Waking Dreams

by thewargod

Arron lost his reason to live, so when he's seemingly resurrected in a world thats the polar opposite of what he's used to, he sees it as a kind of sick joke. But as he slowly learns how to move on, a plot of retribution and vengeance millennia in the making rears its ugly head, and the implications are enough to send him in a downward spiral of regret and despair.

27. Pandora's Box

With a wave of her hand, the world stilled; the echoes of dying voices were all that remained. In her eyes, we saw the sorrow of a grieving mother, yet we were still there. We could not comprehend the magnitude of her loss, for she was all we knew. Only her mortal kin could truly understand, yet they had long since retreated, sending the anguish of betrayal and wickedness spilling anew across her sanctum: they were no longer welcome here.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to years without a single blooming flower. The earth sat dead as night as we hid amongst the parapets of the bastion, the tree itself turning a midnight black from her sorrow. Yet we remained: there was nowhere to go, and we sensed that no matter how heartbroken or betrayed she felt, we were still bound to her. Yet as we continued with our lives, tending to her realm, we slowly recognized that such a terrible outcome had forever been inevitable; we were simply too blind to see it.

· Unknown source, The last Sentinels, Vol. IV

---

Their father was heartbroken when Harribel joined the navy.

Arron understood why. It wasn't that he wasn't proud of her or that he didn't think she'd succeed, but he was afraid of losing her. The military could provide a good life and good pay to boot, but there was the constant risk of death that came with it. His father always wanted safer prospects for the both of them, where he could see them regularly, and he knew they were doing well for themselves.

It was sweet, but as they got older, it became suffocating, especially when their mother died.

Arron didn't remember much of her. She was a beautiful woman, half Asian and half Caucasian if he remembered correctly, her mother from Thailand and her father from the states, having been a military officer stationed at Mayport Base in Jacksonville before he met her. Her mother was trying to find a better life abroad since Thailand was still ninety percent rice paddies and taro fields at the time, and the cities were fire traps at best. In the modern world, where people could lead much better lives, her then-widowed mother knew that she had nothing to gain by staying and everything by leaving, so she did. She grew up in the states, living her best life until she met their father.

She met their father on a trip to Tampa, and they were smitten. Their father, for his part, had a story so long and insane you could write a book about him. Raised by a family of butchers in the rotten urban sprawl of Havana, he defected from Cuba with his older brother and their mother a few years after Castro took over. According to the story his father always told him, they had help from their neighbors on piecing together a makeshift raft before a whole slew of them sailed across ninety miles of shark-infested waters with nothing but the clothes on their backs. By the time they hit the beaches of the Keys, they were dehydrated and sunburnt beyond compare, and two of the oldest had long since died of heatstroke, including his grandmother. His brother practically raised him in the foster care system, and the two eventually emerged as men with a lot to live for, something he always stressed to both Arron and Harribel.

It was the grit he had, he'd say, the determination he got from suffering and loss. His father, however, wanted them to acquire a different type of grit, the kind he had but without any of the drawbacks. It was a constant lecture topic that Arron found himself on the receiving end of, far too familiar for his liking.

So when he was lectured on that same topic, amongst other things, he had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. Not that it mattered, his father had a knack for knowing when Arron didn't give a shit.

"I know you don't care, but I do! I didn't drag myself to the states to see you become a failure! Why do you keep skipping class? You can't just…" his father struggled for the right words to say, but he was just too damn flabbergasted by Arron's complete disregard for his education. "You can't just waste your life like this. You're breaking my heart!"

Arron didn't doubt that, but he had lost all interest in school a few years ago when his sister took off for the navy, leaving him and his father in a house far too big for them. Harribel had been the rock that kept the family together, and with Arron's impersonal nature and their father's alcoholism, she had her hands full. But she did it somehow, taking control of most of the chores while she got him to do most of the cooking since that was what their father did when he was at work, amongst other things. Arron didn't mind cooking since he was good at it like his father, which led to a completely different issue, another reason why he and his father clashed a lot.

"Arron, I can't leave the restaurant to you if you don't even have a degree!"

"I don't want the restaurant; how many times do I have to tell you that?" Arron growled, "I don't want to be trapped here for the rest of my life!"

His father just became angrier. "then act like it! All I see is you wasting your life, and I don't even understand why! Just talk to me, just this once, please."

He practically croaked out the last few words, and Arron struggled to decide whether to explain his dilemma to his father or brush it off. He didn't like hurting his dad, but he didn't have anything to say to him: there was nothing for him to describe. All he had been doing was going through the motions and slowly becoming more and more of a recluse.

In his defense, it wasn't as if he was the only one failing to fulfill his end of the metaphorical bargain. His father had lapsed on his alcoholic anonymous meetings twice now, and he'd noticed his father's deepening bags and sagging expression as if he could barely stay awake. The liquor was killing him, and Arron had lost his will to care since his father never followed through with his promises. He'd drag his feet through the day, drinking bit by bit to retain his motor functions (his father worked with plenty of dangerous objects, so he made sure he wouldn't become injured or even killed at work), but it was always painfully noticeable. That was another reason Arron hated going to the restaurant: the staff would always silently judge him or pity him depending on who he was working with due to his father's worsening condition. He ignored them, but their glances would eat away at him over time as if he wasn't doing enough and it was all his fault.

Other times, he was agitated and aggressive, making a massive deal about even the most minor things. Those were the days when he went cold turkey, denying himself a drink until he couldn't take the vomiting any longer, and he binged on whatever he could get his hands on until he passed out or ran out of bottles. Those were the worst days because Arron couldn't stand the smell of withdrawal and broken promises. Frequently, he found himself crashing on a friend's couch while he waited for his father to start it all over again. He'd promise to sober up, do well for a few days, a week or two if he was lucky, then fall back into the vicious cycle. The tension made it impossible for them to be around each other for a long, so they drifted farther apart.

Living with him was an ordeal, but he had nowhere else to go, and while he hated his father for it, Arron wouldn't forgive himself if his father had died because Arron wasn't there to save him.

And Arron couldn't judge him; he had worse demons; He just hid them better. His father was so sloppy with his addiction because it was legal, whereas the weed Arron smoked wasn't, and he wasn't going to jail over an ounce. It was one of the reasons why he was skipping classes; he would meet up with some friends and share a few joints in the safety of their home. It was harmless, but if his father ever found out, Arron would never hear the end of it. So he kept it a secret, hiding his rolling paper and whatever else he had stacked in Marco's toolbox in their garage and walking over there either after school or during class. They'd play streets of rage or other games on his Sega Genesis. Arron was sick of school, but the dread wouldn't leave; he knew he was making a poor decision, but it was as if his mind and body were on autopilot, and he was going through the motions.

He was planning on doing the same today until his father confronted him about his grades and absences. Arron let him rant, looking into his jaundiced eyes as his father's thin lips curled into a snarl and his sharp eyebrows morphed into a scowl as his father continued with his hypocrisy. Arron probably shouldn't have taken it that way, but he hated his father for constantly preaching at him while he was just as bad, if not worse. So he waited, letting his father finish his ranting before responding.

"I have nothing to say to you," Arron replied.

His father practically shrunk, a shocked look in his eyes as Arron slipped his windbreaker back on. "I ran out of things to say to you a long time ago because I knew it won't mean shit to you. Do you want me to care? Could you give me a reason why I should? Stop drinking yourself to death, and I'll start doing better in school."

For a second, he thought his father would remain silent, but then he roared with fury. "You are my son, you will listen to what I have to say, and you damn well will do what I tell you. As long as you live in this house, you will finish school!"

Arron should have been a bit concerned, but he'd grown a pair since Harribel had left, especially with all the shit he had to put up with when his father was drunk. He snorted and gave him a look of degrading pity. "You done, old man?" He asked, before responding to his father's shocked silence, "I'll be out tonight, permanently."

His father sputtered, obviously surprised his threat backfired, and he began to mutter. "Why, why are you doing this?"

He looked at his father with a hint of disdain before sighing. "If you don't know the reason by now, then there's no point in explaining it. Just get your shit together, old man."

