Interlude – Hollow Vessel

Interlude – Hollow Vessel

INTERLUDE - HOLLOW VESSEL

The curtains open.

Something blinds her; Cecilia grips the armrests of her theater chair as light overwhelms her entire being. It is dazzling, bright enough to have a weight. Like when the sun shines on your skin on a scorching summer day, or the glare of fresh snow catches your eye and makes you squint in reflex as you groan at the coming headache. She inhales sharply through her teeth and flinches back as it basks all around her, but soon, her eyes adapt to the light.

Color. She sees color, a kaleidoscope of hues flooding her vision, each one sharper and more vivid than the last. Reds, blues, browns, yellows—shades she'd only ever imagined in her mind since Coronet—now burst to life before her eyes, and it is so overwhelming that she has to shut her eyes and brace herself before opening them again.

A theater. Cecilia is inside a theater. She doesn't know how she already knew this—even before she had come to, the knowledge had just wormed itself into her head the moment she came to consciousness. Sparkling letters spelling out 'FIRST DEATH' shine high above the stage, glittering in every color. Her legs and arms twitch, but her body feels impossibly heavy, as if anchored by a weight she cannot lift. It's as though her very flesh is bound by the force of a hundred tons, the weight of the world pressing down on her, immobilizing her to a standstill. Yet, despite the crushing burden, she breathes, she lives, she sees. Every sensation that defines life pulses through her, reminding her that she is still here, still alive, still whole, even as her body remains trapped under the invisible weight. Cecilia tries her neck next, realizing that she can actually move it. All around the Unovan, filling every single seat in the theater, are other... Cecilias. They come in all ages, from her from a newborn, to a toddler, to a child, to a teenager. Each version of herself stares forward, motionless, as if waiting for something.

There is a loud sound that comes from everywhere around her, an obnoxious blare that grinds her ears like a malfunctioning microphone. Lights dim, leaving the stage blank for a few seconds until headlights far behind her shine down on something that leaves Cecilia trembling in terror. The kind of fear that made you hyperaware of the flesh and bones in your body, a reminder that at the end of it all, you were nothing but a neatly packaged bag of meat who could die any second; a reminder that you were weak; a reminder that you were just a girl despite having saved the world and seen the realm of the dead. It is the primal fear of death.

She thought she'd lost that fear, but she had not. Not when her childhood was playing itself out before her very eyes. The stage had changed from wooden to a garden Cecilia recognized very well. It sits on the top floor of one of her father's apartments and oversees much of Castelia. It is here that she sees herself, a little seven-year-old child leaning against the protective glass as she stares down, down, and ever further down into the city below her.

She remains alone for a good while, sniffling by herself among the flowers. She hiccups and sobs and whines and sniffles and asks herself what she needs to do to be better? To be the kind of person who fits her father's view of a perfect daughter? Listening to herself go through this was like having nails hammered into her wrist, looking at it like having salt poured into her eyes.

Cecilia squirms in her seat. She tries to turn her head away, but it's stuck here, transfixed on what is about to play out. As a last attempt, she tries to yell, there is only an empty, desperate gasp of her that comes out of her. There is nothing, absolutely nothing she can do.

So with an internal, crushing sigh, Cecilia resigns to the inevitable and prepares to take it.

This has been a common theme, as of late.

Amy Saunier and her brother Mark walk out of the roof access door, and hatred surges within her as they approach her younger self from behind. Don't trust them, she wants to yell. They are snakes, slithering through the grass with forked tongues and venom in their words. They coil around your heart, squeezing until you can't breathe, whispering sweet, comfortable lies that seep into your mind like a slow-acting toxin and keep you domesticated. Yet, again, nothing but hot air comes out of her burning mouth. Amy is her age, but she's a tiny little thing. Her little Pichu, her mother used to call her. Her hair is golden blonde like the sun in the sky, and she looks genuinely sad. Mark is a teenager by this point—seven years older than her. He's twitchy, nervous, and uncomfortable in his own skin like he has been for the last fourteen years of his life.

Fourteen.

He will be leaving for his journey soon. Already, he is being accustomed to his Deino, and it is not going well. Father always had plenty to say about that, and he's been pushing himself given the bandage around the old bite mark on his arm.

"Cece! What are you doing alone up there?" Amy asks, hand stroking her hair. Back then, she hadn't lost her Kalosian accent. It is fading but still thick.

The sudden presence makes her younger self jump, but the love and care in her eyes when she sees that it is Amy touching her makes Cecilia sick to her stomach. Years. Years of this song and dance, years of comfort, years of love, years of friendship, years of safety—fake. All fake. Rage is followed by tears that well in the corner of her eyes, yet she cannot close them. It is different when seeing them so young. Harder than when she had her confrontation with her in Veilstone to cut her out of her life like a limb undergoing necrosis.

"I'm hiding," the younger Cecilia whimpers. "Father was lecturing me." Ah, the lectures. Dozens of minutes of uninterrupted screaming, calling her worthless in every way possible until he ran out of energy and told her to get out of his sight. "I messed up in my tutoring; I forgot what the capital of Oblivia was."

Amy pats her head and gives Cecilia a smile that gives her the strength to stand. "Your dad is always so strict. He sucks. I'd make my mom adopt you if I could! I'll ask her tonight!"

"He—he wants to see you again," Mark says. Always, that spineless little worm. She couldn't see it then, but she sees him now. Lackey. A slave to their father both in childhood and in adulthood. "He made us go look for you. He was—" Mark flinches, and the hate within her melts away, like she's looking at a fellow survivor of a war she's fought. "He was really loud." He clenches left his arm, and his eye twitches.

The younger Cecilia freezes, and trembling like a newborn Deerling, she asks, "w—what time is it?"

"It's 2:34 in the afternoon, Cece," Mark replies. "You're late for your piano lesson."

The hope shatters in her eyes as it already had a thousand times before. She turns toward Amy, dejected and resigned to what she knows will probably come next. "Can your mom take me now?"

Mark interrupts whatever answer is coming. "It'll make things worse, Cece," he says. "And he'll take it out on m—" he clenches a fist. "I'm sorry. I—just come back down. Just go along with him, and it'll be easy. I'll be in the room with you, okay?" He crouches and holds onto her hands. "I'll stay with you. So let's do it together. And we'll talk to mom, okay?"

"Promise?"

"I promise." He smiles at her. It is hollow.

The younger Cecilia nods, and her older self's nails dig into her armrests.

Everything goes dark, and Cecilia hears rattling on stage. How is this happening? It felt too real to be a dream, but it couldn't be real. She can't even feel her Pokeballs on her belt, and she can actually see color. Something she hadn't even been able to focus on.

The stage suddenly brightens, and Amy is gone when she can see again. All who remain are Cecilia and Mark, standing beside her mother on a balcony on one of the lower floors. She doesn't even look at their faces as she sits on an old leather couch with a twirling glass of red wine in hand and watches the city through the protective glass. Cecilia faintly remembers when she used to point at all the little things they could see from up here. They would almost make a game of it where the one who won was the person who found the most interesting thing.

That woman is gone. Cecilia doesn't know exactly what happened to this day, but her mother is empty. Stress lines run across her face, and strands of her hair are already turning white. Her cheeks are gaunt, the life has died in her eyes, and she wears long sleeves even if it's a hot summer day and she's on a balcony—

Something clicks.

Something just clicks.

Cecilia remembers months ago, when she told Grace in Eterna City about her mother and father in detail for the first time on that tram ride, minutes before they confronted Amy. She remembers telling her that her father had never gotten physically violent. With her, that was still true to this day.

But what about her mother? What about her brother?

As Mark and his sister beg their mom to talk to Clarence, memories she had buried beneath the sand come to the surface as a giant wave that Cecilia cannot stop. Sunglasses, scarves, gloves, long sleeves, tights—had she suppressed everything? Had she just not wanted to see?

She was still there. Living with that pig to this day.

Her mother's voice is barely a whisper when she says no, as if she cannot even fathom going against Clarence's will. It's like staring into a mirror—

Cecilia flinches back when the lights turn off again. The bright letters from the beginning turn on again, spelling out 'INTERMISSION,' and Cecilia regains control of her neck and mouth as a darkened, writhing shadow and six red eyes appear on the stage. It is purple gas given form, writhing, shaking, vibrating with every breath.

"What is this?" she screams for answers. "Where am I?!"

