IMPORTANT:

Hey there, this is the author coming at you with a very important question regarding the story. Upon rereading the previous chapters and uploading this new one, I was left wondering whether or not this current chapter and the previous chapter should trade places. It makes sense to me in an organizational sense, but I wasn't sure if you'd like it or not. If any of you could PM me on whether or not it should happen, I'd greatly appreciate it. Just know that if we do decide to flip chapters, the switch won't happen until Chapter 7.

That's all I wanted to ask. Otherwise, enjoy the read! (This message will be deleted upon the upload of Chapter 7).

A Home Like No Other

Chapter 6

Amy was not in a good mood.

To be more precise, she was not happy with how things were going at this particular moment. Before that, the morning had been… well, it had been better than when she'd first woken up to find that she and her baby were no longer human. Tiran had been a pleasant surprise, and now she wished she had the little rat Pokémon to listen to again. Any sort of distraction was preferable to dwelling on the revelations she'd stumbled across. And the awkward silence now floating between her and Fury made it all the harder to not think about.

Gallia had seemed so caring. To think that she had a flaw so ugly left the young woman upset. And not just upset at the Gardevoir, but upset at herself. Because even now, Amy felt as though there was some potential for the two of them to become friends. She'd never wanted to associate with someone like that before, so why was this different?

Because she knows you're human and wants to help. That's what common sense told her. Still, that was a poor excuse. She'd just have to wait for Gallia to return and confront her on the issue.

Which coincidentally, didn't take very long. Amy was sitting quietly with her egg, eyes flicking between her Flareon companion and what she hoped to be an empty window when her ears picked up approaching voices. It abruptly ended as footfalls hit the porch outside, followed by a rapping at the door. Fury tilted his head uncertainly.

"Umm… who is it?"

"Fury, you know who it is, it's Gallia and Sirden."

It was Gallia's voice, that much was for sure. But Fury still hesitated.

"But you said not to let anyone—"

"Fury, forget what I said. I'm going to open this door. If you so much as puff smoke in my direction, I'm going to dunk you in a tub. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am..."

Fury sagged some, laying himself down beside a wall. The door was pulled open and a miffed Gallia stepped in with Sirden behind her, carrying the dishes that had been left out. The Gardevoir gave a long look to Amy, who matched it with her own furrowed brow. The Pokémon wavered.

"Miss Amy, is something the matter?"

"I think we both know the answer to that."

Gallia blinked before letting out a drawn-out sigh. Meanwhile, Sirden was busy inching around the table to get to their bedroom after putting the dishes down. Amy watched Gallia pull out a chair and took a seat. She picked at the cold food on what had been her plate. She looked done for the day, despite it still being later in the morning. Sirden emerged from their room with a pouch in hand, noticed how Amy was staring at his wife, and nodded to nobody in particular. He motioned to Fury.

"Let's go, Guards'mon Fury, we have work to do and scarves to pay for."

The Flareon glanced about before sharing his captain's nod. Amy peered at the two guards'mon as they left the cabin in silence. That left her with Gallia. She turned her attention back to her when the Gardevoir cleared her throat.

"Miss Amy, I believe I should start this off by apologiz—"

"Why should you apologize? You knew this was going to happen!"

Amy interjected, standing up from where she'd been waiting. Gallia just let out another sigh.

"Neither I nor Sirden knew what was going to happen. It was a gamble based on a supposition. But seeing that Sirden was right, I can only apologize for putting you through whatever may have—"

She glanced at the darkened frame of the window, eyes narrowing slightly.

"—transpired. That said, I doubt you were ever in any danger."

Now it was Amy's turn to narrow her eyes.

"Don't try and wave this off. It's the principle of the matter!"

"And just what principle would that be?"

Gallia laced her fingers together, staring pointedly at Amy. The former human let out a growl—an actual, animal growl.

"That you would leave me and my baby while you threw down with some Pokémon you have a grudge with!"

Gallia hesitated, murmured incomprehensibly to herself about something, and fixed Amy with a severe look.

"First and foremost, I'm going to have to ask that you keep your emotions in check. I'm going to try and not influence them out of respect, but unlike how you were feeling yesterday, getting angry will actually do something as a Psychic-type. Second—is how I'm treating Arzon what this actually boils down to?"

"No. I'm definitely mad about being left here, even with Fury. But Gallia, how you're acting towards this guy is wrong!"