He slung his bag over his shoulder and slunk out the door and down the stairs to the street as usual. It was a busy afternoon, the streets packed with cars and pedestrians, and the air was filled with the acrid stench of cigarette smoke and the ocean. He lived in Palm Beach, a few hours from Vero Beach, where his sister had been stationed before heading to sea. The restaurant was here, as were all of his shitty childhood memories. They lived in a thin three-story retail building with their restaurant on the bottom. The top two floors were essentially their home, the bottom dedicated to their living room and kitchen, and the top two the four bedrooms. It could be cramped at times, but it was home.

Or at least it was.

Recently it transformed into hell for obvious reasons. He'd spent more time with Marco, otherwise known as Liang Jiayi, than anyone else since it was just him and his older brother, Liang Zheng. He could slip them some rent money for a few nights on their couch, and he'd become used to staying away from home for more than a week. And between the money from the odd jobs he did for Marco and his older brother at their muffler shop afforded him and the paychecks his father slipped him for working in the kitchen, he had plenty of rent money to spare. And since they were from an ex-Triad family, they knew how to hide drugs, even though their family had fled the crime family years ago.

Arron always wondered why an ex-triad family moved to Florida, but he guessed it was due to the Triad's minimal presence on the east coast. Florida was far away from the Triad and had plenty of criminals the family would have to contend against without the support of the vast Asian populace that California hosted. Their father was still out on business of a dubious nature, meaning that he probably wasn't done with a life of crime. Still, Arron wouldn't judge the guy: desperate people did what they had to do, and with his criminal record Liang Huang had a hard time finding good-paying work.

He approached their old apartment complex, the lower levels dotted with green, sludgy mold that seemed to permeate everywhere in Florida. Almost everyone was either gone or sleeping since the typical nine-to-five workday was still running and those who worked the night shift weren't awake yet. Jiayi was leaning on his porch railing, smoking his cigarette. He was wearing a white cotton tank top dotted with rust and oil stains from his days in the shop and a pair of tattered husky jeans with a brass button. He waved lazily to Arron, who waved back, pulling out a Menthol of his own and igniting it with his silver flip lighter.

He made it up to the fifth, roaches scurrying through the loose sand on the concrete floor as he made it to Jiayi's door before he finished his cigarette, stamped it out, and unlocked it with his key. He pushed it open, slipping off his shoes and stepping inside. It was completely different inside the apartment, the air clean and crisp, smelling of fresh mandarins and the scent of whatever candles they had burning that day. Soft pipa music resonated through the home from the audio system of the small television as something on the stove simmered quietly. He didn't know what was cooking, but the intense and unmistakable scent of Douchi and clams wafted from the kitchen. He missed Jiayi's cooking, even if Arron was a good cook himself; it was one of the main reasons they had bonded over the years. The rest of the apartment was decorated sparingly but tastefully, with pictures of family and friends and a small bronze figurine of Zhang Sanfeng sitting on the shelf above the dead fireplace.

The area they lived in wasn't exactly poor, but it wasn't immaculate either; people didn't take much pride in their community, although Arron couldn't blame them, as he didn't care either. But the Zheng family took pride in their home, keeping it spotless even when their father wasn't around. Jiayi stepped inside, his cigarette resting in the ashtray on the porch railing. He gave Arron a knowing look, obviously suspecting the worst.

"He kicked you out, didn't he?"

Arron snorted arrogantly. "He threatened me, so I took the initiative."

Jiayi shook his head. "That pride of yours will kill you one day; you know that, right? You'll say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and you'll get filled with lead."

"I know who to talk down to and who not to talk to."

Jiayi sighed. "And your father's one of the former?"

Arron set his bag down with a huff and sat on the couch, his head resting on the cushions and looking upward. "He's a drunk asshole, and you know it. I'm not going to get treated like a child by someone who can't stay away from hitting the happy juice."

"Alcohol is a depressant."

Arron practically snarled and gave Jiayi an aggravated look. "You know what I mean? He can't stop drinking. He skips out on his AA meetings, binge drinks every other night, and even when I remove every bottle from the house, he somehow materializes more. He's going to kill himself, and I'm not going to sit around and watch him self-destruct, especially when he's a massive hypocrite."

Jiayi just crossed his arms. "You know you can't just let him go on like this. He's going to die, and you'll regret it."

Arron lowered his voice. "There's nothing left for me to do. I can't talk to him the way Harribel could; he doesn't register what I say."

Jiayi gestured to Arron. "He has you for a son, and you have the gall to say that he doesn't listen to you? That's a perfect example of the pot calling the kettle black."

Arron didn't respond, refusing to look Jiayi in the eye, but he could tell by Arron's irritated expression that he had hit a nerve.

"You know you have to help him."

"How? What else can I do? I can't help him if he doesn't want to help himself."

Jiayi nodded. "You have a point. Maybe he feels… hopeless, alone even. Your sister left for the navy, and you two don't see eye to eye, so maybe he feels isolated."

Arron knew Jiayi was right. His father had been doing better when Harribel was still there, but when she left, all the work they had put into helping his father finally reach long-term sobriety had started to crumble. Without her constant support, he allowed himself to flounder, especially with how much more they had fought recently.

But that wasn't entirely the case. Arron's father had other people, like the Vasquela family and the other staff that helped him run the restaurant and everyone at the AA meetings who genuinely wanted to see him overcome his addiction. His father had even claimed to have made some friends at the AA meetings, something that Arron had secretly found solace in, knowing that his father wouldn't be alone when Arron left. He would never admit it openly, but he loved his father deeply, and the thought of him dying alone in his house with nothing but alcohol to keep him company broke his heart.

"Even without me, he wouldn't be alone."

Jiayi shrugged. "Maybe not, but he feels that way. You are his son, his only son. To lose you, especially after his only daughter joined the armed forces, well, that could break any parent's heart. He doesn't want to lose you, literally or metaphorically, so you should make an effort to work with him. Besides, you need a diploma."

Arron knew what Jiayi was getting at. "I'd rather just get a GED."

Jiayi shrugged once again. "Both work, but I think it'd have a much more profound impact on your father if you stuck it out and graduated. Set an example, man, and give your father some hope. He loves you, and he wants you to succeed. I think that he's just having a hard time."

Arron thought about it for a moment. On the one hand, he hated school. It was boring and life-sucking on the best days, and he'd rather be out in the real world doing real work. On the other hand, Jiayi was right: if he could pull through high school, he could motivate his father to sober up by showing him that his son did, in fact, care. All he had to do was graduate, something that he loathed.

He looked back up at Jiayi, who had crossed his arms and given Arron that look that he gave when he wanted his nieces and nephews to stop acting foolishly. Arron rolled his eyes and groaned. "I guess you're right, and I'll do my best to graduate."

"Good," Jiayi replied. "I just think it's the best course of action."

Arron shrugged. "Now, what about dinner? Do you need help?"

He followed Jiayi into the kitchen to see what he was cooking, and his dream faded out, his mind retaining some semblance of consciousness.

---

He was in pain, a dull ache throughout his body. His side and chest felt like they had been ripped open and sutured back together with razor wire. He grumbled and opened his eyes, only to close and cover them with his gigantic hand to block the bright orange light that was searing him from above. The air was warm and wet as if it had just finished raining, and he heard the faint sound of rippling water nearby, like a large pond. Nursing his still tender body, he sat up, keeping his eyes out of light. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun began to set, casting a bright crimson glow over the valley within Cerise Park.

He hated having dreams of his past, not when they reminded him how he had failed. He didn't want to remember his father. He was most likely dead and gone now, probably from meeting some depressing fate. Every time he remembered his father, he felt the pain in his chest from the memories of how much of a lousy son he was.

Arron regretted his previous life and how he had wasted it. It always haunted him, knowing that if he had applied himself in school, the events could have been different enough to prevent that wreck, and maybe if he had been better to his father, he might've become sober. Arron was a selfish young man with no motivation or direction, and he had lashed out against everyone who had tried to help him.

Now he was here, in this body, the glorified pet of some random child. He couldn't even begin to fathom how he had gotten here, only that he had caused it with his short-sightedness.

Speaking of shortsightedness, he hadn't even noticed that Goh was lying in the grass next to him, snoring softly. A notebook sat open on his chest, a small box of colored pens to his right. He had fallen asleep while writing something since it was surprisingly mild for a day in June.