The being makes a noise as if it's clicking its tongue. "Don't interrupt the intermission now." The voice is heavy and grave. Like it is being spit out of something old who has weight in this world. It is somehow three things at once. The creaking of old wood, vulnerable yet somehow stable after decades; the groan of ancient stone shifting in caverns, always larger in scale than you think you can fathom; droplets of water falling a hundred thousand times just to carve through an inch of rock—persitence, perseverance given a voice.

It is obvious now that this was a ghost's doing. Cecilia struggles against the invisible force keeping her still until she needs to heave for every breath like it's her last.

"Are you done?" It asks, and there are two distinct whispers that follow, echoing the same statement.

There's nothing she can do.

There's never anything she can do.

"Frustrating, is it not?" The beast stands completely still on stage, and every nerve in Cecilia's body tells her to run. Had she still been able to register the fear of death, she wouldn't have been able to think straight. "To be such a passive actor within the world."

It's at times like these that images of Grace flash in her mind. She always knew what to do next, even if it was stupid and shortsighted and strange and every little thing that made her, her— something snaps her attention back to the creature, and Cecilia's eyes sting.

"Like mother like daughter. An interesting thought," it speaks again. "It is true that children take much after their parents—and I have had many. A shame that this is what you learned of it, but it isn't your fault."

"Just... tell me what's going on," Cecilia begs. Somehow, she hates it here more than Coronet. "Please."

The six-eyed being shakes its body as if to mimic shaking its head. "It wouldn't do to give you all the answers, Cecilia Obel." She cringes at the last name like she always does. "For once, you will not be led to water; for once, you will not be made to drink. You will forge your own path."

That's what she had been trying to do for the last two weeks in the wild with her team. She didn't need any of this!

"Please," it scoffs. "If there's one thing you like to do when you're out of answers, it's to run away in hopes of dying or being saved." The words feel like a sword has been lodged through her heart, like she's being gutted like a Magikarp. "Even now, I bet a tiny part of you hopes that the girl is going to come chasing after you atop her fairy and that everything will go back as it once was. No more of this. I have seen enough."

"How long have you been watching me?" Cecilia knows that the ghost would be able to figure out that she wanted information, given that it could read her thoughts. Is this a mass illusion of some kind? Like that Mismagius in Eterna Forest? This feels like it's going to be a whole lot worse.

It ignores her. "You saw your mother grow to be a shell of her former self; how she made herself subservient to your father. It was the only relationship you knew." One of the echoing voices makes a heavy sigh akin to someone mourning. "I've parsed through what makes you. I know that what you had wasn't the same; there was no violence between you two, physical or otherwise." There's a pause. "It is, however, your subconsciously learned normal. And who can blame you? Poor little thing."

"Don't pity me," she tries to fight back. If there's one thing that can still light the fire of opposition in her, it's her family. "I freed myself! I—"

"Is one ever free from their parents' burden, I wonder?" it says slowly as if to ponder. As if it actually didn't know. "But you didn't even do that, did you? You came up with a plan, yes, but—" it pauses, "don't worry, we'll get there. For now, answer me this question: what do you like to do in your life?"

What did she like? What kind of game was this? Who was this?

"I like Pokemon Battling. Cities. Politics. Dancing. Spending time with my Pokemon." Even if that had been difficult, as of late. "I like... I—" she thinks back to the fun things she's done with Grace before she shuts down those thoughts. "Isn't that enough? That's enough, isn't it?!"

Red eyes squint and all converge at her. "Did I ever say it wasn't?" he says, and her mouth goes dry. "The doubt was already there. It festers in you, growing little by little."

"Shut up."

"You like dancing because those were the only times your father ever smiled at you." Crushing. "You like cities because they hold onto the remnants of who your mother used to be." It hurts. "You like battling and spending time with your Pokemon! Good job! Every trainer is the same as you. And to you, it will always be a means to an end first and foremost—a method of gathering political power. Speaking of politics, you want to get into a high position of power to get revenge on your father, even if perhaps you might obtain the betterment of Unova along the way. It would be a nice bonus, wouldn't it?" That—that wasn't true—how did it know all of this? How had it dissected her? "All of your life, you have been defined by one, then two being. First your father, and now that girl has been added to the mix." Cecilia isn't sure what that emotion when it says 'girl' is, and she is in no state of mind to be able to tell. "You are a pale reflection of what she wants you to be, and without even her, what are you? What remains? A hollow vessel." The words hang in the air and singe her ears, for she knows they are the truth. "Today, I will teach you to break those chains."

"Why?"

"Because I am weak to pathetic beings in need of help, especially kin," it says after a long pause, two eyes softening at their edges. "Because you remind me of someone." Two others glisten with something that can only be described as nostalgia. "Because seeing you flailing around when there is so much potential within you angers me." The last two offer her a rage so potent she finds it difficult to breathe.

She says nothing. Can't say anything.

"The damage will not be undone with just this," the ghost says in a warning tone. "Your hand will not be held; I simply allow you the opportunity to free yourself. And trust me," it mutters menacingly, "it will be painful; I do not coddle. But to not fret." The ghost smiles. "Being empty means that you can be anything; it is better to be empty, if one wishes to be reborn."

It disappears, leaving her with a few answers but ten times more questions.

The scene shifts once more. What remains when they come back on is her father's office—and the sight of it is still so triggering she wants to dig out her eyes. She can't look at him, can't take the sight of him in, even if she can't close her eyes. He is in the shape of a human, but might as well be a monster. A thing.

"Get out of the room, Mark," his voice booms so loudly that Cecilia wants to get up and leave the theater.

Mark doesn't even try to fight, because how can he? He abandons her there, breaking their promise.

That day, something in Cecilia died—not her body, but the spark of her mind. The childlike wonder that was in every glance, every smile, evaporated as if it had never existed. The imaginative fire that once danced in her eyes grew cold and distant, leaving behind an emptiness where dreams, love, and curiosity had once flourished.

And she has to watch.

She has to watch all of it alone.

She isn't hit. For an hour, she is pushed, she is screamed at, she is berated, and she and her mother are threatened; the individuality is ripped out of her, piece by piece with every scream, and never returns.

Cecilia never misses a lesson again. Subservience is all that remains.

Time fast forwards, yet she somehow registers all of the foggy memories she had suppressed or forgotten, like the vast majority of her childhood. What had been impressions, images, blotches, and stories are now so vivid for her to see. Months pass in minutes, and again and again, the pattern forms.

Mark leaves to become a trainer and answers the phone less and less. He almost never visits. One taste of freedom, and he has abandoned her.

She is broken.

Cecilia can't go to a normal school anymore; she can only get educated by private tutors. All of her friends are lost save for Amy. Sometimes, they go months go by without seeing each other.

She is broken.

Her mother looks at her like she doesn't exist every time she tries to get close. One day, she screams at her to leave her alone and to take a hint. Cecilia never tries again despite the sincere apology that comes that night. The words 'I love you' feel hollow when she hears them.

She is broken.

Clarence compares her to the children of his business rivals and constantly calls her useless unless she does everything perfectly. Sometimes, rarely, that happens, and the affirmation he gives he sustains her another month.

She is broken.

And she is broken.

And she is broken.

And she is broken.

Until there is nothing left but the fragments of her spirit, scattered like shards of glass that have long since ceased to reflect light, nearly ground to dust that was spread across miles and miles of time.

She has to move to Sinnoh, away from everything she's known, to marry a boy three years older than her. She has never spoken a single word to him. It is overwhelming, but she manages to keep it in by taking refuge in Amy's friendship. Those phone calls are her lifeline.

She tells her to have sex with him.

She is broken.

Again.

Again.

Again until—

"Did he send you?"

"Did what? Who are you even talking about?"

"Don't act dumb! My father! Did he send you?!"

"Why would your dad send me? And to do what? I don't even know what you're talking about; you're making no sense!"

The Floaroma memory in the bathroom stall. It fills her with nostalgia and happiness at what once had been, and agony and melancholy at what was lost. There Grace was, so young, innocent, her heart full of kindness; without a blemish or scar on her skin, with the eyes a fifteen-year-old girl should actually have.

Cecilia gets it, now.

She understands that she had been dead until this moment. That Grace had come in the form of hope had given her a new lease on life—



The transition from sleep to wakefulness was lethargic. For nearly two minutes, Cecilia lay in her sleeping bag, tears in the corner of her eyes and unable to blink the image of the theatre away from her mind's eye. Rain pattered gently overhead above a barrier Slowking had created, and thunder boomed overhead.

