For those who may have wandered here, this is a companion piece to another work of mine, Mystery of the Heart; in turn, that story is a spinoff of ScytheRider's Silver Resistance. Without both of these works in mind, this will make little sense. I must implore you: please be careful reading this work if you are not, in turn, caught up though at least chapter 80 in Silver Resistance itself. There are spoilers for the main story in this work.

Dispatched on other business in the southeast of Ambera, Miranda leads her compatriots astray, seeking something she did not know she had forgotten. But what they enter is no mere cavern or crevasse: the ruins of Willow Dun, centuries abandoned, have coalesced into a mystery dungeon, and the voices of the dead demand to be heard… including one voice, in particular, she never thought she would hear again.

Foxfire: Part 1 - Kindling

The orders had been simple: Go to southeastern Ambera, near the coast. Perform a sweep for activity at old Resistance sites; secure resources, mete out punishment as necessary. A cruelty. But Miranda had become used to cruelty. She had shut up her heart and closed her eyes, pinned her ears, and agreed. When Enigma spoke with the Master's voice, Miranda obeyed.

The road was long and winding, but Miranda was glad to walk it.

The proposed locations had nothing. She had suspected as much, and she figured that Enigma probably had as well. This was a pretense—a punishment, perhaps. She was compromised. And so she was swept under the rug to be dealt with later.

She had brought only a small contingent of soldiers with her. Her adjutant, the Gallade Gideon; Flash, a slight and graceful Mienshao whose figure belied her great strength; and Calder, a Skarmory who was, traditionally, not afraid to speak his mind. This was a selection of individuals that she could, being generous, deem competent, and when she gave the order to search, they searched, and searched well. Underground encampments, old structures decaying on the coastal air—long-since raided by remaining rebels, civilians, time itself.

The sun was setting. This was a dilapidated building—formerly a warehouse, perhaps, but untamed now and falling to ruin. A few carefully placed tarps, some quick work with plywood, and it would serve as sufficient shelter for the night.

She sat near one of the building's long walls. The floor was raised into a sort of stage or dais. Perhaps it had been dry storage when the place had held life. Now it held her and her retinue, and she curled up on the raised platform, nibbling at her dinner, and watching as the others settled. Watched for a while, at any rate, until her mind began to wander.

Compromised. Because of Zona.

Someone of Miranda's rank, of her renown, compromised. Potentially compromised, at least. She had earned trust by exposing and killing Amoscandar. That bounty had sat unclaimed for years uncounting. But she had failed to kill Zona, given the chance—and Zona had made his intention to stand with the Resistance perfectly clear. With flesh and blood on the other side of the war, who knew if Miranda could be trusted?

She could have been sent out to hunt. To find her child and crush him, to—

—Miranda hesitated at the thought, her stomach turning slightly—

—tear out his throat the way she had torn out Amoscandar's. Enigma could have told her to do that. But those were not her orders. Instead she was out here on the edge of the continent—the great Magister, once considered a trusted ally—doing grunt work. She should have resented it.

But she would walk that road for a thousand years if it meant she did not have to face Zona again.

I love you, Mommy.

(she can see his eyes; his gentle eyes, pleading, begging, meaning; she can feel his pulse, racing; all she has to do is—)

No. Stop it. Here and now. Be here and now.

She cursed her perfect recall. Shame and anger welled up inside her, and, unbidden, she let out a growl. A short distance away, Flash looked up at her, startled out of one of her graceful meditative poses. When she caught herself, Miranda let out a scoff and a little whisper of flame, turning her head aside.

But still the shame and anger burned, mixed with… with something else. Something Miranda didn't want to look in the eye.

Still...

Perhaps she would... take the long path back. Her retinue had performed well. There was no need to rush.

"Gideon," she called, eventually. The Gallade, standing at ease a short distance away, turned to acknowledge her. "The map, please."

Gideon saluted, and Miranda watched with some small amusement as he stepped away and fumbled through his bag. Not so long ago he'd been a shaking corporal at her door; now he was her adjutant, and a competent one at that. Perhaps still a little shaky when her mood turned sour. But he served well, and when he returned with the Amberan map coiled carefully between his arm blades, she favored him with the smallest of smiles.

