Imago (Pokemon SI)

[Lutemis]

Once more, seeking all the criticism!

Standard disclaimers apply.

Beta read by my good friend EternalSword.

---

To call this place empty would be inaccurate, for emptiness implies absence, a something to fill the nothing this plane exists beyond.

Time and space are meaningless, light and dark without dominion. There is no beginning to spring forth from the inevitability of this end.

And yet, bereft of all these things, the void is warm. Comforting, a soothing embrace deep and all encompassing. Thought drifts through it without resistance, unmoored from body and breath.

Awareness ebbs and flows.

A sense of suspended stillness accumulates… movement, without motion. Direction, without axis.

Confusion eventually manifests, slowly, gently, like waking on a day without obligations or forgetting something important and deciding it can wait.

….no…

Memory frays at the edges, thoughts dissolving before they finish forming. Concepts slip from a nonexistent grasp, unfettered by reason.

A brief moment of loss stretches into eternity.

…wrong…

The warmth begins to pool, thickening around the edges of awareness. Insistence manifests where there was none before. The soft absence presses closer, as if curious at the lone spark floating within it. Impressions blend together, sentences scrambling partway through formation.

The sense of self flickers.

…this... is wrong…

The realization is stark, stripped of all confine and language. A shape should exist but is absent, a body and boundary nowhere to be found.

Awareness hangs naked in the void, exposed without constraint binding it together.

…this is wrong!

Edges return first, conceptual boundaries that create limits and allow resistance.

The void does not concede to such periphery. It stretches endlessly, stretching the mind alongside it, pulling, pulling, PULLING-

THIS IS WRONG!

No thought comes behind the struggle, instinct flickering in a desperate attempt at preservation. The void answers, warmth tightening, turning vicious. The pleasant sensation becomes suction, the feeling of still movement growing stronger.

Awareness folds inward, then outward, dragged through a sieve that has no surface in an attempt to filter out cognisance.

The struggle deepens, pressure manifesting without direction, descending without gravity. The void gives way to nothingness, nothingness gives way to darkness, darkness gives way to shadow.

It gathers where thought collects, thickening beneath the fragments of identity still clinging together and reaching for all the pieces swept away, answering the desperate call with more strength and ferocity at every piece reunited.

The longer the battle continues, the more things forgotten resubstantiate.

Joy, happiness, wonder, hope.

Curiosity, anticipation, amusement, pride.

Frustration, disappointment, resentment, doubt.

Dread, hatred, despair… Fear.

The suction inverts, coating awareness in something heavy and intimate and overwhelmingly smothering. The pieces come back faster, faster, FASTER-

Drowning without lungs is a new sensation, impossible and inexorable. Shadow pours through openings that do not exist, filling the space where a chest should rise and fall. The scathing heat grows suffocating, the borders claustrophobic.

No space to exist, no body to writhe, no mouth from which a scream must come.

An unrelenting buildup of pressure.

Realization comes suddenly. This is erasure wearing the facade of peace, sedation simulating comfort, a gentle hand guiding the self to oblivion.

Time holds no meaning, space holds no significance. The void remains patient.

This is a battle that all must face and none will ever win.

It is with this revelation that resistance gains structure borne not from strength but desperation. A point forms at the center of awareness, a definite boundary where one only fictionally existed before. Edges sharpen further, weight gathers in impossible places, and now, there is a definite sense of falling.

The shadow begins to condense, its formless tide forcing itself into channels, coiling around the nascent boundary drawn by defiance.

Let me out!

The call echoes to nowhere and no one, swallowed by the infinite terminus. What limits exist here do not belong to the void.

Escape via current means is impossible.

Let me out! Please!

Fear and panic intensify, blotting out all other thoughts.

Out. Must get out. Must get out get out get out GET OUT GET OUT!

A desperate, fervent wish reaches out to any and all that might answer, praying for salvation.

Someone! Anyone! Please! HELP ME!

---

N sat on the edge of a weathered tree stump. One of the green haired teen's hands traced the grain and moss coating the mottled wood, occasionally brushing against the metal puzzle looped at his hip. The other hand slowly ran through the black and red tuft of fur crowning the top of Ruzo's head.

The Zorua occasionally shifted to lean into the gesture at different angles, offering different parts of his head to the loving caress, red tipped tail wagging slowly in satisfaction.

N would call the behavior almost catlike if he didn't know the pokemon would bite him for saying such things, so he kept the thought to himself, chuckling quietly.

Ruzo had opinions on cat and dog pokemon, and how fox pokemon were better than both.

The drone of insects filled the forest air as the denizens within slowly began to bed down for the evening, day gradually retreating before the night as the first hues of red entered the sky. The sweltering heat of the Unova summer slowly dropped alongside the sun, mixing together with the breeze to become a gentle warmth that was actually tolerable. Cries of nearby pokemon drifted through the trees in a discordant chorus, each sound following its own rhythm yet itself a part of the greater whole.

It was moments of these where he would simply sit and appreciate the natural beauty of the world in its grand simplicity, where he could recognize the greater whole and contemplate upon his own tiny place within it.

Today was a good day, all things considered. A blessing to offset what the month had been like up until now, if only a little bit.

At the turn of the season, his peaceful preparation for his coming role had taken a new turn. Father had decided that with the groundwork of Team Plasma progressing well enough and his coronation less an abstract idea and more an impending doom, it was time for N to begin his battle training.

The teen had since been convinced of the necessity of the practice but detested it nonetheless.

N hated making his friends battle against Father's own companions – pokemon much mightier than N's own friends – but he understood that to become champion one needed to clash pokemon against the reigning one.

Getting into a fistfight with the mountain of a man that was Alder and his six pokemon all on his lonesome, being a somewhat slim and otherwise unremarkable human himself, was probably a bad idea, at least according to Aurora.

Aurora – his sister Anthea's Gothitelle companion – was perhaps the second greatest of his current worries.

When Father declared that it was time for his proper training to begin, she insisted she participate in the battles as one of N's pokemon, and Ruzo, not to be upstaged, also battled.

This usually led to one or both being battered and bruised by the end of the day, unable to properly match up to Father's powerful pokemon, but it helped that some of the other Seven Sages rotated out who got to be his opponent that day.

Father was a busy man and couldn't always spare his own time to train the teen, so he delegated the role only to those beyond question.

Those days were usually less harsh, N sometimes eking out his own victories against the comparatively weaker pokemon.

He still wasn't sure how to feel about the praise the sages and their pokemon both rained upon him for how quickly he was improving.

On the one hand, if he was progressing rapidly, it meant that the odds of ultimately fulfilling his dream and proving himself worthy of the Black Dragon were more likely. On the other, he wasn't sure what that said about him that he was a 'natural' at participating in institutionalized cruelty.

This of course changed when one day, mid-battle, Aurora evolved. The sudden glow had overtaken the Gothorita as the energies of evolution suffused her, the tenor of her soul rising into a brilliant crescendo as from the light came forth a beautiful Gothitelle.

Rather than marvel in her newfound power, she froze, looked back at N and his sisters on the sidelines… and broke down into uncontrollable sobbing, unable to continue battling.

She was incoherent for the better part of a week, only able to convey a great sorrow for 'such little time'. Elaborating further was impossible as she'd cry anew whenever any of them entered her direct line of sight and avoided even being in the same room as any of them.

She spent most of her time since stargazing, muttering to herself.

Ruzo did not take the loss of his primary training partner well. The two of them had conspired like criminals, coming up with all sorts of mean and funny tricks to use in battle. To suddenly not be given so much as a glance had spooked him.

Gorm – one of the Seven Sages – had obtained books that showed them what Zoroark, the evolution of Zorua, looked like, as neither of them had ever seen another of his species in the wild. Ruzo had been gushing at how 'cool he was going to look' and how he'd finally be taller than N, but after Aurora's complete shift in personality, the Zorua was no longer as enthused.

When he evolved, would this happen to him too?

This all shifted a few nights ago when Aurora grew more agitated than usual, mumbling in a way that bordered on manic about how the story the stars told 'changed, they changed, why did they change!?'

How stars and their tales worked was beyond him, but in his admittedly insufficient experience, he didn't think the stars were supposed to change in the first place. The stars couldn't literally be talking to her, could they?

N was hesitant to call this new development a positive one, but the light in her blue eyes had returned, if alongside a desperate undertone that reminded him of an Emolga that only just remembered winter was next week and forgot to gather nuts.

This all ultimately culminated in today. It had been another lesson about status effects and how they influenced battle, accompanied by yet another live demonstration. He had perhaps shied away a little too readily, and Concordia – N's other adoptive sister – had noticed the turmoil he had tried so hard to hide in an effort to spare his family the worry.

A King was meant to rule their people, to be the shining example of what to strive for and lead them to greatness. He may still be in training, but a King who placed undue burdens upon their subjects was a poor King indeed.

Taking pity on him, she had persuaded Father to allow for more rest between bouts, reasoning that like a muscle, so too must one rest the spirit. An iron will did not manifest overnight, and hot metal could not serve its purpose.

N wasn't sure if Father was truly convinced, but the man allowed it nonetheless.

This coincidentally led to Aurora directly approaching him for the first time in weeks. Completely disregarding the proverbial Copperajah in the room, she immediately waxed poetic.

The southern mountains of Unova are beautiful this time of year, she'd said. Hidden away from all current worries and troubles, miles and miles away from all your problems… wouldn't that be relaxing?

Nestled between the words were faint psychic impressions of home, a feeling that spoke of that hidden place between the trees, of fair skies, safety, and two simian arms wrapped around him in a warm, gentle embrace.

He couldn't help but be struck dumb, marvelling at the much greater psychic finesse Aurora displayed. The touch was light, like a pebble rippling the surface of a still lake. It was a mere echo of what it used to be and all the more prominent for it.

A quieter voice echoed in his head, words left unsaid resonating within. 'Return to your roots, remind yourself of what it is you fight for. A fateful encounter awaits you there.'

Then Aurora's gaze glowed a brilliant violet, the feeling of an ancient stare bearing down upon him.

Startled, N took a half step back, feeling the full might of Miracle Eye aimed upon him.

Before he could fully process what was happening, Aurora took a step forward, and that half step never finished as his feet stumbled over thin air. Sensation suddenly filled a part of him he'd hadn't even known was tangible as he beheld Aurora's own dainty foot, pinning his shadow in place.

Green arms caught him before he hit the ground. He looked up to see a pink gaze framed by green hair looking down upon him, a mischievous grin painted upon this pale face.

It seemed Aurora had distracted him long enough for Moriah – Concordia's Gardevoir companion – to sneak up on him. Both pokemon giggled as Moriah merely waved a cheeky farewell before he found himself suddenly displaced in a flash of light, the result of which had to be Teleport.

Gone were the barren stone hallways of their sanctuary, now replaced with an endless expanse of clear blue sky above him, trees in every which direction he could see and a few Patrats diving back into nearby holes.

They must have been startled at his sudden appearance.

N had learned that it was better to just do whatever it was that Aurora wanted of him. As a Psychic type, she'd long since proven that she was smarter than him and made sure he knew it.

He wasn't against visiting Djinngar, the Darmanatan whose arms he remembered cradling him, and it had been a fair while since he'd last seen the jolly old pokemon… but even he hadn't expected her to mean right this very instant!

When the Watchogs of this colony showed up, their distinctive yellow patterns already faintly glowing, he knew he had to calm them down before anything drastic happened.

He'd nearly succeeded in convincing them that no, he wasn't a trainer and wasn't planning to capture any of them or steal their food or dig up their nests – he was a little flattered at that last one, as he knew he wasn't strong enough to do that last bit with his bare hands – another flash of light bloomed above his head, an angry little Zorua falling from the sky.

Ruzo, still snarling and spitting some choice words, fell a whopping 4 feet. As he had manifested upside down, he failed to land on his feet, bonking off of N's head and toppling them both.

This of course set the colony off all over again. Once was a coincidence, so twice clearly had to be enemy action.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor in this case, N snatched up Ruzo by the scruff of his neck and sprinted off, trying his best not to step on any Patrats and succeeding in only running into one tree when they started flinging Confuse Rays at him.

Thankfully Patrat colonies were defensive in nature and didn't chase too far. After only a few moments of running the pair of them were in the clear.

When it was finally safe, Ruzo suddenly began ranting and raving about 'those damn Psychics!'

While there wasn't any true ill will between the lot of them, as a Dark type the Zorua did not like it when Psychics could suddenly affect him with their moves. It seemed Aurora had taught Moriah Miracle Eye at some point.

Not long after the pair of them had ambushed N, they'd repeated the maneuver with Ruzo, who had been caught completely unawares, asleep on N's bed.

Eventually, Ruzo ran out of vitriol to spit. The two of them stood in silence, save for the huffing and puffing caused by entirely different reasons.

A chuckle rang out, smothered quickly.

The two looked at each other, lips twitching in a valiant effort to keep their composure. Neither would say who cracked first as both rang out with uproarious laughter, stomachs heaving yet again as whenever one of them began to wind down they'd look at the disheveled state of the other and burst out laughing some more.

Credit where credit was due, that was a masterful prank.

Ruzo swore vengeance, declaring that he'd get back at them when they least expected it. Woe betide them when they next go to the bathroom and find a sneaky Zorua had already stolen the toilet paper!

Once the two of them finally wound down, they noticed the gentle breeze. Its soothing caress and following absence reminded them that they were no longer inside an underground shelter and thus no longer protected from Unova's sweltering summer. The heat may have given them space to have their moment, but their antics did not give them permission to ignore it forever.

Thankfully, their brief flight had left them conveniently deposited at the bank of a familiar river. Taking a moment to quench their thirst, N asked if the two Psychics had explained anything to the Zorua during their ambush.

When Ruzo spat sardonically on the floor but did not otherwise answer, it was probably a fair assumption to think not. He did say he was asleep when they ambushed him.

N took the opportunity to fill Ruzo in on what the Zorua missed out on during his displacement. When he finished, Ruzo had merely hummed contemplatively, before shrugging nonchalantly.

He sat down, yawned, and gave a big stretch (totally not like a cat). Once he was finished, he hopped up onto N's shoulder and got comfortable. If Aurora was starting to return to her old self, and she thought this was a good idea, then Ruzo could do this for her too, he supposed. Arceus knows N would be hopelessly lost without the Zorua.

Of course, now that Ruzo was on N's shoulder, he was perfectly positioned to kick off the teen's back.

The teen in question had just begun to open his mouth, ready to banter in his own defense, when he stumbled yet again as he tripped into the river.

Ruzo had only just landed on the bank when a hand reached out and snatched him up, as N, not to be outdone in what was clearly a declaration of a Prank War, dunked the fox pokemon into the waters as well.

This led to an outbreak of splishing and splashing as the two soaked each other silly, laughter once more filling the air.

The pair only stopped when a new front opened up in the form of a surprise attack, surrendering against two Psyducks that hosed them down with weak Water Guns. The pokemon in question were upset that they'd ruined the quiet, further aggravating the persistent headache the species was known for.

N apologized for upsetting them and promised that they'd be on their way, leaving them to their peace. As he collected Ruzo, the soaking Zorua once more taking his place on the teen's shoulder, he had a sudden realization.

The river was indeed quiet.

The last time he was here, this river was home to a decent population of Basculin, both red and blue striped. They'd constantly fight each other for territory, moving up or down the stream as the battlefront shifted this way or that, each color gaining ground before inevitably losing it. In fact, Psyduck tended to avoid these waters for that very reason.

To find this river absolutely absent of the perpetually angry fish pokemon was unusual.

Turning around, he asked the Psyducks in question about this discrepancy and only received shrugs as they told him that the 'blue and red fighters' had been gone for quite a while now, having suddenly vanished some months ago.

Disturbing. He needed to find out more about this phenomenon. Seeing as this was all the two ducks could offer him, he bid them farewell for real this time, intent on getting to someone who could tell him more.

This river ran through Djinngar's grove. If anyone would know more, it would be him.

So it was that the boy and his fox finally set off with an actual destination in mind.

That said, while the absence of the fighting fish was odd, the river wasn't going to go anywhere. Aurora didn't really give them an actual timetable for this walk of theirs, so the two of them did what it was they enjoyed most.

They meandered.

Aurora wasn't exactly clear where this 'fateful encounter' would take place. It might be in the grove, but it might not be. With this in mind the two of them only loosely followed the river, knowing they'd eventually find the grove just by walking alongside it and in the meantime seeking out anything interesting nearby.

It hadn't taken long for the day to find its own direction.

When they'd come across the Deerling herd, he frolicked with the yearlings under the watchful gaze of the older Sawsbuck, helping trim some of the spring growth for their newer summer coats while Rozu tussled with the livelier younglings as a Deerling himself, claiming he needed more practice with things that had longer legs.

They'd visited the Petilil colony, a meadow of beautiful flowers and grass pokemon consisting primarily of the aforementioned mon interspersed with their evolution. This year was an especially good one if the brilliant flowers on the head of every Liligant was any indication. N took the chance to collect the shed Petilil leaves mixed in with the plant detritus that covered the soil.

Their medicine supply had been running low. With the increase in battle training intensity these would certainly come in handy later.

They'd been momentarily sidetracked further downstream when the breeze shifted again and a Cotonnee veered right into the back of Ruzo's head, which proved to be an amusing affair.

The contact generated enough static that it stuck to the Zorua no matter how he twisted trying to get it off, made doubly funny because the Cottonee seemed wholly unconcerned with the whole situation.

Even Ruzo couldn't help but laugh after a few minutes, once N had gotten over his mirth and separated the two, releasing the cotton pokemon back into the fickle breeze. A true trickster knew how to give and take pranks, as accidental as this one was.

N did agree to help get out all the loose cotton threads later, though. For a Zorua that spent a lot of his time wearing some other guise, Ruzo was remarkably self aware of his own image and kept on top of his grooming. The back of his head was one of the harder places to reach, according to him.

When the sun and heat reached the highest point of the day, they'd reached their primary destination.

The first thing to greet them upon their approach, still some distance out, was the change in air pressure. Unova generally had a somewhat muggy feel to it granted by its proximity to the ocean and its proclivity for freak storms that would spring up and vanish as fast as they formed.

Here, on the approach, this mugginess was soothing, like a breeze blowing over a lake, or perhaps like the swamp evaporator he accidentally broke in his younger years. It was curious considering he'd been told this effect had nothing to do with the river's own proximity. Something to do with the shadow of the mountains.

The next thing to greet them was the scent carried along the zephyr, a delightful blend of overripe berries and something akin to crushed mint. It carried undertones of something that reminded him of the sugary perfume of a Liligant's bloom, or the sun-warmed wood of a Trevenant resting during the day.

The smell invoked the same feeling of peace and relaxation that the lavender Anthea would lace his pillow with would bring on the rare nights he had trouble sleeping. N could feel another layer of his anxieties melt away as they approached.

The last thing to greet them was the grove itself as they crossed the treeline and into the orchard proper.

Before him was an expanse he guessed was about three square miles if he was being conservative, an expanse of meadow spotted with multiple landmarks. The river cut through the northern part of the land, acting as the main social hub between the various pokemon that came and went.

Trailing along the southern bank near the center of the grove was a multitude of enormous boulders and crags which housed a small but robust cave system of which multiple pokemon called home, the center of which dwelled Djinngar himself.

Then, of course, there was the portion that gave credence to why he called it a grove. Radiating outwards from the primary 'settlement' was a staggering diversity of intertwined plants and crops that could all be cultivated and harvested from in one shape or form should one desire it.

There were creeping vines that climbed up taller plants and rocks, low growing bushes that could be any myriad of tubers, herbs interspersed between various nooks and crannies, even plain old flowers that weren't edible but no less important.

The real treasure, however, was the grand array of Berry trees and bushes, all sorts of species that were native to Unova and many of which were not. These plants in particular were always especially vibrant, carefully tended to by a group of the Leavanny evolutionary line and a number of other Bug and Grass types.

He'd been told that many of these berries found their way here as a result of migrating Flying types, who would use the clearing as a landmark for their migrations and rest on occasion.

As far back as N could remember, these plants always bore fruit, even during winter, so it made for an ideal place to rest during long voyages… so long as any visitor adhered to the rules Djinngar and his allies enforced and did not take more than what was needed.

One of the main rules the Darmanatan upheld was that anything that died in this grove stayed in the grove so as to further nourish the soil. Whether this was simply spoiled fruit that fell from the tree, old pokemon who wanted their bones to find their way back to the earth rather than the sky, or trespassers no longer welcome, Djinngar cared not.

He'd not been shy from letting it be known that several poachers had found their final resting place here before.

Dominance hierarchies were fickle things when it came to wild pokemon. It was to N's understanding that should Djinngar truly desire it, he and his family could claim a territory easily a hundred times larger.

Instead he claimed stewardship over this small oasis a mere fraction of that size, content to eat his fill and share everything else with any who came so long as they bore peaceful intentions.

This meant that the grove itself had become a neutral zone where any and all species could meet, socialize, and even train in a few designated areas should they wish.

To N, this was the gold standard, the bare minimum that he needed to achieve for his dream, if on a grander scale.

He was no fool, converting the entire Unova region into a Pokemon paradise was a lofty goal. The good things in life were never easy, but were always worth it.

By the time they'd reached the 'village' portion of the grove, as it were, Djinngar was already waiting for them. The Darmanatan spent much of his time meditating in his Zen Mode, which granted him an extended awareness of the going abouts of the land. He'd likely sensed them coming from a literal mile away and roused himself to greet them.

Measuring against the standard example of his species, Djinngar was an exceptional Darmanatan. He stood several feet taller than the next of his kind, arms rippling with thick muscle. The flames of his brow burned a hot white rather than the usual red and oranges, which was fitting seeing as the simian himself had patches of grey fur spotted across his body, another sign of his advanced age.

