Over there stood two Suns: the one dying to look at it and the one sure he would die if he looked at it. At her. He had done other things this week besides play Legends of Terrebia, too, to prepare: simpler things. The thoughts clicking and buzzing in his head had thwarted all his attempts at meditation, and he had found himself in front of the lab, staring at the plot of soil the Cutiefly lay under. You had to squint, now, to discern any evidence it had ever been disturbed.

  He'd thought, in forcing himself to face them, in forcing himself to squat there and impress his palms into that earth, he'd be okay. A trial run for what was to happen tonight. But the scar, and the piercing memory of the scar, still lingered.

  A thick curl of flame reached into the sky, coiled into itself, and fizzled out. A wind blew the smoky aroma in Sun's direction, and speckles of ash followed in its wake. A message: no going back now.

  He let out Frostfire and watched him taste the air. The Litten stared at him, and he stared back. A mirror of him, wasn't he? How fitting: shards of glass stuck into Sun's heart, throbbing warmth against the night's bitter chill.

  "If you scent anyone else here, let me know," he said. Frostfire tapped the ground with his hind paw; Sun twitched. "You hear someone?"

  No. Neither did. Only the palm leaves rustling over the edges of the empty plateau.

  "Right. There's nothing here."

  A tremble of calm accompanied those words. A tremble of quiet power. As though he really could rewrite reality and erase the boxes below the ground. As if the vases at his feet brimming with flowers were mere beauty for beauty's sake, cut stems suckling from oases plain and ornate.

  And why shouldn't they indulge in the aesthetic? After all, none of it would last so much longer, and it was folly to dwell on the end before its coming.

  When he bent down to pry a flower from its bouquet, he wasn't thinking of anyone or anything else other than his own burning need for a proxy. He ran his finger down one frail butter-colored petal, and bid Frostfire to take a whiff. For a moment, as the two inhaled in sync, boy, Litten, and flower were made one trinity of unyielding flame.

  I swear, he promised himself, when we get out of here, I'm going to be holding one of those amulets.

  And that was the truth.

  Rockruff pressed his snout to the ground, wagging his cream-colored curl of a tail and working his jaw in a circular motion. His gums itched to chew - a whole treasure trove of bones lay beneath his paws, and he wasn't allowed at any of them! But his master said this was a place sacred to his kind, and if it was sacred to Master, it would be sacred to Rockruff as well.

  Beside Rockruff, Paulo crossed his arms, his gray eyes hazy half-slits. He didn't spare a glance to any of the headstones, too intent on his true purpose. Although the 'trial captain' had instructed only his group to go in this direction, he doubted the members of the other groups would also stick to their respective areas. A rowdy group, he'd thought - especially the Sinnohan girl who had made quite a hullabaloo back at the interest meeting. Those who projected themselves outwardly in such a manner, he'd come to find, never made for good Trainers. The most effective methods of Training required an introspection they were simply not capable of.

  He wasn't afraid.

  He pressed his thumb into the notch of his flashlight, and the dark flicked into light. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rockruff perk up his head, and a few indistinct spirit Pokémon fled into the safety of the night.

  Alola had proven to be quite a fascinating place thus far. A region choked with tourists in spite of its conspicuous lack of one of the most tourist-attracting institutions - an organized Pokémon League. Local news bulletins continually referenced plans for one, but it didn't seem as if anything yet had been put into motion. Paulo couldn't imagine how hectic the region would become once it was sucked into the oblivion of tribalism and consumerism such an institution would inevitably bring.

  As he'd stumbled his way out of Hau'oli Airport, fumbling for a map, he'd been accosted by an odd gray-clad individual who had thrust a free book into his hands. He'd kept it, but had yet to crack it open; upon further inspection it appeared to be some cult's nonsensical tract. The rest of the region had been much more hospitable to him: passerby on the sidewalk waved their local greeting, and had been more than amiable to him when he'd stotted up to them and sheepishly asked for directions. It was refreshing to find a Pokémon Center so clean and well-stocked, and he hadn't any issues reserving a room for over two months.

