This chapter is dedicated to my father; today is his birthday. Happy birthday, Dad, if you're reading this. Or even if you're not.

It's the longest chapter so far, so let's get it going.

EVAN RAMIREZ, 17

If my leg had been bothering me before, it was far worse now. The only question that remained was the following:

How long until it actually finished me off?

With every step, a sharp pain ran through my left leg, as though a sword were being plunged directly through my knee. The infection had me in such agony that I grimaced with every step, red clouding my vision.

On several occasions, Monica asked me if I wanted to stop and rest, but I declined. Every second we spent resting now would be a second that we'd have to run later. Better, I thought, to get the long trek over with.

The sun rose higher and higher in the sky, and it seemed even brighter than usual. Given the climate and solar strength I was used to, this was saying something.

In addition to the sun being more intense than I was accustomed to, every few steps made it feel as though someone were stabbing a knife into my brain. Rather amusedly, I wondered if this is what a severe hangover would feel like.

We've got to reach Sele City and avoid detection, I told myself. Otherwise I'm not going to live long enough to find out.

At long last, probably during the late morning, we came across a sign that read SELE CITY - 5 MILES.

The hard part, making it to the city on our own power, was almost over. The harder part, finding a place to stay in Sele City, would then begin.

For the fifth or sixth time, Monica broached the subject of taking a brief rest. Although I'd been trying to resist the temptation to do so, my resolve finally ran out here.

"Let's limit it to five minutes," I said. "Any longer and I won't be able to get going again."

"You know, Evan, we could hitchhike if you want to," Monica responded, sounding as though she were half-joking. "We keep having to make way for cars, but we could get in one."

Even with our lives on the line, mooching off of someone else for a ride just felt wrong. It was weird, really; I hadn't had any moral trouble with stealing coconuts yesterday, even if the efforts had ultimately led to suffering rather than success.

"I don't think we should do that," I told Monica. "We don't want our first exposure to Sele City to come as a result of breaking the law."

"Have it your way, then" my friend replied. "I mean it, this is up to you. Are you scared of the attention it'll bring?"

I nodded. What I didn't tell Monica was that the idea of hitching a ride the last few miles was incredibly tempting. In addition to my infected leg, I was shivering in the middle of the hot day and felt rather dizzy.

I must be running a decent fever as a result of whatever got into my leg. Hopefully I can get it treated somewhere; if not, I really am dead.

When we resumed our journey to Sele City, my vision darkened as soon as I stood up. Despite this, I managed to keep my balance, but I couldn't help but wonder if I could go on.

It was then that I remembered the words that had entered my mind just yesterday: The aura is with me.

I could recall reading that when pushed to the limit, when its back was against the wall, a Lucario's power only grew stronger. I'd channeled that power just yesterday when desperate to open a coconut, but right now I wanted something far less trivial.

The will to live burned more powerfully than any fever could. Even if the sky fell down, I would not let myself fail to reach my destination; of this much, I was determined.

The trip was torture. Every step was harder than the last, and I had many thousands of them to go. If we encountered any more Aipom, let alone actual storm spirits, we were dead meat with my leg.

Monica didn't seem to be in much better shape than me. She was doing a good job at hiding it; or rather, she would have been had I not been able to read her vital signs. She was almost as exhausted as I was.

The sun felt as though it were peeling my skin off my head, then slowly cooking my brain. The entire jungle landscape was like an oven, and I was just a food item to be baked. This eventually led to me saying a ridiculous phrase, one that caused Monica to look at me even more worriedly.

"Potatoes have skin. I have skin. Am I a potato?"

"What did you just say?" my friend asked me, as though she couldn't believe my words.

"It feels like I'm going to be a baked potato by the end of this. Please tell me we're almost to the city."

Monica frowned at me. "We're still over three miles away. I know your leg is infected, but we can't let up now."

I knew, of course, that she was right. As I looked out over the ocean, I thought of how nice it would be to go for a dip, to just dive in and rinse off all the sweat.

Of course, at this time of day, with this level of heat, it would probably just feel like bath water. It wouldn't be very refreshing at all. Besides, I didn't know if there were any rip currents, or if I'd have the strength to swim against them.