The colors were gone, leaving the world a desolate wash of monochrome grays, whites, and blacks. The sky above was a heavy shroud of dark gray, thick and unyielding, with no hint of the sun behind it. The clouds hung low, swollen with rain, their edges blurred by the steady downpour that seemed to merge sky and earth into one seamless, sodden mass. The rain fell in endless sheets, a constant drumming that muted all other sounds, turning the world into a depressing blur of wetness and shadow.

It had been raining for the past two days on route 221, the southernmost route in Sinnoh. The route itself was a patch of isles much like the Iron Islands, isolated from the outer world with rarely any trainer venturing here. That did not mean that there weren't any human settlements here, however. Plenty of fishing towns dotted the islands, most of them with a hundred to two hundred inhabitants at most. Cecilia knew that Sinnoh was far more efficient with their land, so humans were nearly all grouped into the largest cities, but in a few places around the country, these small settlements—most of which weren't even on any maps, she had checked—managed to carve out a life for themselves and forge their own paths.

Cecilia groggily woke up from her dream and sat up in her sleeping bag. She'd settled in a small beach cove for the night, away from any civilization or unsuspecting wanderers. The ground was strewn with a soft blanket of sand and fallen leaves, and a faint mist lingered in the air as the waves crashed against the beach like a song that barely broke through the endless rain.

Up early today, aren't we? Slowking was sitting a little ways away from her against one of the many stone outcroppings that lined the cove. The dull rays of light passing through the thick clouds were hitting the lower side of his face. You were squirming in the last hour or so; I was considering waking you.

"It's alright, thank you, Slowking." Cecilia rubbed her eyes and frowned. "I just had the strangest of nightmares."

Looked like it. That was it. There were no helpful comments, no puns, no worried looks, or a hint of a smile. What shall we do today? Scizor and Toxicroak are out training; Talonflame and Zolst are out hunting... I don't know where Lehmhart is, but he can't have gone far like last time. Didn't hear any engines.

"I know where he is." The Unovan sighed as she got up and crawled from her sleeping bag. "That's the first thing I'll do today. That we'll do today," she corrected. "Then, we'll try to get the team together for tonight." Every time she tried to make them stick together, only Talonflame and Slowking remained. The former because she genuinely wanted to try, and the latter because even after everything, he didn't wish for Cecilia to die to some wild Pokemon.

The others couldn't bear to look at her. The wound of betrayal was still fresh, and every time they looked at her new state—the empty eyes, the scars, her voice, her body language—it was a fresh reminder of how she had thrown her life away for revenge. And she wanted to try to fix it so desperately, but she didn't know how to take that first step. How to make everything normal again.

Things were progressing at a slow pace, but they were progressing. The problem was that at this rate, it was years that she would need to reforge her bonds with her team, not months as she had hoped. This trip was supposed to be the first step in all of that, but she only had a set amount of time before she had to head back—

Though if she couldn't succeed, there was no point in coming back in time for the Conference. She wouldn't even win a single battle. It would have to be for Chase. To accompany him when he would face Byron and give his pitch.

And Grace...

Cecilia chased away those thoughts, putting them in a box to open later. That skill no longer came easy, but after weeks of this state, she'd had enough practice, even if its capacity was shallower than before.

Not another round of apologies tonight, I hope, Slowking pleaded with a yawn. Even I get tired of those.

Cecilia bit her tongue as she grabbed a cereal bar and water from her backpack. "No. I just want us to spend time as a team for one night. Just one night."

Well, I'd be a willing participant, but the others probably won't be, especially not Zolst or Lehmhart. You know this.

She looked at him, eyes shut as emotional pain coursed from her heart to her extremities. "I know. I'm... I'm trying my best," Cecilia said with a little sad laugh. "I just want to atone."

Slowking's eyes narrowed with guilt. I know, my lady. I know.

She ate breakfast in silence, like every morning. Usually, Slowking would have led with topics of conversation, or she would have talked to him about Gr—

No. Not now. She'd been doing so well not thinking of her; that dream must have put her in a weird state of mind.

Oh! Also, a child came over earlier in the morning, the psychic said. He was crying and lost, so Talonflame took him back toward the village west of here—the one you warned about sticking around for a bit. I thought it'd be best if you knew. Apparently she got him back to his grandfather safe and sound.

Her heart eased at that, but she couldn't help but notice none of them had woken her up for this. Yet Cecilia said nothing of the sort. "That's good," was all she could muster. If her Pokemon thought she shouldn't be woken up, then that meant she needed to work harder to get them back.

"Should we go?" Cecilia asked. "To that village, I mean."

The water type shrugged as they began to walk. He waved a hand, playing with the water along the beach as they traveled. I don't know. I'm surprised you want anything to do with them; you said we'd stay away from civilization.

"It'd be something different, at least. I'm..." she was bored. Bored out of her mind. Two weeks in the wild with her team shunning her and absolutely nothing to do. "You know, in small towns like this, Pokemon of your caliber can be a great help. I saw it in the Iron Islands. Just having a competent psychic could do wonders."

Slowking inclined his head. Well, it is something to do.

Cecilia kicked at some sand. "I—I don't know why, but I'm thinking about horrible things today." She laughed dryly at her own predicament. "Clarence, and my issues with Grace."

Must have been that nightmare, he tried. How much do you remember?

"I was in a theatre..." she mumbled. "And—and I was being shown my life by this... this ghost." Her voice grew more and more assured as she went on. "Yes, I remember now! It was—it was so clear I thought it was an illusion!"

He placed his hands behind his back and let out a pensive hum. Do you think it has to do with the Dusk? You've had nightmares about it before.

Cecilia tapped a finger on her crossing arms. "That could be it, but none of the nightmares were like that." She exhaled long and hard. "I'm just glad it's over."

They traveled out of the cove, up a hill, and toward the more mountainous parts of this nameless island. Sand gradually gave way to fresh soil, and trees began to populate the landscape as the rain continued to pour relentlessly on top of Slowking's protective barrier. Cecilia knew Lehmhart; she had seen him leave her side for hours on end, and they had exchanged few words since he'd agreed to fly her here. While in the air, she couldn't help but notice the intrigue in the ground type's body language as they passed over the ruins of what seemed to be an ancient settlement.

As she walked past the remnants of broken wood and crumbling stone, Cecilia squeezed the wrapper of her cereal bar into a tight ball and shoved it into her pocket, her thoughts drifting to the history buried beneath her feet. Golett and Golurk were attracted to defunct, dilapidated places, and Lehmhart was no different. Music was in the air—a long string of lament that prickled Cecilia's skin and forced her to try not to cry as her own Pokemon was doing. Not with tears, but with a song.

The Golurk was kneeling with a pair of Starly perched on his finger, a Furret coiled around his feet, a Poliwag and a Psyduck dancing together next to the remains of a collapsed home, and a Krabby closing and opening its pincers to the rhythm of the music. They all looked at her when she stepped closer to them and fled in an instant, flying, skittering, or running away as if she didn't belong here.

No, not as if. She just didn't.

Lehmhart's head rotated toward her, and the light went out of his eyes and runes. The ghost type collapsed on the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut, sending dust and debris into the air and a gentle rumble below Cecilia's feet.

Looks like he's not in the mood to talk, Slowking so helpfully noticed.

"I made his audience flee as well; that didn't help." With another defeated sigh added onto the endless pile, the Unovan calmly treaded toward Lehmhart. Her fingers traced the dusty remains of a destroyed wall. She paused for a moment, almost absently, and began to rub the dust between her fingertips. Delay, delay, delay. Always these meaningless actions to avoid getting to the heart of things until they could no longer be ignored, and she took actions far too drastic for everyone around her. She'd had enough. "Lehmhart."

He didn't even react to his name being called. Cecilia had apologized to him more times than she could count, but as Slowking and Talonflame had said, it mattered not that she truly meant it. She needed to show it through her actions, and yet none of them were giving her the opportunity to.

"I didn't know you were going to have an audience today; I would have waited if I had." Her hand went to touch the side of the ghost type's arm, but it stopped mere inches from making contact. Inhaling through clenched teeth, Cecilia pushed and put her full hand on the construct's body. "Do they come by often to listen to you?"

Nothing.

"I wished I could have been there to listen."