  Rockruff stiffened; he let out an agitated whine. Paulo squinted at a distant silhouette across the plain, who he wasn't close enough to meet eyes with, but -

  A guttural snarl cut through from the air above. Paulo's head jerked upward to see a large blur swoop at Rockruff. The canine twisted, avoiding the creature's massive fangs.

  Its breaths were audible from the ground: heavy and savage, accompanied by the occasional burbling hiss. When Paulo finally focused his flashlight onto it, he could see the slimy blue scales scalloping its flesh, and its cave of a gullet.

  "Golbat! Suck the life out of it!"

  Paulo turned his attention to the bracelet on his wrist, and the sensation of a sandstorm kicked up in his heart with the initiation of battle. This artificial proxy had cost him a pretty penny, but at least he wouldn't have to waste mental space worrying about replacing it. Once Rockruff locked onto the speedy Golbat, he raised his hand, raking his flashlight over the strip. Where...

  There. A cast-away stone swaddled in an extra sheet of shadow. Trainer and Pokémon both saw it at once, and at once both knew what must be done.

  A boy with spiky black hair popped up from behind a headstone, sporting a devious, self-satisfied grin. Paulo narrowed his eyes, but kept his gripe internal: Sneak attacks are for cowards, you weasel.

  With Rockruff outmaneuvering its close-range attacks, Golbat changed course: it summoned large spurts of midnight-colored venom across the strip, forcing Rockruff to slalom through them on his way to the stone. Once he reached it, he dribbled it with his hind paws like a soccer player until he slipped out of Golbat's sight, into the darker shadows cast by the headstones. In the time it took for Golbat to lock on to him again, he took the stone into his jaws.

  "Good going, Rockruff," Paulo said. The swelling sandstorm inside him cried like a boiling tea kettle for his attention, and he closed his eyes and began the countdown.

  One.

  The trajectory of the stone was difficult to visualize in the darkness, but he'd practiced this technique with Rockruff to mastery. While the young Pokémon hadn't yet learned how to condense minerals into rock, it was well within his abilities to manipulate existing ones. This one, a conglomerate... and the Golbat's weak point...

  The head.

  Two.

  The proxy on Paulo's wrist resembled a watch, except under the glass face which would normally hold a clock, there were four frail folds similar to a camera's shutters. When the device sensed energy input, as it did now, the folds would oscillate and spin, and in especially strenuous moments, emit a series of low clicks and hums. The motions mitigated the destructive power of the energy runoff, and in turn, the energy powered the proxy, allowing it to run in perpetuity.

  Three.

  The Golbat had tired itself out with its onslaught of venom geysers, and it slowed the beating of its wings to the barest minimum needed to keep itself aloft. Paulo's nod to Rockruff must not have been as discreet as he intended, because the boy on the other side of the strip flailed his arms about.

  "Golbat! They're gonna - !"

  His interjection was in vain. A flash of gray sailed over to strike the Golbat square between the eyes: a critical hit. The bat plopped to the ground, its slits of pupils rolling back into its head.

  Paulo didn't restrain a self-satisfied grin. "Finish him off."

  Rockruff prowled, hunching his back, as if concerned the Golbat would rise once more to retaliate. He took an inhale of its sharp scent, and his snout twitched. Golbat struggled its eyes open, and folded its wing as to push itself upright, but it was far too fatigued to fly, and its tiny lower limbs would not support it.

  "Don't be afraid," Paulo directed. "Go ahead. One last push."

  Finally Rockruff's jaws came down on its wing, and the Golbat let out one last pathetic squeak; then fell limp.

  The other boy bowed his head, reaching into his pants pocket. A light washed over the clearing, and when it dissolved Golbat was air.

  "Okay," he said impassively. "Good battle."

  Paulo afforded him a curt nod. "You didn't give me your name," he remarked, biting at one of his cuticles. "Is it not customary in Alola?"

