Patricia Tarnow stepped over the vault opening, entering the brightly‐lit hall. Johto Underground Survival Center. She'd heard of the place, but to her knowledge it had never been used. All known entrances were supposed to be sealed.

The assault team members clad in black uniform split into two pairs. Each took one of the side corridors, both of which led to a metal door. Each corridor had a wooden bench against one wall, and metallic shelves on the other. Looking closer, the doors were strangely elliptical, almost like in a submarine.

The entrance hall was fairly spacious, a square in shape. The walls were a light gray, with a marble‐like pattern. In the center of the back wall, a set of dark‐blue curtains hung from a golden‐toned rod. One of the officers walked ahead of her. He was of a dark complexion, with a thick, bushy mustache. Turning toward her, he said, "You may stay here, for now." By parting the curtains he revealed a doorway, and went through it.

The bodyguard walked about the room. Pacing around was a habit he'd kept, but in all the light it was all the more obvious how this was a changed man. In the days when Altaria had still been around, he'd kept himself looking professional. Nowadays, he was starting to look as a wild man. The star's disappearance had impacted everyone, no doubt about it.

She looked up to the ceiling. Light gray tiles, with some glowing bright white. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Altaria… is this where you were taken?

Guarding the entrance was the other officer, holding his Houndoom by a steel chain. It was hard not to shudder, looking at the black‐bodied canine. Police Houndoom were widely suspected to be descendants of Vicnio. While the details were as enigmatic as the experiments the Houndoom had supposedly gone through, everyone knew that the people most closely associated with Vicnio had died in horrifying ways. Project Vicious. That was one name you wouldn't dare mention in public.

Putting the thoughts aside, she looked at the bodyguard again. He had settled down, leaning against the wall in his charcoal suit. Today's wardrobe choice included a bright green tie that glowed like an emerald in all the light. She let her eyes go out of focus, her expression turning into a smile. This was the tie he had worn to the wedding where Altaria had been invited to perform.

The bodyguard raises his arms into the air. "Oh, the honor of having our star attend a ceremony where two become one."

Patricia holds back her laughter. This is exactly why he got the job. "It's to take place in Hearthome, in the Sinnoh region."

The bodyguard stares back at her with a blank expression. She raises her eyebrows.

"What? What about it?"

She shakes her head. "That's a long way from Johto, Mr. Inor. She'll need to be accompanied the whole way."

He shakes his raised fist with vigor. "Madam, I'll travel to the end of the world with her if need be."

She can no longer suppress her laughter. "I appreciate that you take your job seriously, but I can't have you go alone."

His excited expression fades, and his arms return to his sides.

She looks out the window. What is he thinking?

The dark‐blue curtains parted as the mustached officer re‐entered the hall and called out to them, "Madam Tarnow, Mr. Inor." He stepped aside and held the curtain up, pointing to the room with his hand. "You may wait here."

From the entrance she saw a large painting of a Tyranitar. She walked in, taking a closer look. The typically fierce Tyranitar held a gentle expression here, looking down at a baby Larvitar in its hands. In the background the sun rose above a cave opening. The oil painting had a soft, dreamy feel to it.

The room was in the shape of a regular hexagon. The back side walls each had closed doors. Steel‐framed, they were made of light‐toned wood and had locks, but no handles. The bodyguard walked next to her. Turning toward him, she spoke her thoughts aloud, "I wonder, did they really search here properly?"

He stared at the painting. "I suppose so."

She sighed.

The bodyguard turned to look at her. "You know, after all this is done—"

She looked back at him. "Yes?"

"I think our star," he said, briefly looking away, "I think she could use some rest."

She grinned. His hopefulness was welcome, providing some warmth to the bleakness. "Surely. That's true for all of us."

He took a deep breath. "Could I ask you something?"

She turned to look at him. This wasn't quite like him.

"I have a place in mind, a place I think she'd like."

"A place?" she said with a smile, raising her eyebrows.

"I was thinking I could take her, take her for a peaceful walk one day—just to relax, so she could have some time to herself."

Patricia frowned in thought, trying to imagine what the bodyguard was thinking of. "That's… that's something I would need some time to think about. Let's let the dust settle, before we start making bigger plans, okay?"

"Madam, thank you for your understanding."

She didn't want to hurt his feelings. And it wasn't that she didn't trust him. But in his current state… She shook her head.

Turning to look at the wood door, she noticed it had dents and scratches on it. Why were these made of a soft wood, when the others were metal? And if this place had never been used—she stopped to think, had it ever been used? Looking at the walls with their colorful swirls and veins characteristic of marble, she spoke, "This place, was it ever used for anything?"

There was no response. She looked at the bodyguard. He kept staring at the painting of the Tyranitar with its baby. She sighed. "Mr. Inor?"

He turned to look at her. His eyes were open wide, a strange intensity colored his expression. "No idea."