Finally, movement. The gentle churn of internal industry, a delicate hiss as his eyes and runes flickered back to life. Cecilia let go of a shaky breath while Golurk slowly sat up, revealing an indentation in the ground where he had let himself fall. A single, massive finger came to poke her in the stomach, pushing her back a few steps as she clung to the digit with a soul full of love. Whenever Lehmhart spoke, he did so in song. Hisses and hums, low rumbles, the grinding echoes of ancient gears and woven string.

"You would like that?" she asked.

He replied with a tentative yes, and Cecilia felt lighter already. Not everything was lost. Even Slowking was trying not to look happy.

"I assume it's too late now, given that I messed it up. I always—" she didn't finish that sentence. "I'll try my best to make them like me next time."

You haven't always been the best with the wildlife, Slowking said. There's a horrible joke to be made here about Talonflame and Zolst's activities while this was happening—

"Slowking!" Cecilia yelled with a huff.

The Golurk looked down, making a little dejected sound. Not only did Zolst still despise him, but Cecilia just—she couldn't pack enough food for a Hydreigon and the rest of her team, all while staying here for weeks. Both Lehmhart and Zolst had refused to fly her back to Sandgem to buy more using her LTIP Salary, and so both the dragon and Talonflame had started hunting for their food in the last two days.

Ah. Sorry, buddy. He patted Lehmhart on the leg.

"Here's what we're going to do," Cecilia declared, putting as much determination in her voice as possible. "Why don't we go to that village so you can cheer up and play music? Then Slowking and I can stick around and see if any of the people there need any help. Afterward, we'll go and buy food in Sandgem—if that's okay?"

The construct gave it some thought, but nodded.

"Talonflame will stop killing things without an issue if she's asked, and I'll try to convince Zolst. You don't have to worry," she soothed him. "Your friends will be fine after today."

Another agreement, this time stronger, louder, and more assured.

Progress was being made, even if it was at a snail's pace.

—

They said Unova had more cities and towns than any other country. With so many refugees coming in from Orre after the war and immigration booming in the decades since, the region had catapulted to the most populous on Earth, eking a little ahead of Kanto-Johto and Galar.

It wasn't... good. It came at the expense and suffering of others. Outside of a few designated cities, Sinnoh, meanwhile, only had towns this small. The fishing village clung to the edge of the coastline, nestled between craggy cliffs and the restless sea. Weathered wooden cottages dotted the shoreline, their roofs thatched and worn by years of salt and wind. Narrow dirt paths wound through the village, connecting homes to the small, creaking docks where fishing boats bobbed gently in the tide. The air was thick with the scent of brine and seaweed. There was a bigger dock as well, a long pier that stretched further than any others where bigger boats from Sandgem could anchor and unload supplies.

The villagers knew of her already—she had made herself known when settling on this island as soon as she'd arrived—but they still looked at her like she was an alien. Young children hid behind their parents' legs, adults glared at her as if she did not belong, and even the Wingull on the roofs looked like they were stalking her. She had not waltzed in with a massive Golurk at her side—just with Slowking—but it looked like playing music was going to be a little difficult. Cecilia knew nothing of the countryside. All she'd ever known were cities and the life of the ultra-rich.

"I feel their stares like daggers pressed at the back of my neck," she whispered.

You're a stranger in a land where there are probably five strangers a year at best, Slowking nonchalantly said. I'd like to see you try to get close to these people. The sarcasm in his tone was impossible to miss.

Cecilia sighed as they made it to one of the long piers stretching across a beach. She tried to imagine the blue of the ocean, but she'd already forgotten what that looked like. The memories had left her so quickly. "One thing's for sure, it's not going to take a single day. Poor Lehmhart..."

How did someone even approach people and meet someone new? Cecilia wondered as she sat at the edge of the pier, legs dangling above the low tide. Come to think of it, she had never done any of that. Not since she'd been taken out of school. Clarence had forced friends upon her, friends who she was glad she'd met now. Grace, Denzel, Chase and Mira had been the ones to approach her first. Even after that, she had never branched out and done anything else. Never tried to meet anyone else.

Like in the dream, she began to hug her knees as she stared at the endless ocean. "It's so hard, Slowking. It's so hard to be a person."

She did not look at the face he was making, but felt his dull claw on her shoulder. I know, he said.

"You know, that dream?" Cecilia asked. "I feel like it meant something. And I feel like it's been left incomplete."

If you're willing to talk, I shall listen. He sat down next to her with a tired sigh after having walked for so long and lifted up a trail of water to play with. Lately I've rarely seen you so focused on something that isn't—never mind, just go on.

"I don't know if it was my subconscious trying to talk to me or an actual ghost... but if that was the case, you would have felt it, no?" To a psychic, ghosts felt like holes in the world. Like looking at a missing part of a painting.

Surely, he said with a nod. It would need to get close to trap you in some kind of dream.

Cecilia didn't like it either way. When she closed her eyes, she could still see that theater. Still see the last embers of herself extinguished. For a while, she told Slowking about the details of the dream, vision, or whatever it was, and the psychic offered her more support than he had in weeks. She'd also released Lehmhart in the water, which was shallow enough to barely reach the bottom of his stomach. It felt good to have them both speak to her for once.

"It's a test of some kind, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do or what I'm supposed to look for," Cecilia said. "I—I have never known what to do without someone to take charge. Someone for me to follow. It's how my brain works."

Or at least how it had been taught to work. It was easy to see why Azelf hated her now. She must have had potential when she'd gotten her half of the Shard (which should have been around Eterna City, by her estimate), but had squandered it completely.

There are no easy answers to this, he said. But first—why don't you start by going to talk to that child on the beach?

Cecilia glanced to her left and saw a young boy sitting in the sand, watching a freighter boat pass by the island. The Indigoan flag on its hull signaled that it was possibly on the way to Sandgem or Pastoria from Kanto-Johto. "Is that the one who was lost this morning?"

I think so, he said, squinting. Yep, that's him— Lehmhart interrupted Slowking with an angry hiss as smoke vented from his joints. What, kid? You're the one who was gone, don't blame me for not telling you!

Cecilia was already standing up and shuffling in the beach's direction, and both of her Pokemon followed her. Water dripped out of Lehmhart's body as he rose from the sea, and the boy looked up at him with wonder in his eyes while the nearby inhabitants—

She'd made a mistake.

Already, people were running to grab him as if she'd been about to attack him with her Pokemon—and maybe it did look that way. It was no longer only hate they looked at her with, but fear. Trembling men and women ready to protect their own at any cost, posturing as if they stood a chance. The few of them who owned Pokemon had them out already and prepared to attack, including the wild Wingull she had spotted earlier. Go away, leave us, you don't belong, nasty fucking ghost—in that moment, they hated her more than anything in the world, even when she tried apologizing and recalled her Golurk. Cecilia wasn't sure they even heard her.

Her voice didn't carry far enough.

They all went quiet when an older man with wisps of... white hair on his head? Either white or very clear. He slowly trudged through the gray sands, his hand raised in the air as if to signal them to be quiet.

"Young girl," he said, hand ruffling the boy's hair. He was short in stature, which his hunching did not help, but he commanded the respect of every villager. Cecilia guessed he must have been a leading figure of some sort—she didn't know how this place governed itself, even if it was legally Sandgem's land. "Would you kindly tell me what you were about to do with my grandson?"

Cecilia opened her mouth, but struggled to make a sound. So many hateful, suspicious gazes; so many people who didn't know her just like she didn't know herself. "I—I'm sorry," she finally said. "I just wanted to talk to him to see how he was doing. He got lost this morning."

"Ari, did you bother her?" He looked down at his grandson, who quietly shook his head. "Is the Talonflame who brought him back here yours, young lady?"

"She is."

"She lies!" someone in the back Cecilia couldn't make out yelled. And of course, she didn't have Talonflame with her to prove it. "You can't trust her, not when she has one of those." The statement was obviously aimed at her Golurk, who thankfully wasn't here to get his feelings hurt any longer.

"She's not lying—" the child tried, but was silenced by the others.



"It's come to my attention that I'm largely empty. A hollow vessel, I've been called." Their eyes met, and she knew Chase wanted to chastise her in that moment for kicking herself down, so she preemptively continued. "I don't even feel bad about it. It is bad, yes, but this isn't to wallow in my own self-pity. I'm trying to figure out how to fill my soul."

"Hm." He idly cracked his knuckles, then each finger one by one. "Listen pal, can I be real for a sec?"

"Always."