Her eyes lit, carmine tinting purple as she called upon her psychic power. The map floated the rest of the way to her and unfolded itself before her forepaws, and she looked down at it thoughtfully.

"A shame we've found nothing," the Gallade offered finally, without prompting. Miranda's gaze flicked back up to him, and he swallowed slightly. "That is... it just seems like an awfully long trip for it to be wasted like this. What if something happens while we're gone?"

"What indeed?" Miranda replied coolly. One of her foreclaws traced a path along the route they'd taken, stopping at each of the prospective sites. "I am not surprised. There has been no confirmed report of Resistance activity out here in, oh... thirty years? Fifty?" She tapped at a spot on the map further inland. "There was once a major operation centered... here. What did they call it? Black site or some such. Crushed and scattered now."

Gideon's eyes widened. "Really? Were you there, Magister?"

Miranda had participated in that particular routing. She remembered with almost total clarity. The sights, the sounds. The racing euphoria in her breast. Victory—a total victory.

She had been younger, then, of course. Lower in rank. Less privy to truths she wished she did not know. In retrospect, that victory felt hollow. Who had that battle been for? Not the Master. Only his regent, puppetting orders, standing next to an empty throne.

"Magister?"

She blinked. "Yes... Yes, I was."

"May I ask what it was like?"

But her eyes were already on the map, and so she barely heard the question. Her paw drifted east again, toward the coast, and the south, toward...

Nothing. The map showed a hilly, lightly forested rise, heading inward, meeting with a river. Her eyes traced along the curves of that river, searching for something she knew would not be there. But—

(the sound of the water and the wind, a hint of salt from the sea; the sun is setting, and in a moment she will hear her father's voice; "M—")

"Magister?"

She let out a breath as she forced herself back into the present. She opened her eyes to see Gideon leaning in slightly, eyes narrowing with concern. "Are... you alright?"

She looked down at the map again, maw hanging open just slightly, then closed her mouth with a sigh. "Fine. I am fine, Gideon. We have one more location to check."

He seemed taken aback. "We do? But I thought—"

"It isn't a location we were asked to check. But it is one that..."

One that I would like to see.

"... one that I recall from my last time in this region."

That wasn't a lie, at least.

Gideon nodded, standing straight. "I will make sure the others are informed we're to head out early." But as he turned, Miranda raised a paw, and he obediently hesitated.

"Let them rest. We do not have to rise with the dawn tomorrow to get where we are going."

He carefully took the object back into his grasp and gave a slightly confused but acknowledging bow. "Good night, ma'am."

Miranda did not dream. She remembered.

For most Pokémon, an eidetic recall might be a blessing. But most Pokémon did not live for centuries. Even for one such as her, a Ninetales, for whom long life was a promise rather than a hope, things were lost—the mind simply could not contain everything forever. Where others might think of such losses as fog, Miranda instead saw them as cracks in an otherwise unblemished mural of events.

The map had shown such a crack. Or the suggestion of a crack. An emptiness where there ought to have been something. She knew the curves of those hills, the bends of that river. The inland valley some miles away. Once upon a time, in those rolling hills, meandering down toward the coastline, there had been a town.

Willow Dun was not marked on that or any other map anymore.

The next morning, her little retinue was lined up and at attention before her little dais. Once she had woken and groomed herself, she stood, eyeing the three carefully. Gideon stood toward the front, arms crossed low behind his back; Flash and Calder stood slightly behind. Miranda paced a bit, never letting her eyes leave the Pokémon before her.

They waited obediently, but she could sense the tension. Once upon a time, that might have made her smile. There was still a small part of her that found a sadistic pleasure in watching them squirm. But it was smaller than it had been in the past.

Still. One had to keep up appearances.

Eventually Miranda turned to face them, lifting her head and surveying the group with an air of open condescension.

"Despite your inability to find anything of use," she said, in a voice that wasn't quite a sneer, "I should still commend you for the effort you've put into the search. I know the lot of you would rather be putting rebels down, and you have an enthusiasm for that task that the other commanders could only dream of. So to see you put your all into digging through long-abandoned ruins is..." She paused, for effect. "Admirable."

As one, the group seemed to brighten. She was unused to seeing smiles on their faces, seeing the tension leave their forms.

