Chronicles of the Lily of the Valley

by LarkGarbedInPurpose

There is a ghost-shaped hole in Pokémon Master Cynthia Carolina's team. Set in the world of The Straight Elf's story 'Traveler.'

Double disclaimer: This is both a work of pokemon fanfiction and, more specifically, a work of Pokemon fanfiction set in the world of The Straight Elf's monumental work Traveler. All due credit to both Nintendo and The Straight Elf for letting me work in this sandbox.

One note is that this story is of 'dubious canonicity' to Traveler - technically Cynthia caught her Spiritomb in Sinnoh, but once I had this idea I wanted to run with it. To my knowledge pretty much everything else complies with Traveler rules and lore.

---

When Cynthia Carolina dropped off Togekiss' back and onto the loamy dark soil of Renbow Island, she immediately confirmed several things that she'd observed from the skies above. Namely, that it was hot, that it was wet, and that it was very, very humid.

In point of fact, her feet seemed to sink just a tad into the soil, which had an almost springy texture to it, and it pulled away with her boots just a touch. Not quite muddy, it wasn't quite oversaturated, yet certainly damp. Not quite pungent – the air was thick with the scent of life, but she wasn't overpowered.

Cynthia knelt to gather a handful. It came up easily, as moist as she had guessed. It was dark, crumbly, with hints of clay and root. Loam. Fertile. That was strange.

It was jungle, after all. Old growth. Largely untouched, left to its inhabitants – which included a tribe of chittering Aipom. She could hear them in the distance, hooting raucously at each other. Moreover, it was jungle in a rain-heavy area – though of course the latter probably enabled the former – Renbow averaged a few hundred inches of rainfall every year, not quite as impressive as one might find in the tropics, but still much, much more than Sinnoh would see.

Cynthia frowned, turning the soil over in her hands. Her grey eyes roamed around her, taking in the dense overgrowth – a variety of species, most tall and old, with a few shorter, shrub-like varieties crowding the edges of the artificial path. It was impossible to tell specifics – she was no botanist – but she could recognize Nanab trees for their fruit. Rubber trees too, as well as the occasional Oran and Sitrus. Those had signs of activity – claw marks, empty branches that might have held the fruit before.

Slowly, she let the soil drop from her hand in a slow, crumbly stream.

Her lips pursed. "Hm."

"Toge?"

Cynthia looked at Tia – her Togekiss – and blinked a few times. She'd quite forgotten she wasn't alone.

Her friend watched her with patient, amused eyes, and Cynthia was forced to hide her blush by turning away, lest she risk the teasing go on later that evening.

People unfamiliar with the grace of Tia's species might think that it would be impolite to leave her standing there, delicately balanced upon her ornate legs, but Cynthia was hardly a stranger to the quirks of her family. Togekiss were patient creatures by nature, and despite only having perhaps a few square centimeters to perch her entire weight upon – the very tips of her 'toes' – Tia was probably less worried over falling over than Cynthia was, even in a stiff breeze.

Serene Grace had its benefits.

"I'm alright, Tia," Cynthia hummed nonchalantly. "Just thinking."

"Kiss."

Cynthia rolled her eyes, though the effect was somewhat lost on the foliage around her. "Yes, I know. What a surprise. I'm sure they'll get the presses running overtime for this discovery."

Tia trilled – her version of laughter – and when Cynthia looked back over her shoulder at her, nodded her head to Cynthia's hand, still caked in residual loam, an obvious invitation.

She was always such a lovely muse.

"Well…" Cynthia began, trailing off as she organized her observations into a coherent explanation. She crossed her bare arms over her stomach, glad she'd elected for lighter wear now that she was back on the ground. Didn't make for the most comfortable flight, but she'd always had a better tolerance for cold than most.

Sinnoan blood for you.

"When I did my research into Renbow Island," she continued. "One of the more important factors to the dig was the jungle itself, given how much acidity over time can work against the condition of any ruins or other remnants we'll be investigating. pH values matter. We ran into that issue several times while investigating Hoenn's Volumo remnants in the archipelago, and when we visited the Sevii Islands."

Tia hummed pleasantly in agreement.

"The soil here, however, isn't much like what we saw there," Cynthia continued, pursing her lips in thought. "Rainforests and jungles generally aren't known for their fertility. Most of the nutrients not taken up and preserved by the flora are typically washed away by rainfall. The soil left behind is left more or less barren and unfit for most small growth." She gestured to the ground. "This soil, however, is excellent. Loamy, dark, probably excellent for growing, which sets it apart."

"Kiss, Toge. Toge-kiss." Tia motioned with her head toward Mt. Latolato in the distance. "Toge? Brrrrr-re!"

Cynthia hummed agreeably. "Yes, I had a similar thought. Ground types maintaining the soil quality would account for the discrepancy, though the question remains as to why they'd want to!" She took another, closer look at the overgrowth, mentally tallying the number of berry-yielding plants in sight, and noticed something else. "The berries here are larger than on average as well."

Tia cocked her head and looked closer. If she had eyebrows, Cynthia was certain they'd be rising. "Kiss."

Cynthia snorted at the suddenly hungry look on her face. "I'll pick up some Sitrus berries before we leave – I'm sure whatever the locals have gathered will be even better than what we find out here."

Tia cooed, her eyes crinkling in gratitude, and of course Cynthia had to smile back.

"Anyways," Cynthia waggled her eyebrows. "There might be a correlation here. A few of these trees are marked – the bigger ones, I think. Not all of them, probably because we're so far from the caves. Some of those marks look like Graveler made them, Golem even. Stantler there, you can tell they were gouged with horns. Bibarel teeth there – like Rowan has around his lab. Venasaur over there, I can smell a bit of it even over here."

Tia chirped and gestured with her wing at a nearby shrub. Tufts of dense, white fluff clung to it doggedly, likely a remnant of passerby native pokémon. "Ah, Flaffy wool as well, probably means Mareep nearby."

Cynthia rose to her feet and walked over to one of the older berry trees, touching the mark gouged into the trunk. This one looked like a Golem's handiwork – it had probably simply punched the tree, hard enough to bust through the thin, smooth bark and damage some of the wood beneath. A few smaller, more distinctive markings surrounded the hole – probably to distinguish the individual. A glance around at a few others told her that they were unique to this tree.

That was a surprising variety. The Mareep line usually stuck to the heights – all sorts of brambles could entangle and ruin their day, and it was where they'd evolved to live in naturally in the first place. Stantler and Venasaur weren't surprising; the former usually preferred more temperate climes, but any woodland would be enough. The Bulbasaur line thrived in jungle. There was likely a clan somewhere nearby, though the adult that had marked its territory here likely wasn't the leader; it wouldn't have settled on just one tree.

The Graveler and Golem markings interested her though. They seldom strayed from their caves without reason. Zubat were plentiful enough for food sources. Maybe the predators had overhunted their caverns? But then, this sort of ecosystem wasn't new, the trees were well-developed, and while the markings were fresh, she could see signs where bark had already regrown over older damage. Refreshed, then, not new.

Perhaps it spoke to an older crisis, where food had grown thin, and measures taken to make up for the imbalance had set a new precedent. Interesting…

Ah, but she had places to be. Time to tidy up.

"Well." Cynthia turned back to Tia and clapped her hands together. "I think I've got an idea of what's going on here!"

She gestured to the tree. "Given the evidence at hand, it seems likely that the native pokemon of the jungle maintain these conditions instead of leaving it to nature. Ground types – probably a majority from the Golem line, if I'm not mistaken – maintain the soil quality and consistency, while grass types contribute to the effort by introducing nutrients to the soil directly. Given proper maintenance this would mean that the flora here would enjoy greater productivity – larger, more nutritious—"

Tia chirped forcefully.

"—Yes, I was getting to that," Cynthia chided. "Larger, more nutritious, probably tastier berry yields."

She would make sure she bought enough Sitrus berries to make Tia sick, Cynthia decided then, as her friend sighed dreamily. Grace be damned, her friend had the same distant, happy look that Princess had when she drooled over her Haban berries. Or Shimmer over her Pamtres, or Ripple with her…

Hm. Maybe she had a type. That was a troublesome thought.

Then again, she could kind of understand, at least if she thought about Jen and Berry's Rocky-Chocolate-Neapolitan-Vanilla-Double Deluxe Nanab Split…

"Kiss."

Cynthia blinked, and then internally cursed. Tia stared at her smugly. Cynthia was sure that if she'd had the facial muscles for it, her friend's smile would be a particularly grating shade of insufferable.

"That's not funny," Cynthia pouted.

"Kiss."

"It is not!"

"Toge. Kiss."