He had an itching desire to see what the boy was drawing, but as he tried to move forward, his side thrummed with pain, causing him to lay back down with a growl. He rested on the soft soil, the sun warming his face as he closed his eyes and hummed, drowning out the pain with focus and serenity. He practiced the meditation techniques he had learned from Jiayi to help him with his anger. He focused only on his point in existence, relaxing his psyche and concentrating on his slow and steady breaths. At first, his chest continued to hurt, but ultimately, the pain was drowned out by his calm mind and precise control.

In and out. In and out. The sensations soothed him, anchored him. He was lost in focus, and the world faded away, his problems becoming minor nuisances and eventually nothing.

Arron had started meditating to reign in his anger issues and calm down when he and his father argued. Now, he did it to relieve his frustration and pain. He was practically helpless in this position, his muscles torn to shreds from the exertion the past week had put on his body. He needed to heal, and a healthy, unburdened mind was critical to that process.

He chuckled inwardly. It had been so long since he had to put any effort into healing. As an Arrancar, he could quickly regenerate almost every body part. Now, he was as mortal as he was during the day of the crash.

He shuddered. The crash. He didn't like thinking of the impact. A lot of what he remembered from it was blurry, but he remembered the fear he felt when the car swerved and when his sister placed herself in front of him to take the brunt of the impact, long conduit piping slamming through the window and piercing the both of them. Then indescribable pain.

"Do not think, only do," he recalled Jiayi saying. Now was not the time to think about that. Now was the time to let that go. He refocused on his breathing and placed his hands on his stomach to relax; his body splayed out on its back, cushioned by the soft grass. "Imagine the world around you like a river and you a stone. The stone does not fight the river, yet it is unyielding. Be stoic, and focus inwardly.

He sighed and continued to breathe, not allowing any more distractions to break his focus.

"That's an interesting form of meditation."

Arron growled and looked up, only to see Gardevoir sitting on the hilltop along with him, cross-legged at his feet. She had placed her elbows on her knees and her head on her knuckles, watching him with interest as he inwardly cursed her presence.

"Now, that wasn't very polite, especially since I'm only here to help you."

Arron sighed and sat up, his pain marginally better than before. He still groaned and clutched his side, but at least he had made progress.

"You overexerted yourself, I see. How was the tournament?"

"Long, annoying… bloody. I nearly died."

"Sounds like a day in the life of your average Pokemon."

"Don't remind me," Arron grumbled.

"You'll get over it."

"Yes, because you know exactly what it's like to be ripped from your own body, be forced into an unrecognizable version of yourself, and be treated like an animal. Forgive me for insinuating otherwise."

She looked off into the distance, recalling something. "I know this situation is somewhat complicated, but if your memories are anything to go by, it looks like you have a much better life here than you had as a ghost."

He growled at her terminology. "It's a hollow, not a ghost. Those are two completely different things."

Gardevoir raised an eyebrow before lying down on the grass, watching the clouds roll by. "Please, enlighten me on the difference between the two, then; I'd love to know."

Arron moaned and racked his brain for what he had previously heard. "Regular ghosts are just spirits that had recently died but hadn't gone to the afterlife. It usually takes a soul reaper to escort one to the soul society, where they're sorted and live there until they're either reborn or chosen for a task."

Gardevoir didn't respond, so he continued. "A hollow is when a Ghost has remained in the world of the living for too long. Usually, this starts as the unintentional abandonment of the spirit by the soul society but eventually morphs into the spirit's active avoidance of soul reapers as a way to tie up loose ends or even as an obsession with something, like a family member or enemy. Some never plan on leaving, usually the worst of us."

She sat up, focusing on him with apparent interest. "You mean… people who've done terrible things?"

He nodded. "Murderers, Rapists, the cruelest of our world; they fear the punishment they'll receive, although even I don't know what that might be. I've never had the opportunity to see the gates of hell open myself, nor do I want to."

She sneered at his description. "So what's a hollow then? That sounds like something without a soul."

Arron shrugged. "Yes and no. Hollows are souls who have spent far too much time in the mortal realm. We decay like rusting metal until we resemble something indescribably horrifying. You might have seen one when you went rooting around in my head."

She gave him a strange look and pursed her lips, deep in thought. "Fascinating, yet you looked so human in your mind."

They sat silent for a few seconds before Gardevoir spoke again. "I have to ask, what do you seek to achieve by staying with this boy?"

Arron suddenly found the grass much more interesting than the conversation at hand. "Where did this come from?"

"You know where."

Arron grunted. "Enlighten me anyway."

She sighed and intertwined her white fingers, staring at them with solemn, half-lidded eyes. "If you are who you claim you are, what you claim you are, then why don't you escape? What do you get by staying with him?"

Arron hadn't thought of that before. In truth, he hadn't left because he wouldn't have anywhere to go. Could he survive on his own? Undoubtedly, but what would be the point of it all? His life would return to the monotony he experienced in Hueco Mundo before he met Nelliel; the rage, angst, and grief were boiling up inside him indefinitely. He didn't want to go back to that.

Now he knew why he related to Ulquiorra so much; they both needed purpose, craved it even. Just for wildly different reasons.

"I don't know. I know I don't want to live out a pointless existence."

She raised an eyebrow at the confession. "Why would your existence be pointless?"

"I have no plans, no goals, no family or friends. Everyone I knew was either dead or gone. This pathetic lot is all I have, and as meager as it seems sometimes, I don't want to take anyone for granted anymore."

She nodded. "And how do you feel about the boy?"

Arron sat there for a moment, contemplating before he gave Gardevoir his answer. "He is there."

"That's all? Is his existence alone enough?"

"For now," he said, "I couldn't ask for more at the moment."

Gardevoir looked like she wanted to press him further but let the topic drop in favor of something else. "You've changed," she said, "I don't know why or how, but you have. And I don't know how to feel about that. What happened?"

He didn't respond.

She sighed and laid back down, closing her eyes as if to rub the stress out of them. "If you don't want to talk about it, or if you don't understand why you feel this way, then I won't press you. You've fulfilled your end of the bargain, so I'll fulfill mine; I haven't told anyone about your past, and I have no interest in doing so."

She stood up and flexed before walking back down the hill to the far-off complex of Cerise Laboratories. But before she was out of earshot, Arron called out to her. "Why don't you leave?"

She stopped in her tracks, not turning around. "What do you mean by that? Why don't I leave? It's an off-putting question."

"Why is it so off-putting? You asked me the same thing."

"I asked you that question because it seemed like you didn't want to be here; I thought you craved the freedom you lost. I don't desire that same freedom."

"But why not? You seem to be a lot like me. You mean to tell me that you've never thought of forging a path for yourself?"

She turned and gave him a solemn look, like the kind of look a heartbroken adult would give to a newly orphaned child. "Arron, what is there for me in the wild?"

"I… freedom, I guess? You could create something, do something. I'm built to destroy; I have no purpose other than to hurt people."

She shook her head and climbed back up the hill before wrapping her arms around him. "Don't say that. We are who we choose to be."

"You say that, yet you don't seem to think that."

She chuckled. "Arron, I spend my days living in a golden cage. I have everything I need, and my owner treats me well. If I were to leave, what would I gain? What would freedom grant me?"

Arron didn't respond, thinking about what she said while she continued. "Arron, I'm not free, nor will I ever be free. Do you know what happens to a registered Pokemon who tries to escape? Back in Kanto or Johto, they're 're-educated', or worse simply replaced without the trainer even knowing. I've seen the process firsthand, and it's a disgusting practice. Trainers are often lied to about what it entails, and they're told it's some therapeutic process; in reality, it's a pavlovian nightmare that I try to prevent other Pokemon from experiencing. So no, I'll maintain my comfortable life in bondage, thank you very much." She picked up a dandelion and blew away the fluffy white spores, which were carried away by a soft breeze. "Besides, I find fulfillment in what I do, even if it's difficult sometimes."

Arron wanted to respond, but he couldn't. He didn't know that it was this bad here, that people saw sentient beings as nothing more than animals. He wondered if the boy felt the same way about him.

"I wasn't telling you to leave; I was asking a question. I thought you would go on your own, and I wanted to find out why I was wrong."

He nodded absently and buried his head in his hands in exhaustion. His pain and strain had returned into focus as he had stopped meditating, and his body was still torn to shreds from the week of battle. Then he looked to his side only to find out that Goh was gone.