  "Huh?" The boy rubbed the back of his head, flinching and squinting as Paulo rolled his flashlight over him. He was burly and broad-shouldered, his face pinched with steely eyes and a small cat-like nose. The hem of his too-large faux leather jacket draped almost to his knees. "Yes. Yes, it is. I'm sorry. You can call me Keon. Are you not from around here?"

  As much as Keon had clearly tried to dull it, there was a razor edge to those last words. Not from around here - a loaded phrase - stranger, foreigner, different. Rockruff must have recognized it as well, because he padded back to Paulo with some urgency.

  "I'm Paulo, and, unfortunately, no." Despite the potential hostility, Paulo saw no reason not to tell the truth - or at least a simplified version of it. "I've been staying here these past few weeks. I'm not permitted to take on the League Challenge in my home region, so I came here instead."

  "Oh," Keon said, failing to hide his disinterest. After a moment's thought, he scrunched up his features, as if Paulo had shaken his faith in an obvious truth. "But we don't have a League...?"

  Paulo turned away, reaching down to run his hand through Rockruff's fur and scratch his back. "The others placed with us here in this corner," he said. "Do you know them?"

  Keon brightened. "Yeah! Marion, Sun, and Mizuki. Marion, I don't know too well. And the other two." He drew his head back, glancing over his shoulder. "The other two were in my class last year. I wouldn't go near them if I were you. They're kind of weird. Freakish."

  Paulo raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What makes you say that?"

  "Mizuki, well... her family's full of loons. Crazy people! I mean, her dad thinks he's God or somethin', and the rest of them actually believe him. Just imagine what that would do to your brain, being forced to worship your own father." Keon spat. "Kye-heh! I'd rather lick the underside of a school desk than call my pops 'God'."

  Paulo sensed he had uncorked some long-dormant diatribe. "Stay on topic."

  "The point is, she's got a superiority complex the size of the moon. In class we weren't ever s'posed to share what we got on tests and stuff, but she'd always go over t'everyone and humblebrag about her perfect scores. Either that, or cry in the corner about how worthless she was cuz she ended up with a hundred-and-two instead uva hundred-five. Real lush, yeah. And Sun, well..." he tapped the rim of one of the headstones, ponderous. "He always hangs around her like a Mothim to a lamp."

  "I see," Paulo said. Unfortunately, the affliction Keon had described was far from uncommon in the sphere of both Trainers and students. "And what else about him?"

  "He always..." Keon frowned. His voice hung overwrought, rehearsed, and a little frustrated, like a librarian reading to a wild pack of children. "He always sat in the back of class, scribbling in his math notebook. Not taking notes or anything; just drawing. I went up behind him one time after class to take a look, and he didn't even care if I saw.

  "Now, you ever see one of those 'Where's Walrein' books, with all the little details? It was like that. There were, like, thousands of teeny winding lines on each page, all in blue ink. There were circular parts, which I guess were s'posed to be rooms, and there were stick figures living in there, crawling all over like little insects.

  "So I asked 'im, 'whatcha doing'? He turned to me, half-asleep, and said, 'I'm digging tunnels'. He started pointing to all the little landmarks he'd drawn; here's the kitchen, here's the boiler room, here's the stick figures who live here. But - and he really wanted me to know it - they didn't really wanna live in the tunnels. They weren't happy there. They just had to cuz he drew 'em there.

  "Then he flipped to a different page. This one, he'd drawn in red ink. 'This section's the torture chamber', he told me. I think he was about to go into more detail but the bell rang."

  Paulo turned his attention back to the horizon, unable to find the words to respond to this anecdote. "I meant, are they powerful?"

  "I dunno," Keon said, clicking his tongue. "Haven't seen them battle yet. I think they got real starters from the kahuna, though. At least that's the rumor."

  Paulo dipped his head. "I see. So they're the real deal, then. Thank you, Keon."