Cynthia could feel a twitch overcoming her right eyebrow. Just a subtle one. Probably unnoticeable.

Tia's smile widened.

"Ugh," Cynthia grumbled. "You're worse than Lucario. Whatever. The ground types made the soil good so they have better berries. Let's go."

"Kiiiiiss." Tia trilled musically.

"Yes, ha ha, laugh at your trainer. She's a regular circus. Can we go now?"

Tia cocked her head to the side, clearly dragging out the 'moment' she had to think about it, before nodding. "Kiss. Br-rrrre Toge."

"Alrighty." She couldn't help but smile back as she pulled Tia's pokeball from her belt. "I'll let you out once I'm done for the day. Sound good?"

"Ki-iss!"

"See you too."

Tia disappeared in a flash of light, leaving Cynthia alone on the path. She took a moment to rub her hands together, discarding the remainder of the soil she'd picked up. Unfortunately, some of it remained in the form of light-brown moisture.

"Hm. Gonna have to wash my hands… probably later tonight though. Not much of a point right now," Cynthia hummed. "Not like I wasn't planning on getting my hands dirty anyways. Now where's north… Ah. This way then."

The Cocona Complex awaited her.

X_0_X

In Cynthia's so-humble opinion, a good expedition had several factors going for it.

Funding, of course, was essential. Skilled personnel too – hard to get things moving if people didn't know how to pitch tents, handle equipment, or – worse! – how to treat their sites with the care they deserved. Good food. Clean water. Ice cream if she could squeeze an icebox into her things; it wasn't quite vital to her muse to have a bowl of delight to accompany her at the end of the day, but it certainly was delicious!

Sadly it was often a tradeoff between than and a few extra relevant texts, and she'd noticed a terrible trend where whatever copies she tried to leave behind tended to be the exact thing she'd find herself in desperate need of.

Alas.

Heat and humidity, odd as it might sound, were excellent markers of a promising dig. So was damp. Rainfall – heavy, onerous, pounding, apt to get in the way – that was the best kind of weather.

Or dry, suffocating heat. As little moisture as possible. Or a biting blizzard.

Odd, yes, but to be fair, her worst, most miserable digs often yielded the best results. Cynthia didn't like to think herself superstitious, but patterns were patterns!

Frankly, in her experience, the ruins mattered less than how much it sucked to investigate them. It was helpful when there was an abundance of site to explore, sure – the more the merrier! – but blood, sweat and tears were important sacrifices in the name of discovery!

It was a lot like training, in that way.

By those metrics, the Cocona Complex of crypts, temples, and ruins wasn't quite as intact as she would have preferred, and it didn't have the stink of misery and frustration that accompanied bad weather and uncooperative wildlife, though she was sure they'd have issues with rainfall sooner rather than later. Luck of that sort could only carry one so far.

It did satisfy a few other metrics, at least. Amid the various scents of the jungle, she could smell a pot of something enticing boiling on a nearby stove – part of a makeshift kitchen underneath a tarpaulin gazebo to protect it from the elements. Nearby, she could see several large containers of what she suspected was good, clean water. It was only an hour's hike from Cocona village anyways, but it paid to be careful.

Regardless, it appeared she would not be obligated to rely on her reserves of trainer meals. Excellent.

"Hey! Blondie!"

Cynthia paused, her lips briefly pursing into a frown of consideration. As she turned to meet the familiar voice, however, she schooled her face into a blank, featureless slate.

The woman who approached her was nearly a decade her senior. Not as tall as Cynthia, yet not short. Fit. Her arms were muscular, though not quite toned, and her hands bore signs of callouses.

She wore clothes excellent for the clime; solid leather hiking boots, khaki shorts with an abundance of pockets (most of which appeared to be occupied; tools, probably rations, a canteen on the belt), and a black tank top tucked into her belt. All were stained with mud, dust and dirt – some of it dry looking, probably from time spent in one of the crypts where moisture was less omnipresent. The sweat stains under her arms indicated she'd been hard at work all morning.

Her hair was blue; a shade darker than aqua – cyan – as were her flashing eyes. A scar between her right cheekbone and her temple, light. Not deep. It would have been barely noticeable if not for her tan. Piercings in her ears; small golden rings, not the usual yellow orbs.

And of course, her scowl.

The woman's hands settled on her hips, her head tilting to the side as she stopped to regard Cynthia. Her scowl took on a hint of mockery. "Pass your inspection?"

"I suppose." Cynthia kept her voice cool. She gestured to the mud and dark pit stains on the woman's tank top. "Started without me? Already that impatient?"

The woman scoffed. "What? Worried I'll steal all your limelight? I didn't realize you were writing a book on Oblivia as well. 'History, Legends, and Folklore of the Union?' Might as well include the whole territory, I suppose. Make sure you cover all your bases, get the Carolina name on every shelf."

"Funny, I hadn't realized the Union had any texts to their name in the first place," Cynthia said, crossing her arms. "Maybe just the one or two? I'm sure I'd find them gathering dust in some archive. Maybe not Rowan's, one of his assistants, maybe?"

A light glimmered in the woman's eyes.

"Oh, we've got a few. Mostly mine, or maybe you've forgotten them. I realize they were only a footnote when you did your comparative analyses of tropical island populations – too far north to really fit, but 'worth a mention,' am I right?"

"Must've slipped my mind."

The woman smiled forcibly; Cynthia could see the facial muscles twitching. "I'm sure. Maybe once we're all done here, we can compare notes again – after our last session went so well, how could we not?"

Cynthia let her head tilt to the side and uncrossed her arms to tap a finger to her chin. "You might be on to something. We'd hardly be here if we didn't share our work. Who knows?" She smirked knowingly. "Maybe you'll sell a few copies if I throw you another citation. People seemed to enjoy your little fairy tales the last time. History's important, but a little bit of seasoning for the main course never hurt."

The glimmer in the woman's eyes shifted as she began to visibly struggle with herself. Her hands twitched on her hips. Her lips trembled, fighting something. Her breath came slowly, as though her lungs were trying to stave off an explosion.

Unfortunately, they failed, as the woman burst into laughter.

Cynthia finally let her control over her expression relax, a smile broaching her features like a warm sunrise.

"It's good to see you Leanne!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around the woman.

Leanne laughed through the hug, her arms circling Cynthia's waist to squeeze her firmly back. "It's good to see you too, Cyn. How long's it been? Two years? Three?"

They parted and Cynthia grinned at her. "Two and some change," she answered. "Quite a while since we last compared notes. But we can use other metrics too. Six million copies sound about right?"

Leanne's eyes glinted knowingly. "Seven million, as of last month. Apparently—" her grin turned wicked, not unlike a Glameow with the cream. "—Some hack historian's recommendation and reference material managed to catch a few eyes. Got me some spotlight I wouldn't have seen otherwise."

"Really? I wonder who that could've been. Must've been preeeeetty crazy to pick your drivel off the shelf. Maybe they were drunk? Or they had a Vileplume!" Cynthia's grin widened. "I hear some people who spend too much time huffing that air can get some wild notions in their head."

Leanne leaned back, her arms crossing again and a mischievous smirk crossing her face. "Nah, none of the above. I did hear she was a huge bitch though. No sense of humor. Delusions of grandeur too. Can't imagine who'd wanna be around them."

"Other crazy people. Hacks. Maybe the odd cultist." Cynthia shrugged. "You can never be sure with these kinds of people."

"No kidding," Leanne said. Her joy then softened, a warm smile replacing it, and suddenly she was back to the calm, kind colleague Cynthia had known through her professional travels through Hoenn. "Seriously though, thanks Cynthia. I knew you were going to break ground with your book, but you didn't need to include so much of my research. The history alone would've been more than enough."

"I couldn't help myself," Cynthia laughed. "Every time I thought about cutting things down, I couldn't help but see the connections, and they were too important to just leave out. It was a better book for your influence – and now the whole world knows it."

"Yeah. Still, thanks." The gleam in her friends' eyes had changed again, showing her seriousness, her determination, her ambition. "Book sales be damned, people are actually looking at the islands for once, not just the tropics. Oblivia's never been so popular, academically speaking. Your book got them interested, and at this point people are hungry for more. The last two years, I've received three different grants I wouldn't have dreamed of getting before, to say nothing of the people who used to back me."

She gestured around them to the campsite. "This whole expedition? Direct result. A few more years of me fighting for acknowledgement in Almia and Sinnoh and we might've lost the Wind Temple to the elements. Now I've got funding and volunteers from the Union, Sinnoh, Indigo, even a few from Kalos."

Cynthia felt her chest warm with happiness for her friend. She'd only ever seen her so animated when talking about her family before. "It's been a long time in coming."

