AN: Holy shit, it lives.

Chapter Thirty-Six
Can We Please Focus?

"Wow," Trixie said bleakly as Damien disappeared from sight. "He's a nasty character, all right."

"Tell me about it," Ren said, shaking his head as he released Zangoose from its Poké Ball. His oldest partner hissed angrily as it appeared, casting around for its hated opponent. "Easy, buddy. They're gone now. Are you hurt badly?"

Zangoose glared up at Ren as if everything was his fault – which it probably was, he reflected. It didn't appear badly injured, however, for which he was more than glad. He returned it to the Poké Ball swiftly, breathing a sigh of relief. He didn't want to have to rush any of his team members to the Pokémon Centre in Mauville, least of all Zangoose.

"Yeah, Damien's a . . . problem," he said bleakly, flopping down onto the scorched ground, suddenly acutely aware of how fatigued he was.

"Understatement of the century," Trixie scoffed. "That guy's got problems. Ninety-nine would be a conservative guess, and going by his attitude, I'd be willing to bet that a bi-"

"All right, all right," Ren said hurriedly. "Yes. He's a nut, an absolute psycho. The one Trainer I've always had trouble with. He just hangs around like a bad smell."

"Shouldn't we go to the police?" Trixie asked. "They can sort him out."

Ren sighed, running a hand through his untidy hair. "No, I . . . I can't do that. He hasn't really done anything."

"Ren, he tried to kill your Zangoose!" Trixie said insistently. "I know Pokémon don't get quite the same legal protection as we do, but that's still a crime. And he attacked you, remember? Not to mention threatening to have Seviper kill you. They'll send him to juvie for that, at the very least."

"Trixie, just . . . could you please leave it?" Ren implored her tiredly, rubbing his eyes and forcing himself to stand up again.

She didn't look particularly happy about it, but Trixie nodded, apparently realising that Ren didn't want to talk about it. Instead, she turned to look back up the drive towards the house. "It's starting to get dark," she said quietly. "If you're still up for it, let's go back to the truck and eat before we gear up for ghost-hunting."

"Up for it?" Ren said, forcing a grin. He'd almost forgotten the reason he was here in the first place. He let Trixie pull him to his feet, her hand small and delicate, yet full of wiry strength – much like Trixie herself, he mused.

"I understand if you don't want to," she said, squeezing his hand slightly as he made to let go. "You look a bit out of it."

"I kind of am, but that's exactly why I need to do this," Ren said. "It'll take my mind off things. Besides, I didn't come all the way out here just to go back again without seeing anything." Unsure exactly what he was supposed to do, he settled for awkwardly squeezing her hand back before releasing it. Mercifully, she let him do so.

That still left the issue of what to do with Trixie if and when the ghost turned up, he mused as they headed back over to the car in silence. For a brief, mad moment, he considered knocking her out and blaming it on a poltergeist of some sort, but it wasn't really an option. Trixie had been far too nice to him. Although, he reflected bitterly, he might not have a choice. Much as he liked her, there was no way that he could trust Trixie with what was quite possibly the biggest secret in the world.

Damien was well out of sight when they reached the car, Ren saw with some relief. Even as he scanned the area just to make sure, though, another thought struck him. "Trixie," he said slowly. "Do you think Damien really left?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, giving him a funny look as she popped open the rear door to rummage around in the back seat.

"It's just that . . . I wouldn't put it past him to pretend to storm off, then come back and snoop around. I didn't really make any secret of the fact that I was here to do something . . ."

"You're worried about that?" Trixie said, re-emerging with a canvas bag and tilting her head slightly. She gave him a look that was curious, but not quite suspicious. "You're really secretive, you know. If you're really just here to look at ghosts, I don't see the problem if he hangs around."

Ren cursed inwardly. He knew he shouldn't have let on how bothered he was. "I just don't want him causing any more trouble," he said lamely.

"If you're really worried, I can have my Drowzee scan the area and make sure he's left," Trixie suggested. Tossing him the canvas bag, she pulled a Poké Ball from her pocket and pressed the release switch to reveal a small, piggy-eyed Pokémon with a bulbous, trunk-like nose. It glared suspiciously at Ren, giving a disdainful snuffle.

"You can do that?" Ren asked, eyeing the Pokémon warily. "That'd be . . . helpful, yeah."

With a grin, Trixie snapped her fingers, then placed her hand lightly on her Pokémon's head. Drowzee closed its eyes, moving its hands in slow, looping patterns through the air in front of it. If he concentrated, Ren fancied he could see waves of purplish Psychic energy rolling through the air from Drowzee.

"He's gone," Trixie said at length. "On the way back down the road towards town, moving at quite a clip. Just the two of us here."

"That's . . . that's really handy," Ren said, narrowing his eyes slightly. "How do you do that?"

"Some Psychic types can be trained to practice psychometry – psychic reading of images associated with an object or location. My Drowzee specialises in reading local areas and detecting anomalies. It's really helpful for hunting down ghosts, as you might imagine."