  Keon grinned, visibly pleased with himself. "Don't mention it."

  What an eclectic little mix they had here in Alola. Certainly a far cry from the dour suburbs of Delmarva, where the only interesting sorts of people fled the coop the first chance they got. He might not have considered himself among their number, but he hadn't waited either: as much as he loved his parents, they were stale and stifling. Scared to death of their own shadows. He was born to walk a different path from them - or, rather, he walked, they stayed in place.

  If Sun and Mizuki had received Alola's first partner Pokémon - assuming those were what Keon had been referring to - then it was probable they had received Pokedexes as well. And if they had received Pokedexes, it was almost certain they had been hand-picked for such a purpose.

  And if that was the case, Paulo concluded: those League plans would not remain mere plans for long.

  He had found himself a plot of safety. A stretch full of those with death years starting with 19, or even 18. No one who had existed contemporaneously with his time on this planet, and who could be successfully written off as an abstract. A cluster of artificial tombstones, put in someone's front yard for Halloween.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Sun paced, and pirouetted; then returned to his position on the strip. A few years ago he'd snagged a bit part in his school's production of The Pyroar King, one of a gaggle of hyperactive Pachirisu whose sole job was to prance around the stage and act cute. In his most dire moments, he still reverted to his blocking: when he turned, he pivoted outward, so his nonexistent audience could get a full view of him. His adorable little cap with the baby-blue ear spikes, and his bushy toothpaste-swirl tail crafted of some wire mesh.

  Unfortunately, age had denied him the opportunity to reprise his role in subsequent years, and had not granted him the talent required for a more prestigious one. Nobody ever forgives you for losing the baby fat on your cheeks.

  Frostfire had situated himself atop one of the stones, his tail drooping languidly down one side; a white tassel against a silver curtain. He was almost glowing in the dark, like one of those Day-Glo Wishiwashi Sun saw sometimes in cheap novelty stores, bubbling in filthy, mold-ridden tanks or tied up in plastic bags. White like a skeleton. He ignored Sun, and was ignored in turn.

  "There's no one around here," Sun thought aloud, and then clarified: "No one real, I mean."

  But there had to be someone.

  "Except for you, Frostfire."

  Which, in a way, was worse than having no one at all.

  A tendril of something thin and thready brushed his shoulder, and he whirled around, thrown off his balance. Frostfire pounced into action, tangling himself in the apparition's strings - well, really, the strings tangled themselves with him. The strange ghost Pokémon's body flickered in and out of sight, at last settling on a form like a translucent globule of oily purple.

  A Drifloon. Sun had heard much about them - hushed whispers surrounding missing children's cases. He was thankfully too old and heavy to be made its victim, but Frostfire...

  The Litten swiped at the air, unable to free himself from the waving knot of strings around his torso. The Drifloon released a triumphant puff, then melded itself and Frostfire with the darkness. The two blinked out of existence.

  "Frostfire!"

  Sun, left with no choice but to cast off his apprehension, bounded across the expanse, weaving through the rows of headstones. Two silhouettes loomed on the distance, visible only because of the ring of light emanating from the flashlight in the left one's hand. He waved at them.

  "Hey! He-ey, you guys! A Drifloon stole my Pokémon!"

  As Sun slowed his approach, the boy with the flashlight turned to him and shone it directly into his eyes. He pulled it downwards as soon as he realized, but the damage had already been done to Sun's poor corneas. He let out an involuntary scream several registers higher than he'd have liked.

  "Ah, sorry," the kid said. "What did you say? Your Pokémon?"

  Sun blinked, and blinked, and shut his eyes, but a giant circular cutout of white still lingered in his vision. When he opened his eyes again, he found his night vision was ruined, and he could no longer see even their silhouettes.

  "My Litten," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I was over there - " he didn't bother pointing in the dark " - and a Drifloon came out of the shadows to steal my Litten."

  "You're Sun, then," the other boy said. Discomfort prickled at Sun - it disquieted him when other people knew his identity and he did not know theirs. "I suppose you'll be my opponent."

