Grief is a cruel thing. It's a suffering unlike any other, a deep, piercing agony that strikes down to the marrow. The suffering in it grows with a slow, creeping pace until it steadily consumes. It's the only emotion Mott can think of that can cause such a dire physical ache.

It's recoverable, Lenny says. Mott knows he's right, but that doesn't mean the thought feels at all possible.

Stawford Town is grieving, just like all of them are. Buildings are in shambles, crops are destroyed, and bridges are toppled. Lives have been interrupted, and some have been lost. Each and every citizen had lost something that night, even if it was just their innocence. A month has passed since the incident. Mott still hurts like it was yesterday.

But Stawford Town is also recovering. They've banded together, strongest in their vulnerability, and set out to mend what has been broken. The streets have been cleared. The wreckage has been dealt with. Useful materials have been salvaged from the destruction. Some things can't be fixed, but that doesn't mean they can't be soothed. With a community of aching hearts to surround oneself with, it's almost impossible to go without comfort or consolation.

Recovery, ironically, is a lot like grief. It works at a slow, creeping pace until it steadily soothes the lingering sting into a gentle ache. Unfortunately, grief is an easy slippery slope to fall into. Recovery is all uphill.

It helps to have friends who are walking alongside.

Mott and Torquil sit on the outskirts of the town in silence. They'd been going on a walk, trying to regain strength in their wounded bodies when they decided to sit and take a break. They've been staring out at the open pasture ever since. Mott wonders if they're both thinking about better days as they gaze at the flowers.

Torquil is heavily bandaged up, including a broken arm. Mott's rib still aches but is gradually getting better. There was nothing the medics could do about their hearts.

"You remember Nesta?" Torquil asks, breaking the silence.

Nesta is Florian's younger sister by a year. She's just barely turned twenty. "Yeah. What about her?"

"She sent me a letter about Florian," he explains, pulling it out of his bag. He doesn't open it, but Mott can see that the seal is broken. He probably read it earlier. He probably can't bear to read it again. "She says he's been admitted to an asylum near the Callahan family estate for a few weeks due to his mental break."

Mott nods, mulling the information over. "Then what?"

Torquil turns the letter over in his hand, examining it mournfully. "Then he'll be returning to his estate—permanently."

So, house arrest it is. Mott closes his eyes and allows the complicated emotions to pass through him. He doesn't force a neutral mask onto his face; rather, he embraces each feeling as it comes.

"He should be in jail," he says, weary and angry and sad. "He deserves worse. If he wasn't rich, he'd be dead."

"You don't really want that," Torquil responds, quietly.

Yes, he does. But no, he doesn't. It's all complicated and tangled and miserable.

He resigns himself to not having an answer to how he feels about Florian. Not yet, anyways. Of course he wants justice, even if Florian's his friend. Of course he still cares about him, even if he's a monster.

He wishes he wasn't so conflicted. He wishes this was easy.

"So what's happening to the Callahan estate?" He asks.

"Nesta is taking over as the matriarch in a week."

Mott doesn't take his eyes off the flowers, watching their carefree swaying in the wind. "I feel sorry for her."

"Me too."

They both watch the flowers in silence. Mott knows they're both thinking about the gardens the three of them used to roam. Mott knows he'll never see those gardens again. Those gardens still exist in the Callahan estate, but they don't, really. He's not sure he could bear to look at them knowing that they'll always be a broken memory.

Turning to Torquil, he wonders, "What are you going to do now? Your dad wanted you to be the patriarch of your family. Are you going to do it?"

Torquil sighs, still gazing at the pasture. "I don't know. For now, I'm going to keep traveling. Maybe I'll figure all this mess out along the way. Maybe I'll try to give Florian some company, see if I can't bring him back to who he used to be."

Mott swallows the lump in his throat but says nothing. Just like the gardens, there's no chance of returning to the Florian they used to know. But he doesn't say that. Instead, he looks back out at the flowers.

"Things used to be so simple back then," Torquil whispers, almost to himself. He seems far away as he continues, "The worst thing that happened back then was our dads being shit to us and the neighborhood bullies picking on us." Tearfully laughing, he adds, "And then Florian would save us and complain about it as he put bandages on us."

A bittersweet smile tugs onto Mott's face. "He was never very good at putting them on. They were always crooked."

"They were," Torquil huffs, amused and miserable all at once. His smile fades. "Then family politics got in the way of everything. Then we had a duty to our family names rather than to the people we actually cared about. It ruined everything."

"It did," Mott agrees, quietly.

A breeze passes over the valley, soft and melancholy. Almost like a ghost of the past bidding them a final farewell.


It wasn't long after that Torquil bid him goodbye. He said it felt like the town was choking him, and that he wanted to move on to someplace new. Mott assured him he understood, bid him a safe journey, and tried not to think about how this town used to be Torquil's favorite place to be.