Leanne nodded. "Yeah. It has. But it's here. And when my book is done, expect a spot in the foreword." Her smile colored with a bit of the attitude of their faux argument before. "Maybe the dedication, if Rand and Nema can make room."

"I'm honored," Cynthia returned, nodding her head in a mock bow. "How are Rand and Nema doing anyways? Last time I heard from you, Rand was on a mission in Fiore – something about some rock band terrorists?"

"Ugh." Leanne's nose wrinkled. She turned to walk towards their campsite, pointing out a clear spot for Cynthia to pitch her tent. Around a dozen others were already set up, though the camp was empty. Given that it wasn't yet noon, Cynthia expected everyone was busy scouting out the ruins and planning the course of the dig.

As Cynthia pulled her gear from its intangible state in one of her storage compartments, Leanne set about cleaning a plate and set of cutlery – she'd probably dropped in right when she'd been finishing her lunch break. Between the two of them they made short work of their tasks, Leanne joining Cynthia in hers when she'd finished with her dishes. During this, she elaborated on her husband's previous mission, though it had come to an end nearly a full year ago.

Rand was Oblivia's sole Area Ranger, which, due to Oblivia's isolated nature, also meant he was also Oblivia's sole Pokemon Ranger. Usually, that would mean he wouldn't be called away to the mainland, for fear of leaving the archipelago vulnerable in case of emergency; it appeared affairs on the mainland had taken priority in this case.

Apparently, he had been called away to help deal with the remnants of the Union's old problem terrorist organization, the 'Go Rock Quads.' A few cells had been uncovered in the Sekra mountain range, where their headquarters had once been located.

It truly was an old problem – the Quads had been defeated and mostly rooted out nearly a full decade ago, but the holdouts were tenacious and desperate. Most had turned to poaching, which on top of their initial offenses meant that their sentences when the Union caught up to them would be harsh indeed.

They'd never been terribly kind to poachers in the first place – even when compared to her Sinnoan upbringing in the hallowed Celestic Mountain territories, with its almost-archaic adherence to the old ways, Cynthia couldn't help but find the vindictiveness Unionists had towards those who broke their stringent protections over nature somewhat… zealous.

But then, they had suffered greatly during the Last War, and Cynthia could hardly blame the unfailing memories of the older generations who'd lived through it; being made into an industrial resource hub for a conquering war machine would weigh heavily on any nation, culture, or people.

And at the end of the day, the Quads had gotten their start as terrorists, extortionists, and thugs. It was hard to mourn that.

Rand's duties had mostly involved pacifying the local populations of pokémon disturbed by the literal firefight that had ensued. The cell had somehow managed to acquire several fire-types – a Magmar and several Camerupt among them – which they provoked into a rampage in an attempt to cover their escape. A full-on forest fire had only barely been averted.

As missions went, it was apparently on the more touch-and-go side of things, but Rand had returned home safe, with only a few extra scratches to his name, and the cells had been duly arrested and taken into the Union's custody.

It was after they'd finished setting Cynthia's things up that the conversation shifted to Leanne's daughter, Nema.

"She's doing great now! Smartest girl in her class – probably in the whole archipelago, really!" Leanne boasted. "She's jumped ahead two grades at this point – not that Oblivia's education system is all that rigorous in the first place, but even then, she's still tearing through the curriculum. Rand's been teaching her how to work with electronics, lately. He barely knows what he's doing, but once she showed an interest in his styler he's been trying his best to learn enough to keep up with her."

Cynthia nodded along as they walked toward one of the archeological sites they would be investigating, content to let her friend wax on about her family.

She'd only met Nema once, though she'd been sickly and pale at the time despite the balmy conditions. The girl had only just turned eight, but it had been a near thing.

A wave of virulent sickness had made its way through the archipelago not long before the end of Cynthia and Leanne's tour of the Sevii Islands, taking the lives of a several dozen people before aid could arrive from the more technologically advanced and equipped Almia. Leanne had had to abandon their tour early, rushing home to the archipelago as soon as she'd heard Nema was one of the afflicted. Cynthia's friend had been distraught – nearly shattered – by the thought that she might return too late to be with her daughter.

She hadn't been, though. A few days after her ship docked, the aid had arrived, and Nema had been among the first recipients.

She would be almost nine years old at this point – someone to keep an eye on for the future if what she could read between the lines of Leanne's crowing was even half true. A mind so sharp and eager for knowledge was a rare thing, and Cynthia had confidence her friend wouldn't let it go unnurtured.

But that was a thought for later.

Leanne stopped her at one of the trail's many divergences. When she turned to look at Cynthia, her expression had become somewhat pensive. "I haven't mentioned it yet, but you haven't met many native Oblivians, have you?"

Cynthia shook her head. "Not many, no."

"Well, I'm sorry to say it but your first introduction here will have to be with Elder Hudson," Leanne said dispassionately. She nodded her head down the branching trail. "He's our local guide through the temple complex. The crypt I was looking at this morning is one of the more dangerous, if information from the locals is accurate – some sort of ghost, or maybe a nest of dark types, it wasn't clear – and when I told him I'd gotten you for a bit of muscle he insisted on being present."

Cynthia cocked her head in curiosity. It wasn't an unreasonable request, and it wasn't like Leanne to be critical of local sensibilities. Her line of work was rather hard if those she wanted to learn from were uncooperative, after all. "Doesn't sound so bad. Does he not want more people joining the dig?"

"It's not so much what you're here to do so much as who you are."

Cynthia was beginning to feel somewhat bewildered. "Does he not like me? I was careful to pass my book by my sensitivity reader extensively, and what little I wrote about the archipelago directly was generous, I thought."

Leanne shook her head. "Sorry, not what I meant. It's less that you're another researcher, or that you're Cynthia Carolina, and more that you're from Sinnoh."

Cynthia blinked, and then had to resist a sigh. Ah.

"Let me guess," she said flatly. "He's unhappy the Union's policy on border security has been relaxed."

"To understate things, yes."

"And he probably thinks that my presence is a symptom of how Sinnoh is working to bind the Union to it via various means, and that all of the new technology, knowledge and communication avenues are eroding the traditional values of the Union—"

"Oblivia specifically," Leanne cut in.

"Oh great, even better." Cynthia sighed.

"And you can mix in some good ol' blatant xenophobia for good measure. It also doesn't help that he and everyone else on the dig are aware of your intention to take on the Sinnoh Elite Four." Leanne shrugged. "One of our colleagues is from Sunnyshore and recognized your name. Couldn't do much about that. "

"Joy," Cynthia muttered, annoyed, but not entirely surprised.

It was probably asking too much that she might have been allowed to undertake this dig in peace, really. She'd made waves years ago when she'd achieved the rank of Master and then failed to take the Conference challenge for several years after. How could she not? Training was a competitive field – arguably more so than anything else in the entire world. A young up-and-comer seemingly defaulting on their potential wasn't unheard of, but it was enough to make a fuss about.

When she'd taken the academic world by storm four years later, enough time had passed for tongues to stop wagging, but not enough to shut them up when her name started re-emerging.

She still had no idea how word of her intentions to contend for the champion's mantle had leaked, but once it had the furor refused to die in the lead up to the next conference (only a few scant months away), and she saw little need to deny it when she was cornered by interviewers.

This would probably be her last opportunity for a prolonged dig before then. She would stick around for a month, ideally, before she and her team would begin their final preparations for the conference.

And if she won… and if she could overcome the challenges after that…

Well, opportunities to indulge in her other profession would probably be scanty indeed.

But, if a month investigating a full complex of ancient ruins meant dealing with a disgruntled xenophobe for a while, she would consider it a bargain. Still, if she wasn't hiding anything…

"Mind if I let out a few of my friends?" Cynthia asked. "Ripple, Princess, and Shimmer are all back at home, but I've got Chryssa, Tia, and Lucario with me."

Leanne smiled. "Sure, go ahead. I'm guessing 'Chryssa' is Roselia's new nickname?"

"Yup. Decided she wanted one after all after she evolved."

Said Pokémon appeared in a flash as Cynthia tapped the released button of her scuffed up old ball. "Hey Chrys'!"

The Roserade waved to her in reply, humming softly in greeting.

She'd always been among the quieter of the bunch – much harder to get a word out of her than the rest.

Lucario was equally stoic as he appeared, though he did deign to rumble his greetings to her from somewhere deep in his chest. 'Truth-Seeker.'

Cynthia raised an eyebrow. "Talking to me after all? I thought you were still giving me the cold shoulder."

'You were deserving. You left me alone with her.'

Chryssa sniffed delicately – the sound reminiscent of wind ruffling a field of tall grass – one of the colorful bouquets that passed for her species' hands covering her mouth to suppress what was likely giggle at Lucario's expense.