"You're not hollow. Whoever told you that can go shove it." She couldn't help but smile at the fact that he had no idea that ghost would wipe the floor with the both of them. "You're just shallow sometimes, especially when you get in your own head about what you need to do to fix whatever needs to happen for you to be with Grace. And that's been eating at you ever since Coronet."

She'd been about to ask if there was any news with her but remembered that one, it didn't matter now, and two, he wouldn't know. He was borne of her memories. Anything he'd say would be fabricated on the spot.

"And look, you've just been through a lot this year. It's been tough."

"For all of us," she added.

He snorted. "True that. Fuckin' look at my dumb ass." He waved annoyingly at his legs. "But it's tough to ask someone to go through all of your bullshit and come out the other side whole. We all have ways to cope; I just thought you'd figure yourself out now that it was all over."

"Did you think I wouldn't come to you for advice?" she asked, finger tapping her cheek.

"Cece, I think that if the entire group came to me for advice, then all of their problems would disappear," he boasted and pointed at his chest with a thumb. "Anyway, continuing. You're not empty. If you were empty, you wouldn't have that quirk in your eye when talking my ear off about whatshisface who lost his election by three hundred votes in the year whogivesafuck—that enjoyment you get when you hear about people who sometimes get fucked over."

"Only those who deserve it," she specified. "That's an important addendum."

"Sure. Whatever. That night on the Iron Island? Our pact? It wouldn't have happened. You wouldn't have changed your ways with Scizor or tried too hard to fix things with him. You wouldn't have actually tried to change anything with your girl, even if it came so late." He sighed, shaking his head. "It's just that lately, your entire existence feels like one big apology. Like you're scared of actually being someone. And like, you can ease into it. It's not like I'd know how to just become whole immediately. But—you know, I don't want to tell you to just stop being depressed, but just stop being depressed. Run some fucking laps or something; scream at things. Get angry, be selfish, make fun of some fucking loser. I don't know. Just... do something. Anything."

Hm. Ease into it. Like stepping into a hot bath. "I think I get it now. Not all of it, but more than what I knew before. I... will not be making fun of anyone."

"Lame."

"Unless they deserve it," she added again. "And right now, I feel the need to tell you how moronic it is that your first piece of advice to me was to run some laps."

He scoffed, straightening his back against his wheelchair in outrage. "Bro, come on. You said the advice worked!"

"Not the running, you absolute dolt. That bit was useless for anyone who isn't you." She stood up from her bench and patted down her clothes behind her. "I'm leaving; thank you for the advice, as always."

"What else was I supposed to say? See a therapist?"

She blinked a few times. "Yes. Yes, I think I'll be doing that as well when I come back."

"Wha—you told me you didn't want—hey, don't just start walking away! God, I hate when you do this cryptic ass bullshit!"

"Let's go eat out or something." Legendaries, she wished she still had the money to eat out at the most expensive restaurants just for the spectacle of it all. "Hey. Call Louis and get him here."

He followed behind her, and then made sure to stay at her side. He hated following. "Sure thing, why?"

"We need his ID for alcohol—and you know, I also just want him here. It's been a while."

"I ain't drinking," he said.

"I know. You'll be the responsible friend tonight."

—

One night out was plenty; one vice could not be replaced with another. There was much work to do, even if getting drunk once in a while was fun. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten drunk—maybe in Eterna City, at one of the parties Emilia used to organize? Where Louis sneaked in alcohol into their hotel rooms and Pokemon Centers, and they would enjoy themselves deep into the night.

"Of course, the dream world can't help with hangovers." A groan left her mouth as she dragged herself out of bed. For a moment, she got scared at the unfamiliar ceiling before remembering this was the house Lehmhart, Slowking, and she had built. Part of her hoped to see her entire team when she crouched to fit under the short entrance, but only Talonflame, Slowking, Toxicroak, and Lehmhart were there.

She was lucky it was overcast again today, because the mere rays of the sun filtering through the clouds was enough to give her a headache so painful it was nearly impossible to open her eyes. She took refuge back into her 'house' and popped a painkiller from her bag into her mouth, sticking inside until the sun became tolerable again. Slowking let her know that Scizor had actually been with them this morning, but had been baited by Zolst with rumors of a strong ghost somewhere that they decided to go and find to battle.

Cecilia had no idea whether those rumors were artificially disseminated by her captor to make her life harder, or if the wild Pokemon had actually learned that information naturally through the ghosts stalking the island. She was honestly surprised she hadn't come across any, but they were most likely avoiding her so she couldn't get any information out of them.

"I've made some progress regarding myself, but I'm still stalling with them," she whispered to herself.

At least she'd made it back safe and sound thanks to Lehmhart. Memories of last night remained crisp and clear. Louis and Cecilia made for a terrifying drunk pair, given that his old self returned when he was under the influence, becoming horribly loud, boisterous, and most of all, obnoxious. Meanwhile, Cecilia somehow knew the exact words to hurt people as much as possible and found pleasure in it.

Needless to say, Chase had an awful night and was the subject of many terrible jokes.

Cecilia made a vow to try this again when she was out of this dream world for good; now, for what would come next?

The village whose name she ought to learn by now.

Again, she went with Lehmhart safely tucked into his Pokeball, but this time, she came with Talonflame. Their stares were still judgmental, piercing glares at pictured her a horrible monster instead of a lost girl trying to find her way. It was early in the afternoon when she found Ari sitting by the beach, this time with his grandfather by his side. Did he come here to watch the horizon every day? Cecilia remembered desperately trying to find herself beyond that line. To see what other Champions saw.

He reminded her a little of herself. The yearning for freedom, to go out and escape the shackles of your family and home. His grandfather gently stroked his hair; the gentle sound of the waves crashed against the narrow beach.

She cleared her throat. "Good afternoon; may we sit here?"

Ari looked at her with a wide smile stretching from ear to ear, making it difficult to remember they technically hadn't met. He was just fascinated by outsiders.

The older man—clear-haired and with a bald spot atop his head—made a gruff sound. "Plenty of space to go around." He gestured at the entire beach. "Why here, stranger?"

"Your grandson got lost yesterday; it was my Talonflame that brought him back." The flying type squawked in agreement, flapping her wings excitedly. "I wanted to wonder how he was doing—he has a bit of an exploring streak, doesn't he?"

"I love exploring! I wanna go across the sea!" Ari yelled out until his grandpa quieted him down with a gentle click of his tongue.

He still wouldn't say anything to her, which was somewhat surprising considering he had calmed the crowd she'd brought upon herself last time. Perhaps he felt less inclined to be friendly when the entire village wasn't ganging up on her and she didn't look like her entire life was collapsing in on itself like a dying star.

"Is there something on my face?" She smiled, already knowing the answer. Slowking snorted and sneaked in a 'nice one' in her head. "I promise you; I mean no harm."

"You do look quite gnarly," he said. "It makes you look violent—like you get into terrible fights—and violent people are untrustworthy."

"I'm sorry, many mistakes I've made in the past have led me to this, but I ask you not judge a book by its cover." Cecilia sat on the beach with her legs stretched out before her, the sand cool beneath her palms as she traced absentminded patterns in the grains. "I'll leave if you really want me to, I'm just also here regarding another issue."

"Please, grandpa?" Ari made big eyes at him. "I want to ask her stuff about the mainland."

The old man hesitated. "It'd make Ari sad if you were to just leave."

"What's your name? Mine is Cecilia, and it feels like I've been born a week ago."

He looked at her, all baffled. "Jaime."

They spoke about everything and anything. How tough life was for their village—Seabrook, it was called. A little unoriginal, but it did the trick. The way they struggled with brain drain and every teenager leaving for the mainland and how Jaime feared that it would eventually die like a dozen fishing villages before his. Sandgem was good to them in most ways, unlike Canalave and the Iron Islands, but they were still a rural village without much going for them. Sometimes, the large boats the city sent near the coast made Pokemon in the water collapse the pier out of anger, and they'd had to rebuild it time and again.

The nearest hospital was in Sandgem, an hour and a half hours away by boat, and the aging population felt this the most. There were no official schools—one person who'd taught on the mainland just did the same here to the best of her abilities and had to use old, outdated textbooks. Seabrook's entire livelihood depended on the sea, where fished for Magikarp and other weak water types, but fishing was hard and dangerous work. Deaths were rare in the shallow waters, but injuries from a feisty water type were not uncommon.