"Where'd he go?" Arron said out loud without thinking. Gardevoir shrugged. "Rosemary asked me to remove him before I spoke to you. It turns out I didn't need to; he left of his own volition the moment he saw me."

"I hope he didn't give you trouble."

She shook her head. "No, not even a dirty look. He seemed more occupied than anything, maybe deep in thought."

For some reason, that didn't sit right with Arron, but he didn't know why. "He was drawing in his book; I caught a few glimpses. He's very good at it," Gardevoir said before glancing back at Goh, who was making his way to the main building complex of the park. "Has he been different recently? I've heard a lot of concerns."

Arron shrugged. "I don't know; the last few weeks have been a mess. And besides, I don't know him well; you seem to forget that I've only been his Pokemon for less than a month."

"I know, but he seems to confide in you; take comfort in your presence, if that makes any sense."

Arron grunted. "I never noticed. He seemed so disappointed most of the time."

Gardevoir shook her head. "He talks to you while you sleep. He asks you rhetorical questions. He even says he understands you. I don't know what he means, but it's cute."

Arron shuffled uncomfortably. "That's… something, I guess."

"He'll also place his head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat before falling asleep. He did it out here; I watched him for a while before approaching."

Arron didn't know how to feel about that. "I… uh," he stuttered, "that's nice, I suppose."

"I know, it's strange, but he's a strange kid. Not in a bad way, mind you; he just doesn't fit into the mold like most kids his age. I can tell he wasn't very popular."

Arron sighed. He was dealing with a weird kid.

Gardevoir snorted, obviously reading his thoughts. "He isn't weird; he's just different. He is a charming boy; he's just had an isolated childhood."

Arron shook his head. "Fine, he isn't weird. I'm just not used to that kind of contact. This whole 'being an animal' business messes with your perspective."

"You'll get used to it," Gardevoir replied. He laid back down and yawned, already tiring. Gardevoir gave him a soft look. "You seem tired."

"I'm always tired," Arron said.

"That's not healthy at all," she said with concern, placing her hands on his chest and closing her eyes. He saw her flinch momentarily, although he wasn't sure if it was from his injuries or his alien spiritual pressure or if she could even feel it. "This is the first time you've truly slept in weeks. Why?"

Arron groaned. "I don't want to talk about it."

"This isn't some deep secret; it's your health. I'm going to make sure that when I leave you today, you're in marginally better shape than before. So please, tell me what's bothering you."

Arron looked away but relented. "I dream. I wouldn't say I like dreaming."

She chuckled. "Everyone dreams; it's what you dream about that affects us. So what's eating at you?"

"Them." He said cryptically.

"Whose them?" She inquired.

"Just… never mind. I don't want to talk about it."

Gardevoir lifted her eyebrow but didn't push him. "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to, but we need to make some headway in your sleep quality."

"And how would you propose we do that? I don't want you entering my mind again."

She chuckled, "I don't need to. All I need to do is feel the edge of your mind. Emotions are far less secure than memories. Now close your eyes and relax."

Arron snorted and did as she asked, relaxing his body and interlocking his fingers on his abdomen. She placed her hands on her head, firmly pressing her thumbs on his forehead and wrapping the rest of her fingers behind his head. She hummed almost silently, and Arron felt a mild thrum within his head, easing his migraine and helping him push his worries to the back of his mind.

"I will teach you how to ignore your dreams and control your emotions to an extent for now if they bother you so much. But you'll have to confront them eventually. Make sure you get plenty of sleep, and we'll see how things change over time." She explained, "Emotions, memories, and dreams are inexplicably linked, essentially your brain's way of communicating your problems with your psyche as a way to self-reflect. It is a necessary evil, but one that can be avoided, for now at least."

Arron mumbled in acknowledgment as he felt her energy caress the edge of his mind gently, like a cool autumn breeze. It was a rare serene feeling that he cherished, allowing her to go deeper. She did so, spreading the feeling until, before he knew it, he was asleep again.

---

The black, empty sleep was a welcome change of pace for Arron, allowing him to wake up without the pangs of guilt and regret in his chest. When he rubbed his eyes and opened them, he felt somewhat better; the throbbing had nearly ceased, and his side wasn't as irritable as before.

He sat up and looked around wearily, noticing that he was still outside. It was the dead of night, and it was much colder than he recalled, which didn't seem right. Then he felt the soft, powdery crunch of the snow beneath him. That couldn't be right; it was early summer.

Then he noticed the environment around him was silent. A swarm of thick conifers surrounded him, and the sky sparkled with an unnatural array of stars that typically would've been covered up by the heavy light pollution of Vermilion City. A small frozen lake sat a few meters away from him, aquatic plants swaying underneath. Yet despite the wildness of it all, it was empty and dead, with no birds chirping or any other sign of wildlife.

Then it hit him; he was in his Pokeball. They must have changed the environment to suit his needs or whatever they thought his conditions were. Honestly, he didn't care.

He contemplated breaking out of the Pokeball; it wasn't like he couldn't, but he wasn't small. He could cause a terrible incident by escaping while they were in a vehicle or train car. So he decided to wait, observing the forest and looking for anything more interesting than a conifer to waste his time on.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long. He was suddenly thrust from the artificial world onto a hard, concrete surface. Usually, he could land on his feet with some grace, but apparently, today was the day that his luck ran out. He crashed head-first onto the ground with a loud thwap, his bony skull armor cushioning most of the blow before he flopped onto his stomach with a huff. He groaned at both the sudden and rude summoning and the change in lighting, the evening sun causing his eyes to scrunch from the brightness.

He heard Goh yelp and Ash snicker in the background and other pedestrians gasp softly at his elegant entrance, which made him growl in annoyance and humiliation. He quickly regained his composure, only to see Ash and Goh sitting at a table laden with food, as well as the rest of their combined books on teams hanging around. He sat up and chuffed at gosh curiously, eying the food at the table, and Goh gave him an odd look like he just saw a ghost. Ash was slurping up some noodle dish like an absolute barbarian, garnering his own dirty looks from people, the only difference being that the kid seemed to have no shame whatsoever.

"Uh… sorry," Goh squeaked, causing Arron to shake his head and stand up, his hulking form taking up far too much space, in his opinion. He preferred being normal-sized and human, or even small so that he could quickly seek out solitude, but he'd have to suffer in silence, so to speak.

Seemingly looking for some kind of conciliatory gift, Goh handed Arron a bowl of… something. At first, he couldn't quite make out what it was, but eventually, he deduced that it must've been some kind of curry based on the strong smell and yellow rice the thick brown sauce was poured over. It was a lumpy stew of potatoes, carrots, some kind of meat, and little shreds of what seemed to be carrot and ginger, a combination that made his nose wrinkle.

He gave Goh an apprehensive look, and Goh seemed just as confused, as if he couldn't understand why Arron wanted nothing to do with what he put in his hands.

To be fair, Goh wouldn't know what his tastes were. He'd never eaten a curry like this since most of his experiences with Asian food consisted of Thai, Chinese, and whatever else he had tried in Florida, which wasn't much since Florida wasn't exactly close to Asia. Beyond that, it just… didn't look right. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew that curry wasn't supposed to be that gray… or gloopy. And the dish having whole lengths of sausage strewn on top didn't seem appetizing either.

Goh's patience quickly wore thin, and he scowled at Arron as if he had done something wrong. "I see, so the one time I offer you table food, you don't want it."

Arron snorted and snatched the bowl from his relatively small hands to prove a point, but the curry still looked pretty unappealing to him. Yet he couldn't back down now; even the other Pokemon seemed interested. Riolu had a smug look on his face as if he'd accomplished something, and both Raboot and Scyther seemed more amused than anything. Misdreavus kept floating around, watching him curiously with eyes that seemed to look into his soul, her reiryoku thrumming like a series of harp strings. A new Pokemon, a yellow and comically shaped dragon, merely glanced at him as it chowed down on what looked like its third bowl. Pikachu was asleep on the brick plant basin of the market square just a few feet away from the rest of the group, snoring quietly.

God, how much of this stuff did they order?