"Of course," Miranda continued. "We are, alas, still in the middle of nowhere. As much as I would like you to dismiss you into town so you may do... whatever it is you do in your free time, the nearest settlement is some hours away, and it is not my intention to march you for yet another day." She raised a paw. "That being said, there is another task that we will need to see to today.

"Once you are prepared, please meet me outside. We will be taking a trek to a place about an hour's walk to the southwest. If there are no objections...?"

"Ma'am." The Gallade stepped forward toward her podium, then brought his arms forward and crossed, which Miranda had learned to be a sign of respect among Gallade.

Calder acknowledged with a small nod; Flash was slightly more ornate, bringing her forepaws together and offering a strange bow that went just deep enough that the sleeve-like fur on her forearms did not brush against the ground.

"Questions?" Miranda prompted, knowing there would be none. "Queries? Concerns?" After the inevitable silence, she gave a nod of her own. "Very good. Dismissed."

She had little of import to pack for herself. Food and water for the day, and so she was the first to step out into the morning sun. She carefully checked the angle of the rising orb, then stuck out a tail to feel the wind. After a moment of this, she turned and sat facing south and very slightly west, and waited.

Gideon emerged first, carrying slightly more in his dense backpack, which he nevertheless carried with an ease that belied his slight frame. Climbing supplies, cloth for temporary shelters—always a little more prepared than he needed to be. Of course, he carried the map.

The other two emerged slightly after. Like Miranda, they appeared to have packed light. When she approached Miranda, Flash gave another of her strange bows. "Ma'am," she said, in a whispery, slight nasal voice. "An honor to serve and to learn at your paws."

The Skarmory, trotting forward slightly behind, let out a low, metallic-sounding squawk, and settled for simply, "Magister."

Miranda took a moment to examine them, then turned her gaze back south and west. "There is one last site I mean to check before we depart. It is older than the rest—much older. But I..." She paused, but only for a moment. "It would be remiss of me not to investigate. And we are in no hurry to return to the capital."

"Will we four be enough?" the Mienshao asked carefully.

"Four is all we have," Gideon murmured placidly.

"If we are not, then I expect that he will be able to make the trip for reinforcements," Miranda replied, indicating the Skarmory, who fluttered his wings in a way that might have been a shrug.

"I'd prefer to be a fighter than a messenger Pidgey," Calder said, voice slightly sour. "But as you command. It's not like we've seen any action so far on this trip."

Miranda hummed, then stood, gently fanned her tails behind herself, and began to walk.

For most of her life, Miranda had held onto her memory with a grip like steel. When she had been younger, it had been so easy—frighteningly easy—to get lost, to fall away from here and now into a moment in the past not entirely of her choosing. Sights, scents, sounds—when she'd been young, just about anything could set her off.

She had learned to master it out of necessity, after she had evolved and come to terms with the fact that mortality had loosened its grip on her. Gods willing, she would live for a millenium, but even at less than half that span, she had seen too much. She had too many memories, too many intense memories, to allow herself to fall into any of them arbitrarily. Perhaps it was this mastery over her mind that had awoken her latent psychic potential, a manifestation of the more arcane side of her heritage.

Now, most of the time, she only remembered when she chose to. The mural of her memory was hers to walk along, forward or backward. Even so, there were—

(Zona's eyes flash into being before her again, the smell and the feel of his panic and fear and pleading)

—things that would drag her away from herself against her will, and that lingered at the edge of her mind, looming like a shadow rising behind. Especially after she joined the Master's forces. Especially after she'd lived through her first battle. Especially after she'd routed the Resistance skulking about—

No, she told herself, feeling herself begin to slip. Be in the here and now.

Here and now. She'd had to be, had to train herself to live in the moment. Reminiscence was dangerous. If she did not watch herself, there would be no distinction between past and present. Control was paramount.

And yet, ever since the Ashwood Arbor (and she grimaced again, bracing herself, but remained centered; she focused on her breathing, on setting one paw before the other as they followed the trail) she had found herself slipping more and more.

At least it was a peaceful walk. The slopes were gentle, and though the sea wasn't visible from here, there were still hints of it on the wind, wind that was stirring the wild grasses, slightly yellow-tinged in the early morning light. The journey was quiet; aside from the wind, the only thing that broke the silence was the sound of her retinue's steps.