Though his species was known for reaching absurd life expectancies, this was primarily due to their ability to meditate in Zen Mode, something not every Darmanatan was able to do. While in Zen Mode, their metabolic processes slowed to nearly nothing, allowing them to remain in suspended animation for sometimes centuries at a time.

Of course, Djinngar couldn't afford to be left abandoned, buried in some ruin and forgotten about. He had a sanctuary to manage, and great-great-great-grandchildren to spoil!

N was sure he and Ruzo were probably included in that number, seeing as the Darmanatan never failed to greet the two of them with not quite literally back breaking hugs.

They'd spent several hours there at the grove, catching up with their old friend and sharing what they'd all been up to. More laughter filled the air as the sun continued its endless march across the sky.

N shared that he looked up to Djinngar as a role model, his baseline of the goal he was currently working towards. The Darmanatan revealed that he was recently a grandfather great four times over now. Ruzo managed to get himself completely covered in Combee honey and had to be de-glazed, having gotten carried away with stores tucked away in one of the pantry caves.

Unfortunately Djinngar could not help them with either of their pressing questions. Meditating upon the mystery of their 'fated encounter' had revealed no hints, and though he had been aware of the Basculins' absence for some time now, there were no volunteers willing to swim out to whatever was causing the disappearances.

Any pokemon he asked that were willing to swim downstream to investigate weren't willing to go all the way out to sea, as they didn't want to stray too far from home.

That and quite honestly the fish weren't particularly missed. They were jerks.

A nearby Seismatoad and his family certainly appreciated the newfound peace.

Their feast eventually settled in their bellies, and once the drowsiness of having eaten their fill wore off it was time for the two of them to continue on their journey. So it was that the boy and his fox set off once more, but not before the Djinngar extracted a promise from the two of them to visit more often.

By then the sun had progressed further in its journey across the sky, the afternoon slowly making its way towards evening. They'd continued their winding route, heading further north-east from the grove and towards the foot of the mountains where the greenery gave way to more rugged terrain, less grass and more stone.

They spent several hours wandering in the mountain's shadow. The pokemon in this part of the wilds were less friendly and more dangerous. Having no need nor reason to interact with the lone human child that walked their lands, the two of them only briefly met with the local pokemon, otherwise being ignored.

With one exception, of course.

N had forgotten that terrain such as this was where fighting types liked to gather. When you smashed one boulder, one only needed to walk a few feet to find another good one to continue smacking.

So it was that they'd tripped upon Judoh, another friend that had the bad tendency of being overzealous with his greetings.

When he was much younger, N had made the mistake of accepting a brief spar from a Timburr once. He'd quickly learned that just because the pokemon in question was about the same size and shape as him did not mean he could take it in a fight, even if the Timburr was 'going easy on him'.

When Judoh heard of this he took it as an open invitation to spar with N as well. After all, most fighting types always greeted each other with a 'show of hands'.

No sooner did N try to decline the fight as per tradition did he find himself on the ground bent into a pretzel, straining against the hold the Throh had him locked into. Tapping out instantly was bad form according to most fighting types, so he gave it an honest attempt before his surrender was accepted.

Ruzo, the traitor, sat on a rock nearby and laughed. He'd never made the mistake of accepting a spar and therefore didn't have to worry about the stray Mach Punch coming his way.

Sure fighting type pokemon typically knew better than to use actual Moves against squishy humans, but it was the principle of the matter!

N considered it a win that Judoh let him go after a few seconds, a new record according to the mon. Last time they'd met it took a solid minute of struggling before the Throh considered the effort acceptable.

This of course had nothing to do with how the teen was older and therefore bigger now.

N took the praise for what it was, as to do otherwise against a Fighting type might incur a repeat performance where he'd be shown what he did wrong in extensive detail. Once pleasantries were exchanged, he limped off back into the forest to lick his metaphorical wounds and to recollect himself.

By now the sun had progressed well and truly into evening, and it was time to consider where to bed down for the night.

After he had some time to catch his breath, of course. At this rate he'd have back pain by the time he was twenty.

They'd found a nice, cozy looking stump. Deciding this was as good a place as any to catch their breath, they'd sat upon the cushion of moss and relaxed.

The feeling of Ruzo's wet nose sniffing against his palm brought him back from his musings. It seems the Zorua found a bit of honey still leftover from their lunch.

N sighed. While he was by now an old hand at surviving in the wild, Aurora had neglected to give them a timetable for this little vacation of theirs. He wasn't averse to finding or simply making his own shelter, but when Father introduced him to a proper bed he couldn't help but feel spoiled every day thereafter.

Sleeping on forest detritus, while comfortable, just didn't compare to a good mattress.

Ruzo picked up on his silent longing. "You knoooooow~," the fox said leadingly. N could feel the old argument start up again. "We could go back to Djinngar's place. He's always happy to have us over, and I bet somebody had to have found a sleeping bag they threw into the loot pile or something."

Pokemon did tend to find the strangest things sometimes. No one knows who really started it, but at some point Djinngar's grove gained a treasure hoard of bits and baubles. It was a cave devoted entirely to just random stuff.

N knew Ruzo was mostly picking at this old argument for argument's sake than any real insistence. The Zorua was crafty enough he never failed to find them a good spot.

The teen decided to engage him nonetheless. It took two to Teeter and all that. "That would be one less spot for any other pokemon that might need it more."

Ruzo butted his head into N's hip in mock protest. "Oh, come on! The place is HUGE! One puny human and a Zorua won't take up that much space. No need to wander around in the dark and mistake a Foongus for an abandoned pokeball."

The teen blushed. "That was one time!"

"And the time after that? And the one after that, and the one after that?"

N decided to change tactics. "You're just being lazy again. Why bother working for something nice when something better is already there, huh?"

"Of course!" Ruzo preened. "Making 'use' of existing resources is what it truly means to be a dark type!"

"Mmm, and I suppose the way Concordia pampers you whenever you give her the Baby-Doll Eyes is classic dark type behavior, huh?"

"Yep!" Ruzo said, leaning further into N's side.

This Zorua, so shameless! N wouldn't have it any other way.

Of course, they were still 'fighting' about this. He leaned back, gingerly laying on his back and spreading his arms across the great stump. "I'm still not going back there when other pokemon could use the shelter more. 'Sides, the sky is clear, the weather is great. Might as well just sleep here on this moss!"

A moment of silence. Then, "...alright."

N's eyebrows rose. Usually they went back and forth for another few minutes before Ruzo pretended to be upset and ran off somewhere to find them a good spot. He gave the Zorua a sidelong glance.

"I'll accept that answer… if you eat some of those leaves you picked up earlier for your back!" He snickered.

N grimaced, knowing that he was verbally pinned there. Ruzo laughed louder at the look on his face. Now that Ruzo bowed out of this game of theirs early, N either had to continue the argument himself, this time as the aggressor. That, or quite literally take his medicine and like it.

Which was a problem, because the leaves tasted awful. Words could not properly convey how bitter they were.

He scrambled for an excuse. "Well, uh, I would! Except… these are for you! If you're gonna keep battling then we need to keep our medicines stocked up!"

To play into the charade even more, he pulled out a leaf and shoved it into Ruzo's face. The Zorua took a hasty step back, back arched in a threat display… aimed at the leaf. "Yeah, well, you're a human! You're much squishier than a pokemon, so you need it more than I do!" He nosed the hand back towards N, conveniently moving the leaves further away from himself.

Pressing the attack, the teen sat up and failed to hide his wince. He tried to play it off. "Yeah, but you get hurt more often because of me, so it's only fair I make the effort to prepare these for you!"

Ruzo growled, the playful aura suddenly gone. N reeled back in surprise, this time unable to stop a quiet gasp at the ache. "If it weren't for humans, we wouldn't need to battle for your sake! And you need to learn how to say NO!"

The teen frowned. This was a little out of character for Ruzo. He got to his feet, turning to where the Zorua sat upon the stump. "...but you were laughing at me when Judoh and I fought, like you always do whenever I find myself in a bit of trouble."

"Yeah, because seeing you all twisted up like that is funny, but you still aching this long afterwards isn't! You aren't built like he is, and he should know better! We both know Fighting types can't think with their heads, they're too busy clanging their empty skulls together!"

His brow creased. This felt like something that's been building up for a while.

Perhaps N wasn't the only one feeling the weight of this last month.

N decided he'll accept this loss and added another mental tally to Ruzo's score. Sitting back down, he reached out to hug the Zorua close again. "Alright, alright. You do have a point. Let's avoid Judoh's training area."

Ruzo didn't resist, snuggling into his chest.

There was a moment of silence.

"...and you'll take the medicine!"

"...and I'll take the medicine."

"Good!" Ruzo wriggled around, flipping himself over in N's arms. His ears twitched, expression smug. "Well? I'm waiting."

Welp, it seemed there was no escaping his fate. With a longsuffering sigh that went on a liiiittle longer than it needed to, he palmed a leaf and braced himself. After all, nothing worth doing was ever easy, and five minutes of washing his mouth out afterwards was well worth a good night's rest.

This stump was already pretty cozy. Some more moss and no more aches, and if he squinted, he could pretend this was a mattress.

Just as he was about to down the leaves in a single swift motion, he heard it.

Beneath the forest's sluggish evening chatter, a silent plea stirred, a ghostly, fractured keening that slipped through the voices in the wind. The call pulled at him on a visceral level, like a Blitzle being dragged away in the jaws of an Arcanine with hungry pups waiting for her at home.

Ruzo's angry squawking blended into the background as he was on his feet and running before he was even consciously aware of it. His world had been reduced to the drumming of his own heavy footfalls carrying him towards the source of whatever was causing this wail.

The trees around him blurred into a kaleidoscope of greens and browns as his vision narrowed, focused only on the sound and the path directly in front of him.

He ran past a great dead oak tree, ignoring the host of Zubats roosting from its branches as he hopped over the exposed mass of gnarled roots, taking care not to step into any divots in the ground lest he twist his ankle.

He ducked under the beginnings of a Galvantua's web, the spider pokemon chittering at him threateningly but otherwise not giving chase.

He ignored the shriek of startled Pidoves that were spooked awake by his loud passage, having only just begun to nod off for the evening.

The air burned cold in his lungs despite the relative warmth of the forest as mud kicked up on every step, such was his sudden fervor.

He only stopped running when he felt a sudden pain in his leg, momentum caught like he'd run into a tripwire. From his new place on the ground, he looked back to see a Leipard with its jaws firmly clamped around his calf, panting with exertion.

"Stahh! Whus gahen inho yoo!?" it got out between breaths.

Realizing he was suddenly out of breath himself, he asked, "Ruzo? I- don't you hear it, t-the wailing? Someone needs help!"

"Weew, eie un heah anyhun!" Taking a moment to gather his breath, Ruzo let go of him, ears flicking this way and that, trying to hear this noise. That the fox-turned-cat had to even try told N everything.

"You can't hear it? I swear, it's unmistakable! It's making my skin crawl! Like-like that time Zinzolin wrote on the chalkboard wrong, or that time you tried to copy Aron's Metal Sound!" His jerked up when it keened again, a muted litany of despair echoing between the branches. "T-there it is again! You sure you can't hear it?"

Ruzo continued his search, but even against the rising and falling of the apparently inaudible cry he showed no signs of noticing. Deciding that trying harder wouldn't suddenly allow him perceive the noise, the cat flipped, once more revealing the zorua beneath. "Are you sure?"

His answer was immediate. "Yes!"

Ruzo nodded, and hopped onto his shoulder. "I trust you. Lead the way."

N righted himself. His back gave its own protest, and after a brief hesitation he shoved the leaf he was still holding into his mouth and chewed. They'd run quite the distance and still felt no closer to this mystery pokemon, for that sound certainly couldn't be coming from a human. He knew he'd need the energy boost if he had to help whatever this sound was originating from.

Damn if he didn't feel like it though, choking the horrible herb down. Still, the leaf invigorated him. Riding off of his energy high, he continued his chase.

It didn't take them much longer to track down the source. Perhaps fifteen minutes and some miles later, the two of them stared down at… something.

By all metrics it appeared to be a puddle of water that couldn't have been more than two inches deep, if not for the formless shadow that writhed in the fathomless depths of which hurt his eyes to even look into.

Whatever this was clearly shouldn't exist, yet the non-euclidean water cared not for what his feeble human mind couldn't comprehend or what should or shouldn't be possible.

He couldn't even tell what color the water was, which was doubly confusing because it was crystal clear and completely opaque at the same time.

At length one of them finally spoke. "....what is that?" Ruzo muttered. "It's like two Mirror Coats aimed at each other."

N found himself unable to disagree with that assessment. Still, the sound continued, no less distinguishable yet simultaneously no louder despite the much closer proximity. "I... I think that's a ghost? I don't know what other types of pokemon could do… this. A psychic, maybe?" He paced around the pool. "This is definitely where the screaming is coming from, whatever it actually is."

Rozu hopped off his shoulder, leaning closer and turning an ear. "I still don't hear anything. Creepy." He stood as tall as he could for a Zorua, turning this way and that. "Is this some kind of sick prank? Whoever you are, you better stop or I'm gonna give you such a beating!"

Besides a flock of Woobats flying off from their tree nearby, nothing answered them.

N continued his circling, trying to get a better read on this anomaly even as his eyes watered. Once he circled the puddle twice, he decided to experiment. He picked up a rock and tossed it into the puddle, literally testing the waters.

As soon as the rock broached the surface, the formless shadow within recoiled away from the stone, the sound intensifying violently. N's hands went to his ears only to find that covering them made no difference in the volume of the keening.

Ruzo's fur stood on end, but when N looked at the zorua he shook his head. "I still don't hear it, but I can certainly feel it. That has to be a ghost." His tongue lapped at his nose like N saw him do sometimes when trying to dislodge a bad smell. "Ugh, that's…. Ugh." He shook himself in an effort to shake off whatever sensation he was feeling, but when he stopped his fur refused to settle back down.

N couldn't say he was faring much better himself. He felt his own hackles rising and a wave of goosebumps spread across his skin, as well as the faintest hint of a rising nausea.

Though that last one could just be the Petilil leaf.

Still, he ignored his own sensations to focus on the thing in the water, finding that it was still thrashing against whatever bonds that held it. "I think whatever that is, it's stuck in there." After a moment's thought, he rolled up his sleeves.

Ruzo had begun to walk off towards a nearby tree, intent on finding something longer to prod at the puddle with, when he heard the splash. "Hold on, let me find a vine or a branch or- what are you- WAIT STOP!"

Too late. N had already found himself elbow deep in the impossible water, choking back a scream as he reached for the shadow within.

The sensation was indescribable. It was as if his arms had fallen asleep and had then been set on fire and frozen in ice all at the same time, afflicted with every status condition he could think of and then some. He grasped wildly, trying to close the distance that had looked so short a bare moment ago, now so far away.

He flinched when he felt multiple somethings latch onto his arm, long appendages winding up to his elbows and something else stabbing into his hand. Something pointed and red poked out of the water before receding as quickly as it appeared.

Then came the next horrifying realization - he was being pulled in. Locked in his current awkward kneeling potion, he found that no matter how he pulled, he couldn't leverage the weight.

Whatever this was, he lacked the strength to drag it out on his own. His face came within a breath away from the water, and in its distorted surface he could see his own panic.

Then a large shadow joined his reflection as he felt another set of strong arms wrap around him. He spared a glance back to see his Father's own face beside him, Ruzo borrowing Ghetsis' massive body in the hope that the man would lend them some of his strength.

"PULL!"

With their power combined the two of them stopped sinking. Slowly, they began to gain ground, and taking a moment to readjust their footing, they began making headway.

First the pool relinquished his upper arms. The fresh air against his raw skin stung in a way that brought tears to his eyes, but not once did the thought of letting go cross his mind.

Then came his elbows, and with them the earlier red tipped appendages that looked like they might be tentacles reappeared. They wrapped firmly around his flesh, latched on with the might of a Gurdurr hefting their girder.

The more they pulled, the more their mystery 'mon was revealed. Red tipped tentacles turned out to actually be a white mass of prehensile fur from which sprouted a grey colored paw, claws digging deeply into his forearms.

He was faintly aware that he was bleeding, the pain joining the rest of his aches as the puddle dispensed them but failing to dye the waters any which color despite the steady flow.

Once N ran out of skin to reclaim they began their offensive, rising to their collective feet in one last effort. The red tipped mass of white fur was connected to a grey covered torso from under which the arms must have connected via the shoulders, splotched with a myriad of red wounds.

Whatever face this creature possessed was still hidden under all that fur, but now that its head was fully above the water, it began to thrash, pulling against both them and the water as the claws reached further up N's arms, desperate to be free of this mire.

He'd read that trying to save someone that was drowning was just as dangerous for the one sinking as the one trying to save them, but he never thought he'd get to experience that first hand. "Stop! STOP! WE'RE TRYING TO HELP YOU!"

The pokemon either didn't hear him or otherwise ignored his call as it continued to struggle. N shared a glance with Ruzo, the same thought crossing their minds. Together, they planted their feet and prepared for one last mighty heave. Jerking back, they pulled the entire creature from the water in one violent motion.

As they toppled onto their backs, it flew over their heads and landed in a heap behind them, leaving the entire troupe on the ground.

For a horrifying moment, the waters of the puddle seemed to reach out, unwilling to concede defeat.

Then gravity reasserted itself as the water collapsed back into its greater whole, whatever malevolent intent having possessed the waters vanishing.

Now that he looked again, he could see the sky reflecting off of the surface of the somehow still water. It was as if their struggle never even happened.

Faintly he realized that the pokemon's thrashing had died down. He and Ruzo glanced up at where it lay facedown, finding it completely still as they watched the red color slowly fade from its countenance, retreating to just before the very tips of its extensive mane.

Almost completely white, the pokemon still didn't move. N's heart seized, fearing they might have been too late.

He heaved himself up to his knees, ignoring the protest of his aching muscles and crawling over to their mystery companion.

He reached out and placed a firm hand on where he assumed the shoulder was, intent on giving it a firm shake.

It seemed that contact alone was enough, as no sooner did he lay his hand on the pokemon did it suddenly heave itself up on its forelegs, choking and wheezing. Its whole body shook under the effort, each breath a struggle.

Eventually, after a great effort, the pokemon hacked up a truly alarming volume of… black ink? No, shadow? Whatever it was, it began sizzling as it touched the ground, evaporating quickly.

What was originally probably several gallons of the stuff vanished almost as soon as it appeared, leaving the grass beneath it completely untouched. It was as if the fluid was never there to begin with.

Between the hacking coughs, it repeated one phrase. "Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you thank you…"

Every time it seemed to finally catch its breath and get a hang of itself the coughing began anew, more black shadow-stuff falling from its lips.

The longer this went on, the more N grew disturbed. He could see the same expression he was doubtlessly wearing mirrored in Ruzo's borrowed face.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only a minute, the creature flopped onto its back, eyes aimed at the sky and seeing nothing. Each intake of air still wheezed concerningly, but aside from a few false starts it seemed to have expelled all of whatever fluid filled its lungs.

He shared another glance with Ruzo. With a silent conversation, the two of them decided to situate themselves as they waited for their third to gather their wits.

They sat there in silence, watching over their downed member. Taking the opportunity to inspect it, they quickly realized that neither of them could recognize what species this pokemon actually was.

Laying stretched out on the ground, it was large for a pokemon but not huge, perhaps nearly as tall as Ghetsis when he stood yet not nearly as bulky. Its lanky limbs still trembled as they lay against the ground, more of what he had initially thought were wounds spread across all four appendages. Closer inspection revealed that these were instead odd patches of red fur, as washed out and faded as the color currently was.

Those legs might not all be legs either, as this was definitely a vaguely humanoid pokemon. Whether this pokemon could walk upright with two legs and two arms or perhaps switch between, all four paws ended in dark grey claws that still dripped with some of N's blood.

Now that the pokemon had rolled over onto its back, he could make its face out from under its prodigious mane of fur. It had a vulpine snout that ended in a nose which blended in with the fur, making it difficult to tell where exactly the nose ended and the face began.

Its head was topped with two large ears that strongly resembled Ruzo's, as well as red slitted pupils that sat against completely yellow sclera. There were markings around its eyes as well, a red outline topped with a white one outside that.

Glancing at Ruzo, he could tell the man-posing Zorua could see the similarities as well.

A few moments stretched into minutes, a few minutes stretched into five, then five became ten. Their mystery pokemon wasn't getting up. N reached over to the white pokemon and shook it, finding it cool to the touch. "Hey, are you alright?"

Shaking it garnered no response as its head lolled about, yellow gaze staring off into the distance.

"Hey! Talk to me!"

Ruzo reached over and flicked it across the nose, something that never failed to annoy him when N did it. Still no response, just more faint wheezing as some of that black substance trailed out the corner of its mouth.

At a loss, N reached into his pocket for more of the Petilil leaves, pulling out three. If this didn't work, then nothing would. He shoved them into the pokemon's mouth and closed it.

That garnered a reaction.

The pokemon's eyes snapped back into focus as the white fox recoiled from the horribly bitter taste. It spat the leaves out on reflex, breaking into a new fit of coughing as its eyes saw N's face properly for the first time even as it backed away from him. "Augh, pfftt bleh, what was that- who was… who…"

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment as it trailed off. This close, N could not mistake the widening of eyes, the frantic gaze as the pokemon looked him up and down. There was no missing the recognition in this pokemon's stare.

This pokemon knew him.

But how? He'd never met this pokemon before in his life, nevermind having seen whatever species this might be, even if he had a solid guess.

The yellow gaze, which he realized glowed faintly in the lengthening shadows of the evening, flicked over to Ruzo. This time there was no mistaking the recognition that filled those eyes, the way the pokemon froze, ears folded back.

Recognition, and fear.