  "Dude, that was my only Pokémon," Sun retorted. "I couldn't battle you right now even if I wanted to."

  The Rockruff at the kid's feet let out a low and solemn whine. The kid ushered the other figure closer to him - as Sun's eyes readjusted to the darkness, he recognized him faintly. Keon. Less than a friend, more than a classmate.

  "What do you want us to do about it?" Flashlight Kid asked. "Tell Ilima?"

  "No," Sun said. "No, no, no, I'll - I'll probably be disqualified if..."

  His stomach plummeted. Lose Frostfire forever. Kill his dreams forever.

  "Don't worry, then," Flashlight Kid said, raising a hand. "I'm Paulo. I'll have my Rockruff sniff him out for you. Won't you help him out, Rockruff?"

  Rockruff let out an amicable yelp in response. He doddered over to Sun and ran his snout over his shoes, socks, and exposed knees, taking several deep sniffs.

  (Dark and ashy. Violent. Rockruff shuddered.)

  "Thank you," Sun said, finding his heartbeat begin to slow. The Rockruff nodded hesitantly and pulled his nose in a northward direction. Sun dipped his head to him, pretending not to know where he was being led. A completely ordinary corner of the cemetery, full of plastic Halloween stones.

  Paulo put out his hand, and Sun turned back to him, his trepidation forgotten. "Hold on. I meant to ask you: do you have a Pokedex with you?"

  "Yeah." Sun slipped off his backpack, zipped open the main pocket, and fished out the red shell. He shielded his eyes when he thumbed the power button, determined not to let his pupils shrink again. "Here. You want to see it?"

  Paulo sniffed. "You should have it active at all times. If you had before, you could have gathered data on the Drifloon."

  Sun blinked. "Well, we already know about Drifloon, don't we?" It came off much more condescendingly than intended, and he course-corrected: "Or, uh, I do, at least."

  But Paulo was right. The listing had only three Pokémon registered: Litten, Rowlet, and Rockruff. The Melemele 'Dex was at a woeful '1% discovered'.

  "Very few people will have the privilege of ever even seeing a Pokedex," Paulo scolded. Behind him, Keon gaped at the device, its light tinging his face a faint turquoise.

  Sun bowed his head. "Sorry..."

  Kukui had made it well apparent he was a fan of the Pokedex, but Sun couldn't help but feel a little skeptical. Most Trainers got on fine with personal notebooks to index Pokémon and workshop strategies in, and this stupid thing couldn't even help with the latter. He forced the 'Dex into his shorts pocket, where the square of blue shone through the pores of fabric. A few moments slipped away from him before the screen placed itself into idle mode and dimmed.

  They pressed forward into the night.

  Sun wasn't sure exactly what to think of Paulo. He suspected him to be a private school kid. He certainly had the air of a private school kid - all of them - and even a fake proxy on his wrist. Back at 'Ale K-8 school (that glorious institution!) wearing a fake proxy was like wearing a sign on your back saying "I'M üBER-RICH: KICK ME". The students may have coveted brand name sportswear and the latest game consoles, but artificial proxies were a bridge too far.

  As far as Sun knew, his only Pokémon was his Rockruff. Made sense: Rockruff was a popular choice for families, and widely bred not only in its native Alola, but across the UWF and beyond. The Type disadvantage didn't worry him: unlike Frostfire, Rockruff had already gone through a previous skirmish, and as much as Sun might have hated it, Frostfire had proven himself against Kukui's own. After all, Rockruff was flesh and blood, not formed of mineral like some others of its Type. Frostfire's teeth and claws would have no trouble with him.

  The screech of a Murkrow far ahead and above was the only sound beside their quiet breaths. Sun craned his neck to see it amongst the silvery patches of clouds, with something small and shiny glinting in its talons - maybe something swiped from one of the shrines, or from an unlucky challenger. It hung suspended in the air, surveilling all movement below.

