Day broke over the small village of Haven. The sleepless Murkrows, which made their nests in the overhangs of nearly every house, finally announced sunrise with an uproar of ear-piercing cries.
All awoke at this familiar commotion and collectively heaved a sigh of relief: they had been allowed to wake up from another night and to start another day.
After making sure that their loved ones had woken up as well, everyone slowly left their residence. Eerily, they all stepped through their front doors at the same time, each family glancing over to the other to verify that all were present for the early morning meeting. If they weren't, they'd assume the worst.
This silent wait ended when Hoothoot flew over their heads, himself monitoring the streets for any porches and front doors which were vacant of occupants, with the hope of being able to save potential victims of the Nightmare Blight with his Dream Eater, if need be.
All of the familiar faces were there. None had been lost this night, thankfully.
To show their appreciation to the Murkrows for waking them, everyone then picked up a gold coin, or any other such small, shiny object of value, and threw it into the air, causing the cloud of black birds to converge on them, each one engaging in a struggle in the skies and streets to collect as many as he could.
Once the last of the offerings had been confiscated by the murder, they could go on with their day, all while already dreading the coming of the next night.
It was an odd ritual, but it had never been missed — not once since it had been started all those decades ago — because in Haven, waking up was a gift and not one to be taken for granted.
Yet, further outside the confines of their isolated village, past the residential quarters, the stone-paved Town Square and the dirt roads which lead to the marketplace, hidden deep within the darkness of the Blightwoods, the forest which loomed over them all from its throne atop the hills, was the singular source of all dread, of all trouble, of all that was unwell with Haven.
The tenebrous weald, covered in a perpetual fog and populated by no vegetation other than tall, slender trees, gave way to a small, isolated meadow of dirt at the base of a rocky ledge. Lurking within a discrete, humid cavern which perforated it, the sole resident of the Blightwoods rose from the shadows which he had been dwelling in for the duration of the night, emitting a powerful wave of dark energy around himself upon emerging, prompted to do so after he had felt the sudden awakening of his neighbours.
Darkrai woke up sweating, short of breath and with a mild migraine. He had just had a night terror, an inconvenient defect of his own powers, one amongst many for the Nightmare Weaver. As if that hadn't made his early hours miserable enough already, he had also been forced to embrace a diurnal sleep schedule instead of his natural, nocturnal one, lest he wanted to get mauled by some townsfolk in his sleep, however unlikely that may be, he would have to let his day be dictated by their schedules and remain awake at the same time as they were. Mornings were no joy to get through for him.
As he dragged himself into a sitting position — which was terribly uncomfortable, causing him to fall back down onto his back — he wiped the sweat off of his forehead, scrapped his white plume of any rocks which may have gotten stuck in it, and then started to reflect on what he had just endured, because, if there was one positive aspect of his powers which he was willing to concede to, it was that those horrific visions which his mere presence exuded could all be quite useful, if lingered upon.
And, quite frankly, this was especially true in his case, him who suffered from terminal boredom when he wasn't experiencing any sort of anxiety caused by his life being at risk.
Atleast the nightmare he had just gone through was rather more interesting than the usual ones he had to contend with: he had to admit that the idea of the villagers setting the entirety of the woods ablaze in an attempt to chase him out of the area wasn't something he had considered before, yet it was quite likely, now that he thought about it.
It was even more odd that they themselves hadn't considered it, really.
To them, the inhabitants of Haven, this calm — even if obviously eerie — refuge of his was nothing more than the sanctuary of a heartless, eldritch evil, ever-looming over their little village — which had done nothing to provoke it — longing for nothing more than to consume it all in the most harrowing way imaginable.
And the more he thought about that possibility, the possibility of his home being reduced to ash, the more his heart ached. Would they turn to burning down the forest? Would they ever get so bold? Surely they would never risk it... hopefully not... hopefully he could grow the courage necessary to set things straight, to confront them and to explain it all to them, before they did any such thing.
The cold, dark cavern and the dull nightmare forest were home to him. They were beyond pitiful when compared to the grand shrines and temples his siblings inhabited, constructed by those who venerated them as deities, but they were home. They had been his home for almost a century now.
First, the Original One disappeared, withdrawing from Creation with motives unknown, then, the Great Dragon shattered for reasons just as mysterious, lastly, the Beyond One, eldest of the spawn of Arceus, was forever confined to the twisted realm on the other side of reality by the overseers of space and time.