And even if the water was perfectly safe, jumping in would only take time away from our goal. Truth be told, I didn't know how much time I had before I collapsed to the ground, unable to go any further.

Every so often, Monica and I had to step off the road in order to avoid a vehicle. We didn't flag anyone down, but it became increasingly tempting for me to do so. My legs seemed to be moving out of their own free will at this point, not because my brain commanded them to.

We passed several more groves of palm trees, but I no longer considered climbing one of them to obtain coconuts. Don't get me wrong: I wanted little more than to sink my teeth into the scrumptious, crunchy white meat, or to tip some of that sweet juice down my throat. But I knew that it just wasn't safe; indeed, my burning left leg was a clear reminder of that.

Speaking of my leg, the wound had burst open from all the walking, and a bit of blood was dripping down it. The blood, however, was mixed with a foul-smelling yellow liquid that must not be named.

When Monica and I sat down for a break at the two-mile marker, I pointed my injured leg up to the sky. Almost immediately, a rather disconcerting sight came over it.

A small Butterfree flew over to my leg and climbed onto it. As weirded out as I was by this, I didn't exactly have the strength to swat it away. Besides, its baby blue wings were a thing of beauty, even amidst my personal hell.

What grossed me out more was when the Flying type began sucking up the yucky stuff on my leg. I remembered reading that Butterfree, back before the advent of antibiotics, had often been used to clean wounds in this manner to prevent them from getting infected. In this case, of course, it was too little, too late.

The Butterfree, however, did not seem to enjoy its drink. I could see its mouth tense up, and the Flying type quickly did just that, flying away from my leg.

This had all happened in less than fifteen seconds, but I was so thoroughly disgusted by the end of it that I felt very nauseous. All I wanted was to get off the ground and make my way to the city that might end up being my salvation.

"Let's…go" I said weakly, choking back the sick rising in my throat. "I think I'm gonna puke."

Monica jumped to her feet, then held out a hand to help me stand. "Just don't throw up on me, and that's fine. We've just got to get there, and then you can throw up all you want."

Now, not only was the pain shooting through my bad leg with every step, but it was shooting through the rest of my body as well. It was all I could do just to keep going forward.

Beside the one-mile marker, however, that's when my knees buckled. I fell towards the ground, and would have scraped my legs even further had Monica not caught me before this could happen.

Monica grabbed me by my sweaty shirt, then helped me sit down. I was too weak to talk by this point; my head was swimming, and my vision darkened once more.

"We've got to get you to a hospital" she said bluntly, worry evident in her voice. "I'm worried that the infection in your leg could progress; it may already be spreading around your body, and it can make you really, really sick, okay? An infection that goes into your bloodstream is potentially fatal."

Okay, so you're telling me this NOW?

As weird as it sounds, the last thing I remember feeling is not absolute terror at the thought of my imminent demise. Rather, it's the minor annoyance with Monica for reminding me of that.

Seconds later, I felt nothing at all.

MONICA MARINER, 17

I felt pretty horrible for making those words the last thing Evan heard. Hopefully they weren't the last words he ever heard.

It was up to me, now, to make sure that we both survived this journey. In the hot afternoon sun, I felt exhausted too; maybe not to the same point as my friend, but it was clear that a day on the run had taken its toll on both of us.

Although Evan had been strongly against the idea of hitching a ride to Sele City, I knew now that there was no way we could avoid it. I certainly wouldn't have been able to carry him the next two miles into town, let alone however much further it took to reach a hospital (for it was clear he'd need one.)

So I did something I'm not proud of. I laid Evan's unconscious body in the grass as gently as possible and then started waving down traffic. Although we were near a city, there weren't as many vehicles as one would expect given that.

"Help us, please!" I shouted, not caring if any Aipom heard us. I still cringed at the memory of what we'd done for food, and how spectacularly we'd failed in our efforts to obtain it.

The first five cars that passed by ignored us. As much as I wanted salvation in any form possible, I also didn't blame the drivers. Transporting a visibly sick teenage boy was probably a hard sell.