One bad storm could wipe out their livelihoods in a single night. Their infrastructure was crumbling, with roads barely maintained and electricity prone to outages during the harsh coastal storms that rolled in more frequently than ever. Hurricanes from Hoenn rarely made it up to Sinnoh without losing a lot of their oomph, but just those winds were enough to send the town reeling. Cecilia knew that Hoenn had legions of Castforms to weaken or stop the worst of them, but go against nature for too long, and it would be sure to bounce back in uncontrollable ways. A lot of them, they let through.

These were very real, human problems with very real solutions. Cecilia had seen it at first in the Iron Islands, but she hadn't given it anywhere as much thought as Chase had. Back then, she'd been taken by thoughts of her Voice, Zolst's evolution, and her break with Grace.

"My Pokemon can help a lot with your issues—mostly Slowking and my Golurk," she said, not missing the wince in Jaime's eye.

"We've had a bit of an issue with ghosts these past few months. Little pranks here and there at first, but they've grown a lot more unrestrained these past two weeks." These were the exact words he'd told her before.

Oh. Right.

This was fake. Cecilia had nearly forgotten.

"They've ramped up, then?" she asked. "Do you not fear that something big might be coming?" She wished she'd been at the village when the entire attack had begun—if only she had more information, she'd be able to more accurately gauge the threat.

"Bah!" he scoffed. "Even then, what can we do? Abandon our homes?" He ignored a happy 'yes' from his grandson. "If it gets too bad, I'll send a missive to Sandgem. Usually, they respond within the day, though we've rarely had problems with the wildlife requiring their assistance. We have a good relationship with the Pokemon not in the sea."

"I'm a trainer with eight badges," she said, earning a little gasp from Ari and a balk from his grandfather. Was it that surprising, given her Pokemon? Just like in the Iron Islands, it didn't look like they had a frame of reference. "I can offer you help, either to negotiate with these ghosts or fight them back should they do something violent." Cecilia knew they wouldn't kill anyone, but the act of scaring them away from their hometown was rather violent. Violence as a concept came in many more forms than just physical harm. "And if that doesn't work," like she knew it wouldn't, "I can at least help in the evacuation efforts."

He shook his head, then turned it toward the pier. "I've lived here half my life; this will pass like everything else." Then, he snorted. "Nothing can be as bad as that really bad storm ten years back. Came from Hoenn, but flooded us all to hell."

Cecilia had been too young to remember, but Hoenn was still scarred by the event. That storm that flooded so much of their land, accompanied by earthquakes all over the region that led to tsunamis and eruptions. Hundreds of thousands had died. The region's current isolation was a proof that they still bore the scars of that event. She just hadn't known Indigo and Sinnoh had felt it as well on a smaller scale.

"At least let me help around town. I won't be in your hair all the time, but I can offer to reinforce your pier with barriers that should last a few weeks after I leave." They'd be weak, made to last longer, but it'd be enough for the vast majority of what lurked underwater. Cecilia caught the want in Jaime's eye at that idea. "I can help pave new paths, repair things—and I suppose I can also just help you as I am now."

"What does that mean?"

"Do things with my own two hands and learn what it's like, for a change," she said.

Again, he frowned at her, probably confused at the words she was using. "I'd be a fool to refuse." He sighed and gave her his hand.

She shook it.

The week went by in a blur.

Cecilia threw herself into the rhythm of Seabrook, her Pokemon by her side. In the mornings, she'd help repair but expand the old, worn pier, hands raw from hauling planks and hammering nails. Lehmhart lifted heavy beams into place with effortless strength, his once despised presence slowly growing more welcome—he was even allowed to play music while he worked. With her nimble hands, Toxicroark helped secure the smaller, more intricate pieces, working with a precision that surprised even the seasoned carpenters. Maybe they were extremely skilled, maybe not—it wasn't like Cecilia had any experience working with carpenters before now.

While she refused to take part in the act of fishing itself because it'd make Lehmhart sad, she tried her hand at learning to mend old frayed nets. Slowking would sit beside her, his fine psychic control making the work easier as he guided the threads through the stubborn fibers. By the end of the weak, she wasn't great at it, but she could at least do it.

She and Lehmhart used materials from the old ruined town—which had apparently been abandoned forty or so years ago—to turn some of the dirt paths into paved ones. Scizor and Toxicroak sparred together to entertain, and there were even betting pools about who would win. Cecilia had the pleasure to learn that most of these people barely knew anything about Pokemon Battles, or they wouldn't keep begging on Toxicroak because she was closer to them than Scizor was.

The Unovan became a steady presence in the village. Not one they could fully trust, but one they had at least grown accustomed to. Jaime even let her take Ari on a day trip to Sandgem, where the boy met Chase, and the two spent the day playing together. To her surprise, she discovered a quiet joy in making children smile, and with Ari, it came effortlessly as she told him about the whole wide world beyond Seabrook.

She tried her best to reconnect with Zolst and Scizor, but only the latter made a full effort to see her progress. The dragon, while happy that she was standing up for herself and doing things, still gave her the cold shoulder when she asked about anything further than talking, but at least she got his presence instead of him running off to blow his frustration on things.

She learned about them and their stories. About Danna's leaky faucet, how it dripped incessantly through the night, keeping her awake with the constant reminder that there was no one left in town who could fix it quickly. About Wren's creaky front porch, which groaned under the slightest weight, threatening to collapse each time he stepped outside. About Marcy's bad vision due to her breaking her glasses a month ago and Sandgem only giving her an appointment in four. Cecilia rediscovered ideologies, cliques, drama that spanned generations, the pain of old lovers taken by the mainland—and when she once again asked herself what was it all for, and what purposes did this trial serve, her mind went to all of this.

Humanity. She had not forgotten than she was human, but forgotten the small gestures that made people. The dozen aches in their bones, the favorite meal they could only eat once a month, the way their faces softened at the scent of something familiar. The quiet, unspoken connections between neighbors—a nod of understanding, a shared glance of relief, a hand reaching out to steady someone on uneven ground.

Mercies so small in passing, and yet they were and remained everything.

And on the dawn of the seventh day,

Ghosts started appearing.

A slow trickle at first; then, by the evening, it became a veritable avalanche. Pots were knocked over, gutters destroyed, wooden chairs shattered, and the air grew thick with an unsettling chill. Shadows twisted unnaturally in the corners of every room, and the village was filled with the eerie sounds of disembodied whispers and echoing footsteps. Doors slammed shut on their own, windows rattled as if besieged by an unseen force, and the very walls seemed to groan under the weight of restless spirits.

It was harmless; Cecilia did not understand why it had sent the townsfolk in such an uneasy panic when their troupe leader hadn't even shown up quite yet. Or, correction: she knew that objectively, having items in your house come alive was scary; she just couldn't comprehend it. Their leader had had, Cecilia knew, quite the taste for a grand entrance and theatrics in a way a Pokemon would take after their trainer.

She was knocking on Jaime's door, now. Three Wingull stood on the roof of his house, standing guard and firing Water Guns at any ghosts who showed occasionally themselves. By her count, there was an hour and some change left before the smoke started appearing, and that was if the ghost would go for the same trick. This time, she had gathered her entire team with her, all waiting in their Pokeballs save for Slowking.

The door nearly slammed into her when a giggling Misdreavus disappeared into the night faster than the Wingull could act. Cecilia yelled out for Jaime's name, but it was Ari who came by. She crouched until their eyes met, one hand sticking on his shoulder. "Where's your grandpa?"

He might have been the only one who wasn't scared in all of Seabrook. She had to snap her fingers in front of his face to get his attention away from a Ghastly Slowking chased away behind her. "Uh... he said he was going by the church to pray the ghosts away with a bunch of other people."

Was that why they'd fled all at once last time? Cecilia pinched the bridge of her nose and allowed herself to get angry at this for a few seconds. The anger was benign, not the one she was used to. It was the same feeling she'd get when she forgot something really obvious and it was at the tip of her tongue, proving that she knew the answer, or when Grace left her room dirty for no good reason beyond laziness. Of course, that had been before she got hampered by all of the pressure and responsibilities saving the world would bring, and had forgotten how to get frustrated at her.

It had just been easier to take refuge in her arms and close her eyes.

It felt good to feel something so small, yet so raw all the same. "Praying won't work here," she said. "We have to get all of you out; something horrid is coming. Do you smell that?"

He sniffed the air a few times. "Ew. Yeah, it kind of smells like... I don't know what it smells like, but I hate it."