He had been an emissary of all three and, without them, he was left to aimlessly wander the world, not sure where the place of something like him lied in the grand scheme of things. Truly, the original plan had no place for him, rather, he had been created by accident, from the emanations in the Dream Realm of the Creator's worries for the Cosmos once he had passed on its governance to his progeny. Darkrai was then granted the honour of serving as an emissary through divine mercy, though his... imperfection compared to his siblings remained evident.
For a while, a long while, a millennium, it may have been, he was left to meander from one continent to another, from forest to forest, eventually having to depart whatever lair he had found due to his mere presence being far too psychologically straining to whomever it was that lived where he happened to tread. It wasn't uncommon for his withdrawal to be a violent one: villagers and townsfolk would become far too brave for their own good and would come to confront him in masses.
These raids never ended well — he could still boast that he did possess the power of a progeny of Arceus, atleast — but once the first happened, many more would ensue, each one fighting to avenge the fallen of the last. Sometimes this wasn't possible, but when he could afford it, he would let them survive. Their grievances were sadly legitimate, after all. Eventually, he would end up like a Lampent surrounded by Mothim. And then he would go, misery and death following along with him.
This cycle continued on and on until he finally reached this forest, the Blightwoods, though it didn't have that name at the time, and this cave, now indisputably his cave.
Sparsely populated, he decided to set his newest lair up on the hills and, to his bewilderment, some of those few who had lived there before him did not depopulate the area, as had happened in every case before, but even more seemed to congregate, eventually forming a little bivouac where now stands the Town Square of Haven.
He was certainly confused, but the following nights he began to pay closer attention to the inhabitants of the little huts which were beginning to appear all over the vale he overlooked.
He noticed that, night after night, he couldn't sense any of them sleeping. He approached the area through shadow, monitoring it for a few days, and what he saw confirmed his exciting suspicion: an assembly of insomniac Pokemon, of Noctowls, Ariados, Murkrows and Gourgeists, had made their little homes under the area influenced by his ability, using it as a cover of sorts.
Finally, he had found a place where they didn't run from him, but were instead flocking to the area he 'protected'. This was ideal! He could be useful to them, no, he was useful to them! And maybe he could acquaint with those villagers who benefited from him!
...
He rolled over onto his stomach, scrapping the stone with his claws, as if it was the culprit of his stupidity, and then recoiled once he touched an unexpected, cold puddle of water next to him. He hated himself for not taking that opportunity, things could have been so different! So much better! Had he just had the courage to approach them, to open up to them.
Instead, the village grew more and more, eventually attracting pokemon without the protection granted by insomnia. And he just stood there on the sidelines, eventually being relegated to the status of a local cryptid and then to that of a vicious forest monster, to the vile Nightmare Weaver, or Moonshadow, the Shadow Monster, the Blight, which plagued Haven.
Yet, in spite of the many who passed in their sleep, the village stayed put, admirably defiant of him for reasons inexplicable. Against his better judgement, he stayed as well, enamoured with how it had managed to remain alive after all of these years. He stood there, on its peripheries, for so long, watching the generations pass and the town grow, that he began to feel a connection to it as well, even if every inhabitant of it only wished for him to die a painful death.
But, frankly, that had been enough brooding in the dark, that was only his second favourite activity, and now it was about time to start his absolute favourite.
He hauled himself up from the cold stone he had slept on, took the time to make sure that his cloak and plume were in good condition, and sluggishly navigated towards the light at the other end of the short tunnel. Shielding his eyes from the piercing rays of the sun as he made his way outside, he extended his stilt-like legs and stationed himself right at the entrance of his cave, attempting to take a more dignified stance, even if none were there to judge him seeming half-asleep.
Just like the villagers, he had his own morning routine: it began with him running his gaze through the clearing and the surrounding trees: for as much as he could see with the fog, there were no unwelcomed footprints, no broken branches, no shrivelled bushes. Perfect. It would be a disaster if someone had discovered his lair, discovered where he slept, and then went on to spread that information to the village, there were no other such caves in his forest that he knew of to replace it.
He retracted his legs and began to hover through the forest. The woods were sombre, the canopy shielding all that was under it from the sun's light, and all of it was made even darker by the heavy fog. The ground itself was left barren and lifeless, with the exception of the sparse berry bushes which had survived in spite of the lack of light.