He sighed and gnawed on the sausage, which was passable. Arron trying the food seemed to appease Goh, who turned back to his food, an even worse crime of a curry dish topped with spaghetti noodles, a concept that made Arron die a little on the inside. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to let Riolu mock him; he gave the little shit his best I'll hang you from a lamppost by your entrails look, and Riolu turned back to eating his food, attempting to hide the shit-eating grin still present on his lips. Arron grumbled and plopped down, his gigantic body slumping lazily against a brick wall.

The town they were situated in reminded him of Kalos. Still, unlike the coastal farming town, this city was much more compressed and urban, with small Park areas strewn haphazardly between blocks of five and six-story apartment blocks and shopping complexes. Everything was made of brick and terra-cotta plaster framed with dark oak and painted in different warm colors, giving the town a ye-olden hue. Beds of flowers sat on window sills and between streets filled with lavender and roses. What seemed like a two-story train station that took up at least the space of a large football field, dominating much of the area. People rode small cars and mopeds on the rust-colored brick roads, while others walked down sidewalks, eyes forward and social contact kept to a minimum. All in all, it resembled a medium-sized UK town, food and all.

He noticed Raboot was nudging him, and he looked down at her minuscule form. She waved, and he grunted, which had become the universal signal of his acknowledgment. He felt her tiny body plop down next to his, her back relating to his abdomen.

"How're you feeling?" She asked him calmly. He shrugged and kept chewing on what tasted like overcooked beef. Arron frowned at the texture and set the bowl aside.

"I'm fine," he said plainly, "why do you ask?"

"I'm just worried about you."

"Don't be," he responded, "I have enough people doing that."

She shook her head at his words; he could feel the swaying of her head going side to side against his abdomen. "You're just never happy; that's what concerns me."

"Me and happy don't get along very well. The best you'll see me at is content."

"That's just depressing, Arron."

He just shrugged again. "Sorry to disappoint you."

She was quiet for a bit before he spoke to her. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About a day and a half, give or take. You woke up a bit on the hill, I saw you from the lake talking to Gardevoir, but you fell asleep again after that."

Arron chuckled bitterly. "I slept that long, and I still feel like shit. What have I missed?"

"Well, professor Cerise gave Ash and Goh tickets to see the world coronation series tournament here in Galar, but he didn't wake you then; he probably didn't want to disturb your sleep."

Arron nodded. "And he woke me up now for food. Great; Now I feel like a dick."

Raboot giggled. "I never thought you felt remorse."

He gave her a knowing look, and she corrected herself, "Well, sometimes you do."

Arron was satisfied with her response. "So the tournament is over?"

She nodded. "Yeah, Leon won."

Arron didn't know who exactly Leon was, although the name seemed familiar. "So, what now?"

She scratched her chin. "The train leaves tomorrow, so we're staying here until then."

They sat there, enjoying each other's company for a bit until the rest of the gang finished eating and packing. Most of the Pokemon were returned to their pokeballs, save for Raboot, Pikachu, Riolu, and Arron, who were allowed to stay under the condition that he didn't do anything stupid. Arron scoffed at the notion but didn't outright disagree with him, remembering his actions back at Sycamore's hospital.

They strolled down a red-bricked side path near one of the many canals in the city. Arron quickly discovered that said city was Wyndon and that Raboot had once lived here. He asked about her time there, but she didn't want to go into detail.

"I just lived on the streets, that's all," she had said, "Goh found me, and now I want to leave that life behind."

Arron knew that feeling personally, so he didn't press her any further; he didn't have the right to, not with how he guarded his past.

The air was crisp and cool, something he wasn't used to. Florida's air was always choked with humidity and urban stench, but here the smells and sensations of a mild summer evening took precedence, leaving Arron refreshed. He closed his eyes and anchored his Pesquisa on Goh's spirit energy, so he didn't have to look ahead. He relaxed and let the soothing flow of the wind comb through his fur like a gentle and sluggish brushing, using it to focus his mind on his breathing and meditate as he walked.

Sadly, his serene moment was almost immediately upset by the constant whining of a young man holding an injured Pokemon, a hideous turtle-looking thing, in his arms. Arron frowned deeply and opened his eyes, the preteen in front of them sniffling. His Pokemon was battered and bruised but otherwise unharmed. Pathetic .

"Help!" The new boy shouted, "is there a Pokemon center nearby?"

"Uh, yeah," Ash replied, "what's wrong? What happened?"

"There's some big, weird Pokemon on the big capstone bridge down the road!"

Arron groaned, knowing where this was going. Ash and Goh would drag the rest of them to a battle they might regret partaking in. And now that Goh was adamant about Arron not battling, he'd have to watch in absolute agony as this pair of circus troupes bounced around in an attempt to beat a Pokemon they knew nothing about so far.

But a nagging voice in the back of his head wouldn't be quiet. Those circus troupes managed to beat you, it said, causing him to grimace at the memory. The phantom pain of his once broken snout hadn't dissipated yet, and the embarrassment even less so.

Goh and Ash finished their childish shenanigans and began dragging the rest of them down the street towards a large stone bridge crossing the widest canal. He didn't sense anything at first, but Arron quickly noticed a slowly growing spiritual pressure at the opposite end from their side. It was weak but not insignificant; instead, it resembled Riolu in power. Arron snorted; this would be entertaining.

As they approached the mouth of the bridge, they saw it; a strange duck-like creature holding the longest, thickest leek Arron had ever seen. Its feathers were a dark brown, the same shade as potting soil, and its face was morphed into an ever-present scowl. It beat the leak with its free arm in an unmistakable expression of hostility, grumbling incoherently. Despite this, Ash and Goh grinned wildly as if they had just won the lottery.

"You want a go at it Ash?"

Ash gave Goh an odd look. "I thought you wanted to catch one of every Pokemon?"

Gosh pulled out his Rotom phone and scanned the creature. "It's a galarian farfetch'd, and I already have my own. Besides, he looks tough, and I already have enough muscle on my team."

Arron grunted at the comment, and Ash nodded, his Cheshire grin returning. "Well alright then. Riolu, let's drop 'em!"

Riolu practically tipped in excitement at the opportunity to battle, and Arron just plopped down, crossing both his legs and arms and watching the two small Pokemon stare each other down. Riolu growled at the farfetch'd, who simply scoffed at him like he wasn't worthy of his time. The farfetch'd then looked the rest of them up and down as if he was scanning them for potential before locking eyes with Arron.

"Fight me!" It howled, "I'll break you upon my leek!"

Arron blew a raspberry at the odd threat but stood back up and began to shuffle over to the farfetch'd, eager to fulfill the leek-wielding warrior's request. But before crossing the threshold between the street and the bridge, Goh held out his arm to block Arron's path. "No," was the one word that came out of the boy's mouth, stern and absolute.

Arron was miffed at the boy's sudden act of boldness. Sure, he'd been acting braver recently, but Arron didn't think Goh would start being so courageous. Typically, Arron would've ignored him, but recently Goh had been making it clear that he was done taking shit from Arron and had done everything in the book apart from physical violence to keep him in line. Alone, the punishments were trivial, but together they were annoying enough to make Arron think twice about crossing him.

So Arron obliged, releasing a deep hiss from his throat as he sat back down, refusing to look at Goh. Gosh mumbled something under his breath and watched as Riolu and the Galarian farfetch'd squared off against each other. The duck Pokemon scoffed at Arron for not accepting the challenge, then turned back to Riolu, swinging his leek around threateningly.

"Alright, Riolu, let's start with a vacuum wave!"

Riolu yowled and pressed his outstretched hands forward, launching a particularly forceful vacuum wave at his foe, who took it in stride and swiped at Riolu with more force than even Arron thought possible with such a giant leek. Riolu stumbled backward but was again on the receiving end of the leek, the large vegetable striking him upside the head. It must've been much sturdier than a normal leek because Arron could hear a faint crack as the leek made contact, causing Riolu to clutch his head in pain.

Raboot seemed concerned, but Arron just chuckled, garnering a dirty look from the tiny Rabbit Pokemon. He rolled her eyes at her. "I don't know why you're so concerned; he'll be fine."

"it doesn't look like it! That farfetch'd is putting him through the wringer."

"As I said, he'll be fine; Riolu is tougher than he looks."

As if on cue, Riolu launched a flurry of vacuum waves back at the farfetch'd, overwhelming him and causing him to stagger back, a brown wing over his eyes from the dust. Ash cheered and urged Riolu to push back further, leading to him rushing forward and battering with his little paws, grunting with each contact.