"It's going to get so much worse you're all going to throw up and it's probably going to stick in your throat and nostrils for days and affect the taste of food. You don't want that, don't you?"

Panic seized his eyes, and his body tensed. "No!"

She gave him her hand. "Then let's get everyone out of here."

He followed.

Until she'd spoken to these people, Cecilia hadn't known that there were enclaves like these islands—religious minorities who worshipped Lugia, the Guardian of the Sea. Seabrook's church was the largest building in town, and it was nestled on a cliff at the edge of the village, its weathered walls blending seamlessly with the rocky landscape. Their ways required it to be built as close to the ocean as possible; you could see how the stones were weathered by the waves that occasionally reached high enough to have battered them over the decades. The entrance was marked by a heavy, featureless wooden door. Clarence had never been a man of the Unovan Gods, the deities of Truth and Ideals, but all of the churches she'd been had been grand and imposing, a testament of Man's service to their religion.

But this place was different.

There was no grandeur here, no sense of awe inspired by architecture or artistry. The stone church was humble. The inside was cool and dim, lit only by the soft glow of candlelight flickering against the stone walls. Despite the massive crowd, the space was small and lead to an altar at the church's center with a hole in the ceiling where rain would be allowed to fall. An almost misshapen carving of Lugia, with its raw, ragged edges and fraying lines, was etched into stone at the altar.

Dozens upon dozens of people, all packed like the Magikarp in the very nets they caught them with, knelt in quiet reverence around the altar with their hands in the air, so focused on their prayer only a few had noticed Cecilia walk in.

"Excuse me," she spoke, her voice snapping the rest of them out of their faithful stupor. So many eyes on her made Cecilia's hand around Ari's tighten. "It's not safe here. We should leave."

Jaime was the one who rose to meet her words, eyes full of ire and tension that coiled around him like a tightening spring. "I thought I was clear." He glanced down at his grandson, and frustration turned to something more. "Ari!" he yelled. "What are you doing here—it's dangerous!"

"If it's dangerous here, then I don't think it would be wise to stay." She was facing them all, but her voice carried far. Purpose could be found within where there had been nothing in it the last time she'd confronted this many people.

The boy flinched, clearly not used to the calm man screaming his lungs out at him. "I—Cecilia says it's not safe to say in the village," he muttered.

Jaime's steps parted the crowd like water. "You do not get to tell me what my family should do!"

A question.

This world was fake; why help them? Cecilia doubted the ghost had even wanted her to do this, and she didn't think he would keep her trapped forever. This was a chance he was giving her, not torment or torture. No one in this church or village was real. They were imitations—good ones, given her Pokemon, but imitations nonetheless.

Because fake or not, she had learned to live with these people and heard their names, likes, dislikes, and pleas. Because she had learned that connections to people were most important, she did not want to get lost in the ghost's game and wait until the end of his test.

"Stop being so foolish!" she yelled. "Can't you see it's all getting worse—" the church shook as if an earthquake was rippling through the town. "You're blinding yourselves with faith because you think that if you leave, Seabrook will be abandoned like—"

"Let go of my grandson," he demanded.

She almost violently tapped her forehead with a finger. "Think about what you're doing here!"

"I've given it enough thought. You don't know cityfolk don't know what it's like. To see your town grow decrepit and to just watch it happen." He scoffed, and Cecilia heard a hint of a Gastly's laugh behind the rattling church doors. "If we abandon this place, we have nothing left."

"What if Ari dies?" She knew no deaths would come, but she couldn't imagine being like this. To be willing to throw it all thanks to faith and because of bitterness at change. To stare disaster right in the face and avert your eyes because it was more convenient to pretend nothing was happening—

Oh.

Well, that was a bit on the nose, now, wasn't it?

"He will not. Lugia will keep us safe."

She could see it now. The mirror, the metaphor, the allegory, the reflection. And by the Legendaries, she hated staring at herself. "Nothing I can say will change your mind," she realized. "Not until it backfires so much you can no longer bury your head in the sand, and the consequences can no longer be ignored."

"I think it'd be best if you left," he said, ignoring her.

Cecilia walked out that door, and she could see the haze starting to form. That was too soon; the ghost was speeding up his last act.

"We're facing the ghost," she said.

I know you said this isn't real, and you did prove it throughout this week, Slowking said. But it sure as hell feels real to me. I don't want to rain on your parade, but you did everything you could; we should leave. You've done enough, both to help these people and to past whatever strange test you've been given.

"Not with physical violence," she sighed, pulling her shirt above her wrinking nose. "With words."

Hm. That's not in the top five of worst ideas you've ever had, but it might as well be the sixth. You know what? I'll take it, though.

"No point putting in a barrier around the church; they'll start running pretty soon," she muttered.

One by one, her Pokemon popped out of their balls and followed her as she made her way toward where the ghost would be. Apologies had been needed, yes, along with an attempt to try, but the Unovan understood now that she had also needed a change of character. They'd seen her personality bleed away into nothing as she remained the same person who had killed herself and forced them to squeeze the trigger, yet had been told that things would be different now despite no change coming from her character. Rancid smoke entered her throat and nose, a smell so horrid she could taste it all over her tongue. Was it worse this time around, or was her mind playing tricks on her?

That was fine. She'd been through Azelf's mind, a maze of physical pain she had willed herself through for the good of the world, even if she had failed to get them to open the door to their little irritating heart. Arceus, she fucking despised that Pokemon, God of Willpower or not. Toxicroak lended a helping hand when her knees faltered and her skin started to sting, and then tried to absorb the fumes before they could reach her. Talonflame, Scizor, and Slowking abated the poison as best they could with wind or barriers. Lehmhart pushed her forward with a finger so gentle it might as well have been a caress, helping her up the hill.

Zolst...

Zolst just watched and followed. But the fact that he wasn't at Lehmhart's throat and was with them was kindness enough.

There, on that little hill, stood her captor, her teacher, her tormentor, and her key. Six eyes within the thick fog, converging toward her in unison, three beings' whispers caressing her ears with praise, either slightly mocking, mildly raging or with a brush of compassion. From three, a whole was made and became this. A shapeless horror that would have sent any other into a panic, but someone who she somehow felt at home with.

"I remember a few months ago," she started. "I was asked what Willpower was."

"Were you?" he said, two parts curious and another furious. His voice was far more distorted than before. "I'm afraid I didn't have access to those memories."

Cecilia breathed out a laugh. Even now, she was still minutely a Shard and those memories were protected. "I didn't need to make the villagers evacuate, didn't I? There was no test—or there was. It was just whatever I wanted it to be. You made me think, and with that trial, I did something. And doing something is better than nothing, even if I failed at what I wanted."

He grinned, all narrow, poisonous teeth. "Good. You shall be let into the theatre one last time."

A lance of solid poison pierced Cecilia's head, exploded, and she died.



Cecilia gasps for air—she's back in the theatre, but alone this time. "You really need to stop killing me," she sighs, hands grabbing at her face to see if it was still there. "There's this visceral element to it. I feel the tip of the lance piercing my head before everything blacks out. You could have just dissolved the dream."

On top of the stage shine letter spelling out 'THIRD DEATH', flashing in every color. This time, she can take her time to appreciate it. Her eyes stay transfixed by the lights, taking every shade in until the ghost speaks.

"Come on, now. Where's your love for flair and elegance?" He starts hovering in the air. "After seeing your entire life, you can't tell me it doesn't tickle a particular part of your brain."

Cecilia snorts. "You're right. I think I want to try theatre one of these days." She relaxes and realizes she can stand and move around the room. Yet she doesn't do so, instead remaining firmly seated with her legs crossed. "Getting into the life of someone else and feel what they were written to feel, really getting into character; it sounds interesting."

"Sylvestia loved the theatre," he speaks as if she is long gone, and Cecilia realizes she is. "It's what made her stop being a tool after the war."

Sylvestia, Fantina's predecessor. These were—her three Gengar. There was no doubt about it. "Was she the one I reminded you of?"

"Yes." He opens his mouth again, but the rest is left unspoken. "But I'm afraid I am a selfish ghost; knowledge about that part of her life will remain forever mine and my former teammates." He spread out his gaseous hands and exclaimed, "rejoice, girl, for you have reached the final act of this play!"

"You did not do everything perfectly," he says as he drifts in the air toward her. The gas coalesces around the seat next to hers. Light shines down on the stage, and her life plays in the background, yet they continue to speak. "Many opportunities you didn't see were lost, both with your Pokemon and with the people of Seabrook. Learning moments that would have served you well for your goals."