At that, Gallia actually laughed. A short laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. She pushed her chair back and stood, looking down at Amy while propping her hands on her hips.

"Listen, Amy, I don't know how things are where you come from. But here, in the wonderful world of Pokémon, Psychic-types have every right for our disdain of Dark-types. You can't just waltz in and preach about something you yourself don't understand."

"What is there to not understand about what you're doing?"

Amy was raising her voice now, which had little, if any, affect on the Gardevoir. In return she was fixed with a frustratingly level look

"Give me some time and I can show you. But I'm going to again ask that you wrangle those emotions. You're getting far too worked up and you're doing it on purpose."

"What?!"

Amy's temper really did flare at hearing that. The word came out as another growl as she stamped a paw—and promptly froze. Something had changed with what she'd just done. It took several seconds for her to realize that the edge of her vision had a tint to it. A cyan halo, a light that somehow wasn't light, if that made any sense. The air around her almost felt like it was… vibrating, and a point on her forehead that she was quickly becoming familiar with was growing warm. She looked up at Gallia, who now looked ready to spring into action at the drop of a hat and shifted a bit, anger suddenly forgotten.

"Is this supposed to happen, or...?"

She wavered, the new sensations vanishing in the same abrupt manner in which they'd appeared. A sudden wave of fatigue left her feeling wobbly. Her legs buckled beneath her and Amy collapsed to the ground. She didn't pass out, but she felt like doing so as the beginnings of a major headache began to thrum to the beating of her heart. Gallia was there in an instant, her hand gingerly lifting the young woman's head as she inspected her.

"Are you okay?"

"I… don't know. What even was that?"

The healer rolled her eyes.

"That, Miss Amy, was your temper getting the better of you. I wasn't just telling you to stay calm so I could dance my way out of some argument. Your emotions must've triggered a manifestation of your Psychic energy. Think of it as your version of how I reacted earlier when you ah, brought up Arzon at breakfast. Only in this case, you must've overspent your reserves, hence the weakness."

"Oh… got it…"

The Gardevoir let her head go and Amy rested it on her forelegs. That seemed as valid an explanation as anything else that she'd gotten thus far, And perhaps she might've gotten carried away. That didn't change how she felt about the issue, but at least she now knew not to get so upset. She was poked and prodded some more before Gallia scooped her up from the floor and lay her back down on the blanket with her egg.

"Here, let me get you a few more Oran Berries. Eating those and finishing off what's left in your food bowl from earlier should help regain some strength."

Gallia headed into the kitchen and returned with a pair of the blue fruits from the previous night and set then down on the blanket alongside the bowls from earlier. Still admittedly hungry, she ate and drank despite it having gone cold. After finishing it off and eating the berries, she actually did feel better. Still tired, but decidedly not on the verge of going unconscious. The two sat in silence for a while before Amy spoke up, managing a grimace.

"Hey, Gallia."

"Yes?"

"What did you mean from earlier? When you said that I was getting mad on purpose?"

Gallia, having since moved a chair to sit beside Amy, paused. After another moment of silence, she spoke.

"It's… complicated. It revolves around the health of your mind, which is something I'm hardly proficient at compared to others, but I still have to address. You see, I think you're trying to hide from how you truly feel."

"How I feel about…?"

Amy cocked her head where she rested. Gallia shrugged.

"Presumably? This entire situation. I've been keeping an eye on how you feel with my power. While I can't say with confidence as to why, I can sense that something isn't right. I keep feeling this grief about you, which I understand, but it feels… out of focus, if that makes sense. More importantly, it doesn't match with how you've been acting on the outside. Whether intentional or not, I believe you're avoiding fully coming to terms with your new circumstances. That spat of ours was a prime example—you committed yourself to becoming angry over something that needn't require that kind of response."

Amy didn't respond, she just stared down in contemplation. Was that all true? Had she just been avoiding coming to terms with all that was happening? She thought back to yesterday afternoon and the time she'd spent waiting for Gallia to return. She'd been crying, the tears falling until they no longer could, wallowing in the idea that she and her child had died because of some stupid mistake. Unthinkingly, she nestled a bit closer to her new egg and continued the train of thought. She remembered how she'd been once everyone had come to talk, and even how she'd treated the conversation with Tiran from earlier. Amy's stomach did a twist when she realized she'd just been using those things as an opportunity to keep herself from thinking. Even with the argument, she'd focused herself entirely on Gallia's actions and how upset it had made her. She had been unconsciously preoccupying herself.