The next stop was Haven itself, the village being located quite a distance away from his cavern. It had to be, lest its inhabitants get trapped in never-ending nightmares, but, luckily for his sanity, with how strictly the villagers avoided excessive sleep for fear of giving the Moonshadow more opportunities to strike, it was possible for him to covertly make his way there in the morning through shadow, look around to quell his boredom and not cause any harm.
Until he got there, he took the time he was given by strolling through the woods — hidden in his own shadow, as he wasn't one to take any risks at all — to observe this path he knew all too well at this point, all while mentally preparing himself for the unfounded vilification he was about to overhear, this morning like every other.
The pokemon of the village were always talking about him, the Nightmare Weaver, or whatever name they came up with every other day. Sometimes they were justified in being afraid and frustrated with him, even if they did tend to misunderstand many things, all while not bothering to find out about them, while other times he was being blamed and denounced for issues he had no hand in causing or which had simply not even occurred.
It was all quite devitalizing, to hear such things being said about you without the opportunity to defend yourself, especially for someone who was doing his best to avoid causing such issues. Yet he kept on going there anyhow, he had nothing else to do.
Eventually, rays of light finally shone overhead and his own shadow was no longer fused with those of the trees around him, likewise the black dirt of the Blightwoods gave way to a green stretch of grass. He had passed the forest's edge and now found himself in the small meadow in the core of which lay the village.
He could see Haven's commercial section just up ahead of him now, with the voices of other pokemon finally breaking the monotonous silence which had engulfed his surroundings in the Blightwoods.
The eastern sector of the market area was made up of small, wooden shops where local or travelling merchants and businesses could sell their goods. These were aligned on both sides of a dirt road and were the closest parts of the village to his forest, as they would be closed down during the nights. The more important buildings, like the residential quarters and those dedicated to caring and healing, were them constructed farther west from it.
By slithering through the shadows cast by the wooden constructions and under one of the stores, he arrived in the middle of the aforementioned dirt road, still hiding in the lengthy morning shade.
Once he had entered the plaza, Kricketune almost immediately began singing his morning song as even more pokemon poured into the area, ready to go about their early commerce.
Most notably — and amusingly... somewhat — was Mothim, who was forced to adapt her sleep schedule to that of the town, just as he had, due to how stringent they were about organising around it. She would have to sleep during the night like everyone else and would pass the rest of the day within the darkness of the library she worked in along with her lover, Lampent.
Their relationship was where he had gotten the expression 'Mothim to a Lampent' used prior.
The marketplace was already teeming with life, with the rather grim reason behind this early morning activity being that they never dared sleep more than necessary. Yet, seeing them all still go about their daily lives like this, even with a perpetual sense of dread looming over them caused by his presence, made Darkrai happy. They had done their best to adapt to him and now he could continue to live here, instead of causing trouble to those who were unprepared elsewhere.
He was a creature of the mind by design, after all, he adored observing how others acted and thought and, no matter how hard he tried to force himself into full isolation, his curiosity would eventually get the better of him and he would again crawl back towards civilisation, towards all of these interesting pokemon.
Even if he was rather socially inept himself, he didn't have to interact, he could simply watch from afar and the village folk would be competent enough for there to rarely be issues with his strolls in particular.
This morning, like every other, he would look through the shops and what they had to offer as a way to kill time, always making perfectly sure to stand as close to them as possible, as he didn't like to recall that one time he had been hit by a stray attack and was forced out of the shadows by it. Luckily, those who saw him confused him for smoke and displaced dust from the impact.
The first shop on the line was also the most cacophonous one: 'Anything and Everything', the general utility items with a very high in confidence name.
It was the closest establishment to the woods, as the collective of who knows how many Murkrows which owned it were all insomniacs, making them feel far safer when being as close to the Blightwoods as they were. It also allowed them to work restlessly, collecting all sorts of items for their business, day and night, possibly through theft, making the place quite prosperous.
They were also kept the farthest away just because of the pandemonium they caused by bickering over anything and everything. Though, this time, the commotion subsided fairly quickly: they had become concentrated on counting all of the gold coins they had amassed the day before, all of them counted separately, just to be certain.
He was almost compelled to start counting along with them, but, something else entranced him instead: the sweet aroma of Pollen Puffs being carried to him by the gentle breeze.
As even some of the Murkrows had been distracted by the scent, making them lose count of their gold, Darkrai followed along the trail of the fragrance from the shadows of the wooden structures, ignoring the multiple other shops he passed by, to arrive in front of Ribombee's Boutique.
