cannot lie, I'm… excited. So many new opportunities—and my co-workers seem amenable to having a tall, creepy girl added to the team. Yes, it'll be a nice time."

Grace giggles, then looks at the battlefield at their side. Her smile falters for a second, growing sad. "I really liked your battling and your message, Cecilia. I—I hope this helped you. And that this doesn't sound too pretentious. And this is goodbye, then—"

"It's goodbye," Cecilia confirms quietly, "for now. I need a clean break and a fresh start, but one day, if you're in need of help or an old face to keep you company, I can be of service." She tilts her head, and her lips quirk up. "Though I'm not exactly known to give good advice."

"If I'm not intruding when the time comes, I'll take you up on that," Grace says before looking down at her feet. "Then, uh. See you later?" she asks tentatively.

"See you later."

If one is to speak of promises—those quiet, unfinished shapes that linger between people—then one might speak of a parting that came not with bitterness, but with the warmth of a connection still shared. It was not clean, nor easy, but it was needed. Between two girls who had hurt each other, knowingly or not; between two girls who had healed in equal measure. They did not know when or how they would meet again, but simply that the thread between them had not been completely cut. It has merely been stretched thin, and hopefully one day, somewhere down the line, they would find each other once more.

Not as lovers, but maybe as kindred souls who had shared the weight of the world together.

One might even eventually call it a friendship.

---

A/N: Sorry for the wait, everyone.

When I started writing I Will Touch the Skies at the end of 2022, this battle was one of the clearest pictures I had in my mind. Of course, the way it was written, what goes on during it, and the outcome of the fight aren't the same as what I envisioned that December, and it went through many iterations in the two and a half years I've been thinking about it, but the structure always remained the same. At the core of what I wanted to write is the exploration of what being Chosen to save the world can do to a teenager's mind. It did not matter what form it took—Grace and Cecilia were always going to break up, and they were always going to face each other at the Conference as the penultimate battle closing off their character arc.

Of course, whether I stuck the landing or not weighs heavily on my mind as I write this, and it's part of the reason this took so long to come out. Sure, I was burned out of writing Pokemon in general (writing so much in so little time will do that to someone at some point), I had a really busy semester in university, but really, it was also difficult to open the google doc and start to write. You always put it off, you know? Oh, I'll do it tomorrow, then the day after that, and then suddenly it's been three months and you haven't even started.

I started, eventually. It was hard; I must have deleted like five drafts of this because I couldn't accurately put on paper what vision I had in my mind. In the end I decided an omniscient narrator like what I had used in the 'Time and—' chapter would work best, and once I broke through that barrier, the words began to flow again. I'm sure this chapter will have lost a lot of its impact given that it's been months since I updated, but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. Thank you to those who come back and read this.

 

[SailorOfMyVessel]

I'm sure this chapter will have lost a lot of its impact given that it's been months since I updated, but I hope you enjoyed it regardless

Click to shrink...

Joke's on you, I put a break on this story like a year ago when it got super heavy and I couldn't handle the waits between chapters. I've been checking the A/Na though.

It seems the time for my proper read of this epic tale has finally come.

 

[Tempist]

Still enjoyed the chapter and I'll be looking forward to what comes next.