Even now, she didn't want to think about it, but now it was out there in the open and she couldn't stop herself.

Look what you did...

This is all your fault...

You killed yourself and your baby...

You'll make everyone who loved you cry...

Worthless...

It all crashed down In an instant, all the grief that had yet to be spent. A sniffle escaped the young woman as her eyes began to sting, and she buried her face in the blanket. The confusion, the questions, it was just like yesterday.

But at the same time, it wasn't. Amy started as a hand found itself on her back, rubbing gently. She peeked up to find Gallia now sitting on the floor beside her, the Gardevoir's knees drawn up to her chest. One hand petted Amy while the other touched at the horn on her chest. Her eyes, too, had become misty.

"So that's how you feel. I see. I'm sorry for dragging it out of you like that. I'd make for a terrible therapist."

That was all that was said for a while. Amy just lay there with her egg, sobbing quietly as Gallia stroked her like an owner would a pet. It should have been embarrassing, demeaning, but in that crucial moment it was one of the most comforting gestures the young woman had felt from someone other than family in a long, long time. After a while, she lifted her head, though not before rubbing her face in the blankets in a desperate bid to wipe away tears and snot.

"I miss them, Gallia. My mom, my dad, my brother, everyone. I haven't even been awake for a full day and I already want to go back home and see them all."

The healer nodded. Amy continued.

"I don't know if I was good to them before I died. I think I was pushing them all away because of… another issue I was having. And now I wish I hadn't. I wonder if they know I'm gone yet? My brother was always so protective, and I'm afraid to know how he'll react. I'm afraid to know how they'll all react. I never got to say goodbye."

Again, Gallia was quiet, content to just comfort her physically, or perhaps afraid to say something that would be counterproductive. Amy let out a shaky sigh and continued spilling her heart out.

"And I don't think any of it's fair. Me being here feels like some sort of second chance, but it was me being careless that led to losing my life in the first place. I can understand my baby deserving another go at life, but me?"

She turned and looked pointedly at the Pokémon.

"Do you think I deserve this? Another shot?"

At last Gallia stirred from what she'd been doing. Their eyes met and Amy saw much the same shock and uncertainty that she had when she'd first told the Gardevoir that she hadn't been a Pokémon. Her hand shifted, moving up to scratch between Amy's shoulder blades while her brows knit in concentration. Almost a full minute later, she gave her answer, the words slow and deliberate.

"I haven't known you for very long, Miss Amy, so I can't say what kind of… human you are. Though if there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that you are kindhearted. I won't say more than that, but I think it's enough to warrant the opportunity to try again, as it were. The mistakes you speak of, whether silly or serious, shouldn't be the sole judge that damns you. Instead, they should be lessons to learn and better yourself from. In short? Yes, I believe you deserve a second chance."

Another lull in conversation came over the two, with Amy now staring emptily at the floorboards. She mulled over the response, replaying it over and over as she tried to sort through everything. It took a while for her to come to a decision, but she reach it nonetheless. And though the former human's mind was not at ease, it was still the second certainty she'd come to since waking up in this unfamiliar world. She rose to her haunches and surprised Gallia again by clumsily wrapping her forelegs around the Pokémon's waist and giving her a hug. She nuzzled into her side, speaking quietly.

"Thank you. I'm still not happy—not with myself or how you're treating this Arzon guy. But I needed to hear an answer like that, so thank you."

"Of course."

Amy pulled away and began wiping at what tears still remained with a paw. Gallia likewise withdrew her hand and began to rise.

"Here, let's get your face washed up again. Do you want to go back to the patient house, or are you okay with staying out with me a little longer? Keep in mind that I have a few chores that need to be taken care of—and there's still the lesson I'll be teaching later, if you're interested."

"I… wouldn't mind staying here, or at least having someone to keep me company. If I have to go through another lonely afternoon like the one yesterday, I'd probably go crazy."

Amy gave Gallia a weak grin. She didn't seem impressed by it, carrying on as if it had never happened.

"We can arrange either. Perhaps meeting a few of the village's children wouldn't be such a terrible idea, then. They're always eager to meet new Pokémon and aren't likely to prod with the kind of questions that would rouse suspicion. We have a Rattata, Tiran, who I think you'd take to. Quite the chatterbox, that one, but still sweet."