"Sure, I guess it would be," Ren conceded. It still freaked him out a bit – but then again, wasn't he the one who had recently become accustomed to seeing things which may or may not have been there? Reminding himself of this fact, he attempted to refocus on the task at hand. The sun was indeed setting rapidly as he fished around in the canvas bag and came up with a pile of cling-wrapped cheese and tomato sandwiches.

"I made far too many," Trixie explained as she split them in two, "so don't worry, there's plenty."

"Thanks," Ren said, eyeing her curiously as they ate. Trixie's appearance on the country road had almost seemed too convenient – but then again, today had been a day full of uncanny coincidences. First had been the reappearance of Caitlin at the Contest, then Trixie and finally even Damien had appeared out of nowhere.

Trying not to read into it too much, Ren focused on his sandwich.

The Mackenzie farmhouse was even creepier at night than it had ever been during the day. The door opened without too much shoving, emitting a stuttering, spine-tingling creak as it swung open. Clouds of dust billowed once again as Ren and Trixie crept into the kitchen.

"You said we should try the master bedroom, right?" Ren said, his voice automatically dropping to a whisper.

"Yeah. Ghosts are attracted to places which were, like, the centre of life back when people still lived here."

It has been a long time, Drayden. Ren froze as the voice, low and creaky like the house, slithered through his ears like a wisp of smoke.

"Did you hear that?" he mumbled uncertainly.

"Hear what?" Trixie seemed nonplussed.

"I could have sworn I heard a voice…"

"Really?" Trixie seemed excited, barely able to keep her voice down. "Where was it coming from?"

Ren closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to summon up the memory of the voice, but it was like trying to grab hold of mist. Even the words that had been spoken were slipping away. What had it called him? Drayden? That name rang a bell somewhere in Ren's head. Where had he heard it before? "I . . . I don't know," he had to admit.

"Well, let's keep looking," Trixie said, opening the door to the rest of the house.

Ren followed her uncertainly, but just as he stepped across the second threshold, the voice returned. I have been waiting for such a long time.

Who are you? Ren asked silently, uncertain whether the owner of the voice could hear him. He shivered as they crept along the hallway towards the master bedroom. Was this really one of the lost spirits speaking to him, or was the night playing tricks on his active imagination?

I tried to follow you, the voice said as Ren and Trixie slipped quietly into the master bedroom. And now, you have finally come to me.

Ren had expected to find a typical ghost, if indeed anything at all – an indistinct, silvery silhouette or a shadow on the wall. Nothing could have prepared him for this. A tall, gaunt young man was reclining in midair in front of him, propped up on one elbow in the space where the bed used to be. He wore an old-fashioned brown tweed suit and a bowler hat, and looked almost real. Only a slight lack of distinction around the edges betrayed his otherworldly nature – well, besides the fact that he was floating. Even though the room was dark, the man seemed to glow slightly himself, shedding an uneven, fluctuating light on the surroundings.

Trixie gasped. "Ren . . . can you see him?"

Ren could only nod, his mouth dry as the strange man got to his feet, swinging his legs off the bed that wasn't there and approaching the two of them with his hand outstretched, palm first.

It has been so long, Drayden. I waited for you to come and find me, but you never did.

Trixie backed away ever so slightly as the ghost approached; the movement caused him to turn and look at her, though Ren had the distinct impression he wasn't seeing what was really there.

Your friend fears me, Drayden.

Why are you here? Ren asked, hoping the man could hear him.

I have always been here. I tried to follow you into your world, but I found myself trapped, bound to this place and endlessly alone. It has been such a very long time since I felt the power of the Dreamlight, yehktira. It fills me with life once more. The ghost lifted its hand towards Ren, and he instinctively put up his own hand to block it. The ghost's hand stopped when it met Ren's, but there was no sensation of contact. It was like touching only air.

"Ren!" Trixie hissed. "Is it speaking to you? Is this what you could hear before?"

"Yes . . ." Ren managed to croak. His mind was whirling. This was one of the spirits, all right. It had tried to cross through the first ring into the human world, and as such had become an empty shell, a mere shadow of what it had once been, just as Cecilia had said. It seemed to think his name was Drayden, though it definitely recognised the Dreamlight.

Suddenly, Ren remembered where he had heard the name before: in Maho's notes on the origins of the world of dreams. Drayden had been the very first yehktira, the original holder of the Dreamlight. He had only crossed into the other world once, before passing the Dreamlight on to his son. This spirit must have attempted to follow him back. Ren shuddered to think what had possessed him. How many spirits, he wondered, had seen the opening between the worlds and attempted to traverse it? How many had been lured by the promises of a bright world, free of fear and battle? How many had gone in search of those who never returned, only to become trapped themselves?

You have been here for nearly seven hundred years, Ren told the ghost, feeling himself shiver in sympathetic horror as he did so. Drayden has long gone.

Ah, Drayden, the ghost said with a smile, turning from Ren to drift across the room, staring through the boarded-up window as if it offered a view of ages past. You know your measures of time mean nothing to me. Tell me, how is your son?

