The bed was warm and soft and smelled of the forest floor after the rain, that sweet, gritty tang of petrichor. Spark felt like he could lie here forever. His body felt so heavy, and it sank so perfectly into the bed, and he wondered whether he actually had been lying here forever. Wherever "here" was. His apartment? No, this wasn't his bed.

Spark's memories groggily stepped in line. Mount Akanoir. The caves, crystals, the door, the legendary birds… the waterfall. Candela's rage. The pale man and his sword. Adrenaline sparked through his body, bursting from his chest and ending in an electric buzz in his fingers and toes. He opened his eyes and sat straight up, ready to fight or flee.

The bed was on the floor of a small, domed room, sparsely decorated with stone furniture, wall-suspended lanterns, and metal racks that displayed various artfully-crafted sabers and daggers and axes and spears. Struck as he was by the array of weapons, Spark didn't notice the woman in the room until she stood from the cushion she'd been seated on and started toward him.

He held out his hand, warning her off. "Don't come any closer!"

The woman's brows lifted and she slowly raised her hands, as if placating an aggressive but harmless wild pokémon. She was short, perhaps five feet tall, but exuded a sort of natural, unquestionable authority that made her seem to tower over Spark. Her hair was clipped close to her head and was as wispy and sand-hued as a fledging pidgey's feathers. Her skin resembled a roadmap: impossibly white, with a network of green and blue veins tracing paths up her neck and near her hairline and down her delicate forearms. Her eyes were such a mirror-like blue that Spark wondered how well she could see.

"Where is Candela?" Spark asked as he scrambled to his feet. The world danced and tilted, and he nearly collapsed back down. It felt like a cubone was continually whacking the back of his head. He was pretty sure he was one headwound away from permanent brain damage at this rate.

The woman started forward again, and Spark stumbled backwards to avoid her. Her demeanor wasn't menacing, but Spark couldn't take the risk of lowering his guard. "I said to stay back! Where is my friend? What did you do to her?"

When the woman continued toward him, he reached for the pokéballs at his belt. Except they weren't there. In fact, not even his belt was there. He was clothed in a dark, soft material, loose-fitting, robe-like.

"What… Where are my pokémon?" Spark asked. He backed into the wall and winced. The rapids had not been kind to the fresh scar across his back. Not that they'd been kind to the rest of his body, either. Now that he was standing and moving, every part of him seemed to have a complaint. His head, his ribs, his ankle, his knees… Fending off an armed attacker in this condition would be a challenge.

The woman spoke, but not in a language Spark could identify. It sounded like tumbling stones and dripping water. It was as if the cave itself were speaking. The only word he could pick out was "Candela," though she spoke it with an unfamiliar accent.

"Is he awake? Spark?"

The voice came from an arched entrance to the room. Spark's blood turned cold. No. It couldn't be her.

Dr. Dillinger strolled into the room with her sweet, concerned smile. Spark knew he had to make a move before she could. He darted for the rack of weapons, narrowly avoiding the pale stranger's reach, ignoring the shocks of pain coming from his right ankle. He wrenched a curved sword from its place and leveled it at Dillinger, even though he knew damn well he couldn't bring himself to use the thing, not even on her.

"Whoa, Spark! What the hell? It's me!" said Dr. Dillinger, looking truly aghast.

"Takes a lot of nerve to act chummy while I'm pointing a weapon at you," Spark said.

Dillinger took a step back, as if she'd been physically struck. "Is this about what happened before? I don't know what that was, Spark. That wasn't me!"

"It sure seemed like you, Doc," Spark growled, advancing slowly on her. He'd have to threaten her to get information out of her. That was the hard truth of it, if he wanted to find Candela, if he wasn't too late.

"Doc…?" Dr. Dillinger narrowed her beady eyes at him. "It's me. It's Candela."

What? Spark shook the sword at her. "I'm done with the mind games. They're just getting weird at this point. Now, tell me where Candela is, or today's special will be Rocket-kebab."