Cynthia had no such reservations and grinned at her friend openly and without remorse. "But you would be so cute together! I'm sure Riley wouldn't mind, it's so lonely on that island after all. There must be a few caves where you two could spend some alone time together!"

'You are insufferable.'

"Am I hearing this right?" Leanne said, inserting herself into the conversation. "Lucario found himself a mate? I need to hear all about this; is she pretty? Beautiful blue coat? Piercing scarlet eyes?"

Lucario eyed the archaeologist flatly. 'Betrayer.'

Leanne grinned back unrepentantly.

Realizing he would find no ally, instead of continuing to argue against the inevitable, Lucario let out a huff and in an unsurprising display of maturity, started down the path without them.

Cynthia and Leanne shared a grin.

'It's that Iron Island guy's partner, right?' Leanne mouthed silently.

Cynthia nodded conspiratorially. 'He's smitten.'

A not-quite-telepathic voice butted in – noticeably frustrated. 'Your words are not hidden! That is not how aura works!'

Oh, she could feel the flush on him. Victory for the trainer in black.

X_0_X

They caught up to her errant canid friend at the opening to a large clearing.

Though she knew he wouldn't hold it against her, Cynthia took a moment to subtly rub Lucario's shoulder in apology, letting him know she was done teasing at his expense. His consciousness brushed against hers – a more intimate touch than telepathy could provide, more akin to the meeting of two souls than two minds, though both could provide much of the same utility – and the pulse of warmth she felt told her that he hadn't taken her ribbing to heart.

There was an undercurrent of embarrassment still, but it was quiet, and directed within.

Cynthia would never pry, but there was little need for it when she knew that the source of the embarrassment was less the result of her teasing, and more that it had had an element of truth to it. It was hard for aura-users to lie to themselves about such things, after all.

He would get over himself soon enough. Lucario might still be fresh out of adolescence by his kinds' standards, but the residual hormones had yet to unclench their grasping claws.

Ah, the joys of youth.

Lucario rolled his eyes and, with a tiny smirk crossing his canid features, projected a particularly awkward memory into her mind – freshly hatched, wandering the house, hearing the pitter patter of water falling, a loud voice singing above the clamor, Truth-Seeker had taught him to investigate! He tracked it to the wash-room, slipped inside to hear what Truth-Seeker was doing and—"

Cynthia coughed, looking away with flushed cheeks, and Lucario mercifully cut off the stream of consciousness. "I take your point."

'Indeed.'

Lucario – well, Riolu at the time – poking in on her shower wasn't necessarily the worst memory he could have chosen to tease her with, but it was one she was certain she'd never live down. The scream she'd let out had truly become the stuff of legends among her family.

Leanne eyed her speculatively, patient enough to let her and Lucario have their moment, but undeniably curious. Cynthia had a sinking feeling in her stomach that her flush would lead to at least one awkward conversation later tonight – hopefully Lucario wouldn't be feeling vindictive enough to share the memory…

…No, he wouldn't.

Surely.

"Shall we go meet the elder?" Cynthia interjected into the silence. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.

Lucario huffed his amusement and started walking. 'No faith.'

Cynthia glanced at Chryssa, who was peacefully engrossed in some nearby foliage, examining several colorful native blooms.

Then at Leanne. "Well?"

Her friend shrugged, her smirk fading somewhat in favor of something more resigned. "Sure, let's go meet Hudson. Waiting's not gonna make him nicer."

Cynthia allowed herself a moment to grimace before she shuttered the expression; no sense in alienating him further. She would make her own judgements of the man.

Unfortunately, Leanne's judgement had been true.

Elder Hudson was, to be fair, not a terrible man. He was tall and powerfully built, not unlike an Empoleon in his bearing. A broad set of shoulders led to bulky, muscled arms, with hands rough with callouses and smeared with as much dust and dirt as Leanne's.

Cynthia guessed that, were he among his own, his face could have been kind.

It was square, with a heavy jaw nearly hidden by a rough, grey beard streaked with black. It was evident that he would chew the end of when deep in thought; not only was the end ragged and wispy, when they came upon him near the entrance of the crypt he was doing so, his eyes locked on the darkened corridor within. His irises were a deep, cocoa brown, and had the same introspective, thoughtful qualities that Cynthia would usually mark in those in possession of great and profound wisdom.

It was admittedly hard to see such a thing when they were locked on her and narrowed in disdain. Such wisdom as Elder Hudson possessed did not extend to his opinion of outsiders.

Leanne's introduction was short and clipped, as bare as formalities dictated. He was one of a dozen Elders spread throughout Renbow Island – the position held some amount of political and religious significance, distinguishing them from the hundred or so similarly aged residents of the island. He would ensure the investigation of the Cocona Ruins would not disturb or damage anything, and would provide assistance where needed, whether it be contributing his knowledge or labor.

The hoarseness of his voice and the dirt on his hands indicated to Cynthia that Leanne had been thorough in her use of both services already.

Her introduction of Cynthia was equally clipped: she was a trainer, she would be here in an assistive capacity, on loan to provide muscle in case they disturbed any territorial residents, or uncovered any hostile relics, and when such assistance was unnecessary, in her capacity as an archaeologist.

Elder Hudson nodded once to her as she shook his hand. There was neither softness in his eyes nor his grip, though to his credit it went no further.

"Leanne is well to ask for support from a… trainer… while exploring these crypts."

He spoke the word 'trainer' as though he had another word entirely in mind. He kept the rest of his thoughts to himself, however, instead sticking to a more pragmatic assessment of the crypt.

"The Dark Temple's burial spaces are well-regarded as dangerous and unfit for exploration," he continued. "Looters have long since stripped everything of value from the antechamber; you will see why the deeper sections are more intact."

Cynthia nodded to the man, not keen to give him any further reason to dislike her. "Thank you. I'll be careful in my examinations."

Hudson snorted doubtfully. "Be sure of it, Sinnoan."

He then swept into the crypt.

He said nothing, but Cynthia got the distinct impression that he was keen to get moving – or impatient with the curiosity of a Sinnoan. It could have been either.

Cynthia turned away from the sight of the old man's retreating back to examine the entrance, fighting a scowl.

It took a few moments and Chryssa sitting beside her – her quiet but dignified presence a balm – for her to assemble her focus enough to make sense of the information laid out before her.

Grey stone of superficially similar composition to that which made up the nearby mountain. Cut into square bricks roughly half a meter in length, half again in width. They appeared to only intrude through the initial parts of the hillside; despite the lack of lighting she could see where the man-made architecture abruptly melted into the natural cave that the crypt had been built into.

The bricks were expertly cut, unsurprising when the labor of pokemon was taken into consideration. Rock types were capable of far greater precision that humans in such things, at least when the crypt and surrounding complex had been constructed. The architectural style was recognizably Sinnoan, unsurprising given the complex's origins owing to the Alfa Dynasty's domination of the archipelago in its heyday.

The carvings and graffiti, however, were distinctly not.

Cynthia looked at the Leanne – her friend was leaning against the opposite wall, content to allow Cynthia her inspection – and tilted her head to the various symbols etched or painted on the stonework – many of them unfamiliar to Cynthia, though the rainbow crest that dominated the uppermost part of the wall was recognizable as the emblem of the long-ended Cocona Empire. "Do these symbols signify anything in particular?"

Leanne nodded. "They're territorial emblems, those big ones. The rest are prayers or other messages – most of them were added after the temples were abandoned, the locals staking their claim over the crypts once the Alfa were kicked out. Some of the marks are contemporary – kids and teens occasionally sneak in to leave theirs for whatever reason. You'll see more inside."

Cynthia nodded thoughtfully. There were dozens of individual territorial symbols, then. Some of them older, others newer – a likely sign of political shifts, changing borders, the rise and fall of islands and leaders.

The collage began to settle into distinct patterns on closer examination. Occupying the center of the walls were etched the territorial symbols – likely the first to be added to the otherwise blank, minimalist Alfan stonework. In the cracks, Cynthia could see the last vestiges of pigment long since washed and weathered away; likely, they were painted once upon a time.

The place of the rainbow emblem of Cocona she had noticed before had more significance, then. On the uppermost part of the wall it branched out over the individual territories; even after the empire's demise, the isles still saw themselves as part of the same culture.

Interesting. She would have to confirm the hypothesis with Leanne's findings. Her knowledge of the islands' history was too spotty to perfectly corroborate it.

More recent were smaller carvings, though many of them only just; Oblivians spoke their own dialect, but the Union Common language (which was identical to the language spoken across the National League – just rebranded by the Union for its own political purposes a few decades ago) had come to be increasingly common in the archipelago, and there was a distinct shift from the older, glyphic scripts to the modern Oblivian, as well as the addition of Union Common somewhere along the line.