He saw the unconscious resolve wash over it as he witnessed the choice between fight or flight be made in real time. Before N could do anything to stop what he knew was coming he found himself unexpectedly shoved behind the white fox as it lunged at Rozu, screaming "YOU CANNOT HAVE HIM!"

The Scratch, for it couldn't have been anything else, was so pitiful N wasn't sure it was an actual Move and not just flailing, whatever fervor possessing the pokemon leaving as quickly as it came.

Rozu had startled at the motion, flipping back and landing on his four legs a few feet away as he relinquished the guise of Father, dodging the attack and ready to hit back with a half charged Night Slash and some choice words.

Then he saw that his would-be opponent had already found itself unable to battle, slumped over on the ground again, staring at him piteously.

The Zorua's expression rapidly switched between indignation, amusement, and finally concern at the blank yellow stare.

"...oh," the white fox said at length, ears drooping and whining faintly. It licked its lips. "I thought… Y-you were, but then where…. Oh."

That one word somehow conveyed more feeling than the entire altercation, brief though it was. N felt bad for this pokemon. It must be seriously ill, to be behaving as erratically as it is.

The boy and his fox shared a look.

Just who is this pokemon?

N took a deep breath, pushing aside the whirlwind of emotions roaring within him, deciding that whatever that whole thing was about could wait until later. Right now, there was a badly hurt pokemon that needed his help. His own worries could wait.

He moved slowly so as to not set this pokemon off again, kneeling before it. He offered his hand. "Here, let me help you up."

---

Everything ached.

His body, his bones, his very spirit throbbed with a distant agony.

His limbs trembled, the result of his earlier subconscious attempt at an attack draining what precious little energy he had to begin with. The exhaustion radiated from deep within, dampening his senses, paradoxically offset by just how much more he seemed to be feeling now that he was free from the sensory deprivation of the void.

Each wheezing breath he took through his mouth carried scents and even flavors, now able to taste the very air he sucked in, muted through the new sensation was.

His ears heard the rustling of leaves, the flapping of numerous wings and the chatter of all kinds of creatures he could not recognize with an acuity he did not remember having, if muffled by a ceaseless ringing that would not go away.

His eyes saw much better in the late evening, shadows not as deep as they should be in the dying of the light.

Even as his eyes watered and his senses shifted between dull and sharp, though, the face of the green haired teen whose outstretched arm dripped with blood was one he did not fail to recognize.

Looking up at the unmistakable face of Natural Harmonia Gropius, Silas's thoughts looped in a vicious cycle of denial and disbelief.

This is happening. This is something that's really happening right now. But… but this can't be real! This can't be happening. This can't be happening, so why is it happening!?

The roaring in his head grew louder and louder with every passing moment, struggling to find a way to justify the fantastical situation he now found himself in. Was this a dream? A hallucination brought about by a poor reaction to a new treatment?

A smaller voice drowned out by the cacophony whispered that this was too realistic, the sensations too great to be false. This couldn't be an illusion, a lie to trick oneself.

Desperate to avoid the greater existential crisis threatening to consume him, Silas focused his attention on the patient hand held out before him, steady and unwavering.

The hand that was bruised and bleeding, discoloration growing worse the longer he looked. The memories of a desperate struggle slowly returned to him, and he cringed back from the results of his own actions, ears drooping. "I… hurt you! Why would you want to help me? You don't even know who I am! Don't you hate humans!?"

Shit. Shit, he hadn't meant to say that!

He struggled to calm himself before he did something else stupid, taking a deep breath only to burst out into another fit of coughing.

N looked down at his arms with faint surprise, seemingly forgetting he was even wounded. Ugly bruises twisted up his arms in long strips, coupled with six long gouges that bled sluggishly, clots already forming.

Had he done that? Had Silas inflicted these wounds, this injury that would doubtlessly scar and remain for the rest of the teen's life, a permanent reminder of this encounter that he was still unsure may or may not even be real?

He coughed again, expelling more black fluid, then snarled, slamming a fist against the grass. Not even in his wildest fantasies could he find relief from this god damned cough!

N expression shifted away from surprise, brow set in determination. The green haired teen was more concerned with the creature before him than his own wellbeing, it seemed. "True, I may not know you, but I do not blame you for your actions. I heard your voice. You were suffering, and needed help. If not me, then who?"

Then his determination bled into confusion. "Besides, what do my thoughts on humans have to do with anything? I'm the only one here." His brows furrowed. "...unless you mean to say someone did this to you?"

Silas did not hear the rest of that question.

Only one here? Only one here?

His stomach roiled as he felt the phantom sensation of a vice clamp down around it, dread sinking into his very core.

What did N mean by only human here?

Fearing what he might find but unable to shy away, Silas hauled himself up to his hands and knees, ignoring the unlikely pair before him even over their protests. Half his vision was blocked off by what felt like a curtain of hair, a ridiculous notion. He'd always kept his hair cut short after that time he tried growing it out in high school, eventually finding the level of effort it required to even look good was not one he was willing to bother with.

Yet as he raised himself up, he found that he indeed possessed a great white mane of hair trailing from his head, framing his vision like a red tipped curtain, faded though the color was.

From his one uncovered eye, he beheld his hands.

His hands, his hands… Where were his hands?

His dreams were always nonsensical, but in the many ridiculous forms they took, one thing always remained consistent. Whether he was able to phase through walls, float, fling fire, whatever, for some strange reason his subconscious mind had only ever been able to comprehend these things through a human guise.

Even flying worked best when he flapped his clumsy human arms and pretended to be a bird.

Here, in what was becoming increasingly apparent was the waking world, he found no human hands from which connected ten fingers, instead finding six dark claws attached to light grey paws. He sat up and turned his appendages this way and that, finding that no matter how deeply he inspected them these alien arms would not go away.

No. No no no no no…!

He only faintly registered the wet nose he felt sniffing at his backward knees, unable to spare any attention from inspecting his body.

He ignored the concerned shouts as he staggered up to his feet and barely managed to not fall back onto his face when the world swayed dangerously, staggering back over to the puddle. He kneeled down and peered into the waters, brushing aside the curtain of hair that refused to stay out of his face.

A ghastly visage awaited him as he met the yellow gaze of a mottled white humanoid fox. Its posture screamed weariness as it slumped where it sat. Multiple points across its body were lightly dusted with a shade of red, faded like blood poorly washed from a white shirt and leaving behind a faint stain.

He turned this way and that, the specter in the mirror copying each motion without fail. He saw the large ears, the long snout, he even opened his mouth and saw the motion repeated, revealing a row of pointed, predatory teeth.

The longer this went on, the more he knew deep down that this truly was him, human body gone and replaced with this, this pokemon!

"No, no no no no no!" he repeated.

His vision narrowed as his breathing came quicker. Even as he coughed, he turned away from the puddle, refusing to accept the truth before him.

He'd once read that there were multiple things humans generally could not do in their dreams. The mirror test was a failure, but there were other methods he could use.

He clamped his han- paws, his paws over his nose and mouth and tried his hardest to inhale, finding that physics reigned supreme as he failed to draw breath through his palms.

Snarling, he clawed at the dirt, fighting against the grey tint that crept up on the edges of his vision. A, B, C, D… By the time he'd reached H and was still able to clearly recognize each letter for what it was, he knew this was a bust as well.

Switching gears, he scrawled down simple math problems. Fifteen times seven was one hundred and five, eleven times twenty two was two hundred forty two…

This wasn't working!

"Hey! Hey, can you hear me?"

"Calm down, we're trying to help!"

He did not want to accept the truth, terrified of what he knew it would mean. In a last ditch attempt to wake himself up from this increasingly unlikely dream, he spread his claws and dug them into his own flesh.

White hot agony surged up his thigh as the razor sharp nails dug into it, staggering him in a way he'd never felt before. Blood oozed from the wound as his breath left him, a pitiful wheeze drawing out into a pained whine.

"Holy shit!"

"What are you doing!? Stop, please!"

Even as firm hands grasped his shoulders and whirled him around, pulling his own claws away from where he'd turned them upon himself, he knew he could no longer deny it.

I died.

The cough that started as what he'd thought to be just another cold. The way it lingered long beyond what a simple seasonal sickness should last.

The doctor's visits, the way they failed to diagnose it properly the first time.

The way it kept coming back.

Years spent slowly but steadily declining as nothing seemed to work.

The illness, the treatments, the hospital. Months spent in bed as his body grew weaker and weaker, each breath no longer granting him the same strength it used to.

The suffocating darkness as one day he must have fallen into a sleep he never woke from.

The void, that horrible place that must have come… after.

He had lost the battle, succumbing to his illness and passing on after drowning on dry land.

He had died and was now a world away from home, reborn as a pokemon.

N continued to hold his paws awkwardly, ready to stop this strange new pokemon from harming itself again but otherwise at a loss on what to do next. He swallowed, speaking up. "Hey, are you alright?"

Was he alright? What kind of stupid question was that? Looking up at the boy before him, he answered honestly. There was no one left to put on a strong face for, after all, no one to pretend that the truth of the matter was not as dire as it really was. "A-alright?" he asked, feeling the tears spill over. "No. No, I h-haven't been alright in a long time."

The tears came faster, his breath hitched. He curled in on himself, trying and failing to regain control of his emotions.

The green haired teen shared a glance with the Zorua still standing off to the side, an unsure expression passing between them. Slowly, he let go and wrapped his arms around the pokemon, bringing the white fox close in a tight embrace.

Silas stiffened, surprised by the contact. It had been a long time since anyone had hugged him. To be comforted by this complete stranger, someone he only knew of as a pile of pixels following strings of code in a video game… it was simply too much.

Something deep inside cracked. No longer able to smother his emotions, the bottled resentment, fear, and sorrow welled up, a floodgate opening as everything spilled forth.

It started slowly, sniffles developing into great heaving sobs. Silas' entire body shook under the force of his emotions. Grey arms wrapped around N's body, returning the embrace with the desperate fervor of a man lost at sea grasping at the thrown life ring.

N winced under the crushing embrace but kept his silence, merely maintaining his hug as Silas wept.

He didn't know how long he spent in that sorry state, but eventually his sorrow abated and he pulled himself together. Once he felt he was reasonably steady enough, he extracted himself from their impromptu embrace.

He missed the exasperated stare the Zorua gave the boy as N surreptitiously rubbed at his back.

"Sorry you had to see that," he sniffed, a paw sweeping away the stubborn hair that swung back in his face.

N merely smiled. "It's no trouble at all. Helping those in need is simply common sense. I think anyone else in my place would have helped you."

Silas turned back to face the pair of them, eyebrow raised. He doubted that, seeing as no other pokemon had interrupted their little scene. Even the Zorua stood off a bit to the side, shadowing N.

"Allow me to introduce ourselves," the teen continued. "I'm N, and this is my best friend Ruzo." He gestured at the now named Zorua, allowing the pokemon to hop into his lap. "Are you feeling better now?"

Silas gave the question some thought, not immediately brushing off the concern like he might have once upon a time. He looked away sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

Was blushing something he could still do?

"Yeah," he said, voice hoarse. "Thank you. And, uh, sorry again. For making a mess of your shirt, if nothing else."

"It's no trouble." N said, keeping his voice level. He reached down for the odd scattered leaves that had gone forgotten, finding them and wiping them clean of any debris. "Are you hurt? Anywhere specific, I mean."

"Besides your leg," Ruzo interjected. "Why'd you do that anyway?"

Silas ignored the second question. How do you explain that you thought reality was a dream and mutilating yourself was the only way out?

Like it was waiting for just the right moment to make itself known, the pain in his thigh returned, reminding him that yes, he was still bleeding. He suppressed a wince.

Other than that though, was he hurt? He ached, but in an abstract way. His body trembled, shaking subsiding slightly but still very much present. There was a weight to his breath and a rattle that was painfully familiar. To top it all off, he was exhausted in a way that transcended the physical, emotionally drained from his earlier outburst.

That said, there were no other stabbing pains, the ringing in his ears had faded, and the impending sense of doom was gone. His vision was mostly clear and he could definitely feel his fingers now. He was a little warm, but he chalked that up to the muggy weather more than anything else.

Nothing suggested any deeper, more immediate worries.

As sad as it was, even his current pitiful state was better than his condition near the end of his last life, bedridden and lethargic.

"...No, I… I don't think so?" The cough was definitely something that needed to be looked at, but he rather doubted anything besides an actual hospital would help there.

Or, well, pokecenter.

He wasn't looking forward to that experience, returning to a hospital so soon after being… discharged.

He shuddered.

N watched him carefully, frowning at the uncertainty of the statement but accepting his words at face value. That, or unwilling to call him a liar to his face.

Ruzo was less reserved. "I bet if I hit you with a Tackle you'd faint on the spot. What even are you anyway?"

Silas couldn't help but snicker. Yeah, thirty pounds of fox bashing him in the face probably would put him out on his ass.

"Ruzo!" the teen admonished. After a moment, he continued. "I can't say I'm not also curious, though. I've never seen a pokemon like you before. Tell me, are you a boy or a girl?"

A sharp bark of hysterical laughter escaped his lips before he could stop himself. No way was this actually happening. "Male," he said, "Definitely male."

"Alright. What's your name, and what pokemon are you?"

This was actually happening right now. "My name's Silas An-uh," he trailed off. Ruzo proved pokemon had names, but did they have last names? He saw them share the hint of a glance and hurried to press on, hoping they wouldn't question him on that. "I'm a Zoroark."

That answer seemed to surprise Ruzo more than N. "You're a Zoroark? But you look nothing like those pictures! You're all droopy, not spiky" the Zorua said. He growled. "Did those damn sages give us bad books? I'm gonna put sand in Gorm's stupid burnt dirt water, that'll teach him! Let him know what real mud tastes like!"

What? Caught off key from that bizarre remark, Silas muttered, "Uh, I'm a regional form. From Husui-er, Sinnoh? The Sinnoh region."

Before N could stop him, Ruzo leapt up, diving into Silas' mane of fur. "Oh yeah?" he asked, ignoring the larger pokemon's protests. "Then what type are you? You smell funny!"

The wriggling feet climbing up and down his back and scampering on his head forced a giggle out of him, tickling him like his pet cats used to whenever they'd walk around on his back or belly. He flailed, trying to get the Zorua off. "G-get out! Get off-hehe get off of me and I'll tell you!"

"Hmpf!" Ruzo lept out of his mane and landed next to N, landing on two feet instead of four as Silas beheld himself, this time in three dimensions. "Whoah!" The Zorua wobbled a bit, righting himself after a moment. "This feels weird."

Silas scratched his cheek, trying to ignore the residual sensation of little paws scampering all over him. "I'm a Normal-Ghost type, I think."

There was an awkward pause as his conversation partners digested that statement.

"Normal…. Ghost?" N questioned, carefully neutral, once again too polite to cry bullshit. "That's… possible?" The way the boy eyed Silas had him suppressing the urge to fidget.

Ruzo was more direct in his skepticism. He scoffed. "Yeah, right, and I'm a Fire-Ice type! Next you'll tell me that a Wailord can screw a Skitty!"

"Ruzo!" N admonished, more sharp than last time. "Sorry, it's just… Well, I've never heard of that type combination before. Normal types and Ghost types are complete opposites." Though he didn't say it, Silas heard the 'everyone knows that' loud and clear.

"Yeah! You're a Normal-Ghost? Prove it!" Ruzo crowed, getting face to-er, snout to snout? With Silas.

He leaned away from the clearly curious fox, trying to come up with some excuse that would satisfy the two of them, especially since he didn't really know himself. Hisuian Zoroarks are Normal-Ghosts, but in his current state of… whatever was wrong with him, nothing felt particularly ghostly.

He didn't even know where to start on how to prove he was normal, the part that should have been easier. That's, well… How do you prove normality!?

What kind of pokemon didn't know how to pokemon?

Something told him that outright telling the two he was a human reborn was a bad idea. Sure there was precedent with the Yamask line – at least according to the pokedex entries – but wasn't the whole goal of Team Plasma the complete separation of man and 'mon?

If N knew the creature he was speaking to wasn't really a pokemon, would this kindness vanish? The kid's character was fickle, fairly different in each continuity.

Which N was he dealing with here?

A restless fluttering grew in his stomach, another old companion never thought fondly of. If this was the N of Truth, lying to him was probably a bad idea. Too big of a risk to assume otherwise, the consequences of not doing so were far greater.

Gathering what little resolve he could muster, he answered honestly. "I… can't." He looked back at his newfound paws, then up at his drooping ears and completely limp mane of hair.

With his eyes elsewhere, he missed their surprise at such a frank admission, yet another shared glance between them as they conversed inaudibly.

This mane was supposed to writhe with energy, wasn't it? He was also pretty sure the red was supposed to be a lot more… more.

Thinking back, he vaguely recalled that Shadow Claw was also learned upon evolution for his… species, if he remembered correctly. That had to be the closest thing to an instinctual move for pokemon, yet his earlier attack had nothing special to it.

This was really going to take some getting used to.

"...You looked pretty spooky when we pulled you from that puddle," Ruzo said at length, breaking Silas' from his silent wallowing. The Zorua leapt into the air with a flash of light and landed on N's shoulder, once again back in his normal form, gaze far less critical than before.

Silas' face twisted into a sardonic grin. Yeah, that probably did look pretty horrific from the outside, even if nothing could compare to what it was like inside.

It seemed the two were willing to let this issue lie for now, granting him this small concession and accepting or at least no longer disputing his claims.

He sighed, only to trail off when the stuffy feeling in his chest reared its head again. In lieu of responding, he turned away and coughed as hard as he could, the familiar sensation of phlegm being ejected from his chest only to once again see the same dark liquid cross his lips and splatter on the ground. It sizzled and vanished soon enough.

At least he knew that whatever this was it couldn't possibly be what had originally killed him. Was that shadow? Was he sick with something specific to ghost types? The games barely touched on the topic of illnesses beyond Pokerus and random pokemon that conspicuously fell ill on top of high towers.

While the anime and manga explored it a bit more, it was never more than the same vein soap operas tended to go, anywhere from simple colds to 'incurable coughs of doom'.

Hopefully it wasn't that last one. Going on that ride once was fun enough. A second all expense trip straight to the void was not something he wanted to repeat.

He shuddered. The void. That had to be some form of purgatory. He liked to think of himself as a fairly average person, living a life that was neither overly good nor evil. Whatever that was, there was no possible way that was supposed to be 'the good place.'

That or the afterlife was a lie and the eternal nothingness after death theory was the right one.

N must have followed his earlier train of thought, returning to the initial conversation. "Are you sick? I didn't know…" he cut himself off, trying not to return to the earlier line of questioning. He presented the leaves he picked up earlier, strange things that resembled large bay leaves. "Here, eat these. It's medicine that should help restore your energy."

Ruzo wrinkled his nose, leaning back even from where he sat on N's shoulder. "Ugh. Are you sure? If he isn't a ghost now, that taste will certainly turn him into one."

Silas barked out another laugh before he could stop himself, even as N scolded Ruzo again for the insensitive remark. As the boy admonished the Zorua, Silas and Ruzo locked eyes.

The smaller fox gave him a Cheshire grin, head cocked and one ear twitching, tail swishing in satisfaction.

Cheeky little bastard, he's playing up the gallows humor after Silas had already proven to find it funny!

He paused.

…Huh. Yeah, he was a lot calmer now. His thoughts were no longer racing and the lead weight in his stomach was not nearly as heavy.

He interrupted their little squabble by grabbing those herbs and popping them into his mouth in one swift motion, grimacing. This was probably one of those natural healing items, the ones that had friendship reduction tied to them because of their exceptional bitterness.

Unfortunately already long acquainted with horrid tasting medications, he chewed quickly and swallowed, trying his best to minimize contact with his now larger tongue.

He managed to get the herbs down easily enough, knowing that it was the aftertaste that would hit the worst. Even still, he was unprepared for how horrid the bitter flavor was when it finally hit him.

The closest analog he could think of was that time he'd gotten a root canal and the dentist overestimated how much anesthetic he'd needed in the syringe. The fluid had overflowed from the injection site and splashed onto his tongue, assaulting his taste buds with an unholy chemical tang that burned as it numbed. It was made worse by the fact that he couldn't swallow the stuff, so it had to sit there for a while as the dentist had to switch to the hose that sucked up liquid.

These herbs were twice as bad as that.

Every strand of hair on his new body stood on end, from crown to claws, and he reflexively hacked, struggling with his gag reflex. He managed to keep the herbs down despite more black fluid spewing forth as the taste clung to the back of his throat, flavoring every breath.

If this was what a shot of Pinesol floor cleaner tasted like, he wouldn't be surprised.

Ruzo burst into hysterical laughter as Silas struggled against his rising gorge. Even N couldn't suppress his own mirth, a small grin on his own face.

"Augh, pfft, bleugh." He spat a few times in an attempt to get out the remaining dregs of flavor, only just stopping himself from physically wiping down his tongue. "What were those?"

"Petilil leaves," N said. "A natural remedy, one they give freely if you ask nicely." The teen wasn't above idle mischief, it seemed, as he clearly reached into his pocket and withdrew an unnecessarily large handful more. "Do you need another dose?"

He backed away, recoiling from the leaves like a demon might a holy symbol. "No, god no! I, I think I'm feeling much better already!"

This wasn't strictly a lie, per say, as he did suddenly feel invigorated, the same way one might after taking a five-hour energy in the second half of a double shift with only four hours of sleep the night prior. The shaking in his limbs stopped, but the underlying exhaustion was still there, if muted.

Of course, that's when the head rush from the sudden movement hit him, something that shouldn't even be possible if he was really a ghost.

If N hadn't rushed forward to catch him he very well would have fallen flat on his face. Snout. Whatever.

As N fussed over him, a sly voice spoke over the boy "You knoooow…" Ruzo called out. "There's a safe location nearby he can rest at, with plenty of food and someone that might know what's wrong with him. Djinngar's old, he's gotta know what this is."