  They didn't need to wander far before they reached their destination - or rather stumbled into it. A ring of pungent Gastly, Misdreavus roiling with hair like dreary flame, and one hovering white feline tied up in invisible string.

  Frostfire had stopped swiping at the Drifloon and now dangled limp and helpless - how unlike him. His fur had been mussed up during the ordeal, giving the effect he had spontaneously added on several pounds. He opened his jaws and spewed a spurt of sparks, as if intending to intimidate the children and not the sinister swarm of spirits.

  Something brushed against Sun's back, and his breath hitched - Keon had backed into him. His former classmate quaked, clicking his Poke Ball before remembering his Pokémon was out of commission. "We're trapped," he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

  "How observant of you, Keon," Paulo said, sweeping away his tuft of a hairline. Rockruff bent down into an offensive stance before one of the Misdreavus and bared his fangs, his snout knotted with creases.

  Khh-TWANG!

  The three whirled around to see Frostfire tumble onto the ground and land on his front paws. Moonlight glinted on the portion of string hanging between his teeth. The Drifloon's body blinked back into existence, releasing a pained screech, and descended, swishing at Frostfire. If Frostfire noticed, he certainly didn't care: his tail went erect, and he glowered and hissed at who he believed to be his new opponent. His true opponent.

  Rockruff.

  Sun half-twitched as Paulo raised the flashlight to him. "Watch his pupils," the other boy commanded.

  His pupils - Frostfire twisted, stumbling along as he drew closer. He squinted against the flashlight, but Sun still could see one of his pupils drifting to the right, like a lazy eye. That wasn't normal: the spirits must have done something to him.

  Experts theorized Ghost-Types dwelled in their own little pocket dimension. Legends called them the ambassadors of the spirit world, and claimed a single peek into their domain could drive a mortal to madness... or at least disorient one for a while. The Drifloon must have dragged Frostfire into their trench to reveal to him the dark pleasures awaiting at the bottom; to show him what the dead dreamed of.

  And now he believed he was one of them.

  Something noxious yet sweet-scented, like decaying flowers, wafted over Sun. A Gastly had snuck up behind him, and he ducked away to evade the fog of its poison gas. He tugged on the sleeve of Keon's jacket, placing his hand on his shoulder to steady himself.

  "Your Litten's confused," Paulo said. "You two know about status conditions, don't you?"

  "Of course," Sun said. What kind of half-wit did this guy think he was? "But..."

  The easiest cure for confusion was to recall the Pokémon. The energy conversion would clear the mind fog and return the Pokémon to a normal state of cognition, making it little more than an inconvenience. There was but one problem: Sun had already met Paulo's eyes. Frostfire had already initiated combat with Rockruff. Because he only had one Pokémon, if Sun were to recall Frostfire now, it would mean his surrender.

  Frostfire tripped over his own paws, letting out a muted huff as he fell flat on his face.

  This was going to be one hell of a battle.

  Sun fingered for the flower in his pocket, finding it crushed by the 'Dex but still able to serve him despite. Get up, he willed Frostfire. Whether we like it or not: it's on.

  For once in his life, Frostfire obeyed. As he rose again, his claws sank into the tender earth, providing him a degree of stability. Paulo rolled the flashlight over the two battlers, revealing Rockruff had not so much as twitched since assuming his offensive stance. Spittle sprayed out of the corner of his mouth; his fangs gleamed.

  Another tug at Sun's heart. The winding and unwinding of sinuous flame; embers igniting.

  Avoid his neck - those pebbles around it look quite jagged. His belly might be a good spot if you can reach it, but be careful with your claws: you don't want to injure him too seriously. Fire won't be effective, so keep on with your closer-range attacks.

  I trust you. You know what to do.

  The two weren't truly communing - these commands were only felt, traveling upon the transfer of siphoned power. It was a secret language spoken only between Trainer and Pokémon. The liquid metal hardened and reformed.