Eventually, after what felt like a very long time, a black limousine pulled over to the side of the road. It was easily the flashiest motor vehicle I'd seen yet that day, so it stood out to no small degree.

Even now, I could picture my parents warning me never to accept rides from strangers. You never knew where they'd take you, after all. But by this point, I was desperate enough to take this risk. And if they ended up not being trustworthy, I could deal with that later.

The vehicle's automatic door opened, and the driver of the limo, a fluffy-haired young man who was probably between the ages of seventeen and twenty, waved at me. Unlike most people in Alola, who had eyes the color coffee, his were the color of the ocean, and they seemed to stare into my soul.

"Come on in," the driver said bluntly. "If you need to get somewhere, I'm your guy."

"Thanks" I replied, picking Evan up from the ground, where another Butterfree was sucking up more of his infection and blood. I swatted the Butterfree away, careful not to hit my friend's leg.

I climbed into the limo and placed the unconscious teenager in one of the seats. I also did his seatbelt for him, which felt a bit weird. Little did I know, I had a lot more weirdness ahead of me.

The interior of the vehicle was made of dark blue leather, which contrasted well, in my view, with the black exterior of the limo. Once I sat down and buckled in, the driver pressed a button on the console.

With a high-pitched, loud beep, the windows were blacked out. The island landscape all around me vanished, to be replaced simply by dark-colored glass.

"Why did you block out the windows?" I asked, my pulse rising as all sorts of scenarios ran through my mind. "You're not…kidnapping us, are you?"
The driver didn't look me in the eyes as he replied.

"I'm not kidnapping you. I'm saving you from those who would do far worse."

I then noticed that it wasn't just the side windows that were blacked out, but so was the windshield. There's no way that the driver should have been able to see the road this way.

"That's not safe, is it?" I asked the driver irately. "You can't see the road when the windows are blocked like that!"

The driver, who hadn't yet pulled his vehicle out of its spot, turned around and snarled at me.

"I can drive just fine this way, thank you very much! The windows are darkened for all of our safety, because you can't know the exact route we're taking you! I'll get your friend to help, but you have to trust me!"

I don't. I don't trust you, driver.

"I get making it so that I can't see, but why are you making it so that you can't see? There's a reason blind people aren't allowed to drive!"

As the driver pressed the button on the console to shift the car into "Drive" mode, he spat out some words that made no sense.

"There are other ways to see besides the eyes, you know! There's aura, yes, but that's only one way!"

"You don't have to yell," I told the driver. "I'm seventeen, not seventy. I can hear you just fine when you use a normal voice."

"I'm going to yell, because you don't seem to get my point any other way! My name's Troy, and I'm a driver for the Society!"

The instant Troy mentioned a Society, alarm bells started ringing. Had this all been a trap? Did he intend to take me to a warehouse someplace where he and his cronies would harvest my organs? Had I stepped out of the frying pan and into the fire?

"I don't trust you, Troy," I mouthed.

"Well, you don't have a damn choice! Your life's in my hands now, and you can keep your trust in me, which I will not abuse, or you can get out of the limo and take your chances!"

I mean, this Troy character seems rather sketchy, but at the same time, he has a point: What choice do we have?

The road to Sele City (or at least, I hoped that was where it led) was bumpier than I had noticed on foot. Every fifteen seconds, it seemed, the limo would run over another pothole, which caused me to bounce upward. And, although Evan wasn't fully conscious, he still grimaced every time this happened.

I still didn't trust Troy. He gripped the wheel like it was the last life raft from a sinking ship, and he seemed to be driving more aggressively than I would have. Of course, it was hard to tell when you couldn't see through the windows.

"Please tell me who you are," I said, doing my best to sound threatening. Perhaps this was a dumb move, but all I wanted was for Troy to know that I meant business. I would not rest until I made sure Evan was safe.

"I already told you!" the driver all but screamed. "I drive for the Society!"

"I know that much. Now I want you to tell me what your Society does, because all sorts of societies exist. I need to know where you're taking us."

"That's exactly why I blacked out the windows" Troy replied matter-of-factly. "If I didn't, you'd know exactly where I was taking you, and that wouldn't be ideal. If your enemies catch you, and try to coax that information out of your mouth…well, this way, they'll never get it, no matter how hard they try."