It was hard to make any chronological observations with such a superficial analysis – that would likely take days, if not weeks of comparative analysis – but it certainly seemed like the tradition was – more or less – unbroken, although she suspected the spraypaint and other recent graffiti was rather less pious in nature.

Kate plus Nixie equaled true love, who would have guessed?

Eventually she grew bored of the entrance… Well, not bored, per se. It was a trove of information in of itself, but there was far more she would need to look at first, as well as the issue of whatever was making its home in the deeper corridors.

Leanne pushed away from the wall to follow her as she entered the crypt. Cynthia didn't need to look over her shoulder to feel Lucario and Chryssa just a few steps behind her, their senses sharpening as they began to mentally prepare themselves for the threat they'd been warned of.

Part of her felt somewhat bad for bringing Chryssa: the Roserade line was made for forests and meadows – green places, abundant in life and the warmth of the sun. A crypt was far from her ideal environment, though her friend bore it with solemn dignity, only a light shiver passing over her as she left the warmth of the jungle.

She would persevere – not that Cynthia ever doubted it.

The antechamber was indeed stripped bare like the Elder said. It was, however, still beautiful, and Cynthia had to restrain herself from cooing in delight at the sight of such excellently preserved history.

She did however immediately spin in place, taking in her surroundings, her blonde mane fanning out around her. Lucario rolled his eyes.

It was, all told, seemingly average as far as crypts could go. The rock was igneous, lightly colored, flecked with spots… likely rhyolite, a product of Renbow island's once-volcanic past. Superficially similar to the limestone she was used to seeing in Sinnoh, but different in key ways. Coarser grains. More resistant to water – aside from where it had been deliberately defaced, the human-made changes remained in remarkable condition.

Curiously, there were distinctive marks of burning on some of the walls. The ceiling had a very thick layer of dark soot – not uncommon, torches left such residue all the time, but there were darker burn scars on the wall, especially the wall opposite the entrance. The stone there was smooth, almost glazed.

"Cyn?"

The crypt had been formed naturally, but had been artificially expanded over time. The antechamber was roughly rectangular, with a rough columns in the center, possibly to support the ceiling, possibly for aesthetic purposes.

"Hey Cynthia!"

The walls were lined with alcoves, inset three feet, most of them empty, their previous occupants having fallen to dust over time. The air wasn't quite as humid as outside, but it was enough to encourage the onset of decay without something – or someone – to prevent it. Likely, they'd been empty for centuries, as would be those found deeper in. Looters had removed anything of value, and seemingly much that was worthless. Even most of the pottery shards were missing from the floors, while telltale traces of wax indicated where candles had once been set to burn.

"She's not even listening to me, is she?"

Leanne had been right as well – while many of the larger carvings on the wall were clearly ancient, possibly as old as the crypt, the same defacement from the entrance was recurrent within. Same scriptal evolution patterns, though it was joined by the familiar base-Unown runes of the Alfa. That wasn't surprising – the Alfa were minimalist, but had a good (or useful, at least, for archaeologists) habit of labelling their resting places. Names, dates of birth and death, accomplishments, most of those here were simple temple fare.

More burn scars.

"Do you think she'd jump if I shouted in her ear?"

She could see some places where Alfa iconography was prevalent – most of it had been long-since scratched out, painted over, or otherwise defaced. Still, there was the Scripta – the tablet describing the crypt and those it held – and the Dedication.

Cynthia hummed, fingers hovering over the text of the Scripta. It had been worn or scratched away in places, though it wasn't illegible. "CRYPT OF TH- TE-P-E OF DUSK," she murmured. "INT-RED ARE -HE PRIESTS OF -ARKN-SS, YE W-O DE-ACES THIS -ACE BEWARE."

Above it, the Dedication was less damaged. "YE WHO SERVED UNDER THE BEN-OLENCE OF THE GOD - DMS - -IS LINE, REST YE AND FIND SU-COR IN THE AFTERLIFE," she read.

The text around the trigrammaton – the name of the God-King – had been entirely scorched away; someone had tried very hard to remove the name from the Dedication. They had failed, though, somehow.

Interesting.

Cynthia stepped back to consider what she'd found, hand rising to stroke her chin thoughtfully.

The Temples had been a product of the Alfa Dynasty's domination of the archipelago during its slow descent. The previous political force in the area – the Cocona – had not been conquered until after the God-King's reign, when their vassalization served as yet one more way the Alfa line had attempted to regain some of the glory and prestige of their patriarch, most of it lost with his vanishing.

A weak, neighboring empire had been prime pickings for even the then-weakened Alfa.

Their overthrow had come centuries later; the isles had risen up like so many of the territories once united under the dynasty and cut themselves away from the foreign power when the Alfa's collapse began in earnest and their hold over the frontiers began to slacken.

With the loss of the Alfa, the religion introduced by the dynasty found itself lacking much of the power, prestige, and stability it had previously enjoyed. Cynthia didn't know whether their ousting had been quick and violent, or slow and gradual, but the evidence suggested that here at least, someone had been eager to wipe out as much of the Alfa's influence as possible.

In addition to the deliberate defacement – names and symbols of the Alfa scratched out – the fire damage suggested someone, possibly – probably, she corrected – with the help of a fire type, or a few, had set the crypt ablaze. The patch of melted stone opposite the entrance suggested it might have been a simple arson; sneak to the entrance, loose a flamethrower and run, let the flames do their work.

She suspected there might have been a few carpets or rugs, as the flames had spread further than they ought to have in a simple stone crypt. Whatever bodies that had rested within had either been annihilated or charred, what remained left to crumble to dust over time.

Curiouser, though, as if there had been a major fire, traces like the wax she'd noticed would have been erased. That indicated people had returned to pay respects after the blaze.

A penitent arsonist, perhaps? Or their neighbors? Loved ones of the dead? The list of possibilities was long. Too long. She didn't have enough evidence to proceed down that line of through.

It was interesting to consider, though, and would bear thinking on as she moved into the deeper chambers.

Satisfied, she turned around to run her thoughts by Leanne.

And yipped in surprise as she found herself nose to nose with the blue-haired woman.

"Leanne!" Cynthia gasped, leaping backwards and feeling her heart in her throat.

Her – Rude! Immature! Stupid! – friend cackled. "Oh, your face!"

She looked to hear team, at a loss for words – Chryssa smiled serenely at her, her face set in an expression of utmost calm and dignity, offset only slightly by the mischief in her eyes. Lucario had a smirk on his lupine face.

Traitors.

"You could have warned me," she said accusingly.

'Where would be the fun in that, Truth-Seeker?'

"I'm being serious!"

Leanne snorted mirthfully. "Yeah, serious. Which is why you've been ignoring me for the past few minutes. One track mind much? Sheesh."

"You're exaggerating!"

"Bullshit I'm exaggerating, Miss Tunnel-Vision. Getting through to you when you're in your brain space is almost as bad as getting through to you when you're nose deep in a tub of ice cream."

Cynthia felt a flicker of indignation spark. "I'm not that bad!"

"Uh-huh. Sure, Cyn." Leanne shook her head pityingly. "I just hope that when you get a significant other, they enjoy eating—" she paused to glance at the Elder, who appeared to be fully immersed in a journal he'd taken out to jot notes into, and continued in a hushed voice. "Er, other things, as much as you enjoy your ice cream."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Leanne's eyes flicked down deliberately. Cynthia flushed.

"Leanne!"

"What? I'm sure you'd have no complaints. And I don't know how else someone is going to hold your attention otherwise when every supermarket from here to Orre has a pint of berry cream and chocolate."

Cynthia struggled with herself for a moment, outrage and indignation fighting with mortification, with her own traitorous amusement standing on the sidelines placing bets. "Lights, Leanne, isn't this sacred ground?"

Her friend snorted. "It's not that kind of sacred, calm down. The only thing you might wind up offending around here is our resident coot in chief. Besides, you should have heard the Stantler last week anyways – I never thought I'd fall asleep to the sound of rutting bucks, but now that I have, I am confident that I'll never feel self-conscious around here again. Ever."

Cynthia stared at the woman. For a long, long time.

Leanne, for her part, seemed perfectly content to let Cynthia reboot her brain after that tidbit, which suddenly felt like a necessity.

'Who is the hormonal one now, Truth-Seeker? The Tale-Speaker only comments on the natural. It is nothing to be embarrassed of.'

Cynthia shot Lucario a look that she hoped constituted the declaration of war it was meant to be. "Don't play with fire, Lucario. I will ask Riley to find you that cave if you don't zip it."