Spark nearly missed Dillinger's subtle glance to the side. She was looking at something... no, someone. Spark dodged to the side as the pale woman lunged for him from behind. He dropped the sword, determined not to cut her. He pivoted and pushed her in the direction of her momentum, causing her to trip and sprawl across the floor. Then he launched toward the entrance.

But despite her unathletic appearance, Dr. Dillinger was too quick for him. She clotheslined him across his stomach with an arm that he would never have guessed to be so muscular. In the same motion, she threw his winded body into a stone chair and straddled him, pinning his shoulders against the back of the chair with hot, firm hands. Spark arched his back to try to force her off, despite the hurt it caused.

"What the fuck is going on with you?!" Dillinger demanded, her black-and-silver hair falling across her face, lifting with each puff of her breath. He recognized the ferocity in her eyes, but it was out of place. It was like looking into the mirror and finding someone else's reflection there. "You don't really think I'm Dr. Dillinger, do you? How hard did you hit your head? Do I look anything like that monster?"

Spark gasped, the air finally returning to his lungs. What was she talking about? Her games were getting weirder and weirder. And yet, something wasn't right. A flicker of doubt formed in Spark's mind.

"Yes, you're exactly like her," Spark said, carefully monitoring Dillinger's expression, looking for the detail that would confirm her identity.

Her face fell, and it was as if Spark had impaled her after all. She was devastated.

And she was no longer Dr. Dillinger. The image of the doctor vanished, like a design in the sand blown away by the wind. Beneath that image was Candela, looking horrified and confused.

"Candela… Candela, I'm so sorry, I couldn't see you! You weren't – I don't know – it wasn't – you looked like-" Spark lost his breath, the panic taking hold, his chest tightening.

Candela stood, but kept her hands on his shoulders. "Hey, hold on, just breathe for a minute…"

Spark concentrated on keeping his breaths regular. What the hell had just happened? It had been Dillinger, down to the ratty lab coat and cutesy, punch-able face. He'd even heard her sugar-sweet voice! He would have staked his life on her being the real deal.

"Is this… is this what happened to you? Back at the falls?" Spark panted, gradually regaining control. "Did you look at me and see someone else?"

Candela's shoulders scrunched up, like she was trying to make herself smaller, like a guilty child. Her eyes flicked to the side, searching for something. Making a decision. "I… yes. I thought you were one of the Rockets. I panicked."

A tingle passed over Spark's skin. He didn't want to believe it, but he couldn't ignore the feeling that Candela was lying to him. But why? She'd obviously seen something to make her flip out like that. She'd become something else back there, something terrifying. There had to be a reason.

He didn't have the chance to call her out on the lie. The pale woman's face appeared above Candela's shoulder, entirely unamused. She tapped Candela's back to draw her attention.

Candela jumped in surprise and turned to face the woman. "Waik! This is Spark. He's a friend, believe it or not."

The woman tapped the corner of her mouth and said something in that water-drip language.

Candela palmed her forehead. "Right, language barrier…" She pointed at Spark, repeating his name as she did.

"Spark," said the woman, and she bowed her head in greeting. She rested her fingertips on her collarbone. "Waik."

"Hi, Waik," said Spark, nervously smiling at the woman he'd thrown to the ground minutes before. "I'm, uh, sorry about before…"

"Ku, Spark," said Waik, coolly. She pointed at Spark and, looking at Candela, mimed lifting and tilting a cup. Then, she left the room, and Spark let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Candela… what in the actual-"

Candela interrupted him. "Yeah, I know. I'll try to fill you in as much as possible, but I'm pretty lost myself. As far as I can tell, though, we're safe."

Spark held his head in his hands, not sure where to start. "How long was I out? Who was that? And what are we wearing?"

Candela leaned against the wall and thumbed the shoulder strap of her strange, woven robe. "This seems to be the height of cave-dweller fashion. Guess there's not much available to make clothes out of. I think this might be dried and knitted moss? Anyway, you were down for about an hour, I think. I came to while we were being carried into the village."