Amy caught herself nodding at the mention of the young Pokémon, only to stop at realizing the healer could probably sense her amusement. Indeed, she received a sideways look as Gallia moved, fetching another cloth like the one used to clean her face from before. It wasn't long until she had it damp and was fussing over streaked and matted fur for a second time. Once that ordeal was finished, she moved on to scrubbing where Amy had used the blanket as a handkerchief and had that mostly clean before moving into the kitchen with the plate and bowls from breakfast, some utensils, and a basin of water.

Thus began the dishes, the first of many chores that Amy was unknowingly about to help take part in.

"Malick, Gnashalt, to attention."

The two Mightyena halted mid-step and obeyed, standing as straight as any quadruped could hope to while their superior turned to face them. Arzon Crimsire, formerly of the Crimsire Pack and head of the Ridanian half of Merri's Guard… was not in a good mood.

To be more precise, he wasn't happy with how things had turned out this morning. It had started out well enough—he'd accomplished getting that damn Gardevoir to the bridge and more or less confirmed that the Espeon was indeed awake. But after that?

He gave a long look to the twin Dark-types. Literal twins that had been hatched as a pair from a single egg. A rarity on par with the off-colored Pokémon that gleamed when the light caught them. The two were indiscernible from one another unless you knew them personally. The Zoroark grunted.

"Resume perimeter patrols as scheduled. Report back at noon for further instruction."

"Yes, sir."

The brothers chorused as one, turning in either direction and disappearing into the trees to patrol the edges of Ridan's Merri. Now left to his own devices, Arzon let out a huff and ran a clawed paw through his mane. Damn that healer to the darkest shadow on a moonless night. He couldn't believe he just let what could be a threat to Ridan's security slip through his claws like that. It was frustrating, yet he was more than sure that the Gardevoir had told some semblance of the truth. Whoever this Espeon was, she was not of sound mind, and an interview with a broken Pokémon would only make matters difficult. His opportunity would come soon enough, and if anyone on Auristead's half of Merri thought they were using this opportunity to buy time for some clever ploy, then they were fools among fools.

The captain continued his way down the meandering path, grousing as he went further into the little settlement. It was rougher than the northern half, less populated, with the surrounding woodlands threatening to encroach on the yards or gardens that some Pokémon kept. Such a tiny, quiet place. A world unto itself until the occasional trader or merchant passed through. If not for having to share the authority of this place—much less with Psychic-types, he might've even enjoyed his stay here. The remote location was certainly to his tastes.

But that wasn't how things had turned out. The Zoroark pushed his whimsical wants aside and stalked onward, dreading what was about to happen as he approached his home.

The small wattle and daub structure was of… acceptable construction. Someone had built it and moved away prior to his arrival, and whoever had constructed it apparently knew a thing or two about quality, for all the construction was simple. Still, he wished the place hadn't been whitewashed. The bright walls were the only ones on on this half of the village and was by far too conspicuous for Arzon to feel fully comfortable living in. With that in mind, however, he supposed a home was still a home.

He approached the door and let a claw rest on the rough grain. For a moment, everything seemed to loom over him. The home felt larger than it truly was, and he could've sore that the trees were casting long shadows. The Zoroark shook his head and the world returned to normal. No, this conversation had to happen. With a huff, he gripped the handle and threw the door open.

Unlike the eye-searingly bright exterior, the inside of Arzon's home was a dark place. Not dark in the sense that it had a somber or foreboding feel to it, just in that it was… dark. Every shutter had been pulled closed, and dark cloth covered each window to ensure that as little light as possible was to enter the domicile. He stepped into the space and closed the door behind him, leaving the home in a darkness that most Pokémon were unable to see in. Of course, Arzon wasn't most Pokémon. The natural night vision of most Dark-types made it a breeze to make out the space in detail while keeping pesky sunlight out of his more sensitive eyes.

Naturally, the space was on the smaller side, consisting of only the most practical or essential furnishings that could fit in the single-room home. There was a short table near the front, with room to sit up to four on the exceptionally rare occasions that someone needed to talk to him while he was resting. There was also a drawer stuffed with linens and the like, but most everything else was near the back. In one corner was a large, L-shaped desk that acted as his office space since he didn't have a dedicated building for Merri's guards'mon. All manner of things, ranging from stacks of parchment, receipts, quills, ink pots, tools for sealing envelopes with wax—even a ream ofactual paper, were neatly organized on its top and in its drawers. Against the far wall were chests and shelves filled with an assortment of things, and in the corner opposite the desk were a pair of beds, one large and one small. The latter was a glorified pillow, while Arzon's was more custom-built—modeled after a 'papasan' chair that he'd found was perfect for his species to curl up and fall asleep in. It was one of the more pricey items he owned.