Her friend cringed subtly, his throat bobbing. '…I take your point in the spirit with which it was delivered.'

"Good."

Leanne's head tilted. "You two done? You're not going to cry 'sin' if I say fuck or talk about how my husband puts his arm around me while we sleep?"

Cynthia levelled her friend a withering glare.

Leanne just smiled back at her cheerfully, raising her hands up in the air in mock surrender. "Whoops. Guess I've overstayed my welcome. I'll let you resume your I-Spy for a few, got some notes I wanna take in the next chamber."

"Leanne—"

"Leeeeeaving!" And she pranced away, vanishing behind a corner before Cynthia could add anything.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "If politics is anything as frustrating as dealing with her on a daily basis, I should just quit now, stick to writing books," she muttered.

"They're worse, though of a different nature than Leanne's tomfoolery."

Cynthia flinched. She'd forgotten Hudson was in the room with them. "Er, you heard all of that, sir?"

He did not look up from his notebook. "I am not so deaf as you might suppose."

Cynthia felt Chryssa touch her leg in silent support as she turned to consider the older man. Lucario faded back into the shadows, their rapport fading away for the moment, not forgotten but distracting.

She couldn't help but rankle some at the old man's tone. Dismissive, distasteful, unhappy…

"Are we really so bad to you?"

It was the battler in her that made her ask. His attitude was, in its own way, a challenge, and one she would have to learn to face soon. As champion she would have to deal with this. As a Sinnoan, she should have been dealing with this her whole life.

The Elder took a long time to consider her question. He did not look at her; he did not seem to look at anything. His stare penetrated the rhyolite walls, seeking something further beyond, past the mountain and the ocean and the sky.

His answer, too, was slow.

"…No," he said, not quite reluctantly, not quite enthusiastically. "For what it is worth, you and Leanne's other associates – even the Kalosian – have been courteous guests so far. You respect the island, its people. You have not challenged our customs, and have been careful to preserve the ruins. I suspect when all is said and done, Renbow Island and all of Oblivia will benefit from your studies."

She did not interrupt, intent to let him speak.

"You are, however, far from the first visitors to our island. Not all have been so accommodating. I am aware of the irredentist voices calling out from the mainland," he continued, his voice hard. "I am old enough to remember being one of Sinnoh's territories. I am old enough to remember the simplicity of simply being a territorial backwater, paying taxes and having little else to do with our rulers. I grew up as an Oblivian of Renbow island, and a Sinnoan. It was my childhood."

She supposed he would have. The war had only been a little over two decades ago; Hudson would have been an adult by the time the world was engulfed in war.

He seemed to note her assessment – she hadn't even realized he had turned to look at her face on. His eyes were as hard and dispassionate as his voice. "I am old enough to remember Sinnoh abandoning us to our enemies, and old enough to be bitter, Cynthia Carolina. We suffered greatly under the Kalosians, brief though their occupation was. The wounds they inflicted on our islands still fester to this day."

He shook his head. "It was what was best for Sinnoh, perhaps. But it was not what was best for Oblivia – it never is. Sadly, these days the Union has little enough to go around compared to the League – of the dozens of rangers at their disposal, they deign to only provide us one to protect and service the entire archipelago, and they are slow to aid us in our development."

The old man's shoulders seemed to slump. "In truth, the other Elders speak of approaching the League if it would mean another plague the likes of which gripped us two years ago might be averted. There is much the new world can offer us that was not possible before. I am afraid of what we stand to lose in the bargain, though. I am not a man of faith. That – faith – and trust… they failed us before. I do not relish inviting yet more fair-weather friends to decide the future of my home."

His gnarled, heavy hands flexed, as though he were preparing to throttle some unseen figure from out of an old memory. Cynthia wondered if they once had.

Kalos's occupation had been brief, but she recalled that Oblivia's resistance had been fierce. It was possible that Hudson had been among those who fought back. Likely, even.

Cynthia fought not to cross her arms over her chest – she felt uncomfortable, but such a gesture of defensiveness might convey the wrong message. If she must feel vulnerable to speak to Hudson, then she would do what she must. "You think the League would try to take advantage of you, or abandon you later on?"

He scowled darkly. "Why should I not? They have done so before. The same woman who gave the order sits on the same throne."

His gaze was penetrating. Knowing.

Cynthia was reminded again of how much his eyes reminded her of other elders she'd known. His was a hard wisdom, won over decades of trial. They were not dissimilar from her grandmother's.

Like hers, they asked questions of Cynthia. Dozens.

The same woman who ordered the withdrawal of Sinnoan forces from its own territories – the modern Ranger Union – sat on the same throne. The throne Cynthia intended to contest.

Champion Irene.

She felt compelled to say something. Hudson's eyes did not just ask, they demanded answers with the ferocity of an Ursaring defending its litter. Fitting – he likely felt a similar bond toward the archipelago.

"I don't—" Her mouth felt dry, but it was only a moment's hesitation. A moment to gather her wits, synthesize the information she'd been presented, form a conclusion, put it into words.

Chryssa's touch on her leg. Her scent, faint, subtle, soothing. Lucario's resolute, unbending presence at her shoulder. Tia's pokeball at her waist. Warmth. Security. Resolve.

Breathe.

"I know you know I want to challenge for the champion's mantle," Cynthia forced herself to say. "And that you're aware I have a good chance of succeeding."

Hudson watched her keenly, eyes like a Staraptor's. He said nothing.

"And once I do it, I think you've guessed that I have changes in mind for Sinnoh. Things I want to do, improve. I just want to— that is to…"

Breathe, Cynthia. Breathe. Think. No, don't overthink either!

She sighed, the long exhale holding a bit of self-recriminatory laughter.

"Sorry," she said awkwardly. "I'm not very good at this yet. What I mean to say is that I want to make a lot of changes. Irene's done a lot of good for the region, but I think I can do better. I don't—" she forced herself to meet his eyes square on, her own smoky grey orbs hopefully a wide enough window through which to show her honesty. "—intend to try to reincorporate the Union, or try to wipe out your culture, or anything like that. The consequences for Sinnoh's actions during the war are our responsibility. I won't run from that. I just want to make a better world…"

She shook her head. "No, I want to help the world make itself better."

It was an even greater effort to stand straight now. Her fingers twitched, wanting to curl into fists. Her foot wanted to tap. Her mouth still felt dry. How did Byron do this weekly? The old Master never seemed to miss a beat during the interviews he gave over the national network, always seemed able to field the most impossible questions with nary more than a pause and a hum.

She could barely stand to look at Hudson, not when his eyes judged her for her honesty, her earnestness.

Lights, she hoped she hadn't made an ass of herself…

The Elder snorted.

Cynthia flinched at the sound – her heart dropping.

She opened her mouth to say something – anything to reclaim some form of dignity, stave off what was sure to be a—

"Calm down girl, I won't bite your head off," he said, shaking his head. She couldn't quite read a tone – he sounded weary. Grudging. Reluctantly amused as well. "If you hold to what you've said, you might not be the worst thing for Oblivia's future, or Sinnoh's, I suppose. We'll just have to see if the power goes to your head. That tends to be the crux of things."

Cynthia's pulse calmed some. She hadn't stepped in anything or insulted the man. Relief.

And this was one answer she could give unhesitatingly.

"It won't," she promised firmly.

The Elder's smile was dry, reluctant; that of a man too bitter to believe her, but impressed enough to want to. "We'll see."

X_0_X

"I feel exhausted. Can I go home now?"

Leanne's reply – automatic, as she'd been busy jotting notes into a leather-bound journal when Cynthia walked into the chamber – was cheerfully blunt. "No, we've still got six chambers to go once you've flushed out whatever's living down here, and we're not scheduled to be back in here for another week. Mary's going to have the Thunder Temple recorded by tomorrow afternoon and then we'll be up to our ears in stuff to check out."

"Ugh," Cynthia sighed. "Fine. Maybe a battle's what I need."

Leanne laughed at her. "Brute! I hope you're not planning on breaking anything while you're at it."

"Only the most fragile bits you find, tree hugger," Cynthia retorted drily, her hand settling on Lucario's shoulder to rub the junction of his neck while she waited. Her friend hummed contentedly as she rubbed the spot there with her thumb, knowing it as one of his favorites.

Leanne sighed in faux-worry. "Oh my, I'd better get you out of here then. This whole place is priceless, I don't think you could help but destroy it if you stayed here much longer."

"Roar. Whoosh. Bang. Scaaaaary trainer here. Boom."

"Oh shut it before you make me laugh and smear my notes."

"Your fault for using those pens. You know those things screw you over more often than not."

Honestly, who used Tentacruel-ink pens these days? Octillery was clearly superior.