"Wherever we're going…there are doctors, right? Because Ev-, I mean, my friend, needs medical help right away."

"Yes, there are. Believe me when I say that your friend will be well taken care of, and we will do our best to ensure his safety, as well as yours, when you're at our compound. But I don't know how much more I can tell you."

I still had plenty of reservations about what Troy was telling me, but it was just like he said: I had no other options, and nothing to lose. Evan certainly had nothing to lose; I didn't need to be a medical expert to know that his leg was in rough shape.

The vehicle made lots of twists and turns, and there were multiple points at which the limo stopped. This made me feel a bit more confident that we were in Sele City, but I just couldn't be sure, and that's what was figuratively killing me.

EVAN RAMIREZ, 17

I kept floating in and out of consciousness. I couldn't tell if the dreams I was experiencing were actually figments of my imagination, or if they were elements from real life working themselves into my subconscious.

At a few points, I could remember being jostled around as though in the back of a car on an unpaved road…what had that been about? Every hit had shot pain into my infected leg, which was not only painful, but hot to the touch; hell, I could feel the heat even when I wasn't touching it.

There were other pieces of awareness here and there. I felt my body being lifted out of a vehicle and carried, but I wasn't able to open my eyes widely enough to see my surroundings.

After that, I don't remember much else before waking up in a very soft bed. The way I felt was not unlike those mornings when you're too lazy to get up and go to school or work, and yet you know you must.

Someone was touching my forehead, most likely to wake me up or to check my temperature. But why would anyone need to check my temperature?

"Five more minutes, Mom" I groaned, feeling my eyes grow extremely heavy again. My left leg also ached, but not nearly as much as it had while I was on the run. But…that had only been a dream, hadn't it?

There was a soft chuckle. "I'm not your mother, Evan Ramirez" a soothing male voice told me as my brain reawakened a bit more.

"Whatever. I had a bad dream…thought I was on the run from a Great Storm, thought my parents were dead, thought I had a badly infected leg that was killing me, both literally and figuratively. But it didn't actually happen."

Was I truly waking up from a bad dream? That was one of the best feelings in the world, to find out that what you feared was happening, what you thought was happening, had not actually come to pass.

When I opened my eyes for good, I half expected to find myself in my bedroom back at home, looking up at the ceiling and reminding myself that, although my brain could conjure up some disturbing scenes, these scenes, at least, weren't real.

Of course, if I'm being honest, I knew even then that I was kidding myself. No nightmare I'd experienced before was this vivid, nor did it last quite so long.

How did I know that this was real life?

Well, for starters, the bedroom I found myself in was not my own. It was a lot nicer than what I'd been used to. As I gingerly sat up, I saw that I was lying in a four-poster canopy bed with dark blue sheets, dark blue curtains…basically dark blue everything.

The floor's carpeting was also a midnight blue color, as were the walls. The only parts of the room that weren't some shade of navy were the door, the dresser, and the bedside cabinet.

Somebody here loves the color blue. And maybe that somebody is the person right next to me who's been feeling my forehead.

"Ah, I see you've recovered nicely" the soothing voice said from a spot to my left. I turned my head, and that's when I saw him. He was sitting in a chair next to the IV pole, a line from which was connected into my arm.

He was a young man, perhaps twenty or so years old. His skin was dark, but not extraordinarily so, and his arms were beefy and muscular. He looked like someone who could be either your best friend or your worst enemy, and you didn't want him as the latter.

"Who are you? And where am I?"

I was tempted to spring out of bed and try to escape, but I didn't think that would get me anywhere. Besides, there was my leg to worry about.

"Careful with that," the dark-skinned man said. "You mustn't overexert yourself after what you've been through. Your infection had progressed pretty far, and we were quite worried for a time."

Realizing that my joints felt stiffer than they should have, I decided to ask the question.

"How long was I out?"

"Three days," the young man told me. "It was dicey for a while, but we gave you some heavy-duty antibiotics until the infection went away. We've also made sure to keep you hydrated through the fever, but it seems like you're out of the woods now. Still, you should rest."