And that was it. There was nothing else to be had in such a small space. If food needed to be cooked, it was thrown onto the fire pit that had been dug beside the house or just eaten raw. If you had to use the bathroom, either use one of the community outhouses or find a spot in the woods away from the village. Plumbing was too damn expensive.

Arzon made his way to the table and sat himself down on one of its cushions, crossing his legs. A quill, ink, and parchment were set at the ready, as was customary. He gave everything another scan with his eyes before they came to a rest on a space among the frame of his bed. He waited for one second, then several, before finally grumbling.

"Zolkir, come out."

He was met with silence, but after a moment, the air around where he'd been staring began to shimmer and distort. Without much in the way of warning, the space beneath the bed was bathed in a brilliant magenta light that was quick to fade. In its stead sat the home's other occupant, crawling out with his head hung low, ears pressed flat, and tail tucked between his legs.

Zolkir. The Zorua shuffled his paws across the floorboards on his way to the table. The two had done this many times before, but never under the circumstance that his son had been caught. Indeed, his right flank and some of the fur on his collar had been singed—presumably by that Flareon Sirden had under his watch. Glumly, the little Dark-type took his place across from his father, keeping his gaze down. Arzon… really didn't want to be doing this right now. Still, he cleared his throat.

"You were caught…"

The words made Zolkir wince, a move that was mirrored by Arzon, though it was more internal a reaction. The words sounded so cold, so unforgiving. The Zorua looked up.

"I'm sorry, sir. I thought they wouldn't see me while using my illusions."

"And yet you were. Who was it?"

"T-The Espeon. She looked right at me the moment I climbed onto the window sill. Mister Fury noticed and hit me with an attack."

Of course. Arzon sighed.

"Zolkir, I wasn't pulling some prank when I told you to stay away from Psychic-types. Do you recall what I said to you about Captain Sirden and that wife of his?"

"Yes, sir. You said that even though they can't see through illusions, they can still sense me."

Arzon nodded.

"Because…?"

"I'm a Dark-type, and Psychic-types can always sense our energy."

That was correct. Arzon kept his features set.

"Good. Though that leaves one question: if you knew this all beforehand, then why did you get so close?"

The Zoroark leaned in, hoping against all odds that the answer wasn't going to be what he thought it would. Unfortunately for him, it was, and it was made all the worse with the pitiful look his son gave him.

"I-I'm… I just wanted to see what an Espeon looked like. Tiran told me yesterday that he and Lizzie were going to sneak into the patient house to see her, and I…"

The words failed him. He dropped his gaze again and blinked away the tears beginning to shine in his eyes. Real tears, not the Fake Tears that were so common with other Zorua his age. Too soft, too fragile. It was just like—

Arzon's jaw clenched and he shoved the thought aside before it could root itself in his head. He began to tap a claw on the table, trying to think of anything else when his son spoke up again.

"Are you mad at me?"

The Zoroark's eyes refocused and he was back at the table. He shook his head.

"No. Frustrated, perhaps—what you were doing was important for me, but I could never be angry with you over something so small. It was bound to happen eventually."

"Oh… okay."

Zolkir just sat there, staring guiltily at the tabletop. The silence between the two stretched on for what felt like eternity before Arzon moved. He reached his claws to the supplies that had been left on the table and got ready for some note-taking.

"Well then, let's hear what you learned across the bridge. Surely you at least noticed or overheard a few things before you were spotted, so out with it."

A light flashed in his eyes as he cast his own Illusion, this one far more powerful than the Zorua's. Nothing became invisible, or even changed in a visual sense, but the bubble of sound that had just been cast around the table was a staple among their kind for keeping secrets and other important conversations out of earshot. Inside was still silent, but none outside could hear their voices over the illusory droning. Zolkir stirred, straightening up.

"Yes sir. Uh… I heard from someone that Miss Kallistrate will be coming back tonight with Nedos."

"Ah, Sirden's other guards'mon. I was wondering when she'd return. What else?"

Arzon began scribbling a note on the parchment. The grip on the quill was a little awkward, but he managed. The Zorua furrowed his brow in concentration.