It was... his favourite establishment, by far. He had considered attempting to steal one of those Pollen Puffs for himself on many occasions, but sadly prudence always won out. This wasn't to eat them, of course, as he possessed no mouth, even his signature row of teeth-like spikes was nothing more than a protective collar, but he simply adored the aroma and would like to have it fill the Blightwoods, even if it would only be for a day or two before it went bad.
He left behind the boutique when Ribombee started to have to contend with Leavanny, who was the manager of the Haven Shelter, and her horde of toddlers, all of whom were about as enthusiastic over the place as Darkrai was, just a lot noisier.
His hearing was quite sensitive, he didn't enjoy the racket.
He moved over to the shop right next to it, the last on the row before the path turned towards the Town Square. Getting temporarily disrupted by Arbok, who slithered right by him at high speed and startled Darkrai, raising an egregious amount of dust into the air of the path as he moved around.
Foul serpent... Darkrai wasn't supposed to be the one to get startled, that was unimaginably backwards.
Druddigon's Shinies Shop was the most prestigious one in the village, being managed by its namesake, Druddigon, a merchant from the Carbink Mines, which was the dominion of Darkrai's good friend, Diancie. At least he assumed that she was still alive... and still considered him a friend after all this time.
She regularly came to sell her accumulation of rare metals, jewels and other such artefacts to them. Though it was a shop more exclusive to those of higher standing, such as Honchkrow, the owner of the Haven Bank, who was at the counter, awaiting a transaction while giving a vexed glare at the Murkrows down the path, all of whom responded with snickering and cackling once their former boss had been noticed.
Honchkrow had decided to settle down by taking over the ownership of the local bank, following the passing of the former owner, Klefki, from Darkrai-related causes, which lead to him also wanting to leave behind their... less transparent practices. The underlings found that this arrangement would be less exciting than their conventional activities and so they broke with him, but still remained a unified group, eagerly awaiting for someone to evolve into their next boss. This was information unknown to the uninvolved, Darkrai was likely the only one other than the birds to be aware of the details of it.
Items here were mostly bought for their aesthetics, with no real practical purpose in mind, but their glimmering beauty did the trick in attracting customers to her.
Life was quite dull and depressing for the townsfolk... thanks to him, so he didn't really blame the locals for buying useless shiny things to make them feel happier. It would definitely be better for them if they didn't do so when those shinies cost an arm and a leg, though.
Once he saw that what Honchkrow had bought was nothing more than a Star Piece, he began to make his way out of the marketplace and into the Town Square.
The ground was now lined with stone tiles, rather than the dirt of before, and he passed by the first of the establishments of the square: Ursaring's Stead, quite a boring place, all things considered. Ursaring was an incredibly adept builder, having made most of Haven itself single-handedly, but he was also very serious and hard to distract from his work. Quite the monotonous experience for those looking to spy on others.
Instead, he passed in front of the bonfire pit at the core of the Square, before his vision was then obstructed by Drifblim passing by in front of him, headed in the direction of the Post Office she worked in with Chatot. Luckily for Darkrai, that was exactly where he intended to go as well. He swiftly passed from one shadow to another and followed the balloon along.
She gave an exasperated sigh which Darkrai didn't understand at first, but he then saw the line of customers in front of her establishment: about a dozen pokemon, all clutching fairly large objects, which she would inevitably need to carry to their destinations, poor her.
Most noticeable among them were Mawile, calmly idling while clamping down on an entire chest with her maw-like hair, and Lampent, who was desperately trying to keep within his grasp a good number of scrolls and books, his appendages obviously not being made to clutch objects in such a way.
Next on his path, he arrived in front of the Haven Public Library, a building curated by Mothim and Lampent, who very rarely left it, and which was seldom used by adults, or anyone for that matter, as it was commonly believed that books made you more likely to fall asleep, so reading was discouraged and they mostly just used the place as their home, meaning that he had little reason to go inside of it.
And then the large, circus-like tent at the edge of the Square, which lacked any windows and was elaborately decorated with deep-blue, celestic drapes stood in front of him. This was the abode of his archnemesis and also the establishment he most dreaded visiting during his strolls: Gothitelle's Sanctuary.
I'm crossposting this story here from AO3 where I have 10 chapters already written and one in the works, you should check it out on that site as well for more in-depth author notes, if you want those. I'll be updating here every Sunday until I liquidate every chapter and catch up to AO3, from there on updates will happen about once a month.
Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed reading!