  The twin battlers curled around each other: exchanged blows. Frostfire raked his claws down Rockruff's side. Rockruff slammed him in return, and the two delivered simultaneous nips to each other's tails. Great minds thought alike, Sun supposed, and of course fools seldom differed.

  The shapes of the Pokémon projected on the headstones warped, grew larger, shrank - as Paulo dropped his flashlight. He pressed his palms together, squeezed his eyes shut: then pulled them apart.

  Two Rockruff - no, four - no, eight - flickered onto the battlefield, forming a ring of their own around Frostfire. Double Team. So Paulo was one of those, wasn't he.

  But Sun didn't waver, because Paulo's maneuver would be in vain. The Double Team clones could only replicate Rockruff's physical appearance, and not his more tangible aspects. They didn't emit scent particles, and Frostfire's olfactory system was developed enough even through his confusion he could tell which was the original.

  "Go on," Sun said aloud. He repeated it, drawing it out: "Goooo oooon..."

  Frostfire's tail swished from side to side, and the repetition facilitated Sun's focus: a metronome setting the pace of the battle. CLICK click click click CLICK click click click CLICK click click click CLICK click click click. A beat only their connection allowed Sun to perceive.

  Another exchange: this time, only Rockruff's tackle connected. Frostfire let out a hiss as he wobbled off-balance, swiping at his neck. I told you to avoid the neck. Still, the act threw off Rockruff's concentration, and the Double Team clones rippled away and darkened into the night.

  Rockruff left, Litten right. Rockruff right, Litten left. The two snarling, spitting forces, circling and circling and circling until Sun spun with vertigo - deadlocked. Keen-eyed Rockruff searching for the critical point, the perfect moment, breath bated. Frostfire struggling to distinguish between what was here and what was gone , would always be gone. The cackling spirits half-melted into their home beyond, delighted by the terrific display of violence.

  It kills you slowly, Sun thought then. The anticipation. The desire kindling inside you, the glinting gold and flame-colored crystal, incinerating everything you thought you were, could ever be. Frostfire desired: he knew this. Frostfire wasn't a complex creature. He had been born with instincts and the instincts were all his.

  Let go.

  The feeling - those words - weren't Sun's at all, nor Frostfire's. They had come from elsewhere. Let go.

  >let

  >go

  >

  He hadn't been there that terrible night. He had been lying in his bed - alone, always alone - and one of Mom's friends was over watching TV in the other room and the sound of it nauseated him. She had to be here, Mom said, because what kind of mother would she be if she let her ten-year-old son stay alone in this frigid and barren and loveless apartment? Even though he was responsible enough to sneak out to the ruins morning noon and night to pray, even after she told him to stop. He couldn't stop. For him to stop would be for him to damn her.

  Frostfire twirled. A quiet grace, previously unseen. Sun understood.

  His eyes burned at the glow-in-the-dark stars they'd stuck up there when he was a toddler. Five-pointed, like in a little boy's drawing. When his mind wandered he dreamed he himself was drawing them and she was the one holding his hand steady, whispering affirmations. The two of them as one, creating good.

  Tonight she was staying in the hospital again, in an uncomfortable bed (the blankets here, Sun, they're like gossamer, you don't understand, if only you could understand - ) because she had gotten worse, a lot worse, an I'm so, so sorry Sun kind of worse. They had told her - marked her for death - long ago, but it wasn't meant to end this way. He ought to be by her side, holding her hand, like every other time. He should.

  He knew he would die if he couldn't see her one last time.

  It might have been only a dream, but something kissed his forehead. Someone. Every moment he was being born: his cells split. His heart split.

  She let go.

  She let - he let - the both of them. They let go.

  "Frostfire," he said. He breathed. "This is the world of the living. You're back home now. Let go."

  That's what it was. The eigengrau, the eternal grayness lurking beyond color. He - she - both cut through like a knife.

  Sun turned. The stone lay outside of the range of the flashlight's halo, but it was okay. His heart knew the words - the very same words scrawled idly deep in the pages of his math notebook, at the point where the mass of tunnels converged.