"...I was able to spy on Ficcio on the way to the patient house. He apparently finished Captain Sirden's scarf."

Arzon caught himself rolling his eyes. Most of what his son had to say could best be described as gossip, and while he could just as easily get these tidbits of information from talking to either of Tiran's parents, it was important to let the child practice his abilities in more realistic circumstances. The Zoroark dipped the quill in the ink pot for the umpteenth time and gave Zolkir a more serious look.

"And what about the Espeon? What happened with her?"

"Oh… right. I made it to the patient house like I was supposed to, but it was empty—no sign of the Espeon or her egg. Someone had brought her to Gallia and Sirden's cabin, probably to eat, since there was food left on the porch. The Espeon was inside with Guards'mon Fury. The door was closed. I think... they might've known someone was spying all along."

Arzon hesitated, then grumbled an oath. Either Zolkir had slipped up long before this incident, or those two Psychic-types were more clever than he gave them credit for. It was also possible he was just looking too hard into this. He didn't have the evidence to back up any of those suppositions.

"Go on."

"Well, I could hear the two having a conversation, but they were quiet, so I had to get closer to hear what they were talking about. The conversation was confusing, though."

"How so?"

Arzon glanced up from the shorthand he'd been scribbling down. Zolkir looked like he was trying hard to remember the details of something.

"They were… talking about you and Miss Gallia. Guards'mon Fury was telling her about how Dark-types and Psychic-types hate each other, but I think it made the Espeon mad because she said it was stupid and… 'prejudice'. What's that?"

Arzon's quill slipped from his claws, leaving a messy blot where it landed on the parchment. He wasn't expecting to have this kind of conversation, not today. He felt almost as old as that Zangoose all of a sudden. He recovered the quill and gave the best answer he could.

"Prejudice, in its most common use, is like a preconceived notion. Breaking it down further, it can literally mean 'prejudgment'."

"...And is it stupid and prejudice for Pokémon to act like you two do?"

This time, the Zoroark visibly flinched, though it was unlikely Zolkir noticed with how slight it had been. His Illusion wavered, and for a moment, he thought he saw an entirely different Pokémon sitting across from him. Not some trick of their species… just memory. This was definitely not what he wanted to deal with this morning. There were more important things to focus on, namely obtaining as much information about this Espeon as he could—he still didn't even have a name, for shadow's sake! Still, this was his son, and this was a lesson that most every Dark-type had to learn at some point. He let out a grunt.

"Yes, Zolkir, that would be accurate."

"Then why does it happen?"

Arzon met the little Zorua with the most level look he could muster, before letting it fall away into a cruel mockery of a smile.

"In general? I can't answer that. If I knew why, I'd be one of the most revered Pokémon in the world for uncovering something so profound. Some 'mon just don't like others. Pokémon types, though? That's something that can be more easily explained."

He paused for a moment, focusing his power. The Zoroark's eyes flashed again, and a new Illusion began to manifest within the bubble of noise. Atop the table, a flash of magenta gave way to a miniature tree that began to sprout. It started as a tiny seedling, but quickly matured into an old oak that could've easily been a hundred years old. Around its base sat the glowing green silhouette of a Deerling, a creature he knew Zolkir was familiar with.

"I've taught you the essentials about Pokémon types and how the energies of said types can interact in and out of battle, but one thing we never covered was how such things could dictate how two or more Pokémon may behave towards one another if they're of certain affinities. This Deerling, for instance, is a Grass-type.

Arzon indicated the mini Pokémon. It responded by frolicking in a circle around the tree. He continued.

"For the most part, Grass-types interact quite normally with others, but let's say a Pokémon whose type they are weak to shows up, like a Poison-type."

So saying, a puddle of purple appeared off to the side, bubbling and surging upwards until it became the silhouette of a Grimer. Zolkir wrinkled his nose at the Pokémon so often associated with city sewers, but watched intently as it began to approach the Deerling, its arms outstretched as it slid forth.

"Naturally, Poison-types are potent against all but a handful of species, even if they have a resistance to the type, but Poison is especially dangerous against types such as Grass and Fairy. It destroys their energies far more easily, resulting in an easy faint and a lack of protection. Because of this, Pokémon—and the energies themselves—have developed a repulsion toward most types they are weak to. A repulsion that results either in fear or hostility."