The blue-haired archaeologist rolled her eyes. Either coming to the end of her notation or unwilling to put up with Cynthia's distraction any longer, she blew on her last page a few times and closed the journal with a snap, tucking it into one of her many pockets. "Alright, I suppose we can go."

"No need to rush on our behalf."

Leanne shook her head. "No, it's fine. We really should get this over with sooner rather than later. Dunno what we're gonna find, might as well maximize the time we have to deal with it. The murals aren't going anywhere."

Cynthia eyed the wall Leanne had been examining. Mural might have been giving it too much credit – she honestly couldn't tell if time was responsible for so much of the old pain flaking off or if some other force was at work; what little remained consisted mostly of a few stark lines, with occasional patches of flaking, greying paint.

Funny, the Cocona usually preferred bright colors, and knew how to make their paint last. Corsola pigment wasn't usually so patchy. Cynthia noted the discrepancy and filed it away in her 'to consider later' compartment.

The chamber they stood in – two back from the antechamber, one separated from the lower, untouched chambers. It was rather bare, as crypts went. The graffiti and carving hadn't managed to make its way so far, nor had the flames. It was simply old stone, dust, and scraps.

Hudson had left briefly to retrieve his water flask from the campsite. Cynthia wasn't sure whether to appreciate the implicit trust he'd shown by leaving her and Leanne alone, or worry she'd somehow managed to anger the man in some way she hadn't noticed.

Leanne had evidently had similar thoughts. "The old coot isn't joining us?"

"He said he'd be along in a few minutes," Cynthia said.

Leanne's head tilted thoughtfully. "Really?"

Cynthia narrowed her eyes. She knew that look. "It would be rude to go on without him, Leanne."

"Yeah, it would." The blue-haired archaeologist tapped her chin thoughtfully. "But it might also save us some impolite remarks when you have to fight whatever's down there. Hm. Be rude, or avoid a kerfuffle between a xenophobe and a barbarian… what a dilemma."

She stood there for all of another two seconds before she marched towards the chamber door.

"Oh, you are insufferable," Cynthia sighed, following. "Who even says 'kerfuffle' nowadays anyways?"

"Me, of course. Take notes with your inferior ink if you can't keep up."

"Leanne."

"What? I'm just having fun with my friend, no need to sound so serious when… eh?" Her voice trailed off as she turned a corner.

"What is it?" Cynthia's attention sharped instantly.

A tone like that shouldn't belong to someone leading the way into dangerous crypt. Confusion could be deadly – she should have taken point immediately.

"Cyn… Come look at this," Leanne said, slowly.

Chryssa and Lucario slipped into a flanking formation beside her as Cynthia strode up to her friend, her hand reaching up to lightly touch Leanne's shoulder. She was immediately captivated by the archaeologist's find.

It was a flame. Lone. Wispy, yet bright. Soft green, like a Spinarak's carapace, or a Roselia's spines.

Interesting.

It was beautiful, in a way, the edges curling up, disappearing into an unending stream, inviting her to trace their path to the flame's base, further, to lose herself in the core.

It pulsed.

Cynthia's world narrowed, her hand dropped to her side, and her head swam.

"It… it makes me think of Nema," Leanne murmured faintly beside her. "When I got back from Sevii I… I basically sprinted back to our house from the dock… The power had gone out. I got inside. I was still running… I was so scared, I thought she'd be dead already. She had all these blankets over her to keep her warm… and Rand had put out candles. She wasn't awake at the time, I… She was so pale. The flame… it's the wrong color, but it… it reminds me of that. Those candles beside her."

Leanne's words lapped at the periphery. Cynthia found herself swaying, her body effortlessly following the rhythm of the flame. It was there to be found, if only she could look deeper, immerse herself in its secrets.

She found herself in a place of utter stillness, though she felt her legs move beneath her of their own volition. The blankness was unexpected but calming – it merely enabled her to focus utterly on the flame.

Chryssa and Lucario plodded beside her, their steps slow and ponderous.

Leanne continued to speak beside her, her voice falling into a dull, blank monotone, though Cynthia couldn't care less about the words right now.

More flames joined the first. While the first was merely content to guide, to glow, to pulse so pleasingly before them, these danced, spinning around Cynthia and Leanne and Chryssa and Lucario like Volbeat and Illumise. The effect was disorienting – though they walked down the same corridor Cynthia could not be sure whether they'd simple gone in a straight line or turned back or taken any number of turns.

Her head spun pleasantly. The sensation pulled her gently away from her body, its distracting sensations and needs falling away from her concern. She didn't mind. She was merely a passenger given permission to view this mystery; this enigma. The dissociation allowed her to throw her whole focus onto the flame.

She needed merely to look deeper and—

"…!"

Cynthia's eyes flickered to the side, where Chryssa had dropped to her knees, mouth held open in a silent scream as the flames wrapped around her throat like a garrote squeezed.

The spell broke.

"LUCARIO!" Cynthia roared, lunging backwards, away from the will-o-wisp that had ensnared her and her companions.

Her hand reached for the Roserade's pokéball – either Lucario would wrench himself out of his daze to free Chryssa or she would return her friend; whichever happened first.

As it happened, Lucario woke up first.

His mental roar was a tidal wave – in an instant scourging the remnants of the spell from their minds and dropping them all to their knees with the force of his repulsion: 'ABOMINATION!'

He leapt at Chryssa, his paws, wreathed in crackling blue flame, ripping the flames from around her throat with fury Cynthia hadn't seen in him ever – and she had known him since his hatching.

The emerald fires howled furiously as they dissipated, the sound bypassing Cynthia's ears entirely to lance deep within her skull. Lucario howled in agony – his ears were far, far more sensitive than any human's, and somehow the screech penetrated deeper, to the level of the soul.

He was still utterly gentle with Chryssa, lowering the hacking grass-type to the stone floor with shuddering paws. Discipline was hardwired into his species, still Cynthia was astounded he was even able to stand, when she was forced to lean heavily against the wall, lest her legs fail her entirely.

The fires vanished suddenly, and as quickly as the air itself had split asunder, unnatural silence smothered them like a burial shroud.

Breathe. Breathe. Cynthia's head spun as she remembered that vital faculty. For a brief, panicked moment she thought that perhaps the flames had consumed the available oxygen, and that they would die suffocating in a vacuum.

There was no vacuum. She was alive. Chryssa was alive. Lucario was alive.

Breathe.

Leanne—

"Leanne!"

Her friend lay slumped lifelessly against the wall, her head slack against her chest. Cynthia's heart jackknifed painfully in her chest – no no no she was not!

She grabbed for her friend's wrist – cold, clammy, a pulse, yes!

It was faint, thready, and weak, but it was there. Cynthia reached for Leanne's face, tilted her head up to look her in the eyes.

"What… are you… doing."

Her eyes were flat, dull, blank orbs. There was no life in her friend's voice. It was barely even a question.

Cynthia felt a stab of utter revulsion – this was… No.

The words spilled monotonously from Leanne's lips. "Leave… intruders…"

Whatever had puppeted Leanne – or branded its imprint into her thoughts, it didn't matter right now – hadn't the fine control necessary to imitate true emotion, it seemed.

She didn't want to think about how her friend looked right now, how much like a corpse she—

Cynthia slapped her. Hard.

The sound echoed in the chamber, followed by Leanne's pained gasp. "What? Hey, what the fu— Oh sweet mother fuck."

Cynthia could hear the moment she realized.

She pulled herself to her feet to assist her friend, who looked as pale, wan, and terrified as though she'd seen a ghost.

Funny, that.

Lucario shot her a flat look from the ground, still shivering. Cynthia grimaced, glad he was the only one privy to her thoughts.

Leanne's eyes were wild as Cynthia hauled her to her feet. "How the fuck was it even, I mean I wasn't – that wasn't me, Cynthia! What the fuck?!"

Pale skin. Whites of her eyes visible despite the darkness; they would normally be dilated to account for the lack of light. Raised heartbeat. Heavy, unsteady breathing. Her friend was on the verge of panic – ready to bolt. Dangerous to herself, possibly to others if their foe was able to catch her again. She'd fallen instantly under the will-o-wisp's spell before.

Cynthia pulled her into a hug and held on tight.

"You're okay," Cynthia squeezed her friend. A thread of relief suffusing her as Leanne slowly overcame her panic and reached around to hold her back. She could feel her heartbeat against her chest. It was powerful, rapid, like she'd been running a marathon.

She made sure to speak in calm, clear tones as she answered Leanne, hoping her voice would soothe her further before they made any plans.