"Village?"

"You'll see," said Candela, as if that were a satisfactory answer. "Waik is apparently their leader. Don't worry. I also tried to attack her."

"Of course you did," Spark sighed. "What happened? You woke up, and then…?"

Candela crossed her arms smugly. "I fought free of the men carrying me, which stirred up a little chaos. Waik confronted me, carrying this giant sword. Bigger than she is, I swear. I was about to bring out Brutus for a show of force when Waik laid down her weapon. To be honest, I wasn't ready for another fight, so I went with the truce. She had some of her people take you to her home, and she gave us dry clothes. One of the villagers gave me some weird soup to eat, and I basically camped outside your room to keep watch. You'd have thought I was out there to be gawked at, though. A few dozen people made sure to come by and stare at me while I waited for you."

Spark massaged his temples. "This is too much… I'm finally hitting my what-the-hell threshold…"

"I know it's a lot to take in," Candela said. "I've given up even questioning this shit. I'm not the most trusting person, but I figure if these people had wanted to do us harm, they'd have done it already."

"I guess, but…" Spark closed his mouth as Waik entered the room, carrying a stone mug.

Waik said something in her language and pointed at Spark again. Then, she took a small sip of the liquid and grimaced. Demonstrating it was safe, Spark supposed, though it didn't seem enticing as a beverage. Waik pointed at Spark's head, and then his swollen ankle.

Spark slowly took the mug as it was offered to him, gauging her trustworthiness. Even when he'd been startled by her presence before, he hadn't sensed animosity from her. Still, she was a stranger handing him a cup of foul-smelling mystery fluid. His emotional inclination was to trust her, but logic gave him pause.

Waik turned to Candela and moved her open hands up and down in front of her torso to emphasize slow, calm breathing. She tapped her head and nodded to Candela. She hesitantly nodded back. Satisfied with the response, Waik crossed the room and set to polishing a small dagger, glancing up at her houseguests every so often. Spark didn't think it was a threatening gesture, but it was obvious that Waik intended to monitor her visitors. He wondered how long it had been since she'd had visitors. She was certainly handling the situation in stride, but he could tell by the nervous twitching of her nostrils and her stiff, tight-muscled posture that she wasn't as relaxed as she was trying to appear.

Waik caught him staring, and with a slightly furrowed brow, mimicked lifting a cup again.

"I think you're gonna have to drink that stuff," Candela said, frowning at Spark sympathetically.

Spark sniffed the drink and gagged. "Yeuch, it smells like pond scum and despair…"

"Don't be a baby," Candela chided. "You're being super rude to the lady who could have killed us a dozen times by now."

"How come you got soup and I got a cup of koffing farts?"

Candela rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty sure it's medicine of some kind. And why are you complaining? I saw you eat dirt once."

"When I was eight!" Spark retorted. "I wanted to know what being a diglett was like…"

Waik cleared her throat and glowered at them.

"It's like if you and Blanche had a baby, and that baby was the leader of a lost subterranean society," Spark whispered to Candela.

"Drink the pond scum, Spark," Candela said.

So he did. It tasted like he imagined the trash-juice at the bottom of restaurant dumpsters would. He tried to swallow it down without tasting it, without letting it linger on his tongue, but wasn't very successful. He coughed and sputtered on the last drop, and Candela giggled. He counted the bumps and scrapes on her arms and legs – courtesy of the rapids, surely – and wondered why she hadn't been given this "medicine." She was playing tough, but moved a little awkwardly, favoring her sore limbs. Something wasn't quite right. Well, most things weren't quite right, at this point. Spark could hardly keep up with all the absurdity.

Shouts rose from outside the domed dwelling, frightened cries in a foreign language. Spark jumped from his seat and Candela clenched her fists defensively. She reached into a fold of her robe and pulled out a handful of pokéballs. She handed Spark's to him.