She shrugged, and looked at the wall next to her. A set of metal shelves, similar to the ones in the corridors. A variety of masks filled the top row. A hockey mask, colorful carnival masks, and a plain white mask. What would such be doing in a place for survival? She looked closer at some of the colorful ones. The dominant color differed for each, but all had a similar design. Curious, she bent her knees to see what was on the lower shelves. A row of motorcycle helmets.

She gasped as the scene returned to her mind. Arriving at the crash site. The violent set of scratches on the motorbike, her husband's helmet and riding jacket. She faltered backward. The blood everywhere, the unnaturally twisted limbs, the stench. Something supported her body from behind.

She turned her head to see the bodyguard holding her up. "It's fine," he said.

She stood up as he let go of her. I have to go on, she told herself. The pain, it would not go away. She could never forget. Taking deep breaths, she looked at the masks for a moment, before walking back to the entrance hall. Pushing the curtain out of way, she saw the mustached officer sitting in the corridor.

He looked up at her from the bench, moving to make some way. "Madam Tarnow."

She sat down next to him. A series of inhales, pauses, and exhales helped her relax as she sat there in silence.

"Been a rough day," he commented, staring at the wall opposite them.

Another set of metal shelves. These had a variety of containers, buckets and cans, seemingly for some sort of chemicals.

"What would you say, what are these for?" she asked the officer, wanting to change the subject.

"Oh, on the shelves?" He hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Well, you never know what you might need."

Leaning forward, she glanced up at the officer. He stared at the shelves with a slight smile.

Shrugging off the strange answer, she straightened her back. "This place, it was built during the war, wasn't it?" She looked up toward the ceiling. "My father was in the military."

The officer cleared his throat. "Well." Again he hesitated.

Patricia looked at the officer, raising her eyebrows. "Something wrong?"

The officer stood up and looked down at her. "I'll be checking on the others. You take some time to rest now. I'm sure we'll locate—"

He went silent for a moment, facing the end of the corridor. Turning to look back at her, he continued, "We'll find her, Madam."

He walked off and pulled the door ajar. Entering, he closed the door with a thud.

The sign above the door caught her attention. Congregation Hall.

Altaria had shown her what power love held, how it was the heart that was the most powerful symbol. But her disappearance had confirmed its dark side, of how the more you loved, the more loss would hurt. Nothing lasts forever. If losing first Altaria, and then her husband, if these had taught her anything, it was to cherish every moment.

Footsteps broke the silence. The bodyguard parted the curtains, and looked at her for a moment, before walking to the other corridor. His movement was slow, more of a slouch now. He stopped before the wooden bench, looking down at it, as if examining it.

She stared at the marble pattern painted on the walls. The bodyguard had tried hiding his feelings for Altaria. He genuinely seemed to believe she couldn't tell. Was he afraid of losing the position, or did he simply regard it as a matter of professionalism, she knew not. But the way he looked at Altaria, his hesitance and awkwardness in interacting with her, it was plain to see. The deep longing in his eyes. The happiness, yet the sadness.

Even with a hint dropped here and there, he had remained oblivious. Love made you blind, no doubt. She couldn't help but let out a little laugh.

She shook her head. She didn't mind. Altaria was lovely and attractive, no doubt about it. And he was hardly alone. Altaria had her fans, and a few had taken it a bit far at times. But just as with the bodyguard, it wasn't anything serious. While humorous for the large part, there was a darker aspect to it.

Altaria, she had tried so hard not to show it, but the truth was, all that attention troubled her. All those obsessive fans fawning over her, and she could never truly make them happy.

That was her true beauty—she just wanted to make others happy. That energy, that passion, that longing she would channel into her song, which would find its way around to touch even the most deep‐seated of hearts. Her song had power. But even so, it wasn't limitless.

She looked over at the bodyguard. He was leaning over, holding his head in his hands. He had never said it, but she suspected he blamed himself for the night's events. In fact, it wouldn't be surprising if he blamed himself for a whole lot more.

She couldn't help but feel he had some deep‐seated issue, something out of the ordinary. What it was, she could never figure out. Any suggestion to get help with his problem, even if she offered to pay for it, was turned down. With how important his job was to him, she could only let it be, hoping it wouldn't get in the way of his duties.

Only that fateful night, the ultimate cost had been paid. It was too painful to think of. She shook her head. There was nothing to be gotten from pointing fingers now.

Still, she could only admire how he had never given up hope. He genuinely seemed to believe Altaria would still be alive. His theory was that some crazed fan had kidnapped her, wanting to keep her for themselves. While to her that was absurd, she had no better explanation to offer.

It wouldn't be long now. There had to be an answer. If the Trainer's report was to be believed, this place had to have some connection with her. She looked at the closed metal door. The government? Could they have something to do with it? She shook her head. No way.

She stood up. The bodyguard had sat alone in silence all this time. As she walked to the square‐shaped hall, a metallic rattling noise built up outside. The harsh, low growl of Houndoom made her jump backward. "Stay in," the officer shouted from behind the vault opening, "both of you." The Houndoom's growls turned into barks, and she stepped back.