Ren bit his lip. The ghost was clearly mad. Deciding it would be in his best interests to play along with its delusions, he replied: He is well. He will be a fine man, and a fine yehktira when my time on this earth is done.

The spirit's features eased into a sad smile as it turned back to look at Ren. This is good news. It is too late for me, as I fear I must drift here for eternity. But it gladdens me to know that my brethren will be safe. Warn them for me, Drayden. I must ask you to bear them a message from me. Will you do this?

Ren nodded, unsure of what else he could say or do.

Tell them not to follow me. Tell them that Algarot the Brave has seen the world of the living, and it is not for us. We are oil and water, Drayden. You, me. This world, our world. They are too different. One cannot live without the other, but nor can one live within the other. Only the Iehkti'na urum'na dar'sni-laku, those wretched creatures, can safely cross the breach. Them, and you. As such, we must entrust our future and our safety to your kind.

Algarot . . . Ren said, feeling his heart clench as the spirit placed yet another weight on his shoulders. In that moment, he felt as if he were carrying not only his own burden, but the burden of every yehktira throughout history. At the same time, he was forced to accept that the world of dreams was very much real. There could be no mistaking the severity of his position now. I will make you proud. The least he could do was help the lost spirit to rest easy.

Can your friend hear us? Algarot asked abruptly, gesturing towards Trixie.

I don't believe so, Ren said. She has a reasonable amount of power, I think, but no yehkti to speak of.

This is as I thought, Algarot said. Regardless, she is important. My senses have dulled with time, but I feel she is somehow connected to all this. Watch her closely, Drayden.

Ren frowned and glanced at Trixie, who was still staring, open-mouthed, at Algarot's transient figure. Was she really involved with the world of dreams somehow, or was it simply the ramblings of a mad ghost?

I must leave, Drayden, Algarot said. The Dreamlight refreshes me, but my power is still weak. To remain in this state longer, I would be risking my life. Farewell, yehktira. Live a good life. With that abrupt dismissal, Algarot bowed to Ren and Trixie in turn before vanishing, leaving the room just as dark and empty as it had ever been.

"Alright, Champ," Trixie said at length. "What in the seven hells was that?"

"A ghost, evidently," Ren said as he turned to leave. He didn't want to spend another minute in this sad prison of a house. "Don't tell me you weren't expecting to find one."

"Don't screw with me, Ren," Trixie said with a hint of menace in her voice as she followed him out through the kitchen. "That was way different to anything I'd ever seen. Ghosts don't just show up in full-colour HD like that!"

"And you think I know why it did that this time?"

"You stood and talked to it for like five minutes! You evidently know something I don't," she challenged him, following him out the door and cutting in front of him to glare straight into his eyes.

Ren sighed. He had been afraid of this. "Yes. Okay, fine. I know something. But I'm sorry, it's not something I can tell you. Will you let it go?"

"Like hell I will," Trixie snorted as they began to walk back towards the truck. "It's something to do with that necklace of yours, isn't it?"

Ren clasped the Dreamlight defensively with one hand, shooting her a sideways glance. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb, Ren! That thing was glowing like a Volbeat's ass in there."

"Oh. I didn't even notice. But yes, it's . . . something to do with this." Ren was reluctant to say any more, fearing he had given too much away already, but Trixie wasn't finished with her questions.

"So what is it? Some kind of ghost-attracting artefact? A family heirloom?"

"In a sense," Ren said uncomfortably. It wasn't completely untrue – the Dreamlight had started out being passed down Drayden's family before the tradition of possession by each new Champion in turn had started. "Look, Trixie. There's reasons I can't tell you everything, all right? I'm sorry, but that's as much explanation as you're going to get."

Trixie pouted. "Fine. I'll let it go for tonight. But you owe me now, you realise."

Sighing, Ren nodded in agreement. "Sure. Look, can we talk about this tomorrow? Between Damien and the Contest, I've had a busy day, and it just got really weird."

"All right, Champ. I'll play it your way," she said reluctantly, throwing open the SUV's rear door and digging around the junk littered across the back seat. She tossed Ren a large, squishy bundle, which he caught awkwardly. "Spare sleeping bag. Shouldn't smell too much like Drowzee."

Ren shrugged and unrolled it, laying it out in the untended grass that had once served as a field. "I've smelled worse." The sky was clear but for the glittering stars, and the air was mild, so he didn't have any qualms about sleeping in the open. Already feeling his eyelids droop, he crawled into the sleeping bag, vaguely registering Trixie doing the same a few metres away.

Sleep came swiftly.

Afro Glameow yowls affectionately, twining between his legs as if it hasn't seen him for ages. Bending down, he pats the springy black tuft uncertainly. "You really are a strange one, aren't you?" he says.

Afro Glameow doesn't answer, but leads him through a tangle of trees and giant sunflowers to a small, infinitely dense black portal. Tucking its coiled tail neatly behind it, it sits beside the hole, cocking its bowlike head impatiently.

"Keen to get rid of me, huh?" Ren grumbles, but he reaches out to the portal nonetheless. Feeling it yank at the centre of his being, he fights to stay conscious as Afro Glameow – and the world – dissolves around him.