Cecilia speaks up. "But it's the attempt that counts." Her fingers drum against the armrest as she watches her first kiss with Grace, deep in the guts of Coronet. "The rage against the dying of my inner light."

"The candle's only just been lit; it would only take a breeze for it to vanish again."

Her hands clench into a fist. "I know. Sixteen years worth of damage can't be undone in two weeks." It was going by so fast. Snowpoint, now, and her battle with Candice, where Zolst evolved into a Zweilous and got his first two names. "I think I know what must be done."

"Do you know, or do you know?" Cecilia felt the chill from the roiling ghost. "That phrasing you used—what must be done. It is passive in nature, as if you aren't sure you're going to do it."

Cecilia stays silent for a long while.

The reunion with her friends in Eterna. Louis' departure. Grace's capture of Turtonator in Coronet. Her teaching Pauline to be a better battler. Her time in Hearthome, where she decided to capture Lehmhart. Meeting Grace's father—

One line sticks out to her.

"When I asked you to tell me about yourself," he specified. "You couldn't say anything, like there was a lack of identity there. That dancing answer felt like a cop-out too, although I'm sure there was some truth to it. I'm rather straightforward, so I'll tell you that overdependence on one person is never a good thing, dating or not."

"I owe her a talk," Cecilia says. "Maybe a few, even. Just to see where we stand."

"You still hope you can make things work, don't you?" the three Gengar turned one mind said with a hint of disapproval. "Don't you get it? My thesis—"

"I know it!" she snaps. "I know that you think that Grace has been the cause of everything, but that's not entirely true! My life isn't a play; you can't just put her at the center of everything and wrap it all with one neat little bow. I love her, and this year was just the worst, and I've made so many mistakes of my own that worsened both me and her and me and her and me and her in this endless fucking cycle, and I just want to try to start over from zero. With boundaries and communication and effort." The Unovan takes a deep breath as she watches Abel confront her in Hearthome. "But it might be too late." Tears well up in her eyes.

"Poor thing. You want to wear your heart on your sleeve, don't you?" Cold shadows wrap around her shoulders. "So young, so emotional deep down; it pains me to see kin like this."

Cecilia wipes the corner of her eyes with her fingers. "There's no harm in hoping for the best, is there?" She wants to unlearn that expecting the worst at all times; she wants to believe that Grace waited. "Disappointment will come either way; you can either pretend it doesn't bother you or cry about it."

Veilstone. Her first loss to Lauren. Cecilia sees how intensely Grace studies Maylene—further than any other Gym Leader she's ever done, down to her micro-movements, and tells her about it as advice. Cecilia remembers being so displeased with that both during the fight, and to a less extent after. Such interest paired with such dislike—or was it dislike? Cecilia can't tell; she realizes that she's become horrible at reading Grace when she isn't depressed.

"It is your life, not mine," he acknowledges. "But you already know deep down. That is why you nearly broke up with her."

She ignores him and keeps watching, making sure to take everything in. And by the Legendaries, her past self is so happy until Sunyshore that she barely recognizes herself. It speeds by in a flash like it's trying to make a statement about her life. The play goes faster, ever faster, until she dies on Coronet to Perish Song and the first thing she sees—

"Three times your savior after three of your deaths," Gengar says. "So it is, and so it will be, that you've been conditioned to never function without her."

"I know."

"You think you know," he pauses, and six eyes go in front of her as the play freezes in time, "but you do not know it entirely. She revived you once, twice, but not thrice. You might breathe and your heart might beat, but you're still dead."

"And let me guess," she chuckled, "you're the one reviving me this time?"

He cackled, growled, and sighed at the same time. "No. You're saving yourself. One small step, followed by another, and another, until you build enough momentum to stand on your own two legs. Let me ask you this, Cecilia. What have you learned the last two weeks?"

"I learned that I hate how sand feels in my shoes. I learned how to make a Magikarp edible." She wrinkles her nose at that one. "I learned how to repair a pier and use my hands for manual labor. I learned that I hate manual labor. I learned how to watch the ocean and enjoy myself in the little quirks in the waves. I began to focus on the nuances of shapes, shades, and textures, and eventually, I made peace with the fact that I'd never or rarely see color ever again—even if—even if it's going to be difficult. I learned about shipping supply lines and small town economies. I learned about..." she continues to list everything she learned in Seabrook, each experience that made her just a little more human each time. There's something new stirring within her—a hunger, a need to experience everything she's missed in hopes of leaving no stone unturned.

"Then there is nothing left to be said."

"Then there is nothing left to be said," she echoes. "And I think I did a damn good job, all things considered. You gave me barely anything."

Gengar chuckled, three distinct laughs that she couldn't help but grin at. "Do me a favor. When you see that dangerous breeze, tell her Elekid that we miss him, but that just like I won't be seeing you again, I won't be seeing him. Get Cynthia off my back so she stops looking for me."

She blinks, feeling mildly confused. "If that is your choice, I will. But why?"

"Because I help once and never again. I will not be showing up in the real world to attack Seabrook; you must take your experience gained here and use them in new circumstances." The amalgamation of Gengar stares at her with satisfaction. "I hope you grow into a fulfilled person, Cecilia. Do not tell anyone of the details of this dream."

The play ends.

"Go forth and be born into this world for the third time and hopefully the last."

The curtains close.



Cecilia woke up to the sound of rain pattering Slowking's barrier above her, and she felt like she'd slept for twenty-four hours straight. Her muscles felt sluggish and taut, her throat felt the driest it had ever been, and she was absolutely famished.

Her entire team was staring at her and looked to have been in the middle of a heated debate while she slept. Scizor patted her on the head with a claw while Toxicroak jumped onto her sleeping bag. Lehmhart let out a celebratory song and the ground below him shook with his excitement. Talonflame rubbed her head on her trainer's neck with a gentle coo, and while Zolst acted like he didn't care, he'd been floating there in worry.

Slowking looks at her with an expression that can only be called sheer relief. Oh, thank God! You're up late, he noticed. I was going to wake you up, but every time I was about to try I felt this primal fear within me, like I was about to die. I pushed through anyway, but you wouldn't wake. That might be why you're a little wet.

She looked at her shirt, which was completely soaked, and shivered. "That's okay; I love all of you." Their eyes widened at those words. "I've just been through the longest and strangest of dreams."

Good things, I hope? Slowking said. Something's different about you.

"Only the best." She did her best to give her attention to every Pokemon with pets or kind words, and even a kiss on Talonflame's forehead. "Things will be different from now on—I think we should stay around here a week before we go back. Oh, and Slowking?"

Yes, my lady?

The clouds above her thinned as the skies cleared, and the rain gradually slowed to a stop. The scene felt like an old film—the grays of the sky lightening as the clouds parted. The landscape, once blurred by the downpour, now stood sharp and clear, a quiet moment of peace. There was a certain beauty in the simplicity of the contrast, like a fresh page turning in her life.

Or curtains opening once more.

For the third time, Cecilia asked herself what was it all for?

To learn to be true to herself.

"I think I never liked dancing," she laughed.



A/N: Okay. Before my power scalers start going insane, here is a little rundown so I can get ahead of these and just in case there are questions.

Are the three Gengar domain holders? No, not every powerful Pokemon holds a Domain. They are normal Pokemon.

Why are they combined into one being when Honey said he was raised by three? They can meld their minds and bodies together and separate at will, it just takes a while. Usually a few days.



How did they create such a realistic, wide dream? They belonged to a Gym Leader once soldier (Interlude - Fantina) who specialized in illusions. Long story short, they were hanging out on the route before Cecilia ever got there because Grace asked Cynthia if she could find them. They're good enough at infiltration to hide from a Slowking while they spent days looking through her memories. When they were ready, they put Cecilia under an advanced form of super-advanced Hypnosis. Like Fantina herself, Sylvestia was the most powerful of the Gym Leaders and was what I'd call Elite Four level when she died; her Pokemon have had decades to grow since then. They also have a troupe of around 150-200 ghosts following them around these days for entertainment (the number varies a lot) to help them support that illusion without it collapsing in on itself. People in Seabrook are real, though Gengar might have taken some creative liberties with a lot of their personalities. It does take a lot out of the Gengar, even if it doesn't show in the dream because, well, it's a dream where they appear at their strongest.