Waik's attention wavered between the pokéballs and the doorway. She slipped the dagger into her clothes and walked to the doorway, holding one hand out to Spark and Candela, warning them to stay put. Something about the way she eyed the pokéballs made Spark itchy. There was distrust and profound curiosity in that look.

A tall man, possibly the one who'd knocked them out, appeared at the doorway, speaking in a quick, low voice to Waik. Her eyes widened, but she otherwise kept her face neutral. She turned to her guests as though to speak to them, but seemed to realize her words would mean nothing to them. She followed the man out of the room, and Candela and Spark tailed her.

Spark nearly tripped over himself as he stepped outside. Dozens of domed buildings filled an enormous cavern, stacked on top of each other, like bubbles, or bunches of grapes. They were carved out of the very walls themselves, and were lit by beautiful, curving streetlamps. From the door of Waik's home, he could see at least 4 roads stretching away into more clumps of houses. On those roads, dozens of white-skinned people bustled, pointing toward homes or racks of weapons, their faces serious but fearful.

Waik and her guide hurried up one of the roads, toward a circle of armed men and women. Above the circle, a venomoth hovered, clicking his mandibles threateningly and staying well beyond weapon-range. Spark recognized his gleaming, meticulously-groomed wings.

It didn't take Candela long to see the resemblance as well. "Blanche…"

She rushed forward, pushing through the crowd. Spark pursued her, offering pointless apologies to those she'd knocked into.

In the center of the circle, Blanche stood resolutely, despite the myriad of weapons bristling around them. Candela and Spark spilled into the ring, causing a ripple of shocked whispers through the crowd of warriors. They planted themselves in front of Blanche, palms out in a display of peace toward the wary onlookers.

Spark grinned over his shoulder at Blanche, savoring their surprised expression. "Hey there, Rescue Committee! Glad you could join us. Now, despite how it looks, we're among friends. I think."

Blanche angled their head to the side and narrowed their eyes as if to say, Are you sure about that?

"We're serious," Candela said. She then addressed Waik, who stepped forward to the front of the ring, her grip tight around her enormous broadsword. "Waik! This is another friend. Blanche."

Waik pointed forcefully at Venomoth, and Blanche took the hint and returned him to his ball. The crowd gasped as he vanished in a beam of red light. Their weapons clanked and brushed as they chattered among themselves in awestruck tones.

"I guess they've never seen a pokéball in action, huh?" Candela murmured.

Spark nodded, but sensed there was something more. The fear in the air was tangible. It wasn't just the pokéball putting them all on edge.

Blanche stepped up to join Candela and Spark. They dipped their head in polite greeting, though their eyes never broke away from Waik. Waik returned the greeting in the same vigilant manner.

Someone in the crowd gasped, and one of the warriors in the front row fell to his knees. For a second, Spark thought the man was wounded, but quickly realized that he was kneeling intentionally, like a knight before a king. Spark's stomach churned, whether it was due to the foul liquid or the ominous sensation that the mood in the ring had abruptly changed. One by one, the people took a knee, averting their eyes from the trio. Spark's heart thumped in his throat and he felt woozy.

All 50-odd men and women around them waited on their knees, bowed in a way befitting only royalty. All but Waik. Her chest heaved, her eyes were wide and fierce. The tall man next to her tugged on her robe, silently encouraging her to kneel with him. She shook her head and said something to him. He replied to her in a pleading, confused voice, but she would not be moved.

"We need to go," Blanche whispered.

"I'm not disagreeing with you, but how exactly are we supposed to pull that off? Another mounted retreat? We're surrounded by a sea of weapons," Candela said.

"I can pick out some of their words. We might not have a choice," Blanche said, a muscle in their jaw convulsing beneath their skin.

Candela curled her lip. "How the hell can you understand what they're saying?"

"Blanche was an ancient civilization buff as a kid, remember?" Spark answered on their behalf.

"The dialect is strange, but there's one word I definitely recognize," Blanche continued.

"And that would be…?" Candela asked.

A trickle of sweat ran down the side of Blanche's face. "Execution."