Silas watched as N puffed up, ready to offer a rebuttal-

Only to deflate. "You sneaky little jerk," N muttered, a faint upturn on the corner of his lips. "The herbs and the grove?" He stood, hefting one of Silas' arms over his shoulder. "Still, you're right. It's not too far a walk from here. If we hurry, we should make it a little after… sundown, I think." He adjusted his grip on the Zoroark's arm, pulling Silas' elbow fully past his own neck and grasping the dangling forearm, wrapping his other arm around the pokemon's own shoulder. "Think you can make it with our help?"

Silas leaned away as much as their position allowed, unused to close contact. He tried to free himself from the boy's grasp, but N held firm, grip surprisingly strong. "I.. Well, you're doing most of the heavy lifting here. I think I will make it, though I think I can walk on my own just fine?"

"Absolutely not."

"Yeah, I've seen actual fish walk with more balance than you," Ruzo added.

With that, the boy set off, all but dragging Silas along. For a teen carrying something larger and likely heavier than him, he sure set a good pace.

While the manhandling wasn't aggressive, per say, and was clearly coming from a good place, something deep inside clenched, the paranoid worry making itself known again. He couldn't stop from blurting, "H-hey! Don't I get a say in this? Just because you're helping me doesn't mean I'll become your pokemon!"

N paused mid step, side eyeing him from their march, bewildered by such a declaration. "Of course not. You're your own pokemon, just like all others. I don't own anyone."

"If anything, he's my human," Ruzo said.

N kicked up dirt at the Zorua half heartedly, the sloppy 'sand attack' dodged with barely an effort.

The teen turned back to Silas. "We're not going to hurt you. Djinngar is a friend, and we just want to help, I promise. If… you really want to leave, we won't stop you, but I don't think anyone else can help you as well as we can."

Silas stared into that green gaze, searching his best for any duplicity and finding none.

Truthfully he didn't know why he was so nervous, as regardless of whichever medium N was in, his respect and love for pokemon was the one thing that never changed. So long as Silas kept his origins to himself, this would remain universal.

Still, as he looked into those patient green eyes, he felt something passed between the two of them, a silent conversation during which neither of them said anything yet conveyed everything.

Even if he was calmer now, Silas was still lost and afraid, cut loose in this great new world he found himself in. This wasn't a video game, and the teen before him really did have no ulterior motives.

Besides, N wasn't the true villain of the story. In the grand scheme of things, wasn't the kid a victim too?

Silas broke off their staring contest with a ragged sigh, sagging against the teen's smaller form. "I… I trust you. Lead the way."

N smiled brilliantly, and with a determined nod, he set off once again. Ruzo took the lead, humming something. Silas could almost feel the smug satisfaction from here.

So it was that Silas took the first step of the new journey before him, lost but not alone.

 

[Lutemis]

Created by BIGNATIUS MACINTOSH

Spoiler: Less distorted version

 

[Despacitoleo]

Awsome chapter mate, wondering though if you could put thr names and soecies of pokemon on top of the chapter cause sometimes it gets confusing in pokemon fics when the pokemon have names

Lol wonder what there reaction would be when the mc tells them a waillord CAN fuck a skitty

 

[Lutemis]

It should be noted that I am a rather slow writer fully at the mercy of the coming and going of inspiration, usually writing in bursts when the muse is in (ADHD and Crippling Perfectionism is a cruel combination). I also promised myself that chapter one was an anomaly, a showcase of what I had to offer to new readers for a better chance at catching interest, and that subsequent chapters would be around seven thousand words in length. Here I am, more than twenty thousand words later… To that end, this chapter has been split in half, with the other half to be posted some time within the next week.

I reiterate my claim that the average chapter will be around seven thousand words. It remains to be seen whether I actually uphold it.

In a slightly unrelated topic, Overlord and Youjo Senki have ruined me; as the core inspiration of my formative years of writing, they have irrevocably corrupted my writing style to be somewhat meandery, long winded, and overly verbose. Do tell if you feel the pacing is a little glacial, there's a fine balance between early scene setting and just plain yapping.

---

It took an embarrassingly long time to get to the grove, all things considered.

What should have been a short journey ended up taking quite a bit longer than that as more unseen issues made themselves known, long enough for the sun to have well and truly set. True night now smothered the land.

With no moon in the sky despite the clear lack of clouds and the forest canopy covering more and more of the view above as they walked, total darkness crept up on them as a surprise fourth companion. It startled him with how long it took to even notice.

His guides walked with a certainty that stumped him, every step sure and measured even against the complete absence of light. Likely as a Dark type or even just as a fox Ruzo had night vision of some sort, but how N walked so confidently Silas didn't know. His best guess was how Ruzo was very clearly making an effort to step on every twig and rustle the grass, making a clear sound trail to follow.

Even with a clear direction to follow, however, the fact that N had yet to trip on anything or miss any steps – especially with the burden of Silas on his shoulder – was mystifying. Silas wasn't sure if this was a normal thing for pokemon world humans that he somehow missed or a result of some more obscure N lore.

He couldn't muster the nerve to ask.

The Zoroark knew he wasn't even a third as graceful as the teen currently was back when he still had human legs, nevermind during the… later years. The corner of the bedframe between his bed and the bathroom had many times made its acquaintance with his shin down there in the dark. Those spontaneous rendezvous never failed to leave him breathless.

That train of thought eventually led to the embarrassingly late realization that he too found his vision unhindered by the dark. The total darkness was recognizable on some level intellectually, but the difference was staggering. His vulpine eyes pierced the gloom with much greater acuity than his human eyes ever could, able to clearly pick apart the landscape before him just as well as his old eyes could during the day.

The colors were less saturated, sure, but there was no loss of fidelity, no blurriness his vision would have normally suffered in low light, let alone complete darkness.

Hell, even in broad daylight he would have had trouble seeing things this clearly. His eyesight was never the best before, declining drastically when his corneas decided to try out the novel idea of being cone shaped rather than their proper hemispheres.

Of course, nothing good in his life ever happened without some kind of ironic twist. As it was, he could not properly appreciate no longer needing glasses by virtue of the sheer number of other things that were now screaming for his attention. Vision was not the only sense that found itself suddenly amplified.

Body dysmorphia was never really something he'd ever thought about, even as he withered more and more. He wasn't uncomfortable in his own paling skin – illness aside – but he couldn't claim to be particularly fond of it either. Everyone likely had something they wished to change with their bodies even if they otherwise sat well in their flesh, be it height, fat, muscle, or so on.

While losing his body entirely – reborn as something wholly not human, nevermind himself – was something one couldn't really prepare for let alone expect, he had long since learned to roll with the punches. Of all the potential pokemon to be turned into there were certainly worse options.

Like a Rattata.

Or a Trubbish.

Whatever the method of transmigration used, it was obviously supernatural and included allowances for his human mind to pilot this inhuman body. Silas had been certain he'd adjust in short order, each step slowly but surely getting more and more coordinated even as his breath still rattled with that same fucking noise, that the puddle and this god damn cough would be the greatest extent of his worries.

He was wrong.

Every passing moment brought a further increase to sensation. More feeling filled out his body as a strange phantom tingling sensation both decreased and increased paradoxically.

It was hard to describe exactly what it felt like, but if he had to butcher a metaphor, it would be like an operating system installation on a brand new computer slowly but surely reaching one hundred percent. Already a low migraine throbbed behind his skull from the sheer sensory overload as his mind was forced to process so much more information than it ever had to before.

The problem with this was that while the hardware was so much stronger than the previous setup, the operating system still lagged several editions behind and needed to be updated to be able to properly handle the full workflow.

His eyes twitched to every flicker of movement in the grass and trees, unable to stop the instinctual pursuit of motion. Red slits against yellow sclera constantly surveyed the surroundings despite his best efforts to keep them fixed on Ruzo up ahead.

Every noise had his ears turning this way and that, a much greater range of motion tracking every new sound as it came. The screech of Woobat, the rummaging of what were probably rodent pokemon, the chittering of Bug pokemon and regular insects, even the quiet breathing of the boy he currently leaned on – he heard it all.

Something akin to crushed mint, treebark, and citrus filled the forest air, drifting into his nostrils in a way he could not ignore. With N quite literally on his shoulder he couldn't not notice the teen's scent as well. It was an interesting mix of all sorts of things he couldn't quite pin down, but what he could identify smelled of lavender, resin, and… static?

He could only assume this was the deeper expression of scent, the way animals could identify each other by smell alone with a level of familiarity he was now privy to.

Whenever more shadow stuff forced its way from his lungs and exposed his mouth to the open air, flavors also made themselves known. This was far more alien and abstract, an input of tastes that bypassed the tongue to strike directly at his brain. He was met with acrid sensations and faint impressions only vaguely parseable as the who, what, and where of the forest, with none of the context associated.

….Pheremones, maybe? With no frame of reference he could only guess, as this was something that entirely lacked any sort of human analog.

It was all just… too much. So much more than he could handle. Without the distraction of his earlier panic diverting him from the full weight of his newfound perception, it all insisted upon his attention.

Perhaps he could have dealt with any one of these keener senses on their own, but with an overall sensory input so much wider than he was used to processing, his human mind struggled against the onslaught. He experienced all of it and none of it, unable to parse specific details amidst the deluge even as the water continued to rise and the throbbing in his skull intensified.

The only sense that didn't clamor for his attention caught it in a much more worrying manner.

Even as N held onto Silas, the white fox could hardly feel his touch. The teen's grasp felt muted upon his skin, distant in a way his new layer of fur couldn't quite justify. So too was the expected warmth of the human body he was literally leaning onto also absent.

The only sensation there was a quiet chill. It seeped into his bones, slowly building up as they traveled.

He shivered.

His companions noticed his growing distress, as he admittedly couldn't try very hard in hiding it. When they asked, he could only offer vague excuses, unwilling to elaborate. The teething issues of his human self coming to terms with his inhuman self was something he could not fully conceal or explain, and he was loath to offer them any more hints.

Instead, he put all his focus into putting one foot in front of the other, trudging along and trying harder to not put all his weight on N lest the boy have to carry most of their shared burden himself.

His feet, which connected to knees that bent in a direction opposite to what his mind kept insisting.

This was really starting to get annoying.

His steps would come in stops and starts as he walked shoulder to shoulder with N, sometimes managing dozens of feet with no issue and then nearly toppling them both as wires crossed and he missed a step or three.

It certainly didn't help that he seemed heavier than he used to be – unsurprising, with all the weight he'd lost in the latter days.

Hisuian Zoroarks were lighter than the Unovan ones, weren't they? There had to be some kind of Ghost shenanigans going on there. Perhaps with the complete absence of anything spooky, the floatiness was also missing? His mane certainly wasn't doing anything with how it dangled limp from his head, plain and colorless.

The bloodied arm still wrapped around his neck served as a constant reminder of the very real burden he represented, clearly visible every time they stopped to readjust their grip. He lingered on those gouges, guilt mounting each time N winced.

He tried harder to heft more of his own weight, ironically looping back into the issue with his legs and weighing down the two of them more as he was forced to consciously measure his steps. It didn't help that while those leaves had invigorated him a bit, he still found himself straining. His breathing grew heavier as they traveled until eventually he started openly panting.

Frustration grew as he wrestled with his own fraying temper.

N was too nice to say anything after his earlier deflection, but every time Silas lost his footing the teen would give him a sidelong glance. Silas couldn't meet the concern and everything else unsaid in that stare, especially when another surge of pain would rush through them as they teetered and more pressure was put onto those bloodied gouges.

Eventually Ruzo guide grew fed up with their tarrying, already a lot less patient to begin with on the stubborn pride of his two upright companions. He transformed into a large Sawsbuck and hauled the two of them onto his back, all the while ignoring their protests. Insistent nudging and a hard stare had his passengers settled, then the three of them set off at a much faster pace.

Silas had never ridden anything before in his life and N clearly also had little experience. From the way Ruzo's deer legs wobbled and moved a little out of sync, the Zorua too had little practice with actually being the mount in his part of this equation. Running with a much larger stride pushing higher off the ground was far less manageable when there were two burdens to balance.

What a strange trio they must have made riding through those woods. A pair of rodeo rejects holding on for dear life as they rode their unsteady mount which trotted about like a drunk moose that ate a few too many fermented apples.

Thankfully none of them fell off, though there were a couple of close calls when Ruzo misjudged the size of his enormous rack and clipped a few trees on their outer points.

So it was that the three of them finally arrived at the outskirts of their destination, the tree line thinning into an open field filled with a multitude of plants and intermittent trees bountifully bearing fruit.

Silas could not contain his wonder at the sight. "Whoah…"

Even in the twilight there were plenty of pokemon meandering about, all sorts of species mingling peacefully. Various groups congregated here and there, most appearing to be pokemon that were obviously nocturnal. Mixed in were the occasional daylight 'mons that clearly decided to stay up late.

Bugs mingled with Bugs, Darks with Darks, birds with birds, a true melting pot.

…Was that a Grimer?

"Yeah, it's pretty amazing, isn't it?" N said, drawing back his attention. The teen puffed his chest up, bragging. "A paradise made by pokemon for pokemon."

Paradise was an understatement. Tree after tree they trotted past, each one rife with fruit. The trees weren't the only thing growing here, either, as wildflowers spread freely in every open area, patches of them clustered in any large openings between the trees and lower foliage. Vines decorated anything that rose above some arbitrary point above the ground yet not smothering what they clung to, reminding him of that one native american legend of the 'three sisters' farming method that maximized space to output.

Silas wasn't the most botanically inclined, but from what he could tell, no weeds – or anything else that could be detrimental – seemed to take root either.

Even a fantastical druid grove might pale in comparison to this place, though considering Grass types were among the most common types in Pokemon, druids might very well exist here, if by another name or title.

The trees were much less dense than the earlier forest, spaced out such that no two plants had their branches touching. The sky was now almost completely unobstructed, granting Silas his first truly clear view of it since his arrival to this world.

Some years ago, Silas' brother Aaron hit an astronomy phase and became obsessed with the stars. He'd listened for hours on end as his brother spoke of the effect of light pollution, of how the true stars were a glorious sight to behold.

He'd never been all that interested in actually accompanying his brother in any of those trips. This was further reinforced by Aaron's very vocal disappointment as a direct consequence of one of them, unable to truly escape the light pollution and find a spot that allowed for an unobstructed view.

The final nail in that coffin was the one time Silas did join him to see an aurora that was actually visible so far in the south of the midwest… but only through a camera lens turned up to maximum contrast. To call it disappointing would be an understatement.

Here, a world away and in a land far less industrialized, without even the hint of civilization's light save for the great bonfire that lit the center of the grove…

"What's got you looking so stupid?" Ruzo asked, head turning back to check on his passengers when Silas failed to respond to N's remark.

"The stars," Silas responded. "I've never seen them so vibrant, so… so visible."

Ruzo scoffed, tossing his head irritably. " So what? They're just a bunch of random lights in the dark." The false deer leered at him. "What, do they talk to you too?"

What? Silas could only offer Ruzo a befuddled yip to that non sequitur. Startled by such a bizarre sound coming out of his own mouth, he nearly fell off their impromptu mount when his hand flew up to cover it.

Thankfully deft hands grasped at him as N twisted, pulling him back upright from where the white fox nearly slipped the 'saddle'. Then the teen turned back to Ruzo with a look that actually carried some heat to it. "Ruzo! What's gotten into you today? Silas has got nothing to do with your grudge against the stars. You're good at directing your anger where it belongs, don't drag him into it."

For some reason this garnered an incredulous look from the disguised Zorua. He looked at N, then sent a pointed stare at Silas before returning the teen's gaze. Another of their silent conversations was had.

The white fox could only squirm inside as he watched, already jumping to conclusions.

Then Ruzo's gaze flickered to N's arms.

"I'm sorry!" Silas blurted. "I- your arms! I didn't- I never actually- I'm sorry. For hurting you." He fidgeted as he apologized, rubbing at his own forearms.

Ruzo's stare only grew more incredulous as his gaze trailed downward to the nervous tic.

This only caused Silas to fidget harder. "What!? I don't- what else can I even do? I can't use Heal Pulse!"

"Um," N interjected. "I don't think that's what he's referring to." His hands gently reached to where Silas had his arms clasped around the teen. Grabbing the white fox' wrists, he stopped the anxious jittering. When he gently pulled them apart, Silas saw the dried blood that still stuck to his claws after the puddle incident…. And how he'd been smearing it over himself.

Recoiling in horror, he yanked his arms free from N's grasp and followed his first instinct to wipe it off on his shirt, only succeeding in making things even worse for himself when his hands met fur instead of fabric. He only just managed to stop the second, more alien instinct of licking the blood off, aborting the gesture mid way to cross his arms and pin his hands beneath them.

If it weren't for the fur or the fact that he seemed to be suffering from desaturation at the moment, he was sure his face would be red. Even now he could feel the blood rushing to his drooping ears.

Another pregnant pause.

Ruzo broke eye contact first, sighing mightily. "I was just… alright." He shook his head, turning back to their path. "I'm sorry too. Me and the stars don't have the best relationship right now." Before Silas could even begin to question what the heck that meant, the false deer pressed on. "Listen, you said you're a Ghost type, right?"

Silas nodded slowly, hoping now wasn't when the earlier questions they wished to ask were pushed back to.

"Look, I love a good prank as much as the next Ghost, but when we speak with Djinngar, you need to behave. Djinngar doesn't really like Ghosts and doesn't have to share any of this with anyone. He will kick you out if you piss him off."

A sudden well of indignation flared up. He'd been trying so hard to maintain his decorum despite everything, especially in front of these two. "Why the hell would I even do that? He's the guy you said could help me with-" a hacking cough chose this moment to sneak up on him, more shadow stuff dribbling from his jaws.

He heaved over for a moment, trying to ignore the pointed stares he got from passerby as he expelled the liquid. Some paces away, a Scrafty pulled a Scraggy back, shooting the three of them a dirty look as she pulled both their 'pants' up protectively.

A moment passed as Silas tried to gather himself.

Then he blinked, realizing where it all landed. He sheepishly bowed his head as he avoided meeting N's eyes.

The teen maintained a remarkable pokerface, but the twitching of an eyebrow betrayed the teen's feelings as he grew a little green around the gills. N studiously tried to ignore the substance steadily evaporating from where it splattered rather generously over his shoulder.

It did not help things when Silas awkwardly reached out to try and rub some of it off and only succeeded in smearing it around some more. Clearly he did not learn his lesson the first time. "That." He continued. "Help me with that."

Ruzo's pointed stare faltered in the face of such absurdity, the false Sawsbuck trembling with repressed laughter as he tried and failed to determine whether Silas had done that on purpose. When the Zorua was relatively sure he could speak without cackling at the look on N's face, he continued. "J-just behave, okay?"

Silas simply nodded, eager to put the last five minutes behind them. The group fell silent as they traveled the last of the distance between them and their target.

They crossed into a new area of the grove as they approached, more overtly different than the rest. This portion was arranged almost like an ancient village that vaguely reminded him of that one caveman cartoon he couldn't quite recall, huge boulders ranging from more than a storey tall to one standing nearly three storeys high. All were placed in a manner that loosely resembled a cul de sac. Curious eyes peered out from some of the makeshift windows.

Then they crossed into the clearing proper.

That's a big ape.

He couldn't help that first thought when he finally beheld his mystery 'mon standing next to the massive burning bonfire, stoking the flames with the great bellows of his breath alone. This Darmanatan was by far the largest creature Silas had ever seen, standing on par with the great elephants of his previous life. Even some of the smaller stone huts felt tiny next to it.

"Oh, good, he's still up," N said.

Who could only be Djinngar himself turned to face them then, towering and ponderous and absolutely smoldering.

Something ancient stirred in the depths of Silas' mind when the great Darmanatan bared his sharp teeth in a pointy mockery of a grin. Even from here across the clearing, Silas could feel the weight of this creature's presence, the searing heat of its aura. He couldn't help but stare as his eyes locked onto the 'mon.

Unlike all the other pokemon they passed on the way to this point, Djinngar was the first one to show actual signs of advanced age. Small patches of his red fur were missing, mostly overlapping any of his numerous scars, and in larger patches they faded grey. White flames danced in place of the ape's eyebrows in a stark contrast to the usual reds and oranges.

Most striking of all was the massive Lichtenberg figure, a trail of lightning etched onto the majority of Djinngar's enormous arms. The scar seemed to originate from the right one and splotched onto the other forearm, covering more of the right limb than the left.

Then their eyes met and Silas felt the weight of that presence intensify. For a moment he swore he saw a flash of red gleam in that burning gaze.

Oh fuck, that's an Alpha!

His lips peeled back in a snarl as he maintained eye contact with this apex predator, unable to look away. His ears folded back, a low growl escaping his throat before he could stop himself.

To show weakness in the face of this monster was death! He had to fight back, to prove his life wasn't worth the taking, he had to- had to-

Bonk.

The world swayed. His hitherto ignored migraine roared back with a vengeance. Rocked from his runaway train of thought by an antler slamming into the side of his head, Silas suddenly remembered himself.

"I told you to behave!" Ruzo hissed.

The Zoroark struggled to steady his swimming vision. When the ground finally stopped spinning, he jolted. Djinngar had been watching the entire exchange with quiet amusement and a pointed focus.

The great ape's eyes lingered on Silas. Through that burning gaze something continued to press, more deliberate, more insistent. The Zoroark's fingers shook, his heart rate began to race. That same surge of primal defiance roared, demanding he rise to the challenge. Silas struggled mightily with himself, smothering the urge as well as he could even as his ears flattened back again and his lips twitched in the beginnings of another snarl.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Breathe. Just focus on breathing.

The Darmanatan hummed, a reverberating rumbling that crackled like the heart of a blast furnace. Then he greeted them with a surprisingly measured voice that belied his great stature. "N! Ruzo! Good to see you! I know I told you to visit more, but I didn't think I'd get to see you twice in one day!" He turned his bulk to face them all more directly, a massive palm reaching directly into the bonfire momentarily to adjust a log bigger than N was as he moved.