The Deerling froze, its ears shooting up as it turned to face the Grimer. The sludgy creature lunged at its target, but the Grass-type leapt out of reach, bounding to the edge of the table before jumping off and dissolving into nothing. The Grimer passed the tree and the plant visibly shivered, withering away until it was gray and dead. Like the Deerling, the other illusory things dissolved into the air and the experience was over. Arzon placed his claws back on the table.

"There are plenty of exceptions to this rule, of course. Such repulsion can be overcome with enough willpower and interesting things can come about because of it. Case in point, Singewreath is a major city in Auristead where Grass and Fire-types live in relative peace with one another. But by and large, this is the root of discrimination among Pokémon... and why Psychic-types hate us with such passion."

"Oh. Then why are we supposed to hate them back if we're not weak to them?"

Ever the thinker, as usual. Arzon stared ahead.

"We hate them back because we must. They want nothing less than our erasure from this world. So we fight back, because if we don't, they'll slowly whittle our kind away until we're nothing but a memory, some myth they'd tell their children so that they'd behave. 'Do as your parents say, unless you want the Dark-type to come in the night and take you away', or something to that effect."

He sat back, then, eyeing his son carefully. The kit looked at where the tree had been and gave a quiet nod. Arzon wasn't fooled—he could tell that the Zorua wasn't satisfied with that answer. The idea that Sirden or that wife of his wouldn't even give him the time of day had bothered him from the very start, so much so that the next question was one entirely anticipated by the father.

"...But what about the Espeon? If she doesn't like this, then does that mean she won't hate me? Can't Psychic-types beat the repulsion thing too?"

It hurt. The pleading look in his eyes, the near-desperation in his voice—it poked and prodded at his heart. Now it was his turn to avert his eyes as he grumbled out an answer. The truth.

"No. Not with Dark-types."

"W-what…? Why?"

From the corner of his vision, he saw Zolkir practically stagger from the unexpected answer. Slowly, Arzon stood up, gathering the notes he'd taken.

"Because we've done this whole song and dance too many times before, that's why. When a type is entirely nullified by the energy of another, such as with Psychic and Dark energies, the repulsion is just too much. You see something similar with Fairy and Dragon-types, or Electric and Ground. Not with Normal and Ghost, though—that dynamic is completely unique. The point is that so many like that Espeon have sprung up before, claiming they want an end to the fighting between our types. Do you know what they all had in common?"

"No…?"

Arzon gave another smile, even crueler than the first.

"None of them had ever met a Dark-type before. Guess how they reacted when they finally did?"

He rose to his feet and crossed the room, letting the question hang in the air as he dispelled the bubble of noise and made his way to his desk. He left the parchment out to dry before turning to face Zolkir again. The Zorua had a bleak look on his face. Arzon grunted.

"Best be prepared for a third Psychic 'mon that'll hate our guts. Now then, let's get that fur sheared off. If your skin is burnt too, go to Itato's berry patch for a Rawst."

The little Pokémon just sat there, not really responding, but he gave another nod after some time. He left the house without saying another word, using the little quadruped door that had been cut out for him. Arzon just waited, retrieving a few of the grooming tools he'd be using later. He sighed again.

"He's too much like his mother…"

He grimaced, not sure if that was a good or bad thing. It probably didn't matter right now, though. He sauntered to the nearest window and peeked behind the cloth, squinting his eyes at the bright light that came through the shutter's slats. It was still nowhere close to noon.

It was going to be a long day.

Author's Note:

Hey everyone! I'm back with yet another chapter! I've also completed a more intensive proofread of the previous chapters and have fixed several mistakes and tweaked a few scenes. I'm sure returning readers have also noticed the slight change to the writing format, as well as the absence of the 'Volume 1' that came before the chapter number. Don't worry, nothing has changed in regards to how the story will progress!

I was actually worried that it would be difficult to break 5,000 words on this one, but much to my surprise, the words just came naturally as I typed. I ended up having to cut things a little short on the second half since I wasn't inclined to have the Arzon section be too much longer than the Amy section. I probably could've gotten close to 7,000 words otherwise.

This is just an FYI, but Chapter 7 of AHLNO will come after I publish a short story I've started work on, titled An Eevee and an Ember. I can't say how long it will take to write, but I thank you in advance for your patience and hope that you'll give this new project a read once it's out there.

As always, feel free to leave a PM detailing any mistakes you find so that I can fix them later.

See ya next chapter!