She eyed the bodyguard. Both stood in place, looking at each other. His eyes were wide, his expression intense. With an uncharacteristic stiffness to his movement, he sat down again, looking away. She sighed and went back to sit alone.

"Lucas, you know I'm—"

"It doesn't matter. That's not what matters." He turns on his chair to face her. "Look, we're both adults now. I'm doing my thing, you do yours."

She sighs. Just like your sister. Losing their father has pushed them further on the same path. Perhaps this is their way of dealing with loss.

The door swung open, and one of the men in black uniform came through. While the helmet and balaclava covered most of his face, she had a feeling it wasn't going to be good news. He looked at her and said, "Our condolences, Madam. There was nothing we could do."

The dark cloth stopped moving. She closed her eyes and covered them with her hands. Altaria… An empty numbness took over her mind. The door gave off its creaks again, and a series of footsteps passed by her. It was over. There was nothing to be done.

Heavy, coarse breathing from the other side caught her attention. Coughs, or sobs? Not once had Inor cried in her presence.

The door creaked more heavily, and one of the men cleared his throat. "Madam Tarnow, you may enter."

Her body shook as she opened her eyes, lowered her hands, and stood up. She looked up at the sign again. Congregation Hall. With a deep breath, she stepped over the threshold.

The door swung closed behind her. Wooden benches like the ones before, rows upon rows of them on both sides. The long walkway between them led to…

Altaria! She broke into a run. Her golden body was visible in the distance, lying inside a steel cage on a raised platform, as if a stage. With each breath, the relief of finding her calmed the grim atmosphere.

Getting to the stairs, she clambered up, catching her breath from the run. Exhausted, but happy to see that at least Altaria's body was found, she looked around. The room was long in shape, with a tall ceiling. The marble pattern on the walls was similar to the others, but utilized darker shades. By the walls were boxes of various kinds, all sealed and opaque. She walked over to the cage.

A disc of dark wood formed the base of the cage. Round metal bars rose from its edges in arcs, forming a half‐sphere. At the top, the bars connected into a smaller disc of lighter wood, as if some platform.

She took hold of the bars. Altaria's body lay against the base, her beak closed, her eyes shut. Her cottony plumage, once so lively and lustrous, was now a dull gray.

She glided her fingers over the lifeless wing. Soft and supple, just as before. But her body was cold, lifeless. Never again would these wings move, never again would her beating heart be felt or heard. "Altaria," she said, moving her hand over to the white cheeks, and then to the beak. "Who did this to you? Who hurt you, my child?"

She began to shiver. The air felt increasingly cold and damp. Droplets of water formed on the bars. Withdrawing her hand, she raised her head, squinting her eyes. "Mist?"

She stood up and looked around. Nobody else. She gasped as realization hit her. "Altaria?" She walked around the platform. "Altaria, are you here? Are you still here?" Somehow, she had to be. She ran back to the cage where Altaria's body lay still.

Altaria's body remained cold to touch. She moved her hand beneath her wing, feeling her soft underside. A frown took over her expression as her fingertips touched something hard. Taking a hold of the object, she pulled it out. A pocket‐sized book, faded off‐white. A simple sketch of Altaria on the cover accompanied the title, Altaria, the Altar Pokémon. With her heart and mind racing, she flipped the book open, and began reading. Here I shall attempt…

"Altaria, my child," she said, putting the book down. "You were so brave."

She clutched the bars separating them. "You never let your faith falter, for you knew, you knew humanity was capable of love as you were. This dark ritual… It could never have worked on you."

She let go of the bars, taking a deep breath. "For you knew, you knew how we loved you. You knew we were looking for you, that we would never give up on you."

She looked up. "Altaria, my child, you never did anything wrong. You never did anything to deserve any of this. We all love you, now and always."

The mist began to fade, and the air dried up again. She stepped away from the cage. "You truly were a gift from the gods."

Patricia wiped her eyes, and picked up the book. She shook her head. Written as if in remorse. Forbidden knowledge, curses, whatever. Sickening, all of it.

The newspaper clipping included in the book, it was no older than a few weeks. If only they could have found her earlier…

Still, Altaria had survived. She truly had been, as the father of the family had once put it… Too big of a spirit to fit a Pokémon's body.

She glanced around, confirming she was alone. If they weren't going to share information with her, she would do the same to them. She placed the book in her handbag, and began her walk back.

Having proper closure was comforting, no matter how terrible what happened may have been. All that would remain was to provide her body a proper resting place.

Only, what was the bodyguard's reaction going to be? No doubt he had been quite close to Altaria, now that she thought about it. His strange behavior, maybe that was his way of coming to terms with…

She pushed the door in, entering the corridor. The mustached officer stood by the shelves and looked at her briefly, before turning toward the other side, saying, "Mr. Inor. You may—"

The bodyguard sprinted through the hallway. Patricia moved against the wall, and tried to call out to him. But before anyone could act, he barged in and shut the door.