"I still don't understand why Goh wouldn't just let me handle this," Arron said, "all of this seems a bit unnecessary."

"Because it's not your fight," Raboot spat back, "Goh handed it over to Ash, this it's Ash's responsibility to catch the Farfetch'd. Besides, with how reckless and destructive you are, you'd end up destroying the bridge."

"Nonsense, one good bala would leave the little bastard unconscious for at least a few hours."

"One what?"

"A Bala, it means bullet. A close, quick attack made from my own energy. It's like being hit with a wave of hyper-compressed air at the speed of sound."

Raboot grimaced at the description. "That sounds painful."

"That's the point; what did you expect, a slight breeze?"

Raboot shook her head at Arron's abrasiveness and switched topics. "So what other powers do you have? I saw the blast you used in the tournament, and all the tricks you can use with ice, but I'm sure you're hiding more."

Arron chuckled. "I think I'll hold onto my secrets."

"You're no fun," She lamented. "At least explain how you healed me with your ice; I still haven't figured that out!"

Arron grinned, focusing partly on her and partly on the battle between Riolu and the Farfetch'd. Riolu had been pushed back again, battered and bruised, but he certainly had given just as much punishment as he had taken. The Farfetch'd was roughed up and coughing up blood but still stubbornly holding on to his fighting spirit, twirling the leek like a battle glaive before bringing it back down on Riolu, who blocked with interlocking forearms. He turned his attention back to Raboot, who was tapping her foot patiently, waiting for a response.

"I have a feeling that you're thinking about this in all the wrong ways. It's not the ice that heals you, it's the energy that flows through the ice. The ice is just a pathway."

Raboot gave him a bizarre look, and he chuckled at her cluelessness. "I see you're used to Riolu's more conventional methods. You're used to thinking of living and nonliving energies as simple, visible, and quantifiable, at least by the baked eye. My energy is more abstract, and it only takes a visible form when truly focused or unleashed. It's why you can't see it unless you've been trained to or if you're biologically gifted like Riolu, and even to him, it's just a blurry sphere of influence."

Raboot sat down, listening with rapt attention. She was clearly interested in the topic, although Arron couldn't tell why.

"The only time my energy takes a physical form is when it's either condensed or conjured, like when I use it in a blast or when it's condensed into the ice you see. Yet the ice is also a vessel or a medium, a form of energy sculpted to transport and implement a more delicate and precise expression of my power."

"I," she stuttered, "I still don't get it; why not just ignore the ice altogether?"

"Because I can't be as precise without the ice as I can with it. Think of it like language, and my raw energy as information; language is a tool used to convey information. Sure, I could gesture and grunt and point in a general direction, which would probably work, but to be more effective, I need precision, something grunts and gestures can't convey very well. The ice is the language that conveys the energy, allowing me to do more complex things by focusing my energy more effectively."

"So," she sputtered, the gears in her head still turning, "your ice is like a medium?"

"yes," he confirmed, "that's a good way of putting it. My ice facilitates the transfer of my spiritual energy more effectively than just the air, although discharging raw, loosely contained energy is far more destructive."

"I don't understand why you don't use your ice more. You might've won the match against Lucario if you had," Raboot lamented, "I mean, you have all these incredible powers, but you choose to fight like a barbarian. It's just so frustrating to see you hold back."

Arron was distracted from Raboot's rant for just a moment by the battle between Riolu and Farfetch'd. Riolu was on his knees, holding his sideband, gasping for air. Farfetch'd was on the ground, lying on his back. While he wasn't unconscious, he definitely looked like he wished he was. Riolu must've been struck in the liver as he was dry heaving from the dark bruise covering his ribs.

"He did worse than expected," Arron stated blandly.

Raboot scowled at him. "Don't change the subject; I still don't know what else you can do!"

"sucks for you," Arron said, "Goh won't let me fight, so I won't be demonstrating it until I can."

"Well, can't you just describe them to me?"

It actually wasn't a bad suggestion, but Arron preferred to keep his secrets. "That'd take too long, and that ignores the fact that I don't want to tell you about my powers in the first place; you're lucky you got this far."

Raboot crossed her arms and pouted, eliciting a chuckle from Arron as Ash continued to cheer on Riolu, who had already won the battle at this point, albeit barely. Riolu was sitting on his rump, hands folded over his lap and chest heaving. The farfetch'd was gone, probably captured by Ash already, and now it was much quieter. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, casting an eerie orange glow over the town, and the street lamps were starting to flicker on.

"Goh!" Ash called from the bridge, "We should head to the Pokemon center; Riolu doesn't look too good."

Goh nodded and then looked back at Arron. "See, was that so hard?" Arron just snorted and refused to grant Goh eye contact, which didn't faze him at all.

"Keep acting that way and you're going back into your Pokeball."

Arron growled at him, but Goh just glared. "Don't even; it won't get you anywhere."

Arron didn't respond, not that it would've done any good, and stood up, stretching his legs as he did so. Raboot simply hopped up and began rolling on the balls of her feet, obviously bored. Riolu heaved and stood up, wobbling on his feet but eventually gaining enough balance to reach Ash, who returned him to his Pokeball. Arron sighed and trudged over to the opposite end of the sidewalk, waiting for then to finish whatever they were doing so they could leave.

---

"We should get them back to the Pokemon center," Goh said, "Maybe then we can see if the Farfetch'd wants to join."

Ash raised an eyebrow at Goh, startled at his change in pace. "I don't remember you ever caring about that before, are you okay?"

Goh blushed profusely at the observation. "I'm fine, it's just that you usually like to see if the Pokemon you catch want to come along or not. And I've been thinking about that recently…"

"What happened to your goal of catching every Pokemon?"

Goh shoved his hands into his pockets and started at the ground. "It just seems so juvenile and irresponsible now. What would I do with all those Pokemon? I'd be a terrible person if I just left them all at Cerise Park without paying them any mind."

Ash nodded solemnly. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm trying to avoid doing that now as well, but some mistakes are irreversible."

Goh looked up at Ash, who was petting Pikachu with a distracted expression. "What do you mean by that?"

Ash sighed before responding. "I've made that mistake before, I don't know if May told you, but I used to gather Pokemon like they were souvenirs. In every region I went to, I'd start over with new Pokemon and try to reach the top. I told myself that if I kept all my old Pokemon, I'd have no challenge. I think I really just got bored."

Goh didn't say anything, but Ash's words felt real, and painfully familiar. Goh felt guilty for all the Pokemon he had already caught because he realized there was no point in catching them other than the sense of accomplishment.

"I began to really consider the magnitude of my actions when I found myself in Unova and Kalos. The culture there was different than it was at home, how people saw Pokemon as equals and companions, not as pets and objects. In Kanto, Pokemon were these incredible creatures we controlled, our prized collectibles. In Kalos they were family, worthy of respect and a certain level of autonomy, even if they were still our pokemon. Over time the culture of our home felt more and more shallow in comparison to the bonds that were forged in these strange new regions."

Finally, Goh responded. "You said you had other Pokemon, how many did you have?"

Ash shrugged. "I lost count a long time ago, but at least a few dozen. But somehow, despite catching less than you, it feels more heinous. I grew with these Pokemon; we fought incredible battles and forged unbreakable bonds, and then I just tossed them to the side after finding a new set of companions. You can do that with people; they have other trajectories in life, you know. I had friends who had dreams to pursue, and we separated amicably. But I left my Pokemon behind, and I have nobody to blame but myself."

Goh looked at Ash, and he seemed almost disgusted with himself, as if he loathed the person he had become. "And now you think there's no going back," Goh started, "but there is; you can still fix it; you know that, right?"

Ash shook his head. "But there isn't. Sure, a few of them forged their own paths, but most of them are just sitting on Professor Oak's property, waiting for me to return and start a new adventure. But I can't give that luxury to all of them. That's partly why I kept doing it; once I realized just how much damage I had caused, I did everything I could to avoid facing the consequences. I was a coward."

Goh sighed, empathetic towards Ash's shame. "Why'd you keep this to yourself for so long? We're friends, we're always there for each other, remember?"