Suddenly, an escape attempt didn't seem so necessary. If this person had wanted me dead, he simply could have refused to intervene and treat my infected leg, and there would be nothing I could do about it. What would be the point of healing me up just to kill me later?

And then I remembered something else, something just as reassuring. Since I had an uncanny ability to sense emotions, this could make me effectively a lie detector. If this man felt any reservations about keeping me alive, I would know right away and then be able to run for Monica. That is, if my leg had healed up enough to do so.

"But who are you? I asked again, hoping the young man would answer this time.

He frowned. "What about me would you like to know? My name? Or the purpose I serve?"

"Name," I replied. Really, the other option would have been more helpful, but I was just testing the waters.

"Okay then. My name is Manuel, and I'm a member of the Blue Light Society. If you have any other questions, you can direct them to myself or Tyson; I'm basically an open book, since you're safe from your enemies now."

"Who's Tyson?"

"That doesn't matter right now," Manuel responded sharply. It was the most intensely he'd spoken since I had woken up. "All that matters is that we got to you before your pursuers did. Because make no mistake about it, a wounded leg would be the least of your worries if that happened."

A chill ran down my spine as I realized just how close I might have come to a terrible fate indeed. To be fair, though, my current situation was already a pretty bad one.

"Room service!" a singsong female voice from just outside the room announced. My stomach growled as I realized that I hadn't eaten in several days.

I'd been scrawny to begin with, but seeing myself in a mirror would probably startle me. How much weight could I have lost?

"Bring it right in, Noura" Manuel ordered.

The door opened, and a tall, skinny lady with flowing brown hair and a purple dress placed a tray of food on my bedside table. She smiled at me and introduced herself.

"Hi there. My name is Noura. And you are?"

"Evan," I replied. "Evan Ramirez."

It was remarkable just how cheery Noura could be. Here we were, Manuel and I, talking about how horrible things could have been, and this lady managed such a gleeful demeanor. It was unreal, and yet not literally unreal; it was happening right in front of me!

"Of course, I already knew that," Noura replied matter-of-factly. "I have access to all of the Society's records, and you're our latest addition. Evan Ramirez of Palmwood Village, the one that was destroyed by the Great Storm the other day, killing most of its residents."

I was no longer in awe of Noura; I was disgusted. How could she talk about Palmwood, my home, being inundated by a storm, in such a tone? She spoke of it not as a tragedy, but as simply a fact of life. As though it were supposed to happen.

Manuel, thankfully, took my side. "That's enough, Noura" he told her gruffly. "But thank you very much for bringing Evan some food."

Once Noura had left the room, I got a look at the tray she'd brought in. There was a small bowl of what looked like chicken noodle soup, as well as a few slices of bread and a glass of water.

"You haven't eaten in three days, so you'll get full fast" Manuel told me as though reading my mind. "I know it's not a lot of food."

"Nah, it looks awesome!" I exclaimed. And it really did; after being so hungry for so long, just about anything would have been incredible.

After Manuel placed the tray in my lap, I took a bite of the bread. It hadn't looked very impressive, but judging by its fresh taste, it had just been baked. I ate it up quite quickly, even though my stomach seemed to have shrunk significantly.

Really, I had a lot to be thankful for. I was safe here, at least for now, from either storm spirits or bloodthirsty Aipom hordes. I would live another day.

My parents, however, weren't so lucky. Neither were my childhood friends (other than Monica), and neither were most of the other villagers. Palmwood, if Noura was to be believed, had been reduced to little more than rubble, and I was left to pick up the pieces as best I could.

Suddenly, the bread started to taste like cardboard. Manuel seemed to notice that something had changed about my expression; I scowled at my bowl of soup.

"I heard your stomach growl earlier; I thought you were hungry. Did something happen?"

"No," I responded, lying at first. "It's just…well, I guess something did happen actually. My parents are gone, and so is the rest of the village. If what Noura said is accurate, of course; is it?"

Manuel looked as though it pained him greatly to reply. I didn't blame him; if I'd been in his position, I would have been very reluctant to break the news. And yet, that's exactly what he had to do.