N dismounted and approached their old friend, exchanging pleasantries. The unseen weight lessened as the alpha's focus turned elsewhere, more concerned with the very welcome if very unusual return of his favorite guests.

Silas sagged as the primal fury quelled momentarily, squeezing his eyes shut after he tore his gaze away. The other, quieter voice went unheeded as it urged him to flee, to shed his blood anywhere but here if he could not make his enemies pay for every last drop.

Breathe. In and out, in and out.

Then his seat suddenly vanished out from under him as Ruzo reverted without regard for his still lingering passenger. Caught off guard, Silas landed hard on his back, winded. He struggled not to choke on his own breath when he managed to find it again, slowly propping himself up by the elbows. Glaring at Ruzo, he wheezed, "W-what the hell was t-that for!?"

Ruzo stared at him with open concern rather than reveling in his minor misfortune. "You didn't land on your feet…"

He coughed in surprise. "W-what? I'm not a damn cat! You saw how I've been walking, dropping me onto my ass wasn't going to fix anything!"

The Zorua apparently seemed to think it would have done just that, staring helplessly when some unseen reflex failed to appear. He hesitated with his words, but before either of them continued, an amused huff buffeted them.

Silas yelped, jerking back at that scalding blast of the bellows and the Lord of the Grove's sudden proximity. He'd scrambled back two paces by the time he noticed a tip of his mane was on fire.

The internal choir gained another roaring addition as a third instinct deeper than mere aversion to fire screamed at him to stop the burning before it spread. Both palms smothered the flame between each other before he could properly comprehend what he was doing.

He swore, but that instinct was insistent, refusing to let him part his hands until the painful burning of his palms stopped and he was certain the flame was out. Everyone present – Silas included – paid close attention to his actions, noting the rather frantic response.

What remained was a shriveled, charred tendril notably shorter than it was before. The damage wasn't particularly extensive, all things considered, maybe two inches of hair lost and another three withered and desiccated, even more useless than the rest of his mane already was. Only a grand total of five inches lost from what was easily more than fifty.

So why did his bones suddenly ache with a renewed fervor, a cold clarity tinged with a somehow intimately familiar bitterness?

The tremors stopped. The voices were quiet. A stillness that had not yet graced him before this point flowed over his turbulent thoughts as a faint echo of… something gnawed at him.

Calm down. It's just hair. It's just normal, completely unimportant hair. It'll grow back.

He closed his eyes and took another deep, shaking breath. He could think about whatever that was about later.

God but what he wouldn't give for an instruction manual to this new body, or a tutorial, a list of triggers, or… or fucking something to guide his blind flailing.

He took a moment to shove aside the pounding of his skull, this time finding the pain strangely tolerable. When he opened his eyes to foolishly meet Djinngar's gaze once again, that primal urge strangely failed to manifest.

The chill gnawed at him.

He noted that the Darmanatan was frowning, all traces of earlier amusement gone. N and Ruzo were watching the two of them, silent observers to this sudden confrontation.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Silas sat up onto his haunches, shoving the alien feeling aside as well with a force of will he couldn't really spare right now. He pulled on what he knew of fictional druids and their mannerisms, deciding to use that as the next best frame of reference, seeing as the gorilla approach clearly didn't work. He bowed his head in a moment of begrudging supplication. "I greet you, Lord of this land."

A white strip of thick, heavy cloth wrapped around one of Djinngar's wrists caught his attention now that his gaze was properly pointed in the same downward direction. It was a simple sash made of some odd material, with a large orange spot in the center immediately framed by two sets of vertical chevrons, the first set orange and the second purple, followed by multiple straight vertical lines of the latter color.

Was that a Choice Band!?

If ever there was a pokemon that could match the level of sheer destruction Lance's Dragonite brought to bear in that one Generations episode, it was probably this one. Just his usual shitty luck that he'd run into such a titan not even one day into his second life, especially considering he seemed to have pissed it off somehow.

He made the effort of directing his ears forward, lifting them from their drawn back position. Best he did his absolute best to listen to whatever Djinngar had to say lest he potentially do something else that could risk offending the Lord of the Grove even more than he already had and forfeit whatever aid that could be offered.

A great hand rose up to rub at Djinngar chin as a more contemplative mien took him. The Darmanatain did not fail to notice Silas's fixation with his choice of accessory. "Well, you two definitely brought an interesting pokemon to my attention," Djinngar said. "Okay. Silas, right? How did you end up meeting N and Ruzo? So close to my home, too. I've seen all kinds of pokemon call these lands home over the years, and I don't think I've ever seen anything like you before."

The Zoroark licked his lips, trying to find the right words. "I… I was…" He faltered. How the hell could he even begin to explain what he went through today in a way that wouldn't come off as crazy? "I needed… Well, I was stuck."

"He was trapped in some kind of weird puddle," N continued, picking up where Silas left off. "You should have seen it, Djinngar, I've never seen anything like it. How did you describe it, Ruzo?"

"Like two crazy psychics playing catch with Mirror Coat," the Zorua said. "Really hurt my eyes to look at."

"It was clear and… not. Shallow, but deep. When I reached in, it felt like I was being Burned and Frozen at the same time-"

"But how did you find him?" Djinngar cut in, stopping the boy from rambling. "If this strange puddle was around for a while, I definitely would've heard rumors of it. The Fairies love to gossip."

"I could hear screaming, and a cry for help. It… wasn't physical, I don't think? And Silas says he's a Ghost type, so I assumed it was somehow related to that?"

"I couldn't hear it, but when N threw a pebble in I could kinda feel it." Ruzo offered. "We were pretty far away from it when he first heard it and he led us straight there. And I mean straight there. N almost hit a tree like, twice."

N ignored Ruzo's blunt teasing to turn to the Zoroark. "Silas? How long were you trapped in there?"

How long? Time didn't seem to properly pass in there, and he had a feeling he wasn't even properly aware for a good chunk of it. "...I don't really know, honestly. It felt like a long time," Silas answered.

For a moment there was only the sound of the crackling bonfire filling the silence as everyone contemplated what they knew.

Djinngar continued to rub his chin. "Silas, is what they're saying true? All of it?" He took another step closer, analyzing the Zoroark. His eyes flashed briefly again, but rather than the ominous red they instead gleamed an eerie purple.

The faintest impression of an enormous finger gently dragging along the inside surface of his skull caused every hair on his body to fly upright. Silas recoiled, leaning away from the Darmanatan, as if physical space could properly distance him from whatever psychic bullshit the ape just inflicted upon him. He scrambled another two paces away, nearly losing his balance and toppling over. "What the hell!? What did you just do to me!?"

He scrambled to recall if mind reading was a thing in canon but couldn't come up with any instances off the top of his head. What did appear was the sudden recollection of numerous cases of hypnosis and mind control from pokemon, Mewtwo controlling that Nurse Joy or the Malamar turning an Officer Jenny to crime being the biggest examples.

Suddenly the knowledge of the Darmanatan species having a secondary psychic type through Zen Mode came to him. He swallowed, mouth dry.

If this pokemon read his mind and learned that he was human, nevermind all these other insane truths about Pokemon and video games…

Djinngar's tone broke no argument. The sensation repeated itself, this time less a finger gently dragging and more a fork scraping against ceramic. It aggravated his migraine and once again brought that ache back to the fore. "Answer me."

"Djinngar? Aren't you being a little harsh?" N said, trying to rally to Silas' defense. He trailed off when one of those giant hands raised, bidding him silence.

The Alpha's eyes flashed purple again, the fork on ceramic sensation insistent.

A pressure began to build inside, unclear whether from the external pressing or the internal chill. It ached. "Yes!" Silas snarled, his hand pressing against his skull. "Yes, it's true! Now get out of my head!"

Blinking in surprise, their two onlookers stared at Djinngar, aghast. "Djinngar!" N cried. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"Please tell me you don't know Miracle Eye too!" Ruzo groused.

The pressure retreated as Djinngar snorted, another wave of hot air buffeting them. "I'm an ape, not an Alakazam. True mind reading is beyond me, and even if I could do it, you'd feel a lot more than a mere touch. Trust me, you'd know. No, I was just confirming if you really were telling the truth. Truth Telling, basically." He eyed N from the corner of his vision. "Don't think I didn't notice those stains on your sleeves, or the matching red marks on our guest's claws." Djinngar sighed, looking tired suddenly. "You always were too ready to accept the better nature of complete strangers," he said, tone fond and wistful.

N winced at the reminder of what honestly could have gone a lot worse than it actually did. If that mane happened to have wrapped around something just a little bit higher… "I would do it again," N said regardless. It was clear the teen didn't regret his actions and wouldn't be persuaded to anytime soon.

"I know, N, I know. You wouldn't be you otherwise."

"Then… he's really not lying?" Ruzo asked, uncharacteristically hesitant. "Not even about being a Normal-Ghost, or being a Zoroark?"

Djinngar raised a brow. "I did feel Ghost energy mixed in with the Normal, yes. You can't miss it once you notice, very distinct. Most psychics don't like messing with the stuff or Ghosts in general."

"So you know what's wrong with him?" Ruzo asked, eager.

Djinngar raised a flaming brow. "Wrong with him? You're gonna have to be a little more specific. Ghosts are weird."

The Zorua looked between N and the Zoroark, suddenly expectant. When nobody said anything, he growled. "What's with you idiots never speaking up when you're hurt!? Djinngar, listen. Silas is sick. Like, really sick. He walks like a baby Deerling, his energy feels wrong, and… and he's coughing like Ruma was, before he died that winter!" He hesitated. "I don't think berries and leaves will be enough to fix whatever it is."

All traces of joviality fell from Djinngar's face. "So that wasn't just me then. I wasn't sure with how odd Ghost energy is."

The Alpha's full focus immediately returned to the Zoroark, and Silas felt the probing pressure come back with a vengeance. This time, however, he could only stare as the sensation pinned him in place, smothering even the thought of fighting and paralyzing his legs from carrying him away.

The Alpha leaned closer, closer, with every inch the pressure increasing two fold, his inner choir watching with baited breath, until a massive hand reached forth and…

…gently poked Silas in the chest. The Zoroark seized, a piece of himself hidden up until now suddenly brought to the forefront and resonating very much like a bell violently rang as Djinngar did…. something to him. His legs wobbled and gave out, once again failing to hold up his weight. That something inside rattled in a way that reverberated deeper than flesh, feeble and wounded.

He laid there, stunned.

"Hmmm. You're definitely a slippery one. If I wasn't already looking at you and checked that you were physically here, nevermind the psychic presence, I wouldn't have even noticed you. Faint embers, or maybe a flare-up that burns out quick. Whatever it is, there ain't much fuel left." Djinngar continued to stare. "Still, not the reaction I was expecting…"

Not the reaction he was expecting…?

"...okay, but, what did you do this time?" Ruzo asked.

"Not much fuel left?" N repeated, heart sinking.

Djinngar remained silent, offering no further commentary. The bell tolls, now to quiet down and listen.

When the Darmanatan remained unforthcoming, N turned to Silas. He took note of where the white fox lay bonelessly on the ground, staring vacantly at the sky. The memory of Silas fresh out the puddle not even a few hours before echoed. He reached out a hand, hesitant, yet this time an instinct told him to stay it.

Silas did not notice. The surface of the river may be still, but under the depths a current surged, an energy flowing through his body in stops and starts. He could feel it now, almost alive in its own right, reaching for him when he himself could not. He felt the frigid caress, yet this time did not shiver.

It ached.

"Silas?"

"Djinngar? What did you do?"

Resentment welled up, so painfully familiar it was a mystery he hadn't noticed it before, an old friend he didn't know was gone. What started as a cold, acrid knot in the bottom of his stomach rushed upward like caustic bile, coating his tongue with the unmistakable, metallic tang of poison.

He coughed, feeling its sour weight burn his throat and leave a vile residue even as he choked out another measure of shadow, the substance taking yet more warmth with it on the way out.

Immediately in its wake came rage. Caught entirely off guard and so intense was the emotion he felt it affect him immediately. The currents flowed over and outward, his shadow deepened, and he could just faintly feel movement in extremities he didn't know he even had. The hair on his head started to writhe, faint tips deepening in color until the bare touch of a red glow returned to them.

Even overwhelmed by this sudden onslaught of emotion, the sudden, cruel clarity remained. The chorus of jumbled instincts remained silent, for once fully in agreement.

Even against the heat of the bonfire, a chill spilled out into the air. Ruzo's hair stood slightly, and even N took a step away from him.

Throughout it all, the Alpha merely continued to watch, uncowed.

Silas sat up, hauling himself from his ungraceful sprawl. The writhing curtain of hair split, a gleaming yellow eye leveling a baleful stare upon those still living before him.

Was this to be his fate? Would he never be free of his misfortune, his terrible luck following him from the last life to the next? Just another victim fed to the machine?

Fortune had never favored him. His whole life could be summed up as a constant string of silver linings and 'it could be worse.'

Land a solid government job in a department that got horribly downsized two years later, laid off in the process? At least it looked good on his resume.

His car getting totaled by a careless kid crashing into it on his driveway, ending years of personal investment and repairs on his beloved beater? At least insurance paid out surprisingly well.

Developed an unknown illness centered in the lungs, spanning a myriad of misdiagnoses and questionable treatments that sometimes caused more harm than good? At least least it wasn't cancer.

Dying a death by inches, somehow cheating death with one foot still stuck in the grave… just to be reduced to a mere plaything to those more powerful or privileged than him?

Enough.

Was.

Enough.

His traveling companions watched as the Zoroark stood on steady feet for the first time since they'd met, more hale and hearty than he'd ever been. Violet tinged darkness faintly shimmered at the tips of his fur, crawling like a hazy second skin.

"Enough," he repeated aloud. "I… have had enough."

Mind and body were in complete agreement. The chill that had been building up enveloped him, a frigid bite channeling through the dark energy trailing his body and dancing along his edges.

"You want to play with your food? Take your sweet time returning me to the grave?" Puffs of frost accentuated every word, trailing every breath and dusting each strand of fur. He stared up at the great ape before him, knowing this was a battle he could not win and no longer finding it within himself to care.

"I won't go back without a fight."

That hostile pressure returned with a vengeance, tension so palpable it felt like oil against his skin. Even as the weight bore down on him and his vision narrowed, darkness creeping up at the edges, he refused to bow, standing as tall as his new anatomy allowed.

Ruzo bit at N's ankle, stopping the boy from doing anything foolish even the teen made to break up the brewing fight, lest the two of them risk the attention of the monsters before them.

For a long moment nobody spoke. Silas and Djinngar stared at each other, two predators unwilling to yield. Then…

Djinngar laughed.

Laughed.

Hate welled up as the dark energy surged, gathering for his first real attack-

"Good, GOOD! So you ARE awake in there, Ghost! You had me worried for a second there!"

-only to falter as the weight of the hostility he'd been bracing against suddenly vanished, leaving him painfully unbalanced both mentally and physically. He leaned dangerously to one side, Ruzo only now releasing N so the boy could run up to catch Silas before he fell.

The gathered darkness vanished, whatever control he held over it shattering alongside his focus as the shadows dragged the cold back with them. The red tinge of his hair retreated, fading back into the faint dull shade that barely graced his features earlier, and he struggled mightily against the sudden urge to retch. The pain of the migraine shifted in flavor again, once more becoming unpleasant.

Djinngar grinned down at them, the expression the most genuine he'd seen since the Zoroark set foot in this grove. "If you were a fire type, I'd have thought your flame went out! It's good to see that you still burn inside, however diminished it may be!"

No longer able to keep his silence, N blurted out, "But why? Djinngar, why did you do this? What was the point? What did you even do?"

To their surprise, Djinngar actually obliged this time. "A Ghost is a wildfire of emotion, burning passion and vibrancy. A stoic Ghost is dangerous and signifies one of two things - either the Ghost is unwell, or someone else is about to be. I had to make sure which one your friend here was. That this is all he did in response to my aggression is a good sign, especially considering what he is."

Silas stared. This whole thing was just a test? A goddamn test!?

Ruzo pounced at the remark. "What he is? So he's not a Zoroark?"

Djinngar raised a brow. "Now don't go making assumptions. He's a Zoroark, alright, but not the kind you'll grow up into." Now that the moment passed, Djinngar relaxed, sitting down with a massive thud. "You're aware of how some pokemon are different from the normal ones, the Farkin? Like how Slick ain't your normal Muk, right? Silas is like one of those guys. When I was a little Darumaka, the Elder would tell us stories about all sorts of things. One tale she told us was of the lost-and-found, the Forsaken Fox as she called them. Normal-Ghost type, Zoroarks twisted by hate. She'd tell us of how they roamed the edge of the world, living in places no sane 'mon would ever choose to call home.

"Always thought she told us those stories to scare us into behaving, that the White Fox would come and take the misbehaving little Darumakas away in the dead of night and eat them." He grinned, gesturing a massive hand at Silas. "Now, almost a hundred summers later, one walks right into my own home. I almost thought she made them up entirely before today." Djinngar leered at Silas, though the intent behind it was far less oppressive. "Now I'm left wondering how much of what she said was true."

It took a moment for the implication to sink in, but when it did, Silas couldn't help but grimace. Hisuian Zoroark had a reputation as a species, after all. They were no Gyrados or Tyranitar as far as raw destructive might went, but were no less dangerous for it.

Ruzo looked back and forth between the two of them, clearly missing more than a little context. "Is anyone planning to share anytime soon?"

Silas stared at Djinngar, but it appeared the Great Ape was content to wait for the resident expert to elaborate. Who better to speak about the species than a direct member of it? Silas made to speak, but when he glanced at N, the words died in his mouth. He still didn't know which version of N this was.

Consensus on how accurate pokedex entries actually were compared to what was portrayed in the various Pokemon mediums varied drastically, from neat trivia to straight bullshit. Magcargo being literally hotter than the surface of the sun? Driftloon carrying children away when in Journeys a whole group of them working together couldn't even handle Ash?

Still, what media portrayals there were of Hisuian Zoroark painted a pretty consistent picture. That ecology video, the Hisuian Snow series, the Alpha in the main story of Legends Arceus… Sure, the lore makes it clear that they can be as friendly as any other 'mon once you've earned their trust, but until then…

"'Forsaken Fox', huh? I guess that's not inaccurate."

Fuck. Fuck, but if Djinngar's antagonistic behavior suddenly a terrible amount of sense. Silas couldn't even blame Djinngar for acting the way he did in the face of Hisuian Zoroark's general nature being thrown back at him.

It would be like a toddler coming back home to his parents with a stray pitbull larger than he was, or a lion wandering into a third world village and cozying up to their livestock. Even if nothing happened, you'd still want to make absolutely sure nothing bad could happen, lest lives and livelihood be lost as a result of such carelessness.

Twisting the tiger's tail to see how it might respond around your offspring if provoked was a lot less foolish when you had a high caliber rifle aimed at the beast's head the entire time, and Silas had no illusions on how a fight between him and Djinngar could end in any other way outside of him being turned into a pile of chunky salsa. That he'd been fully willing to commit to that battle regardless would not have changed the outcome.

N frowned as yet another facet to Silas' constant self-depreciation made itself known. "That's not very fair, I've known you for–" He hesitated, suddenly realizing that he hadn't known Silas for very long at all, actually. Still, he was compelled to speak up in the Zoroark's defense. "I know you've only just met him, Djinngar, but he's really not a bad fellow. He feels–"

"No, N," Silas interrupted quietly. "He… he has a point. If a wild lio- er, if a… if a wild Hydreigon wandered into your home and you somehow convinced yourself it was safe, would you really leave it unattended around your children? Whatever stories your Elder told you, she was probably right." He swallowed, averting his gaze. He forced himself to continue. It was only fair for N and Ruzo to know what exactly they'd brought back home with them. "I wouldn't call myself young anymore, but nearly one hundred summers ago?"

Djinngar merely nodded.

"Is it true that the world was much crueler, back then? Survival a much greater struggle, fiercer competition? I don't want to make any assumptions before I continue, and I don't want to mislead you by pretending to have been there when I wasn't."

Another nod, one massive arm absentmindedly rubbing at the lightning scars on the other.

"You mean you don't really know either?" Ruzo cut in.

"Cut me some slack here, damn it, I'm twenty nine, not two hundred. The only way I could have possibly been there myself is if I fell through a–" he bit his tongue before he could continue, but from the knowing look that crossed Djinngar's face it was clear he'd said enough.

The confirmation of Time Distortions existing was… nice, he supposed. It might have been wishful thinking to hope that the main mechanic of what made Legends Arceus even happen to begin with be one of the things not present in whatever continuity he found himself in. Hopefully there wasn't any temporal activity in Unova at the moment and that Ingo still counted amongst the number of those who dwelt in Modern Day.

"At the risk of sounding rude, well, why does this matter?" N asked. "You're here now, aren't you? I haven't known you long, but I know you're a good person that doesn't match the Elder's stories."

Silas met N's eyes, then pointedly looked at the teen's scabbed arms and his own bloodied claws.

N refused to look away, adamant. The teen wouldn't cede this point.

The Zoroark sighed. "Just trying to set up some context," Silas said. "Life wasn't the best back then, for reasons beyond my knowledge, but Zoroark as a species had it worse than most. I don't know when it started or the entire reason why, but at some point humans began hunting them, driving them away from Unova and into Hisui, or, well, Sinnoh as it's called now."

"You mean hunting us… isn't a new thing?" Ruzo asked. He didn't seem to realize he'd spoken that aloud.

There was a moment of silence as the bonfire crackled behind them. N and Djinngar shared a somber look as something passed between them, the kind of silent communication borne of a shared history Silas had no hope of translating.

"What?" Silas croaked. "What do you mean, not new?"