Ash cracked a dim smile, his eyes sparkling as he glanced at Goh. "I didn't want to burden you with it. I need to deal with the consequences of my actions, I can't keep avoiding it."

"That's not healthy, Ash, and talking to me about it isn't avoiding it; discussing it openly is the first step to solving the problem."

"Yeah, but sometimes I don't know what else to do; it can be suffocating. I visit them as often as possible, even if I know it's still not enough."

Goh nodded with approval. "That's a start, but you can do more. Why not switch them out? Bring a few on a research mission and some others on another, and form a cycle or a schedule. And then when you go to battle in tournaments, you can bring your best."

Ash nodded as he considered the idea. "That's actually pretty smart. Thanks Goh; I'll try that when we get back to Kanto."

Goh looked back to see Arron and Raboot loitering around, waiting for the two of them to get a move on. Goh rolled his eyes and slung his bag over his shoulders, eyeing the two of them suspiciously. They seemed to be spending a lot more time together lately, which was odd; Arron didn't really like other Pokemon, so he was skeptical of his intentions.

To be fair, the two of them had always been closer than anyone else on his team; Raboot seemed to be the only Pokemon Arron could stand being around for extended periods, an achievement in itself, but also seemed to make Arron less angry than usual which was always a plus.

Goh decided he was going to be optimistic about the situation and let them continue to be around each other. If it meant Arron would be socializing, he was okay with it.

"Alright, let's go. The Pokemon center is just around the corner."

Arron snorted in acknowledgment, and Raboot just hopped onto her feet, aloof as ever. They followed close behind Ash and Goh, keeping their distance but remaining within earshot to not worry the two trainers. Goh was in his own thoughts when Ash tapped him on the shoulder. "So what happened in Shalour? I mean, your meeting with Chairman Rose. What did he have to say?"

Goh paused before saying anything. He didn't want to influence Ash's opinion on Leon; after all, beating Leon was Ash's newest goal. But he didn't want to hide the truth from Ash either. Chairman Rose could use Ash's ignorance against him, worsening things.

"He wanted to take Arron off my hands; I said no."

"That's it?" Ash inquired, "Goh, you practically looked sick when you were finished with the meeting; I know there more. You don't even need to tell me, I just need to know where Chairman Rose stands."

Goh nodded nervously. "At first, he was polite and calm. He congratulated me on my placement in the Votive Games, then he tried to trade Arron for favors. He even promised to grant me a guaranteed spot in project Mew. I still said no. So he threatened me."

Ash stopped and gave him a skeptical look. "He threatened you? How?"

Goh closed his eyes and continued. "He said he'd make my life hell, and he'd make it so I'd never achieve my goals. He said that denying him what he wanted would have consequences," Goh was shaking from anger now, infuriated that Rosé had put him in such a position. "It was the hardest decision of my life because I knew he would follow through with his threat, but I turned him down. I wouldn't let him manipulate me into giving up on my friends."

Ash was tight-lipped, but he gave Goh a sad, apologetic look. Then he spoke in a soft voice. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I should've been there to help you, but I was so distracted by Leon that I lost sight of what was important then. But the good thing is that you didn't: you took the high road, protected your friend, and in the end, you did the right thing."

"Yeah, I know," Goh said bitterly. "I'm just worried that Chairman Rosé will make good on his promise, and then all the work I've put toward reaching project Mew will be pointless."

They were quiet for a moment, and Ash seemed to be contemplating something. Then he spoke, a determined look in his eyes. "Goh, I'm not going to pretend everything will work out in the end, but just know that I'll always stand by you when you need me. Because that's what friends do."

Goh cracked a small smile. He was glad to be traveling with Ash; they might have been opposites, with Goh's obsession with organization and workaholic disposition often clashing with Ash's relaxed and carefree temperament, but at the end of the day they made it work. And it was all because they stuck out for each other.

"Thanks, Ash, I really appreciate it."

Ash smoked back, giving Goh a toothy grin. "No problem. Now enough with all this depressing stuff; let's get these guys to the Pokemon center, and while we're there maybe they can see if Arron is fit for battle."

"I don't know Ash, it's only been a few days," Goh stammered, "I know that Arron heals fast and all, but Sycamore did say that he'd need at least a week of recovery."

"Don't be so worried; we're going to get him checked out while we're at the Pokemon center, and if they don't give him a bill of good health then he won't battle." Ash teased "Besides, it'd just be a shame for him to get even more pent up and agitated."

Goh knew Ash was right; Arron wasn't taking the 'no fighting' rule very well. And he should probably get another checkup anyway, just to see how well he was recovering.

"Yeah, I guess it couldn't hurt."

Ash pumped his fists, which gave Goh reason to be concerned. "You're not suggesting this so you can battle Arron, are you?"

Ash laughed nervously, obviously knowing he'd been caught. "Okay, maybe I want to see how he'd do against Dragonite; but only if he's in perfect health! It wouldn't be fair if he were still injured."

Gosh shook his head. "Whatever, Ash, let's just go get him checked out."

They arrived at the Pokemon Center, pushing open the glass doors and greeting a Nurse with auburn hair, who took their pokeballs with a smile. Before she could leave, he called her. "Pardon me, but could you also perform a checkup on another one of my Pokemon? We want to see how his recovery is progressing." Gosh quickly returned Arron to his Pokeball before he knew what was happening and handed it to the nurse. "Of course," she replied with a small, restrained sigh, "I'll make sure he is recovering well."

"Thank you, ma'am; I'm sorry for the trouble."

Her smile deepened; she was probably satisfied that someone at least recognized she had a lot on her plate. The young nurse stacked the three pokeballs on a small plastic stand before gesturing to Goh's room phone. He held it out and she scanned his medical database, and Ash provided the necessary information pertaining to the captured Farfetch'd as well as his own medical information. She confirmed and began mumbling to herself as she stacked the Pokeball rack onto a cart with other pokeballs and rolled it into the back and out of sight.

---

They chose to go back to their room while they waited for the recovery process to complete, and Goh remembered his meeting with Professor Sycamore, as well as Professor Magnolia and the files she gifted him.

"Hey, Ash? You remember the day before we left Kalos when I was gone for most of the morning?"

He nodded absently. "Yeah, you came back looking nervous, but I figured it wasn't my business. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine, I just met with Professor Sycamore and Professor Magnolia for breakfast. Most of it doesn't matter, but she did slip me some files she said you'd find interesting, some info related to Riolu."

Goh pulled out his Rotom phone and sent Ash the files. Ash uploaded them and made an odd face, as if he'd just heard something strange. "This is weird; what does this have to do with anything?"

Gosh saw the confusion in Ash's eyes and opened the files himself, scanning through them with a sharp eye. Most if it was strange and cryptic; odd carvings on trees and across the walls of caves, stones chiseled into geometric and unnatural shapes, and what looked like an artificial rock formation with engravings of Pokemon and what looked like a tall figure with a staff. Ash wasn't wrong; none of it immediately made sense, but Goh began to have a sinking feeling as he added Riolu into the equation.

"Ash, Professor Magnolia has spent the last few years attempting to prove Pokemon sentience. I think she was implying that the species of Lucario as a whole is sentient, or at least is walking the line between the two."

"So that's what this is about. Goh, I'm not saying she's wrong, but I don't see why she thought it was important for me to have these files."

Gosh shrugged. "I don't know; maybe she felt you'd find it impactful. She mentioned she and her granddaughter were doing some fieldwork, and maybe this was the result?"

Ash looked back at the few pictures they'd seen so far, lips pursed. "Well, we've got plenty of time, so why not keep looking? This whole file is at least two gigabytes in size, that must mean she's found a lot."

Goh whistled in surprise and awe. "It seems like she's really done her homework." Gosh checked through more of the files himself. "She's got pictures, videos, monologues in audio and written form, even illustrations, and they're all sorted by file type. That's a pretty impressive collection."

Gosh re-opened the pictures file and scrolled through more of them, finding all sorts of interesting subjects. One of them intrigued him more than the other pictures of carvings and chiseled stone pillars. A much younger Professor Magnolia was holding a long fighting knife made from what looked like bronze. The blaze was at least a foot in length, a little longer than her forearm, and seemed to be forged from crude bronze. It wasn't particularly ornate or refined, but it was sharp and seemed well cared for despite its age and wear. Another picture showed the professor holding the same knife in a fighting stance, the long polished blade shining in the sunlight. The grip was carved from ivory and capped with a small bronze ball to serve as a pommel.

