When Gardenia died, Marcus thought he would never be able to take another step forward.
"I'm sorry, dude," was all his opponent had to say before collecting her winnings and leaving, continuing like what had happened was a mere sideshow and not the end of Marcus' life as he knew it. What else was she supposed to do? It wasn't her fault.
"That's the risk of taking a starter getting on in its years," was the first thing his mother said when he finally got past the lump in his throat. The following words of comfort rang on deaf ears.
The sun still rose and fell as usual heedless of how he felt. In a way, that made it easier.
He halted his travels and spent a lot of time sitting on a cliff with Silver, his first catch, lounging on his side. When he felt a little better, he practised the flute. When he felt worse, he simply stared towards the ocean.
Whatever he did, the shadow of Gardenia hovered to his right, her ghostly hand resting on his shoulder. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he really thought she was right there.
Opening his eyes was no fun.
After ten days, he collected his bearings and decided to quit moping. The only way he was ever going to move on was by paying proper respects. Gardenia would have preferred that, too.
It was a long trek over to Mt. Pyre, and whether he wanted it or not, the routes were swarming with trainers eager to challenge him. Silver and Harriet pulled their weight, but every victory felt hollow and every loss next to meaningless even after his purse dried out.
He tried not to think about what he'd do if he still felt empty after reaching the mountain.
After Ray carried him to the mountain, he stood in place staring at its majesty for a long while. For the first time since Gardenia had closed her eyes for the last time, he felt at peace.
He ignored the thrill-seekers sullying the purpose of the graveyard and found a quiet nook to the left of the path. He brandished a trowel he had brought with him. Silver could have dug the earth for him, sure, but even as his armpits began to sweat thanks to the hard work and the blazing sun, he knew what he did was right.
The sun was setting by the time he deposited Gardenia in the ground. He patted the earth flat, then summoned his remaining team to pay their respects. He clasped his dirt-encrusted hands together for a short prayer.
The mountainside emptied as the sky grew dark. He walked between gravestones, secure in the knowledge Silver would bite anyone threatening him. Darkness wasn't the enemy. It could even be a friend.
The cold that began to seep into his flesh as the stars lit up was not a friend. He zipped up his jacket, all the while wondering why he hadn't left.
He was seriously considering braving the black ocean when the first ghost lights flared up.
He stared as the wispy spirits of pokémon long since laid to rest rose from their graves, milling about and playing amongst themselves without a care in the world.
For a fragment of a moment, he could have sworn he saw Gardenia, brave and calm and looking right at him.
The next thing he knew, Silver was licking his cheek as he lay face-first in the grass.
His body ached as he stood up, his clothes sodden with dew, but all the same, he smiled.