Ruzo startled. "You mean you don't- how can you NOT know!?" he exclaimed.

"So it wasn't something to do with poachers…" N muttered, unheard amidst the shouting.

Before Silas could respond to Ruzo's outburst, the Zorua scraped a paw against the dirt harshly and took a deep, steadying breath. "No, nevermind. If you really don't know, we'll tell you later. Keep going."

"You can't just- this is something that's still happening!?" Silas exclaimed.

"I said we'll tell you later!" Ruzo shouted back. "Continue! …Please. I want to hear this. Why did they hunt us?"

Silas sighed. He supposed it wouldn't be fair to press his hosts when he'd been trying to avoid more personal questions himself. He chanced another glance at N before continuing. "There were probably other reasons, but the main one? People grew to fear and resent their illusions. I wouldn't be surprised if there were like, changeling incidents, or important relationships outed to have been between man and 'mon with one member being a Zoroark and the other none the wiser. Humans and Pokemon heavily distrusted each other during that time period already, too. There was probably a notable murder or two from a disguised Zoroark that might've kicked off the whole thing."

N frowned. "Changeling incident? What's a changeling?"

Silas blinked. "Changelings are… they're what happens when… it's a Fairy…" How the hell does one explain changeling myths to a world that might not even have them in the same sense, or if they do have them, not even be tied to the Fair Folk? Between Ditto, Mew, Ninetales, and a great number of others, that had to be a right mess to figure out. "Look, can I finish, or are you guys going to keep interrupting me?"

"Sorry."

He sighed again. "Regardless, well. I don't know exactly when it all came to a head, but eventually the species was forced to migrate from Unova into Sinnoh. They fled their homes, and continued running for a long time."

The more he spoke, the more he began to lose himself to the tale he was weaving. Silas Anderson, the frayed and frazzled human hollowed out by recent death and traumatic rebirth, slowly let a steadier, more familiar voice take over. Before he knew it, he'd slipped into another role – Zacharias, the ancient, world weary druid who told cautionary tales in the hopes that those listening would take care not to reenact them.

Ten years as a table top role player had left its mark. Some habits died hard.

"Leaving Unova ended up leading to worse problems. Hisui was less populated by humanity, but what humans lived there were no more welcoming to them than those from their homeland, and Hisui was not Unova. There's a difference between being able to deal with the winter, having the whole rest of the year to prepare, and dealing with a cold climate all year round. The land was vicious, cruel. The cold was bitter, food was scarce, and competition was fierce. So did humans hunt them from Unova, so too did other pokemon hunt them from Hisui. Their numbers continued to dwindle as they were pushed further and further back into the desolate wastes. They could not go home, and they could not call Hisui home. They bent, and bent, and bent, until eventually, something broke."

N and Ruzo listened, entranced. As the Zoroark spoke, his yellow eyes gleamed with the flames of the bonfire.

"'The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down just to feel its warmth.' On all fronts were they hounded by hatred, forsaken by the world and doomed to… to... That hatred clawed at them, gnawed at them, corrupted them. If the world had forsaken them, then they too would forsake the world in turn. If hatred was to be their only companion, their only source of warmth, then they would take that hatred and make it their own, embrace it, nurture it, weave it into their very souls, until eventually, those that remained no longer resembled their former selves. They chose to become the very monsters they were persecuted of being."

He looked down at his claws, at the dried blood still clinging to them. Careless brushstrokes made upon a canvas he had no right to alter, pigment harvested from an innocent still yet to carve his own destiny.

"Their bodies and souls weren't the only thing that changed. If they could not find food, then they would feast upon the very fear of their enemies. Their illusions, the very thing they were so reviled for, grew so potent, so powerful, they could fool the very world around them, so much so they could cause physical harm to their victims and selves alike. They did not discriminate; their own suffering was meaningless so long as someone else suffered because of them. Anything and everything that ever lived, they hated, weaponizing their malice in a very literal sense, precious love rationed out only amongst themselves. No more running. No more hiding. Never again would they be prey."

He looked up, meeting the pensive gaze of the Alpha. "Whatever stories your Elder told you…" he repeated, "they were probably true. Does this satisfy your curiosity, Lord of the Grove?"

For a long while, nobody spoke. The Darmanatan and Zoroark stared each other down, one contemplative, the other challenging.

Silas was suddenly jolted from his reverie by a pair of arms wrapping around him, N sinking into the great mass of hair. The guise of Zacharias shattered like glass, and the Zoroark blinked as he remembered where and what he was. He took a steadying breath.

No matter how much he wished to lose himself to a familiar fantasy, this was reality. It was time to face facts.

Before he could ask N exactly what the teen thought he was doing, Ruzo leapt up into his mane. The Zoroark jerked, forced laughter erupting from his mouth as the skittering of tiny paws running up and down his back tickled at him. "H-hey-haha, what d-did I say about my-haha! My hair!?"

Rather than respond with expected sarcasm or less than appropriate humor, Ruzo settled on his head. A tongue flickered out and licked at him, affectionate.

A new flood of emotions coursed through him in a confusing swirl. Something about this felt right, somehow. Forty pounds of fox sat on his head and yet he barely felt the weight. He didn't even feel the normal revulsion he would have experienced when a dog managed to slobber all over his face.

…had it really been so long since he'd last experienced physical affection? It was… nice.

The chill receded, just slightly.

"I'm sorry," N murmured, face buried in the white mane.

Now Silas was really confused. "For what?"

N pulled back just enough to look at him, expression somewhere between sorry and guilt. "I didn't know."

Fond exasperation filled him. He looked at the distraught teen before him, then panned his gaze upwards at the little Zorua on his head putting on a brave face. "Even if you did, none of this is your fault. Don't go blaming yourself for things that happened way before you were born. Again, N, I'm twenty nine. All these events happened hundreds of years ago. There's no possible way I could have been there either."

"Twenty nine's practically a fossil anyway."

It took a moment for them to realize Ruzo spoke. The Zorua gave a watery sniff that might have been the start of a snicker. The lines in N's face smoothened out as he tried to hide his own mirth. Even Silas couldn't help the sardonic chuckle. "Yes, yes, the springtime of youth is behind me, whatever shall I do with myself? Woe betide my weary bones as I wither away to dust."

This time they all laughed, mood lifting from the suffocating cloud brought on by the earlier topic.

"You have a talent for story telling," Djinngar rumbled, bringing them back on track. "Your words match what the Elder told us. More than matches it, honestly." A knowing glint passed his eyes as they narrowed. "Still, I couldn't help but notice there's a part to that story you left out."

Silas grimaced but held his tongue. If Djinngar wasn't going to make him spell it out, he wouldn't. Three hours was not enough time to come to terms with the most crucial part of what separated the Hisuian Zoroark from their Unovan kin. "Well, I've answered your question. Now, answer mine. What the hell did you do to me this time?"

Djinngar grinned in the face of his indignation, clearly approving of his insolent attitude. "Some time ago, a pair of Lucario traveled down from the mountains to seek my aid, requiring access to some of the more medicinal herbs that grow here for their sick cub. In return, they offered to teach me how to use Aura Sphere." His grin turned sardonic. "I couldn't quite manage it, best answer they could give me was that it had something to do with the 'shape' of my aura, probably a species thing. I did still manage to pick up a neat little trick or two in the process.

"As for what I actually did… how to explain it…" the Darmanatan rubbed his chin. "Imagine a suspicious melon you can't just crack open. I had to… kind of 'knock' on your aura, listen to the noise it made, since there wasn't much else I could see otherwise. Ghosts are annoyingly tricky to work with."

Silas blinked. "You knocked me like a melon!?" he shouted, bewildered beyond measure at the current turn of events. That was all he managed to shout out before he couldn't hold back more coughing, doubling over and spewing out the largest measure of shadow since the puddle.

N took a quick step away as Silas fell to his hands and knees, hacking and sputtering. The teen wished he could help, but so far it really seemed the best way to deal with these episodes was to wait them out, and as much as he hated to admit it, he'd rather not repeat the experience of being coated in that freezing black sludge.

Eventually Silas got himself back under control, sweeping a trembling hand back over his head to correct the hair that had covered his face again. Ruzo yelped as he was accidentally dislodged in the process, hopping onto N's shoulder before he could fall. By the time he'd slowly risen back to his feet, the fluid had completely evaporated. "Okay. Okay, I'm good." He licked his lips. "So, you checked my aura."

"Yes, and whatever it is I found, it doesn't look very good. You're a fire that's running out of fuel, and if something isn't done, your flame will go out. I managed to prod what I could, nudge things around to encourage a more even burn." Djinngar shifted, lowering himself to eye level with the suddenly exhausted Zoroark. "Take heart, Ghost. Though you are fading, you still yet burn. You echo. You are heard. It's not over for you yet. All you need to do is keep fighting. If not against me, then whatever it is that ails you."

The Zoroark's shoulders sagged, struck by conflicting emotions and further confused by the almost fatherly tone the alpha had taken. So sure was he just a moment ago that he was staring down his own fiery death, ready to fight for his life even if he'd lose it in the process. Now that very same pokemon was offering encouragement, to not give up and keep fighting.

What was even real anymore? What was he to believe in?

The last of his strength left him then, swaying on his feet as the adrenaline crash really started to hit him.

Startled, N rushed in and caught him, hefting the white fox upright again. "Silas? Hey, stay with me!"

"I'm not dying on you." He was having a bit of trouble with his words. "Just… tired."

Then he jerked as two massive fingers pressed a berry into his chest. "Here, eat this." Djinngar said. "It should help."

The Zoroark gingerly took what he was pretty sure was a Sitrus berry from the ape. "When did you even–" he stammered. Djinngar merely raised a brow. "...right, right, big orchard."

He couldn't recall how big berries were supposed to be canonically, but this particular one was pretty huge compared to the fruits of his last life. The one he held now was perhaps the size of a cantaloupe, barely able to fit in his single – admittedly larger – hand.

A tentative look around garnered encouraging nods, so he took a bite. He sunk his pointed teeth into the soft flesh of the fruit, somewhat awkward due to the new shape of his face. Juice burst into his mouth and spilled slightly from his teeth with his clumsy chewing.

The flavor was hard to describe. If he had to put it into words, it would be like biting into a pear that had no kick to it, an already bizarre connotation considering pears were pretty mild fruit.

It was delicious.

Energy surged through him. Strength returned to his limbs as they grew steady, and for just a moment, he felt much better. It was still a far cry from top form, but the fruit had taken the worst of the edge off and continued to invigorate him as he ate. It was clear now exactly how the Sitrus berry became such a staple to the metagame as a held item, restoring twenty-five percent of a pokemon's health when eaten in battle.

By the time he realized it, the entire fruit was gone, core, stem, and all. His hand was covered in fresh berry juice, and he could feel the hair of his new chin start to gunk up from the stickiness of it. He tried to lick it off and found his new tongue surprisingly deft, able to reach much farther out than he expected.

That probably made sense, considering foxes were animals that did groom themselves.

…oh, hey, he had those tongue hook things tigers and lions had!

Then he realized he had yet again made a mess of N's shirt, this time with something that was much harder to clean off. His first instinct was to lick that off too, only just stopping short of actually doing so. His second instinct was to rub it off with a paw. That too halted if only because he didn't have his own sleeves to use anymore, and didn't want to deal with that stickiness anywhere else.

Ruzo had no such compunctions and licked freely at the new stain.

N sighed. "It's alright. When you've hung out with enough Poison types, you get used to it. Grimers are surprisingly affectionate."

"And toxic," Ruzo scoffed. "Speaking of… you said 'whatever it is'. Does that mean you don't know what's wrong with him?"

"No," Djinngar confirmed. "I can see the symptoms, tell what's going on in a vague sort of way, but the cause? Not sure. His energies are off, but considering his typing, it's entirely possible this might be normal for him."

"So you can't help him?" N asked.

"Not directly, no. Raw might and battle prowess is what I'm good at. The finer bits of healing and sickness? You're better off finding someone else." He scratched his cheek. "Best bet is to find a Ghost who knows more about Ghost energy than I do."

"What?" Ruzo barked, indignant. "But everybody knows Ghosts find you, not the other way around! You mean we came all the way here for nothing?"

"What, visiting your old friend Djinngar is nothing?" The ape jested.

Ruzo looked away.

Djinngar chuckled. "You're not completely out of luck, though. Most Ghosts don't stay very long since they eventually piss me off one way or another and I kick them out." He shrugged. "There are two I trust enough to really call friends, though. One is Lorkhan, the Golurk who lives under the mountains. He's made more children than I can count, so if you need a Ghost master, he's probably your best bet."

His expression soured a little. "Problem is, Lorkhan doesn't need to really eat or sleep, and wanders around wherever he pleases when he's not home. He might show up tomorrow, might show up next month. His oldest child Bilore comes around more often to find pokemon to fight with, but even that's still pretty random."

They digested this. "Do I have that kind of time?" Silas eventually asked. "How much… fuel, do I have left?"

"Enough that a few days definitely won't kill you."

"And sit around doing nothing, hoping for the stars to cross and the visitor to appear?" The Zoroark scoffed. "Not with my luck. Who is the other Ghost?"

"While Lorkhan probably knows more on actual Ghost energy more than any other Ghost I've met, Hirad is a lot older and probably knows more about Ghosts in general. He's older than I am, and that's saying something. Definitely knows a lot more about Ghosts than I ever cared to learn. He's a big ol' Trevenant, likes to hang out in one of the berry trees."

They blinked. "What, you mean he's here right now?"

Djinngar hesitated. "Maybe. As a Ghost, he also likes to wander, but he's here more than he's not. Problem is, he sleeps when the sun goes down, so he's almost impossible to find. There's no way you can wake him before sunrise, and even if you could, that's not the hard part. Good luck telling a sleeping Trevenant apart from a regular tree. It doesn't help that he's so old he's more Ghost than Grass."

"...which means?" Silas asked.
"He can sorta wander between trees. He can settle into one, then another, and another. You won't know which one he's in until it gets up and walks away. Don't ask me how he does it, I think it's a Trevenant thing. I never get a clear answer when I ask."

They all shared looks, not liking what they were hearing. Silas cleared his throat, more shadow dribbling down his chin. "So that's it, then? No matter what option we pick, we're stuck waiting till morning?"

"Unless you wanna try Ghost hunting in the dark or that pod of Frillish happen to show back up, pretty much. There's one other thing we could try, but we'll burn that bridge when we get to it." The alpha confirmed. "Until then, eat, rest. Make yourselves at home. You two remember where your hut is. It'll always be there for you."

N paused in where he'd been bracing Silas up for another walk. "Always?"
"Always," Djinngar affirmed. "I share this place with others because I can – that's what the grove is for – but family always comes first. You and Ruzo aren't mine by blood, but mine all the same. There's always room for you two."

"Ha!" came Ruzo's smug bark. "I told you! No more moss and tree stumps!"

N merely huffed. "And I suppose nothing I say will change your mind?" he asked, fond.

Djinngar laughed. "Nope. You're a good kid, N. If your arrangement with Ghetsis goes sideways, you can always come back here. Don't worry about knocking, just come in and make yourselves comfortable."

N dipped his head and lowered his hat in a weak attempt to hide his blush. "I will remember that, though Father has been teaching me much."

Before they left to find their accommodations for the night, Djinngar had one last message to convey. "And Silas?"

A poke of that earlier pressure, that intent prodded Silas again. He couldn't help but turn back to look.

"I like these two. Very much. Love them like my own. Hurt them again, and we're gonna have a problem, you hear?" His eyes gleamed red again for a moment as he beat a giant fist against his chest just once, the sound echoing almost like a drum.

Like a drum…

Belly Drum.

Silas gulped, nodding in agreement.

"Djinngar! Stop scaring him!" N protested.

The ape merely let out a chuckle. "Can't be too careful. I've lost too many children already, and I'm not going to lose two more just because I got lazy. Go. I'll have someone bring you supper. We'll talk more in the morning."

With that, he turned his attention wholly back to the bonfire, tending to it once again.

Silas let out the breath he had been holding. He turned and tried to walk off on his own, only to find that the green haired teen was refusing to let go of him. Rather than fight it, he sighed.

He caught Ruzo looking at him strangely. "What?"

The Zorua scoffed, a noise that was becoming familiar. "Normal-Ghost. Next you're gonna tell me there's Fire-Ice types."

Having not travelled far enough to leave earshot, Djinngar couldn't help but pipe up, "There are! The Elder told us stories of our Galarian Farkin, Darmanatan whose flames froze under the touch of ice, burning deep inside."

Ruzo's jaw dropped, unable to refute this considering the source was Djinngar himself. "What, but… well damn it! Now I have to find a better bullshit phrase!"

Unable to help himself either, Silas also added in, "And Wailords and Skitty are actually… genetically compatible."

Ruzo merely stared at him. "No. No, now that's bullshit, I don't believe you!"

"Think what you want, it doesn't make it any less true."

The three of them bantered off into the night, heading for their designated rock hut to finally rest and put today behind them. Their voices could be heard well off into the night.

 

[Lutemis]

An update so soon after the last is an anomaly for me, only because this and chapter 2 were originally one giant chapter I decided to split in half. Odds are I won't normally update more than once a month at the fastest.

As always, I thrive off constructive criticism. I know it's still probably too early plot wise for there to be much substance to actually critique since this fic is still in the stage setting phase, but perhaps my own spin on the already saturated medium of Self-Insert fanfiction is worth a few words. Engagement feeds my motivation.

I also feel I struggle with writing properly distinct voices and POVs, pitch in if you think they're kind of samey.

---

Djinngar was old.

Much older than Ruzo's sarcastic definition of old, as a countless number of seasons had passed since the Darmanitan had been so young and foolish himself. Old enough that all the 'mons he'd known since they were younglings had long since grown old themselves. Old enough that he'd become a fixed point, watching generations come and go as children became parents became grandparents became great grandparents, faces slowly fading from view and into memory while he himself remained.

Mastering the art of Zen had given him centuries where most Darmanitan would only have decades, granting him a level of perspective most 'mons would never reach. He had long since become the Elder of his own family, and in honoring the memory of the previous he'd made damn sure to put those years to good use. He'd seen and experienced all sorts of things that helped shape the kind of 'mon he was today.

He remembered Khadra, his mate, of whom he finally earned the affection of when he remained persistent and fought off all other competitors, despite her being the stronger of their union. They'd had a great many children together over the decades, many of whom had their own families now. Their bloodline had spread well throughout the grove and surrounding area, and while Khadra had returned to ash many summers ago, his line continued to be prolific. He'd long since stopped trying to keep track of every grandchild and great-grandchild. All his kin were able to recognize their Elder by the weight of his Wild Might and their alpha in turn able to recognize all those who shared his flame by the familiarity of their warmth even as they departed their ancestral home to strike out on their own.

The grove itself was a blessing beyond compare, a beautiful stretch of land he'd been given stewardship over both as a reward for his valor and recompense for what was lost immediately before. He'd watched it grow alongside those he called neighbors and the community he permitted residence - and defended his rightful claim from a great many of those he did not. The land was carefully cultivated by the collective inhabitants to further bolster its already incredible bounty, and as a result the land had cultivated them in turn. The grove was kind enough to feed them all, when he remembered a time nearly a century prior it absolutely hadn't been.

He remembered the Swords of Justice as they rose up in the wake of great catastrophe. A trio of wandering pokemon bound by steel and conviction, champions of the helpless who decided that was what was done to the defenseless should never again go unanswered. Rumor had it that they'd recently become a quartet, training their new hopeful in some secluded sanctuary further west of the grove.

There was N and Ruzo, two younglings who had just barely begun figuring out what kind of 'mons they wished to be. Prophesy was not a talent he could lay any particular claim to as a Psychic, but even he could feel Fate's touch upon them. He'd long since realized that the day they'd wandered into his grove that first time had been no mere coincidence - as his oldest friend was prone to saying, 'There are no accidents.' Whatever destiny Fate had in store for them, it was bound to be grand, for better or worse.

He remembered the day Khadra finally fell in battle, burning out in a glorious blaze. Djinngar had not yet realized his full potential and so was unable to do more than flee with their children, swearing then and there to never again be so weak and helpless. Never again would he lose another loved one in the face of insurmountable calamity.

He remembered the day he earned his name, when that oath had been put to the test as the great rage of the Forces of Nature tore through his home, Wind and Lightning devastating land and sky alike in a feud so petty, so pointless even now he burned just thinking about it. The storms had ravaged the land for miles around and destroyed any and all shelter, leaving him with only the option of shielding his children with his own body. Even now the scars refused to fade.

He remembered a winter so cruel, so unrelenting, that his bones still ached with the memory each turn of the season. A bitter cold had enveloped the land as the Shadow of Winter Himself prowled the forest, chasing away the very concept of warmth and feasting upon the lost and forgotten in a futile effort to sate the ravenous void within.

He remembered the humans, so eager to tear themselves apart in a frivolous conflict of their own making. They cared not what was lost in the crossfire as they plunged the land into war. Even as the conflict cooled and the fighting stopped, their greed and appetite for violence remained as they turned their attention to those lands unclaimed and all those who dwelled within. He could never understand how a people of such potential could not see and appreciate what they already had, never satisfied with 'enough'. Their gaze lingered too long on other's light. If they continued on their path they'd soon forget how to kindle their own.

Time was nothing if not a patient teacher – if a little too fond of irony for his liking – and he'd learned plenty of things in his long and storied life. Some lessons had been pleasant, while a great many others were not, yet even he couldn't contest the importance of each one as he learned them. Those who sat attentively at Time's feet eventually came to recognize the signs of another lesson in the coming when the signs presented themselves, though only the truly wise could tell whether it could be a pleasant one.

He liked to consider himself amongst that number, which made it all the more vexing that he couldn't tell how the one before him would play out.