Eventually, she crested a hill and slowed to a stop. She knew this hill; she had climbed it before, in her youth, coming home from a journey with her father, and over the hill she'd seen—

(light paws dance upon the ground; the smell of sea in the air; comfort and warmth from her father's presence—

"Dad, look! Dad, we're home!"

—he chuckles, resting a paw on the curls atop her head; "yes, we are, M—")

Miranda closed her eyes and took a deep breath, centering herself, and then opened her eyes again.

Willow Dun had been built, she knew, to fulfill a purpose. It wasn't quite close enough to the sea to facilitate that sort of aquatic travel, even had such things been allowed; but the nearby river was a tributary of a major flow that spanned much of the continent, and though it traveled inexorably toward the ocean, goods from elsewhere ran along it nonetheless.

In exchange for this bounty, the town had offered two things. One was a peculiar brownish sap produced by a long line of Grass-types in conjunction with a particular type of willow tree that grew nearby. While not a particularly endearing color on its own, it was a strange substance that, alongside serving as a dye, could also be fashioned into a wood finish of remarkable quality. It was this product which had given the town its name. The other was shale, mined from a quarry nearby that sat in a little dip in the land that could, in another age, have been a lagoon.

Cresting this hill, in her youth, had shown her a sprawling town of brick and mortar, paved roads traveled by paw and claw and talon. Voices rising on the wind, happy and warm and familiar. But that was then.

Now, centuries later, little remained. Harsh erosion from seaborne storms and warm summer rains had weathered away all but the barest traces of those buildings. The willow trees, once enshrined in a park near the center of town, had grown wild and unrestricted into a budding forest. There was no sight nor sound of any Pokémon activity here. Nature had reclaimed Willow Dun.

Miranda swallowed.

"Magister?" Flash's voice was careful; it was quite unlike Miranda to express vulnerability, even slightly. The Mienshao stepped forward, seeming concerned.

She should have expected this of course. She should have, and yet…

One day, things had been sunny and beautiful. She had been with her family. She had gone to the market and shyly watched Amos, the foreigner, tell a story about events from overseas. The next, she had found herself in Great Crystal City, one of only a handful of survivors brought inland. Amos had still been there, a frightening, hard look in his eyes. When she asked where they were and what had happened to Willow Dun, he had only shaken his head.

"Just… an errant thought," she said, with some effort. "I have not been back here in… some time."

Behind her, she heard Gideon shift slightly, and imagined his furrowed brow. Calder took a few heavy steps forward. "You from here, Magister?"

Her eyes swept over the willowwood, the remnants of structures peeking out, here and there, from the untamed grass.

"When I was young, yes," she said in a low voice.

"Magister," said Flash hesitantly. "Are you well?"

"Ain't gonna find anything there," said Calder frankly. "Not a Resistance site. Older." A pause. "The Magister's being sentimental."

Her head whipped around in the Skarmory's direction, eyes flashing. He tilted his head, watching her with a single eye. "Ain't nothing wrong with it, ma'am. Just didn't expect it of you."

She held his gaze for a moment, eyes narrow; but he seemed impossible to intimidate, simply staring back, until she clicked her tongue and looked away.

It was Gideon who spoke next. "This is your home, Magister? Or... was?"

The wind picked up. In the distance, the willows danced. Miranda said nothing.

"What happened here?" Flash asked finally. "Why abandon a town like this?"

Miranda closed her eyes, trying to force the memory to surface. She ran along the mural, searching for the moment. But there was nothing there.

It was not, Miranda knew, a day's walk from the coast to the Crystal City. It was a matter of days, weeks, perhaps longer with a gaggle of young Pokémon in tow. But all the intervening time had been lost to her.

And yet.

Not once had she been back here. Not once had she even considered it. Not since joining the Master's army, at any rate. She had simply heard the Master's voice—or at the very least, Enigma's voice—and obeyed. There had been no time for questions, no room to think. Only orders to follow.

"I do not know," she said, finally. "But I would like to find out."

And for years, for centuries, that had been enough. Had been.

Only now, against her will, against everything she thought she believed about herself, did the singular question bubble to the forefront of her mind. Why?

The feeling from last night, she realized, had been doubt. Shame and anger and doubt. The doubt reared up and looked her in the eyes and she could not look away.

Stars above, Ember within. She was compromised.