It was a fine specimen, but it felt out of place in the more extensive collection of pictures Goh had observed so far. He saw a small note attached to the picture file, a few hundred words long, and clicked to expand it.

· Out of all the finds I've made so far, this is the most impactful to me personally, as it signifies a massive leap in my overarching goal of uncovering unquestionable proof of Pokemon intelligence and sentience. I've been following a small band of Lucario for days now, deep in the Elder-Glen of the Godswood, the oldest section of the forest, and have been able to ascertain snippets of their culture and ways of life. But this knife is unmistakable proof of higher thought and reason; it's a custom-crafted piece carried by what seemed to be the leader of the small band of rowdy males. The leader and owner regularly cleaned and polished it, and seemed to use it sparingly, meaning it was most likely a status symbol or heirloom.

· It was also the first time I was able to interact with them face to face and not from a distance; they always seemed to sense my presence and tolerate it, but approaching them was both dangerous and highly rewarding. The language barrier was a challenge to overcome (most wild Pokemon have little to no understanding of any human language while captured and bred Pokemon are subliminally imprinted with an inmate understanding of the human language of choice from a young age by their pokeballs as to ease Trainer/Pokemon relations.) But body language and mannerisms were enough for crude communication. It was hard to have him part with his dagger, but I was able to trade it for a large number of practical items, like a backpack, a fire starter kit and other miscellaneous tools. They seemed to be a pragmatic group since none of the males were intrigued by the cheap jewelry stones I dangled in front of them but rather by what valuable items and tools I could provide.

· Today will be my last day following them; my provisions are running far too low for comfort and I have gotten what I came for anyway. And besides, they seem to be preparing for something dangerous anyway; they are stocking their supplies in pits, preparing spears and javelins tipped with obsidian, and shouldering clubs and war picks with shafts of birch and heads of crude bronze. The idea of Pokemon using material weapons intrigues me, but they seem skilled with them, and their natural abilities consume precious energy they may not have. Either way, they seem to be marching to battle, but against what I do not know.

Goh found the excerpt to be fascinating. The pictures were taken in the wilderness, Magnolia standing on a hilly clearing in the middle of what seemed to be a thick woodland of trees. The background was darkened by the canopies, with sunbeams breaking through the openings in the multicolored foliage. Next to her was her granddaughter Sonia, who looked to be in her mid to late teens instead of her twenties. She had her arms wrapped around her grandmother, the both of them beaming with pride and joy. The picture had to be taken at least a decade ago, based on Sonia's age, and yet despite potentially being in her seventies during the time of the picture, the professor seemed even younger; Her struggle against the establishment must have taken a toll on her.

Yet Goh was skeptical, not of Professor Magnolia's findings, but of how the general populace would react to her research. He remembered when he was younger, watching the news with his father while his mother made dinner, watching how the most outstanding and celebrated scientists and Pokemon researchers would be welcomed onto a panel of interviewers to share their findings publically. He remembered one cold autumn day when he sat down as his father folded through his magazine on his recliner while Goh fiddled with a puzzle and he watched the KPN anchors and 'experts' rip into Professor Magnolia instead of applauding her. He remembered how they called her delusional and insane, how her findings were nothing more than a fool's errand. Goh had asked his father why the people on the news hated her so much, and he simply sighed and shook his head, flipping to another article as if the topic was too complex and painful to discuss.

Goh now realized what she went through and why she was so desperate to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that her findings and hypothesis were genuine; her professional name was ruined, much of her international funding revoked and her life transformed into a witch hunt.

Goh kept scrolling through pictures and notes; there were more items of interest, such as a crude square shield and what looked like a war fork with two sharp prongs. Other things included a shallow ivory comb and a vest made from leather and strange brown scales. Everything found showed to be of a sophisticated process of production, not just spontaneous inspiration. Another section of notes sparked his interest, and he selected it to read further.

· Observing populations of Lucario in the wild has revealed to me that much of the conventional knowledge we have gathered on them is wrong. They aren't brutish and solitary hunters but rather surprisingly clever obligate omnivores with complex social hierarchies. I've been lucky to have the great pleasure of observing the daily lives of several quote-on-quote tribes from a distance with the latest drone technology, and the sheer amount of findings I have uncovered about their kind is astounding.

· Their tribes are relatively small when compared to human towns, often only a few dozen to a few hundred in population, but are still rigidly organized into what I think are social classes that overlap. The males are both the primary hunters as well as the warriors and the protectors; they have been shown to assemble and leave on occasion and either return with a great bounty of hunted animals or loot from what I presume to be a raided tribe. The spoils are shared equally and the tribe seems to share the food and resources from successful hunts. The most common prey are small Pokemon like the common Sandslash and Greedent, but larger Pokemon are hunted as well. This, along with the many hardy crops they grow in their gardens (Chicory, Cassava, Yam, and a variety of legumes, amongst others), make up the majority of their diets. The females manage their hearths, and they dig massive burrows underground, some being multi-level, and create large, bulging mounds that serve as their homes. They'll often plant trees around their burrows, as the roots stick out into their mound homes and provide extra support for the bulged roofs and percent leakage into the home during rainstorms by redirecting and absorbing water.

· The older Lucario are often the tradesmen and the traders, individuals who shape the future of the tribe. Their cooperative nature doesn't just seem to be a nicety, but rather a necessity. Making sure everyone has weapons, basic tools and other everyday items means that the tribe functions better, and thus it stays competitive. There is no currency used within tribes, although barter is frequent, but oftentimes tribes will trade the natural resources around them and use salt as a universal currency.

· What I have learned has only solidified my belief that at least some species of Pokemon are sentient or are at least capable of achieving sentience. The complex behaviors I have witnessed clearly prove that these Pokemon possess higher intelligence and the ability to self-actualize.

Gosh looked over more pictures: gardens filled with many plants, large clusters of bulging mounds of dirt covered in grass with entrances leading underground, open-air workshops with many Lucario practicing what was once thought to be human trades, such as an older Lucario shaping crude bronze on a sizeable flattened stone used as an anvil.

Goh turned off his rotom phone with a sigh and sat down, his head spinning. Ash seemed concerned and sat down next to him. "What is it? What did you see?"

Goh simply handed Ash his phone and clicked to the highlighted files. Ash slowly took in what he saw, eyes widening as he read further. "Arceus, she wasn't bluffing, was she? Goh, this changes everything! We have to show Professor Cerise."

Gosh practically yanked back his phone. "Are you insane? We'll be kicked out of the program faster than you can blink. We need to keep this a secret."

Ash seemed flabbergasted. "Why would we do that? Goh, this is an incredible discovery! People need to see this, they need to see the truth."

"People don't want to see the truth," Goh hissed. "Ash, do you know how old some of these pictures are? Some of these are at least a decade old, many even older. I can guarantee you that she's tried to show the world, and people didn't want to adapt to the truth."

Ash sputtered to find a rebuttal, but he eventually fell silent. Goh regretted being harsh, but there was no other way to get it across. He wouldn't let Ash jeopardize their future over a hopeless cause.

"Ash, I'm not trying to be a jerk, it's just that the world isn't ready for this information, and I don't think they ever will be. Besides, it's not our fight; Professor Magnolia has to do this on her own, or people who want to deplatform her and destroy her career will use us against her."

Ash shook his head, not in disagreement, but in disappointment. "I really hate that you're right."

Goh wrapped his arm around Ash's shoulder. "I know, me too. But we'll get to see this eventually. Whenever we can get close to the great forest, maybe we can explore it."

Ash perked up at the mention of the great forest. "isn't that place dangerous?"

"Only to people with bad intentions," replied Goh, "besides, I have a friend who can help us next time we go to Kalos."

"A friend?"

"Yeah, she can help us navigate the forest," Goh clarified, "but not for a while; I still have a lot to think about. Besides, we have more to do and see here in Galar."

Ash nodded absentmindedly. "I'm gonna take a nap. Wake me when the recovery process is finished." He pulled off his jacket and shirt and curled up under the covers of his bunk, turning towards the wall. Goh removed his own clothes and slipped on some sleepwear before doing the same. A nap might just help him mellow out his racing mind.