Mott spent the next few hours helping rebuild the community center. Starting there seemed like the best course of action, as it could work as a headquarters of sorts for the town in the midst of reconstruction. With a good portion of the townspeople working together, they got the building standing again after a quarter of a day. By the time they finished, Mott's rib was aching and the sun was starting to set. He decided then was a good time to quit for the day. Rest is necessary to recovery.

So, he set off back to Hilda's apartment, which survived the attack in miraculously good shape. Some windows were shattered and several dishes fell off shelves, but the glass was easy to clean and the windows were covered in tarp as a temporary measure. Overall, their house looks fairly good in comparison to others—which is probably why they've invited less fortunate people to live with them while their homes are being rebuilt. Their little apartment has been rather crowded these days, with several people stuffing themselves into one room, but Mott doesn't mind. There's a welcoming sense of community in the crowdedness, giving him new people to lean on and be leaned on by in return.

Walking through the town this evening is a vastly different experience than his first walk through the town, or his walk through during the festival, or his walk through in the night just before the calamity struck. All of those moments were filled with a burgeoning sense of awe for the wonders of the city: the aqueducts, the architecture, the art, the crystal clear sky. This moment is different. The awe remains, but it's shifted targets. He no longer regards the town with awe; rather, the people. The town is destroyed; the beauty it once held has been razed to the ground. But the people stand back up, dust themselves off, and work through the rubble. It's like a forest after a devastating fire: everything may be burnt to ash, but there's new life sprouting out of the cinders.

There's a bittersweet hope to that, and Mott carries it close to his heart.

The cobblestone street is orange in the sunset, almost like a street of gold. In the center of it, twenty feet ahead, he spots a familiar figure. Lenny sits in the street with a group of children around him, teaching them all how to make flower crowns. The children watch with rapt attention, their eyes big and wide as they follow along. Their stems droop and the petals are a bit torn, but Lenny compliments each one until the child presenting it is beaming. Mott stops, watching the scene with a soft, fond smile on his face.

It's not long after that the children's parents call them away, and Lenny waves to them all as they depart for the evening. Standing, he watches the children go with a contemplative look on his face, like he's envisioning their futures in this town. Mott wonders what he sees. Does he see the sprouts rising out of the rubble like Mott does?

There's not much more time to think about it, because Lenny turns and sees him. A bright smile tugs on his face, his eyes glimmering with joy. Without a moment's hesitation, he bounds over to Mott, arms open wide. Mott grins, takes a step forward, and warmly accepts the embrace.

"I was wondering where you were," Lenny remarks as he pulls away. He brushes some splinters of wood off Mott's handkerchief. "Were you helping at the community center?"

"How'd you guess?"

"It just sounds like something you'd do."

Mott doesn't know why that warms his heart so much.

Holding the flower crown he'd made, Lenny raises it up to Mott's head and motions for Mott to duck down. Mott obeys and the crown is placed gently on his head. Glancing up at it, Mott asks, "What's this for?"

"Nothing," Lenny answers, adjusting it until it's set in place. "It's just for being you."

Mott's smile grows. He can't keep himself from nuzzling Lenny and feeling his heart burst with bliss.

He's just about to suggest they head back to Hilda's—she gets scary when they miss dinner—when a familiar voice calls, "Ah, there he is! The man of the hour!"

Mott's body goes rigid, his blood freezing over. There's no way that's who he thinks it is. It's been a long time since he's heard that voice, after all, he could easily be mistaken. But when he turns around, he's met with the exact sight he expected.

The Alcott patriarch.

"Father…?" He utters, wide-eyed and somewhat confused. He doesn't think he's ever seen his father smile before, and certainly not at him. But as his father approaches, it's undeniable that he's smiling right at him. Even more bizarre, his father reaches out and takes his hand in a friendly handshake. Mott stares at their clasped hands in complete bewilderment.

"Montgomery, how good to see you again," his father says wistfully, as though they're long lost friends. Mott's still busy staring at his hand like an idiot, even when his father lets go. "Everyone's talking about you, my boy. Newspapers are calling you and your sidekick Unova's Paladins. We're all delightfully impressed by what you've done. And you've evolved, too! What impressive feats you've accomplished in such a short time."

Mott opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again and looks at Lenny as if to say, Are you seeing this?! Lenny's eyes are fixed on his father with uncharacteristic neutrality. Mott turns back and manages to say, "Uh, thanks."

It seems that his father notices Lenny for the first time, taking him in with poorly veiled disdain. His gaze then turns to the flower crown on Mott's head, as if he's connecting some dots. "I see this commoner has made something to show his appreciation for your act of heroism."

Irritation flickers in Mott's chest, at that. "Our act of heroism. Lenny saved the day, too."

"Of course," his father responds in that grossly condescending voice, the verbal equivalent of giving Lenny a participation trophy for his efforts. Shaking his attention from Lenny, he returns his focus to Mott with that strange smile again. "Anyways, my boy, I've come with wonderful news."

Mott discreetly pinches himself. Okay, so this isn't a dream. "Wonderful news?"