  HERE LIES

  Kimiko Setsuna Freberg

  August 31st, 1980 - January 12th, 2016

  She hadn't anyone to be buried beside. No family to comfort her on nights dark and lonely. No lost love to return to. Only her son - her beautiful, wayward son - survived her.

  He'd thought returning would have done something to him, and it had. The eigengrau, the root of darkness, the root of emptiness, snapped back into place. It was in him still (as it is all living things) but he had pruned one of its choking vines. In its place a bud unfurled its petals, shivering, serenely delicate and precious. As if someone was embracing him from the inside.

  She lay now in some other place, some place beyond the tip of his tongue, beyond the grasp of his brain. But she was undeniable.

  "You're with me now," he whispered too low for anyone else to hear. "You always have been."

  What they formed was no longer a triad but a tetrad. One, Sun, the Trainer. Two, Frostfire, the Pokémon. Three, the flower, the proxy.

  Four, the facilitator, steadying the channels between them. Their clarities. He couldn't see Frostfire now, but the blossoming energy told him his pupils had stilled.

  Guide me. Guide us both.

  The underside. He'd been right before: the underside was the weak point. Be careful, he reiterated as Frostfire hopped back upright, blustering with ash and cinders.

  Paulo must have sensed the shift in them both, but he was too slow to give a command - Frostfire crashed into Rockruff, knocking him onto his side, and before the Rock-Type could rebalance himself raked his claws one last time down his belly. A glancing blow. Sun had full confidence in his control: someone else, someone much older, wiser, and kinder, was holding the reins.

  It wouldn't harm him anymore. The desire was Frostfire's, and Frostfire's alone. For all his pent-up emotions, for all his wild instinct, Frostfire's sight pierced through the eigengrau.

  Sun knew there would come a time when she wasn't there to keep them in check. Mother and son had been denied coexistence on this earth, and even the very extent of her reach couldn't circumvent that. But she could hold his hand steady to point him towards the truth just within his grasp. For now, the inferno blazed as it never had before.

  And so when Rockruff at last collapsed, and the capricious spirits at last scattered, satisfied with their fill of entertainment, it wasn't a debasement or an adversity.

  It was a triumph.

  "Hey, Sun?"

  Sun paused, lowered the sunset-colored Super Potion he'd been applying to Frostfire's scratches, and looked to Keon. The other boy held his hand to his brow, his bangs spilling down onto it, slipping into the gaps between his fingers. His eyes were as wide as the full moon and almost reverent.

  "Yeah?" He didn't care to hide the fatigue already pulling at him. "What is it?"

  "Which direction do we need to go in?"

  "Look to the North Star," Sun said, dutifully returning to his work. Frostfire batted at his wrist, antsy to continue on lest the duo's ecstasy fade in the ardor of the in-between. Lest the cracks in their bond come into view once again. He let out a whisper of a sigh. "Polaris."

  "Which - which one's that?"

  "It's…" Sun shifted, glancing to the sky, and saw the problem. No, not a problem - a miracle.

  Away from the bustle of human civilization the stars felt safe enough to shine. When the clouds had cleared on a night like this one, if you were lucky, the universe would peel itself back for you and let you peek into eternity. A swirl of marvelous light, dripping over the world like a mother's milk.

  Sun, Paulo, Keon, Frostfire - all present drank of it in greedy sips. In time, the light would run dry, and the sky would once more char and blacken, with only a few flecks left to struggle through. In time, they'd return to the artifice of home, to its leaden night.

  But for now, they were here. The stars sustained them for only a moment; pulled out the wires of their brains, jumbled them up, entry point meeting exit, reassembling their most intrinsic aspects to the point they would not stand to live without this freedom, this beauty, for a moment longer.

  "It's..." Sun's breath left him. "It's somewhere up there. Somewhere. But for now I think it would be best if we just walked the path ourselves."