Slowly, he nodded.

"I'm afraid that Noura is almost never wrong, even in those cases when we would like her to be. No, I'm sorry to tell you that Palmwood Village is no more. The storm seems to have specifically targeted your hometown.

"Do you know why that is?" Manuel asked rhetorically, raising an eyebrow. "Why did the Great Storm go after Palmwood and no other villages on the coast?"

Guilt rose within me, hot steaming guilt that made me want to throw up. I felt tainted somehow, as though I'd just been observed committing an extremely embarrassing action.

It was one thing for everything I cared about to have vanished so quickly, but it was quite another for Manuel to suggest that it was somehow my fault.

I tried to hide this shame, but there was no way Manuel couldn't notice my face flushing. Fortunately for me, he didn't press me on this, but he seemed to be debating how best to deliver the news.

Of course, we both knew what he was going to say.

"It's because of you and Monica," he said gently. "The storm spirits are after you two, aren't they?"

I mean, they did raze the village and call us…what was it? Oh yeah…

"Didn't they call us Spirit Animals or something?" I asked Manuel.

"I wasn't there", Manuel responded, "but if they did, that's an accurate term to use. People like you and Monica are known as Spirit Animals, and the storm spirits see you two as a threat to their goal."

"Spirit Animal? Why are we called that?"

It was then that my "sixth sense", as it were, seemed to turn back on. I could tell that Manuel was mildly annoyed at having to answer this question, but at the same time, cared deeply about keeping me safe. I could trust him.

Manuel frowned. "Spirit Animals…well, there's a lot to say about them. About you and Monica. About us, for I am one as well. Show me your birthmark, Evan."

"My…my birthmark?" I stammered. "You want to see it?"

He nodded. "Just unbutton your pajamas a bit so I can see what Pokemon you have. I've heard it's on your chest."

I realized then that I was wearing green plaid pajamas, but they were soaked in sweat. They weren't as comfortable as they could have been. Ignoring all the questions about how this had come about, I did as I was told.

"Ah, I see. You've got a Lucario on your chest. I've got one too; not a Lucario, but a different Pokemon tattoo."

I was confused. "You were calling them birthmarks earlier. And that's what I've always known mine as."

"Birthmark, tattoo, either word is fine. Some would say that the Creators have endowed us with these markings to show that we are blessed. Tell me, Evan, do you believe in Arceus?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Of course, everyone does. But he wasn't alone in creating the universe; there were many other deities as well. In any case, your tattoo is of a Lucario, which means you align with Aura. Tell me, Evan, have you experienced anything weird?"

"What do you mean? Like, have I been able to sense emotions?"

Manuel nodded. "Yes, that's one of the signs. But also, if you're noticing things about the natural world that most people can't, that's another sign. 'Mind reading' is mostly a myth, but reading nature's mind, if you'd like to call it that, is something else entirely."

Now that he mentioned these things, I understood more of what Manuel was telling me to be true. Of course, being that these people had saved my life, I had no reason not to trust them, nor any ability to stop trusting them (since I was still too weak to get out of here.)

I nodded. "I guess I have, then."

"Quite" Manuel replied simply. "That means you have an alignment with Aura, which you should consider a major honor. It sets you apart from the rest of our members, since our organization is named in honor of Sir Aaron and his Lucario."

"Sir Aaron Society?"

The dark-skinned young man shook his head. "We call this the Blue Light Society. It is here that members are trained to make the best use of their abilities, the powers that the Creators have blessed, and cursed, us with."

"Cursed?"

"With great power comes great responsibility," Manuel told me. "And, of course, differences can be deadly. The reason the storm spirits were willing to destroy an entire town just to get you and Monica? It's because you're the dangerous type."

I suppose every gift comes with a price. But is this price worth it?

For the record, Troy is meant to look like me. There's a BIG difference, though: He's a much more confident driver than I am. And Evan does not look like me; I picture him as Leo Valdez from The Heroes of Olympus, but not as funny.

I'd like to thank everyone who's supported the story thus far. We're already at 15 favorites, and it's amazing that so many people, from so many different countries, are enjoying Spirit Animals. I'll see you guys next time!