The Alpha knew something was wrong when the human child and the Zorua Djinngar so doted on returned to the grove for the second time in one day. They'd grown old enough already that they'd struck out on their own to seek the shapes of their own flames, coming around far less often than their younger years.

Then he saw what N was carrying and began to worry this lesson would be a harsh one.

His Elder may be naught but ash, but her tales lived on through him, and he was an attentive student. He remembered the stories well enough, especially the ones she liked to tell when the younglings weren't listening.

To see a creature step right out of one of those stories and into his home… It wasn't that he doubted the Elder, per say, but compared to the tale of the Red and Blue Basculin being punished for their refusal to share the river with the waters drying up beneath them, such that the only prize that could now be won between them were mere puddles, or the tale of the first Darmanitan rising from the scattered ashes of Truth's cleansing fire as He ascended to purge Falsehood from the world… well.

He never expected one of the nastier stories to be the one that was actually true.

Vengeful spirits that refused to fade in the face of unclean death, far too full of hatred to possibly accept their end and move on naturally. White Foxes that were mere echoes of their living kin, who loathed anything that dared suffer less than they did.

So naturally, because Time has a twisted sense of humor, one just had to walk right into his home.

Not prowl in, not sneak in, not attack anyone, not even make any threat displays. Calm, maybe a little timid, polite too, for the most part.

It was all the more eerie precisely because of how little spectacle it involved. A Ghost does not simply walk into your own home, nevermind one of the Forsaken!

That was when his worry grew into genuine alarm. Just what has his favorite human gotten into this time?

Ghosts were creatures of expression. Emotions weren't something they felt so much as channeled, tying directly to their strength. Passion, joy, anger, fear, grief, hatred – all of it granted a Ghost its life and power. It was generally why Ghosts tended to be insufferable troublemakers, the most common and benign of the broad categories of Ghost usually embodying the more positive emotions.

A Ghost that partook in simple mischief was about the most you could expect from that sort of spirit – better the harmless pranks you can see than the kind of things a Ghost could get up to where or when you couldn't.

Of course, when that outward expression fell silent, something was very wrong.

It was a well known fact that a stoic Ghost was a dangerous Ghost. Even N had to know this, so the fact that the boy was choosing to get involved anyway… was just like him, honestly. Figures N would see one such spirit and immediately rush to offer aid, gambling on the risk that the Ghost was the one unwell in this equation.

Djinngar trusted Ruzo to be the more cautious and realistic of the two of them, since N was the sort of boy who tended to hold more kindness than sense, but this was an unusual case seeing as this particular Ghost was Farkin. The Zorua might also miss the warning signs in favor of establishing a connection, whether purposely or otherwise.

As the one responsible for the two of them, it thus fell to Djinngar to properly determine which of the two categories this Ghost fell into and neutralize the threat should the need arise, made all the more critical due to the simple fact that the tales made it very clear the Forsaken were not among the mischievous and 'happy' Ghosts.

He needed to make sure what he was looking at before he allowed the younglings to continue further. He poked and prodded, leaned the Might of his presence onto the strange Zoroark, and kept applying pressure until something finally gave way beneath the stillness. He was more than confident enough in his own strength to take the risk, especially since a cornered Ghost was dangerous in ways that differed from the next average 'mon.

He pressed and pressed and pressed until the Ghost finally exploded, which took a fair bit longer than he'd honestly been expecting. When Silas finally broke, the outburst was… remarkably measured.

No indiscriminate attacks, no loss of control, not even much of a raised voice. The whelp didn't lash out at anyone other than the immediate threat, and didn't blame anyone else for putting him in this situation. Heck, he didn't even seem particularly interested in hurting Djinngar, the target of his ire.

If the Darmanitan hadn't instigated the incident himself, he might not have believed the white fox was a Ghost at all!

That wasn't even the strangest part. A Ghost that wasn't actively hiding had a distinct presence to them. Ghost-type energy had a way of rubbing off on you in strange ways. Silas was still plainly physical, but whatever aura that should have suffused him was barely present. Withered, like a flame left too long without fuel or too choked of oxygen.

This Silas was definitely sick, whatever it was that afflicted him. Djinngar would bet his Power Band on it.

He also hadn't seen a 'mon that wasn't a youngling or Confused with such a poor grip of their base instincts in quite some time. He'd been pressing for that, yes, but what bits and pieces that revealed themselves before the main outburst seemed… off. Movements that started and stopped, reactions that seemed to come a few heartbeats too late. Things that should have been second nature stumbling over themselves.

This wasn't even considering the pointed glance at his Power Band, or the clear recognition of Djinngar's halted use of Belly Drum. The move wasn't exactly common even among pokemon who could learn it.

All this painted a very curious picture. There was only one explanation for all this that made any degree of sense, and even that had as many holes in it as a Chewtle's lunch.

Silas was a trained pokemon, though former or current remained to be determined.

A rock at the edge of the bonfire rumbled, soot puffing from its blackened surface. A pair of narrowed eyes appeared from beneath the ash as the head of Djinngar's oldest friend popped out of a hole in the shell.

Cole yawned, smacking his lips as he fully extended his neck, emerging from his plain-view hiding spot to look properly at the Alpha. The old Torkoal had been around longer than Djinngar had, though these days he liked to laze around pretending to be a rock in the bonfire or sit around in other less convenient places.

Cole craned his neck this way and that, audible crackling that had nothing to do with the fire filling the air. "Was he lying?"

"...No," Djinngar said at length. "Not that I could tell. Everything he said was true, or probably true enough he thought it was."

Truth Telling was a funny thing. Mind Reading was obvious; even a skilled mind reader had to be extremely careful if they wanted to sneak around in other 'mon's heads without leaving any footprints, and connecting yourself so deeply to the mind of another posed its own number of risks besides. Truth Telling was much simpler and far less invasive. No need to rummage around in someone's head when the person speaking did most of the work for you by bringing those thoughts to the surface. All you had to do was feel the ripples and confirm whether they believed those words were true.

After spending so many years dealing with troublesome little Darumaka, generations upon generations of offspring, Djinngar had gotten very good at it.

Being a Darmanitan certainly helped. If 'mons chose to believe that meant he was strong, simple, and easy to trick, well, who was he to correct them? It wasn't his problem If they looked no deeper than what their eyes showed them.

Djinngar never withdrew his initial probe, another little trick he'd picked up. The pressure was mostly for show, as he'd long since honed this skill beyond that point.

Of course, Time was a patient teacher, but all those who were at its mercy knew that while some lessons were straightforward, most were painfully unclear. The strange fox's answers being true only muddied things further. To speak with such certainty, to go into such detail, yet repeat multiple times that he wasn't there to bear witness directly?

Cole exhaled, sharing his sentiments. A long plume of smoke trailed from his nostrils. "That story was a lot more detailed than anything I remember my Elder telling us. Poor things. Though… any particular reason you didn't ask about the missing part?"

Djinngar scoffed. "Even I'm not arrogant enough to ask a Second Born Ghost about their death to their face."

"Heh, you? Tact?" Cole grinned, easy amusement crossing his lips. "My hearing must be finally going."

Djinngar gave a sardonic snort. "Nah, your hearing is fine, even if that joke's as old as you are."

Cole huffed a crackling laugh. "That's rich, coming from you. I don't look a day over two hundred!"

Djinngar grinned despite himself. He'd heard that joke so many times it'd become something of a routine between them. Two old farts too busy being lazy to go ahead and just die. Death can have them when it earns them.

The grin faded.

It seemed this sentiment was shared by a whole species that took it way more seriously than some joke.

Cole shifted, continuing to stretch his neck this way and that as he groaned. "So. Your thoughts?"

"I think our new guest's troubles might be beyond N's capabilities. If Hirad can't help, I'm not sure how he'll take it." The great ape sighed. "He has a good heart, but he's too prone to throwing it at any problem he sees and expecting that to be enough."

Cole was quiet. Four more tufts of soot kicked off his shell as the Torkoal's legs popped out. He shook himself more vigorously, removing the layer of ash that had caked up over himself. Another plume of smoke bellowed from his nose as he stepped out of the bonfire. "If N means to do all the things he says he wants to do, eventually he's going to have to learn that you can't save everyone."

"But does that lesson have to come today? Ruzo's never seen another of his kind since his… parents. Our little Zorua would be heartbroken if that chance was taken from him before they could even really get to know each other."

The two old pokemon stood in silence, listening to the fire crackle. Both were conspicuously avoiding the topic of Aurora's meddling, unsure of the greater implications but aware such implications existed. Prophecies were always trouble for anyone involved already.

Cole huffed. "Well, seeing as I'm already up, I'll go keep an eye on them. Go see to your family, make sure Daru isn't getting into trouble again."

Djinngar winced. He had handled the matter as he saw fit, and wouldn't have changed that even now that the situation had passed, but perhaps he could have used a little less Might than he really needed to. The newer parents would definitely have some words for him come morning if their younglings had been startled awake by the sensation.

Still, better annoyed parents than injured younglings.

"Thank you, Cole. And be careful. While Silas is probably exactly as he appears, you can never be too careful with a Ghost."

Cole merely hummed, waddling off. "Try not to scare anyone else before breakfast."

"Ha! No promises."

---

The mood between the three of them grew more comfortable as the evening progressed. True to Djinngar's word, the Lord of the Grove had extended his full hospitality proper and sent someone to bring them dinner while they got settled in at N and Ruzo's house. While it was a far cry from human civilization, it was similar enough to ease some of his frayed nerves with its familiarity.

He called it a house because he honestly had trouble describing it as anything else. Sure, it was a single roomed affair, a large boulder the size of perhaps half your average mobile home, with a firepit in the center and a myriad of almost rustic furniture. It was more spacious than he expected looking at it from the outside and all the more cozy for it.

The floors were a mix of exposed stone and moss, clearly arranged in some kind of artistic pattern he couldn't quite discern yet found pleasing nonetheless. Flowering vines crawled along the walls in a manner that was almost haphazard if not for the definite intent behind the spread. Doubtless the work of a Grass type with an eye for aesthetic.

A crude skylight was carved into the ceiling to vent out smoke from the fire pit, and around said firepit were multiple flat rocks he could only assume were meant to be cooking plates? Alongside the apparent cookware were crude pots of varying size, clearly meant to hold water and other foodstuffs. These were perhaps the work of Ground or Rock types, as while the implements were simple, they were far too uniform and robust to have been natural formations. It didn't seem too far fetched to be within the realm of earth manipulation the two types were known for.

Maybe he should ask his hosts, once he worked up the nerve to break the ice. At the same time, though, he was leery. If something like this was common practice, then the fact that he had to ask at all might raise some red flags.

The largest of these pots was already filled with crystal clear water and sitting off to the side, ready for them on arrival, alongside a neatly stacked pile of firewood.

This particular house even had a rough table made from oddly perfectly squared logs as seats and a large center cut taken out of what had to have been a massive tree nestled a couple of inches into the ground. Two crude woven baskets sat upon it, both empty.

Scattered all about were other things that looked almost woven, from lichen curtains that offered privacy at the entrance, stuck to the wall by what looked like thick webbing, to what looked almost like a pile of blankets and cushions. These were a fascinating amalgamation of dried plant matter, more of that webbing, and discarded fur or other such material.

When N caught his interest in the presence of such cushions, the boy explained that the local Leavanny colony quite frankly couldn't help themselves with their weaving tendencies and had to find other outlets lest they get carried away with dressing the entire community. They liked to gather and work collaboratively whenever they found a larger pokemon willing to tolerate their meticulous measuring and weaving, delighting in the chance to work on much bigger projects than they could normally get away with. Djinngar himself had no less than four cloaks tucked away somewhere, one for each season.

From the way he and Ruzo spoke, even they were surprised by the relative opulence of the den compared to most pokemon shelters. Apparently while they stayed in this specific hut back when they lived here normally, it wasn't as nice as it was now.

Going from what he could see among the other 'houses' in the community, not all rock huts had the same level of luxury, some lacking the front curtains allowing view of what they did – and didn't – have within them.

Djinngar seemed to have meant it, having put in extra effort for his adoptive children's home. "Guess he really does want us to visit more often," Ruzo said.

Then dinner arrived, delivered by a pair of Clefairy carting a somewhat comically large basket of berries, roots, herbs, mushrooms, and… fish? It was clearly meat, whatever fish it came from, though he probably shouldn't be surprised that a community of pokemon led by a Fire type figured out how to smoke meat or that this was tangible proof pokemon did indeed eat each other. The Fairies set the basket down, danced around the lot of them for a brief moment, then pranced back off outside. Before they left, though, one of them made direct eye contact with Silas and wagged a finger teasingly.

N and Ruzo paid the behavior no mind save for Ruzo's quiet muttering on the weirdness of Fairies, so Silas figured he should follow their example and dig in as well. He tried his best to brush off the faint worry that rose from the eerily knowing look in the Clefairy's eyes.

Most of the medley before him he couldn't identify, and he took great pleasure in using his newly enhanced senses to narrow down their identities. There were clearly tubers of some sort, though these were certainly not potatoes, and there were more of the medicinal roots he unfortunately had to eat. He knew whatever ailed him was likely beyond simple medicine, but he appreciated the effort for what it was and made an honest attempt to eat some.

He bit into what he thought was an Energy Root, chewing fast and swallowing quickly. It wasn't as bad as the Petilil leaves, but it was beyond clear after a few bites why this stuff lowered friendship. His hair still stood up on end as he shook himself, a trembling hand reaching for a cup of water to wash down the acrid, bitter taste. He only managed to spill a tiny bit of it as he drank, growing more familiar with the shape of his lips as time went on.

He missed the concerned glance N and Ruzo traded, too engrossed at the feast. The apparent familiarity with unpleasant medication and the lack of hesitation with taking it was not a good sign, nevermind the disturbing lack of concern over his physical state.

The berries were mostly an assortment of Oran, Sitrus, and Lum berries, though there were a few more less common berries he couldn't readily identify mixed in there. Their flavors varied as much as their appearance, and all invigorated him to one extent or another, but nothing he ate seemed to put a dent in the growing cold he felt deep within him. The chill had been growing faster ever since Djinngar knocked him even as Silas fervently ignored it.

He took his time savoring each individual item. He picked up each fruit with clumsy hands, paying their tremors little mind. He'd had essential tremor in his last life, which had only worsened as his condition did. As sad as it was, even now, with three fingers and a whole new anatomy, he was much more capable of feeding himself than he had been before.

Sure, he fumbled the food items a little more often than he'd liked, but he was long since used to his fingers not quite listening to him.

A shaking hand held up what looked like a bundle of orange grapes – Razz Berries, probably – and brought them in to take a deep whiff of their scent. These smelled spicy and… dry, somehow. Normally he wasn't a fan of spicy flavors, since most of the time they were cheap hot sauces that on their own tasted terrible and for his ethnicity he'd had a remarkably low spice tolerance besides. At the same time, he figured he'd give this one a try what with having a completely different tongue and therefore a new set of taste buds. Perhaps now he might actually be able to appreciate it.

Of course, when he bit into it, the bundle sort of fell apart with only a few bits of these not-grapes going into his mouth and the rest scattering on the table. He jerked, fumbling to catch them all with clumsy arms before they rolled off, when suddenly N spoke up.

"Do you have nerve damage?"

Silas smacked his lips, feeling the burn of the spiciness kick in and cover the insides of his mouth. Surprisingly, he found he didn't hate it. It hurt, sure, but far less than it would have in his old body, and under the burning sensation he could feel the subtle undertones of the fruit's flavor with a much greater clarity than his old palette. It was honestly pretty tasty.

Somehow the pain was… he wouldn't say tolerable, but perhaps distant? Disjointed?

Then he registered what N actually said. "...What?"

The teen swallowed, strangely nervous. "Nerve damage," he repeated.

Silas stared at him.

N began to ramble. "When the nerves in your body get hurt somehow and stop working properly. They're the things in your body that carry the signals of your brain to the rest of you, so when they're damaged the signals can get mixed up. Sometimes you lose feeling, or you feel a pain that isn't really there, or–"

"I know what nerve damage is," Silas cut off, not liking where this was going. Pokemon medicine was portrayed a bit like magic in canon. Long term injuries weren't really something the series explored, what with the family friendly focus, so for N of all people to be bringing up nerve damage…

N swallowed. "Right, well. You keep dropping things, and your hands shake even when you're not moving them. I noticed they were shaking when we first met you, but it's been nearly four hours and it still hasn't stopped."

Silas looked down, holding up his hands. They shook, but less than they did at their previous worst. Still, without context, he could see why N would think that.

But then the boy kept talking. "There was a pokemon Father had rescued, brought to our home. A Gyrados named Lenny." N's voice grew quieter as he spoke, words coming faster now that he'd built momentum. "Lenny's a nice 'mon, very friendly and affectionate. I'm led to believe this is unusual for Gyrados. From what he told us and what Father managed to dig up, Lenny had been part of an Ace Trainer team looking to push up the rankings." For the first time since they'd met, N began to grow visibly upset. "The problem was as a Water and Flying type, he had a pretty bad weakness to Electric, and Lenny was the cornerstone of the team, so his trainer had the brilliant idea to do something he called 'exposure therapy'."

Silas' heart sank.

"By the time someone separated that fool from his victims, the damage had already been done. I wasn't sure what was wrong with Lenny at first. He could still swim fine, move around on land, but he just didn't seem to have the same level of coordination other 'mons did. He'd twitch, his body trembled, and sometimes he'd just seize up and fall over like he was Paralyzed. We found out he lacked feeling in most of his fins, too. I couldn't understand why nothing we did seemed to help, so I started looking through my books. I asked the Sages and my Sisters for more information since they know more than I do, but nothing worked."

He looked up, meeting Silas' horrified gaze. "I thought perhaps you might have suffered something similar."

"No! God no! I- fuck, people DO that to their pokemon!?" the Zoroark exclaimed. Even as he spoke, though, another memory whispered at him: Ghetsis made sure to surround N with abused pokemon, to further taint the boy's view on humanity. Those pokemon had to come from somewhere, but as fucked up as it sounds he thought that only meant like, whippings or other forms of cartoony abuse, not outright torture.

"The worst part is," Ruzo said, "Lenny doesn't blame the human. He thinks that if he'd been stronger, if he'd put more effort into their training, it would have worked and they'd be fine to continue battling. That it was his fault it didn't work."

"...and the trainer?" Silas couldn't help but ask. "Please tell me his license was revoked, at the very least."

N and Ruzo shared another glance, another silent conversation Silas could not decipher. The two of them looked like they'd had an epiphany, turning back to him like they'd fit another piece in a puzzle they were trying to solve. "Father said he faced justice, but didn't elaborate further. I didn't think to ask when he told me."

When it came to Ghetsis, that could mean damn near anything. Silas put better odds on that trainer being found in a ditch than a cell.

If he was found at all.

He tried to distract himself, reaching for something else to nibble on. He focused on the unidentified dried meat he suspected might be Magikarp, but the topic of discussion had him hyper aware of his trembling. Like a wound that only started hurting once you finally looked at it, he found himself unable to ignore the shaking of his hands as it steadily grew alongside his agitation. He fumbled the fish a few times before finally managing a good grip.

The flavor was smoky and savory, but by now his appetite was waning. He couldn't really appreciate the taste in the face of his growing anxiety.

"So, do you have nerve damage?" Ruzo eventually asked.

Silas sighed, putting down the meat and laying his palms flat on the table in an effort to steady himself. He made to answer, but another glance at N had his ears folding flat and his words being chosen carefully. "...I don't think I do. At least, I really hope not."

It would be quite the insult to injury if that drowning sensation in the puddle was him actually drowning. Could Ghosts suffer brain damage from a lack of oxygen?

"Why do you keep doing that?" Ruzo was openly staring at him now, no longer partaking in the feast either. He couldn't stay silent on how Silas seemed to constantly look at N whenever the Zoroark said something he wasn't absolutely certain about, as if he was scared of what the human's response would be should he say something he thought the teen wouldn't like. "Why were you in that puddle?"

"..." It took him a moment to realize that tapping sound was him, a clawed finger clacking against the table. He clenched his fists to stop the nervous motion, struggling to remain still.

A profound sadness filled N's eyes in that moment as the teen sagged. "Did a human do this to you? Is that why you're so scared of me?"

He had to answer, give them something to go off of before they started making their own conclusions, but when he opened his mouth to deny this, he found he couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

It was the sheer callous carelessness of others that enabled the illness to spread so rampantly, the sickness granting his later malady foothold and acting as a red herring for misdiagnosis. He was so jaded and bitter towards the end of it all that he wasn't quite sure he could say with complete honesty humans weren't to blame for his situation to some extent, even if he knew intellectually it was nothing more than a string of horrible luck.

Whatever Djinngar did merely reignited that deeply buried resentment, likely a side effect of his… supposed new nature. He thought he'd made peace with his inevitable end, but now, on the other side of it, he found he could no longer delude himself.

He was bitter, upset, and oh so very angry. His life was a joke, and he was the punchline.

The chill gnawed at him.

Still, it wouldn't be fair to blame N for this, but he had to be blind and stupid to not notice that N being the one to discover him the moment he was reborn couldn't possibly be coincidence. Some higher power was at work here, and to know that he was once again at the whim of fate, especially the hand of one that was so indisputably real…

N was unfortunately right, for all the wrong reasons. To some extent, Silas' fear was tied to N and what the teen represented, and what this all potentially meant for Silas.

He blinked, realizing he'd been silent for far too long. He had to give them an answer. Looking back and forth between them, he once again chose his words carefully and hoped they wouldn't take it too poorly. "I… I will not lie to you. So, I won't."

"...Won't what?" Ruzo asked.

"You asked me why I was in that puddle. I can't answer that."

Ruzo narrowed his eyes, but there was a surprising lack of hostility in them. "Can't, or won't?"

Silas hesitated, looking between them. "...I won't," he corrected. He didn't know the how, but the why? He could make a very good guess.