Father smiles with utmost graciousness, like he's going to save Mott's life with his next words. "Not only have you earned your place back in the Alcott family, you've earned your family crest."

Mott's heart stops.

"Congratulations, my son. You are officially a member of the great Alcott family."

He can hardly believe what he's hearing. But sure enough, his father holds out a hand, displaying the family crest in his palm. Mott stares down at the royal blue and silver shining back at him, like a polished treasure just waiting to be plucked. It's more than that, though—it's everything he's ever wanted to for the past twenty one years, handed to him on a platter. Mott could snatch it up right now and accept his rightful place in the Alcott family.

"Go on," his father urges, holding it up to him. "You've earned it."

He's waited so long to hear those very words. And yet, now that they've finally been spoken, they fall flat. He earned his spot in the family? How long is he going to have to earn recognition and acceptance, when it's something that should be freely given?

He stares at the crest. Then, he looks to the bandana around his arm.

The choice is pretty obvious.

"Thanks," he says, pushing the crest away. "But no thanks."

His father's smile strains. "I'm sorry?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," he repeats, straightening his shoulders. "I decided I don't want it, nor do I need it."

"You don't want the family crest, the most honorable symbol in the Alcott family spanning generations? Surely, you must be mistaken. Don't be selfish," His father insists, his voice a mix of incredulity and indignation.

"I'm not selfish."

His father ignores him. "Why else would you have defeated Zekrom if not to bring honor to our family, as requested of you?"

"Because I wanted to help people," he answers without a shred of hesitation. "What I do has nothing to do with your approval, anymore."

"Montgomery," his father hisses through clenched teeth, forcing a menacing smile for appearance's sake. "If you do not accept this crest, you will be banished from the Alcott family—permanently."

Seriously? This again?

Mott shrugs. "Okay." And then, he walks away.

A moment passes before anything else happens, as if Mott left everyone behind him speechless. That's fine. He'd rather not hear his father's petulant ranting, anyways. But after a moment, there's a quick patter of light footsteps chasing after him, and soon Lenny is walking by his side.

"Are you alright?" He asks, fixing Mott with a worried gaze. "That crest and your father's approval… that's all you've ever wanted."

"It was," Mott answers, booping their noses together playfully. "But not anymore."

Lenny regards him for a long moment as if reading him like a book. Then, a smile dances on his face.

"You've really changed, Mott," he states, his voice warm and proud. "You're like a whole new person."

Mott feels it too.

The Epilogue

Back in the present, the town sits around Unova's Paladins, wide-eyed and in awe of their tale. It's impossible to imagine the renowned, unbeatable duo ever enduring any type of struggle, no matter how long ago it may have been. It almost feels like a fairytale.

"Was that a satisfactory story?" Mott asks, grinning down at the little girl who kicked it all off.

Little Alice stares back at him with a slack jaw, still marvelling. Soon enough, she shakes herself off and raises her hand, proclaiming, "I have a question!"

"Have at it," Mott replies.

"Is all the kissy stuff real?" She asks, making a face of obvious disgust. "Because if it is, that ruins the whole thing for me."

That startles a laugh out of him. "In that case, yes, I made it all up." Lenny shoves him.

Another kid pokes their head up. "Did you really get kicked out of the Alcott family for good?"

Mott shrugs. "I haven't seen any of my family in years, so… I guess so?"

"What happened to Hilda and her family? Do you still visit them?"

"We make sure to meet up a few times every year," Lenny answers, leaning against Mott. "It's getting tougher now that Amari is out adventuring with a team of their own, but we still make it work."

An older woman pipes up. "And what about your family, dearie?" She says to Lenny. "How do they feel about all your traveling and battling?"

Lenny shuffles his feet and grins sheepishly. "They, ah, don't love it. But they're coming around to the idea."

Alice raises her hand again, wondering, "What happened to Torquil and Florian?"

For a moment, both of Unova's Paladin's are silent. They share a glance that communicates something none of the others can understand.

"That's… probably a story for another time," Mott responds, vaguely.

Before anyone can protest or ask another question, a sudden rush of wind whips through the street. The gale rips leaves off trees and shingles off roofs, threatening to tear the town apart. In the center of it all, with a furious scowl on its face, is the legendary tornadus.

"The people of this town failed to offer an adequate sacrifice this year!" The legendary booms, it's voice garbled and strange. Lifting its hands, it raises the currents of wind and collects a barrage of debris. "And for that, you all will become the sacrifice!"

With a mighty roar, it shoots the debris out like bullets, raining down like a meteor shower.

As the town screams, suffering its second catastrophe of the day, Mott and Lenny brace themselves against each other. When the bombardment temporarily dies down, the two paladins share a determined look.

"Sorry, folks. No more time to talk," Lenny says, leaping into action.

"Duty calls," Mott adds, brandishing his scalchop. "Let's get 'em, Len!"

The two of them race off, already on their newest adventure.