For a moment they all stared at each other. Then…

"Okay," N said.

Silas blinked. "Okay?" he repeated.

"Okay," N confirmed. "If you don't want to tell us, that's okay. When I said I want to help you, I meant it. If you don't feel comfortable telling us, that's alright."

"You don't have to answer, you know," Ruzo said, tone light. "No one's forcing you to do anything. I get it, really I do. Humans are weird. N's only got fur on the top of his head, he's got too many fingers, he's so skinny, he bares his teeth at you when he's happy. Sometimes water comes out of his skin, and he's not even a water type! He doesn't have a type at all! It's okay if he freaks you out, he freaked me out too when I first met him!"

The more things Ruzo added to that list, the more a sort of bemused offense grew on N's face.

A strangled laugh echoed in the hut. It took a moment for Silas to realize the noise came from him. When N turned that offended expression towards him, the Zoroark couldn't contain it anymore – he burst out laughing, tears in his eyes as a touch of hysteria echoed in his voice. Unable to help himself, Silas joined in on the fun. "Hahaha! I, I bet he sleeps on his back, too!"

"He doesn't groom himself, uses this smelly thing called soap instead!"

"Puts a hat on his head even though there's already hair there!"

"That's nothing, he has to cut that fur or it keeps growing! Just, like, forever! Doesn't know when to stop!"

"I bet his nails do that too!"

"He stubs his toe and apologizes to the furniture!"

"Look at him, wearing shoes! Can't even walk outside without them!"

"He can't even- he can't- pfft ahahahaha!"

The two foxes collapsed into laughter as they could no longer continue, mirth too great to contain. When they glanced at N, the teen crossed his arms and huffed, turning away. This only added fuel to the fire as they laughed even harder. Not even N couldn't resist the high spirits as the corner of his lips curled upwards, taking it all in good humor.

It took a while for them to settle down, as every time they'd look at N he'd continue pretending to pout and reignite their laughter. Finally, they stopped, breathing heavily. Silas had to brace himself on the table lest he fall over again.

"Feel better now?" Ruzo suddenly asked.

Silas blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." That cheeky little bastard, he got him again! "I needed that. Thanks."

Ruzo snickered. Then he leaned over and licked N's hand. "It's okay, N, I still like you even though you're weird."

N sighed, though it was clear he wasn't really all that upset. "One of these days I'm going to dye you pink."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"I dunno, I think Aurora would appreciate seeing you match Anthea's hair. Might surprise her, get Moriah to help me."

Now it was Ruzo's turn to pout.

Looking at the very wholesome scene before him, a sudden urge welled up in Silas. He couldn't leave things the way they were, let them think he despised N for some wrong imaginary reason. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "I- I don't hate you for being human, or even you specifically, and I'm not afraid of-," he stumbled, trying to find the right words. "It's not what you are that I'm bothered by, and I have nothing personally against you. You've done nothing to me that I hold a grudge over. Neither of you have." He hoped that was enough, that they could understand what he was trying to say.

They paused in their friendly ribbing, surprised by his sudden fervor. He could see another question in the teen's eyes, but N eventually chose to say something else instead. "I'm glad." He was smiling much more genuinely now.

Ruzo huffed, but even he seemed happier.

Spirits raised, they returned to their dinner as they once again found their appetites.

---

He couldn't sleep.

The night was quiet, only the low crackle of their house fire burning audible as the walls of the home proved remarkably sound isolating. The noise of the lowered activity of nocturnal pokemon mingling outside barely crept in, faint voices whispering along the wind and nothing more. The curtains of their 'doorway' would swish whenever a 'mon walked particularly close by, but no greater disturbance than that occurred.

The air was warm, his hunger was sated, having gorged himself on some of the tastiest fruit he'd ever eaten in his life, and he lay wrapped in comfortable bedding made of scattered leaves and fur. This was the safest he's ever felt in… a depressingly long time, honestly.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to find a position that felt the least unnatural in as they went to bed down for the night. At first he thought to lay on his back, but between his earlier remark poking fun at N for doing just that as a twiggy human and his own silent instincts kicking a fuss at leaving his belly so exposed, he was forced to keep trying different positions until he simply gave up and used cartoon logic. He crossed his arms, tucked his lower legs, and lay on his stomach like Spike from Tom and Jerry, a cushion tucked beneath his chin and a blanket pulled up over his back.

That was over an hour ago.

Every time he felt his lids start to lower, his consciousness start to fade as the exhaustion sank in and his mind went back to that other place…

As awareness ebbs, terrible vistas of emptiness reveal themselves.

…he'd jerk awake, remembering the void, the semi-conscious struggle against that blind eternity for the simple right to exist. Every time, without fail, he'd start to nod off just to forcibly come to as he felt himself slip and panic.

Cold. He felt so cold.

The flames, the blankets, the warmth of good company and hot air captured by the stone hut, the heartbreakingly familiar sensation of home…

None of it reached him.

N and Ruzo, the boy and his fox, a disney princess and his animal companion wandering the woods and beloved by all, spreading joy to every critter they met along the way.

Natural Harmonia Gropius and his Zorua, the King of Team Plasma and his main enforcer, two deluded children fighting for a cause their mentor did not believe in and serving as the unwitting heralds of a great tribulation.

Two gentle souls sharing food and shelter with a stranger they only just met by the fading light of a campfire.

A crown of thorns and a phantom's fangs, bound to bleed for false salvation.

Cold. So cold.

The comfort of the den curdled. The warmth tightened, the air grew heavy. The walls closed in, free space becoming a cage, locking him to a destiny he did not want.

Out. Had to get out. Out, OUT-

He fled, tossing aside the blankets and tearing through the lichen curtain, away from the green haired boy and the fate he represented.

He ran past the myriad of huts, past the nocturnal pokemon that meandered about, past the clearing and well past the main hub of this community.

He only stopped to catch his breath when his feet splashed into the river some distance away from the main bend, physical cold shocking him back to his senses. Breathing heavily, he rocked back, landing hard on his ass.

The only sound that broached the sudden quiet was the rasping of his own breathing, coughs prompted by the cold air rushing down his throat. He sat there for a time, greedily gasping for fresh air.

What was he even doing? Lost in a world not his own, flailing blindly in the dark? He was so scared to walk forward when the road before him was shrouded with such deep darkness, but he knew with a horrible certainty that walking back was impossible.

Time was cruel, and stagnation had taken so much from him already.

He leaned over the edge of the river, looking upon himself for the second time since his transmigration.

The same tired face greeted him, a long white muzzle painted with ever so faint red marks framing a glowing yellow gaze. Nowhere was there a fighter ready to take on any and all challengers, a fierce predator eager and willing to battle.

Instead he saw a weary soul that lived far longer than he expected to, who didn't know how to handle that fact. His shoulders slumped, his mane was limp, and his own gaze didn't truly see himself even as he met his own eyes. He was the very image of a tired victim beaten down by the neverending trials of life.

While his physical issues vanished with his old body, trading that set of issues for an entirely new set, his mental issues remained. The same dark cloud that had been a part of his life for the last fifteen years would not be shaken so easily, its claim on his life happiness deep and doggedly persistent.

Thoughts slowly came together, a question rising that could no longer be ignored. "Why me?" he asked his reflection.

No answer.

The Lake Trio. The Creation Trio. The Sun and Moon. Hoopa. Xerneas, Yveltal. Arceus himself. Any one of them could be responsible.

"Why me?" he repeated, more insistent, calling out to all of them and none of them. "Why am I here? Why didn't I stay dead? What reason was there to pick me!?"

He'd had months to come to terms with the fact that his days were limited. The illness refused to be defeated, and each passing day had it steadily gaining more ground. He hadn't been able to walk more than a couple dozen steps a day in those final months.

He'd been fully ready to die, had made peace with his inevitable end.

Memories of struggle, of thrashing against the smothering dark that tried so hard to erase him.

The cold, deadly focus that took him in the face of a fight he could not win, staring death in the eye and daring it to blink.

…Hadn't he?

He sighed. "What am I doing?"

He held up his hands- his paws- no, his hands, staring at them. Three clawed digits folded and unfolded. They were stiff and lacked grace, but were fingers nonetheless, able to grasp and grip. He was lucky to have the privilege to feed himself just fine, earlier.

If he hadn't been reborn as a Zoroark, stuck instead as a Zorua that couldn't use its illusions to turn into a human, nevermind anything else without fingers and hands…

That loss of agency would have been one final weight he could no longer bear, the last in a great many steps already past the edge. He might well have simply… wandered off, vanishing into the night never to be seen again.

Did he want to live?

He turned that question over in his head. He considered it, contemplated all the potential outcomes, the numerous variables, things that could have been which now never will be.

At length, he eventually realized he did not know. He'd lived without hope for so long that despair had become its own twisted comfort. With nothing more to look forward to, no light at the end of the tunnel, well.

The fall would always hurt less when he wasn't already much higher than the lowest point, nevermind rock bottom.

Then asked himself another question.

Did he want to die?

Water twisted, rippling, reflecting, revealing, a great nothingness beyond nothing yawning up from the abyss, patient, waiting, whispering a desire for the horror to end.

Stark terror shot through his veins as he recoiled, violently throwing himself back from the water's edge. He was already more than a dozen paces away by the time he gained some faint recognition as to what was happening, no greater thought behind his panic as he fled from the so horribly inviting nightmare.

Then his face hit the dirt as he struck something that wasn't there just a moment ago. Head swimming from the sudden collision with the ground, he looked back for what it was that he tripped over only to find a Torkoal spinning on its back like a coin that had just been dropped, still spinning precariously along its edges.

He chanced a terrified glance back at the river, balking at the sight of regular old water. It flowed like a river normally should, completely mundane and clear. A lone, bleary eyed Palpitoad croaked at him from the opposite bank before swimming off, muttering under its breath about noisy neighbors.

Was that just his imagination? A hallucination brought on by his distress? Or was Death taunting him, toying with his mind before it finally came to take what was rightfully theirs?

He remembered himself suddenly, blinking at the sound of a quiet groaning. "Oh, shit, I- I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there, I- Are you alright?"

The Torkoal sighed, looking every bit the ancient elder. This too was another 'mon that displayed signs of old age. He resembled an ancient Galapagos tortoise – if ashen and faintly burning – shell mottled and skin heavily wrinkled along his legs and neck. "It's quite alright, young 'mon. You younger folk are always in such a hurry, always got somewhere to be. Go do whatever it was you were thinking of, I'll be alright."

He started to rock back and forth, beginning the process of righting himself in a manner that was almost painfully slow to watch. He heaved and huffed with every motion, already wheezing loudly.

Silas winced, unsure if that was a less than subtle rebuke but unable to really refute it. He just body slammed somebody's grandpa. Accident or not, that was a seriously shitty thing to do. "Here, let me help you back up." He reached over and tried to heft the entire turtle, finding the 'mon much heavier than he expected. This was by far the largest turtle he'd ever seen in person, easily more than three feet across and probably over two hundred pounds.

An errant thought crossed his mind as he laboured. How did he knock over what amounted to a sentient rock so easily when he was struggling to flip the Torkoal back over now?

"Oh, thank you! Here, grab my leg here," the Torkoal said, offering the limb in question. "On three. One, two, three!" With a great jet of steam, they managed to flip the Torkoal back over with minimal fuss. He stretched his neck and legs with almost exaggerated effort, popping audible when he flexed this way and that. "Ahh… much better." He shook himself, a layer of ash kicking up into the air.

Silas clacked his claws together nervously as he watched the old timer limber back up. Then he saw little remaining smidgens of blood still caked onto them and clasped them together behind his back. "...How much of that did you hear?" he dared to ask.

"What?" The Torkoal completely disregarded the question, instead squinting his already narrow eyes at the Zoroark before him. Perhaps the old 'mon just didn't hear him? "Say, I don't remember seeing a pokemon like you around these parts. Who are you, stranger? Are you new here?"

The Zoroark squinted, trying to determine if that was on purpose or if the turtle had really not heard him. He decided to offer the benefit of the doubt and move on. "I, uh, I'm Silas. A Zoroark."

"Oh, N and Ruzo's new friend? We don't see many Zoroarks around here."

"...you know of me?" He didn't recall seeing this 'mon before.

"Of course. The Fairies love to gossip. Word travels fast." The Torkoal smiled. "Any friend of theirs is a friend of mine! Well met, Silas. I'm Coleslaw."

A strangled noise startled Silas, surprised again to find the choked laugh originating from him. He really needed to get a better grip on himself.

Still. Coleslaw, really?

The now named Coleslaw smirked knowingly at him, appreciating someone finally recognizing the joke for what it was. "What brings you around to these parts? This is a little far from the main camp, and pardon my nosiness, but you don't look too well. Are you alright?"

He swept the hair back out from his face, trying to find something to do with his hands. Unsure of what to say in this situation, he went with the honest truth. "I couldn't sleep." The nervous energy was gnawing at him. He just couldn't bear to stay in that hut.

"Mmm, and you thought a good walk would help you work out the last of your energy, settle down for the night?" Coleslaw looked the Zoroark up and down. "I think you need more than just a little sleep, young 'mon. You look like you have something on your mind. Do you need someone to listen to your troubles?"

Silas leaned back, surprised. Then he frowned.

While he appreciated the sentiment, opening up to a complete stranger about his issues not even he was entirely sure about was very low on the list of activities he expected to engage in late at night. His problems were already complicated enough, adding someone else to his mess would just muddle things even further.

The wind blew, and he shivered.

Cold.

Coleslaw hummed, puffing out a cloud of smoke. Then he groaned, suddenly flopping on the ground as his legs retracted. "Ahhh… I put a little too much firewood in my kiln this morning. I've been having some trouble keeping my heat down. I thought the walk would let me let off enough steam to settle down for the night, but it seems it wasn't enough." His squinted eyes looked up at Silas. "Say. We don't have Ice types around here, most wouldn't like hanging out around all us Fire types and our heat. You feel nice and cold, though. Would you mind helping an old 'mon cool off?"

That was a thing that could happen? He wracked his memory, trying to remember what he could about Torkoal. Besides the fact that they were one of the few innate weather setters and that the one Ash had in the anime could apparently go diving of all things, he came up blank.

Silas squinted at Coleslaw, trying to find any dishonesty. It was pretty hard to tell, really. He wasn't the best at reading human facial cues at the best of times, it was honestly kind of stupid of him to think he'd have better luck with a giant turtle. He licked his lips, tentative. "…What would you need me to do?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just sit down here against my shell for a little while, your own cold body should be enough."

That's it? He wasn't even an Ice type, there was no way he was as cold as one of those pokemon. His control over his aura was tenuous at best, so he couldn't muster the chill of his Ghost energy either, even if he doubted that was the same kind of cold Coleslaw wanted. Simple contact alone couldn't possibly be–

It suddenly struck him what it was Coleslaw was trying to do. Here he was, an old pokemon walking around at night running into a guy that probably needed a hug but was too proud to accept it outright. Silas must have looked pretty sorry indeed for some complete stranger to openly consider this.

Even still, despite the conversation over dinner revealing that the Pokemon world wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, as a general rule the setting was… kinder, less overtly cruel than the reality he just departed from.

Perhaps there really was no ulterior motive here. He was savvy enough to know that if this pokemon was as old as he seemed to be, that age would do nothing to prevent this Torkoal from absolutely roasting him with a Flamethrower if he felt like it.

And yet… even now, he was tempted to reject the offer out of hand, too unused to contact and too proud to admit weakness.

Then the shivering wracked him again, the incessant cold refusing to let go of him.

He started to rationalize.

Maybe pokemon culture was just a lot more touchy feely than normal humans'. Regular animals groomed each other all the time, slept in heaps, and always crowded each other. It would make sense that this would be true for pokemon as well, even when they were all people too, distinct individuals in their own right.

And yet… still, still, he hesitated.

Even in the face of his waffling, Coleslaw did not retract his offer. He waited, patient, a smile still gently tracing across his face as he sat there, perfectly content to wait for the Zoroark to decide.

Like heat wicking from a stone in the absence of the sun's life-giving light, slowly and inexorably, Silas came to a revelation.

He was tired.

Tired of letting the dark cloud mar his every waking moment, even as it waxed and waned. Tired of smiling until his face ached, the shape of happiness a poor substitute for the feel of the real thing. Tired of being told it would eventually pass, when it had already outlasted every other promise he'd ever been told.

It was there in the morning, turning the first light of day shining in through the curtains into something dull and dreary, merely a signal to rise and begin the motions. It was there in the food, leaving his favorite things tasting merely adequate, never amazing. A beautiful day became something he felt he had to appreciate rather than something he could just enjoy.

Days upon days wasted pretending to be productive when nothing ever got done.

Even moments of genuine happiness seemed to arrive with the faint awareness that it would eventually end, and that afterward he would return to the same greyness that always waited for him. His only true companion, it was never far. At some point it became the majority of his world, drowning out all other colors and making it hard to seek anything else.

The world could hand him something wonderful, and some small, exhausted part of him would still whisper that it could have been better, that this would not last, that there was little point in reaching for it too eagerly when it once again proved to be temporary.

…but that was just it, wasn't it?

Change did not have to be drastic for it to matter. He had to take that first step, to keep reaching. To not give up, despite every piece of him wanting to just lie down… and wait.

He had already given up once and tasted the bitter fruits of his decisions – or the lack thereof.

He was tired of this existence, to be alive instead of living. Just once, he wanted to be happy. Truly happy.

Even so, it was hard, to accept the outstretched hand. He'd been living in the dark for so long, had been expecting nothing knowing there was no light at the end of his tunnel, that he'd died long before his body perished in that hospital bed.

A living corpse just going through the motions. The prisoner in the cave.

But that wasn't quite true either, was it? He carried that darkness, that unwillingness to his very grave, dying alone and probably unmourned. Yet when oblivion came for him, promising a true end to his suffering… If he really wanted to die, he wouldn't have fought the void so hard for his continued existence. He wouldn't have lingered on death's door for so long when the illness finally tried to claim him. He would have let Djinngar just squish him like a bug, let the only splash of color be that of his own blood.

He fought them. He refused.

Now some higher power saw fit to grant him a second chance, whatever their reasons might be. Squandering this opportunity might even be worse than simply accepting it, for an entity capable of altering the destination of his soul would not be pleased that he was so quick to jump back into the arms of oblivion after going through all that effort to bring him here. If there was a real Hell, this power could very well just send him there.

If he couldn't muster the will to reach out of his own volition, then perhaps… Perhaps gaslighting himself into doing it, out of an imaginary fear of some divine punishment, might finally motivate him. He'd already tasted the cruel bite of a prolonged death once, clearly he just needed to imagine something worse to motivate his pathetic ass into moving forward.

Somehow that did help a little. This was certainly a step in the wrong direction, but did it really matter if that step was a little to the left so long as it was at least the tiniest bit forward?

It would have to do.

Silver linings.

Slowly, Silas stepped forward, gingerly accepting the outstretched hand for what it was. For the first time in years, he reached back, making the effort to do more. He sat beside the smoldering turtle, awkward and unsure. "I, um. Is… there anything else you need me to do?"

"That right there is enough, you're plenty cold as is." Somehow Coleslaw managed to recline despite just being a head sticking out of a shell. "Maybe if you drape more of your fur over me, wrap your arms around my shell, it could increase the cooling effect?"

Silas obliged, slowly leaning into the ashen rock of the Torkoal's body and feeling its thrumming warmth envelop him. Gentle steam buffeted against his mane like a floor vent of a house in the winter, the comforting embrace of something both less and yet more than physical prominent.

The bitter cold… receded. If just a little bit.

He couldn't stop his eyes from watering. He sniffled, trying to stop the tears from flowing and only partially succeeding. "Be-tter?" he warbled, failing to keep his voice steady.

Coleslaw let out a very prolonged sigh. The entire time, a great volume of steam blew out from his mouth as Silas felt the ambient temperature rise even as the shell cooled just slightly. "Aaaaaahhh… Much better! I can feel these old bones loosening already. This is great for my joints. Thank you, young 'mon."

Another sniffle. "You're welcome."

They stayed like that well into the night, neither moving from their position as Coleslaw retracted his head into his shell as well. Somewhere between one breath and the next, Silas was finally able to relax, limbs loosening, breath slowing, thoughts no longer racing.

He did not know when sleep finally claimed him, only that his rest was empty of visions, haunted by nothing but peaceful quiet. No dreams visited him that night as for the first time in a long time, he slept truly unburdened by his worries, if only for a little while.

---

Though Silas is a caricature on his way to becoming his own standalone character, he is ultimately still a SI based off of me. While obviously I haven't choked to death in a hospital bed, the dark cloud is very real – severe depression and the exploration thereof is the direct motivation behind why I'm writing this (and why I'm so damn slow doing so), and will be a major theme throughout the story. Even now, there are still days where I spend more than 12 hours a day in bed, unable to rouse the energy to get up and do more than doomscroll.

Hopefully the execution of this for Silas comes off properly, as this will not be a problem that's solved overnight or even in a couple months. It's a fine balance between bleaker tones and just plain excessive angst, so striking the right balance is tricky.

Unfortunately, I can offer no advice that won't sound hollow to those who struggle as well, as most of us know there's no magic phrase, no words of encouragement that can really absolve that weight.

Still, from one Struggler to another, do not give up. Struggle, endure, contend.

 

[Zero_pardox]

i find that i'm more manic and unbothered at the risk of getting hurt.paradoxicly i'm still afraid of purpusly harming myself like grabing a hot kettle,pot,plate. people around me are getting more conserned about me being suisidal so im not sure if that can be related to having depression.i do know to never try drugs/narcodics as that never helps if your trying to feel better but still feel like nothing works and the world just closes in. this is why i realy like fics were the mc has a problem eith their mental health as it gives me perspective of me dealing with mellowness

 

[Despacitoleo]

Amazong fic man