"I think whatever's in here with us was puppeting you. Powerful ghosts are capable of it," she explained. "Most are capable of injecting something or someone with a low-grade Curse; most of the time it damages the body horribly, but if they're sufficiently skilled and experienced they can instead choose to control the victim remotely through a form of possession. It's a similar process to how some Banette are created. A Shuppet forces itself into a corporeal 'container' – traditionally an old doll or toy – and possesses it. If it's done right, it 'evolves.'"

It was far more complicated than that, but it would suffice for Leanne's purposes.

Her friend's voice trembled, though she didn't sound like she was on the verge of crying anymore. "H-how the fuck do you know that?"

"My preparations," Cynthia answered, sighing. "Irene has a Banette specifically trained to do that – it injects part of itself into an enemy and makes it attack itself or ruin the battlefield in specific ways for later in the battle. It's more reliable than confuse ray; instead of uncontrolled chaos, Irene can direct things personally to suit her needs."

Banette had been the cause of more than one lost challenge over her thirty-year tenure. Lucian had done exceptionally against the Elite Four before finding himself stonewalled by Irene, for example. It wasn't her most common opening pokemon, usually the second or third, meant to clean up an opponent broken and wearied by her other ghosts, but it could spell doom for the unwary in any scenario.

She had three separate stratagems in mind to counter it, but none would be useful here.

"Sounds like a fucked up bitch who would use that," Leanne muttered bitterly. "I didn't even… it was in my head. Or my mind… whatever. It was like it turned me off, like a light switch. I was there but just… nonfunctional, I guess."

Cynthia rubbed her shoulder. "It can be broken by willpower. And practice." Her brow furrowed – she could almost feel the thoughts taking form in the archaeologist and mother's head. "It couldn't make you do much, Leanne, just talk. The victim has to be exhausted, weak-willed, or otherwise affected to be made to do something it doesn't like."

"…That doesn't make me feel much better," Leanne said, her voice haunted. "I felt like it could make me do anything."

"No." Cynthia pulled back and held her friend's shoulders firmly. "It wasn't trying yet. If it did you would have fought, and you would have won, or you would have given me enough time to break the spell anyways. That's all that matters, got it Tree-hugger?"

Leanne stared for a long time, but the steel in Cynthia's voice seemed to get through to her. She smiled shakily. "Yeah, yeah I think I do, Brute."

Cynthia squeezed her shoulder. "Good. I need you functional. We need to think about what we're fighting."

"Right." Leanne nodded, the last of her fear leaving her eyes – at least for now – as she engaged with the puzzle. "Let's lay out the evidence. That was a will-o-wisp. I'm not a pokedex aficionado but I think it's fair to say only a limited number of pokémon are capable of using that."

Cynthia hummed in thought, her eyes settling on Lucario and Chryssa as they pulled themselves to their feet. "You're right there. Few outside of fire and ghost types can learn it, and only so many of those can be expected to live in a crypt for so long."

Lucario was shaken but otherwise alright, but Chryssa didn't look so well. Her throat retained severe burns from the will-o-wisp's chokehold.

She would need immediate attention from a professional to purge the Distortional energy from the wound once they were finished here, or it wouldn't heal. She would naturally purge the energy herself over time, but that might take weeks, and Cynthia wasn't about to let her friend suffer so. She was already tempted to return the Roserade, but her sense of pragmatism won out.

She had a feeling she'd need Chryssa's strength. Tia wasn't suited in the slightest for combat in such tight quarters.

Leanne nodded. "Right. Ninetales, Banette, Gengar, Dusknoir, and Chandelure are possible suspects – Trevenant have the abilities but they don't live underground, and I've never heard of any being sighted in the archipelago."

"Not since the Last War, no," Cynthia agreed. "Every pokémon Kalos dumped in the isles has been accounted for, it was in some of the background reading I did before coming here. It was part of the reparations they had to make. That takes care of Trevenant and Chandelure. I think we can cross off Dusknoir too – if that was what we were dealing with it would have warned us before attacking, and it wouldn't have let up. Their behavior in guarding their territory is very consistent."

"'Kay," Leanne said thoughtfully. "That leaves Ninetales, Banette, and Gengar. Anything else you can think of to narrow the list?"

Cynthia shook her head. "No. Ninetales aren't usually so aggressive, but they're also not nearly as predictable. If one of the priests was partners with one back in the day… well, if it's still down here it might very well fight first and ask questions later. Banette and Gengar are just flat out dangerous to strangers. If I had to put money on anything, I'd say Banette, since they're the most naturally gifted at possessing things."

"Well I guess three is better than nothing, assuming we're not dealing with something else," Leanne sighed.

"True. Lucario?" Cynthia turned to her friend. "Can you sense anything? Anything that might give us a clue about what we're facing?"

'Yes. I think. It is difficult. The aura of this place is… tainted,' he answered with a dark frown. The prospect seemed to bother him. 'It grows worse further ahead. The Aberrant awaits us in its hole. It is…'

He struggled, before imparting a confused mess of negative emotions to both women. Cynthia struggled not to cringe – it was like the mental equivalent of breathing in a lungful of bitter, oily smog.

"Unpleasant," Cynthia finished for him.

"Makes me want to vomit. Or cry. Or get drunk," Leanne mused darkly.

'We must be cautious. It is dangerous, Truth-Seeker. We may yet regret leaving behind the Princess and the Snow-Maid. The Siren would be an asset as well, were she able to fit in this place.'

"Lovely," Cynthia muttered. "Is it a ghost? Can you tell?"

'It is a warped creature. You may eliminate the Fire-born from your list… It does not feel like any of the Miasma we have encountered before either…' Lucario shuddered. 'Truth Seeker, if I am being honest, it feels unlike any foe we have encountered in our travels. It is wrong, an abomination. I have no other way of describing it.'

"Not a Ninetales, probably not a Gengar, might not be a Banette," Cynthia repeated. "An unknown then."

Leanne echoed the thought that naturally occurred to both of them following the assessment. "Shit."

X_0_X

Hudson joined them shortly thereafter. The old man seemed disturbed by their account, though unsurprised.

"These chambers have sat untouched for millennia," he said grimly. "Their guardian was bound to be something terrible. Do you believe it is safe to proceed?"

He directed the question to Cynthia, though he eyed Chryssa's injuries warily. The Roserade stared back levelly at him, unwilling to besmirch her dignity by appearing weak.

Cynthia might have smiled were the situation not so dire.

"I think we'll be fine now that we have a better idea of what we're in for," she answered. "We might not know what exactly it is, but we know it can wield distortional energies. Its gambit also failed; now that we're on our toes it'll have a much harder time hypnotizing any of us."

She managed to make her assessment sound compelling somehow – in truth she wasn't so confident with only Chryssa and Lucario to combat whatever creature they were bound to encounter. They both had extensive training against ghosts – they had extensive training against everything, really – but an unknown was something else.

It was much harder to plan for an unknown, especially when it held the potential to be a very old unknown.

She pursed her lips. No, she couldn't think like that. This was what she was training for – this would be her job soon enough. Her team was on the level of champions; no creature would out-do them just by sitting in a dusty crypt for a millennium. They had fought too hard to lose to something like that.

And worse case scenario, fleeing was always an option.

Another thought occurred to her – the fire damage in the antechamber, just opposite the entrance. Perhaps it hadn't been an arsonist bent on taking revenge on the memory of an occupying force, perhaps it had been the last, desperate attempt to fend off a vengeful guardian…

…No, that didn't matter right now. Whatever came before, and whatever would come next, it didn't matter. Whatever it was, they would win.

Lucario touched her arm and sent her a pulse of warmth – agreement, pride, solidarity, fire. Beside him, Chryssa solemnly inclined her head toward Cynthia.

She straightened, the silent exchange giving her more heart than her own rational side ever could.

They would win.

Cynthia turned to her human companions, her grey eyes hard and resolute. "If you would feel safer—"

"Cyn," Leanne interrupted. Her own gaze was calm, level. "We might not be much in a fight but we're not leaving you to go alone against whatever the creature is. I trust you – I'm going with."

Hudson was quiet, but firm. Whatever opinion he had of her, he appeared sincere. "Whatever darkness dwells here, I owe it to Oblivia to bear witness."

"Let's move then. Lucario, Chryssa, take point. Leanne, Elder, stay behind me. If Lucario and Chryssa are defeated, run. I'll return them and be right behind you. If I'm not…" Cynthia hesitated for a moment. "Well, run fast. You won't have much time if it decides to give chase."

"Gotcha."

They moved cautiously through the tunnels, inspecting the side chambers as they came in case there was more than the one enemy. Their task would be difficult enough without walking into an ambush, or finding themselves surrounded.

The Temple of Dusk's crypts were truly expansive – Cynthia suspected they had been dug with several centuries worth of burials in mind, rather than reality of the comparatively short-lived reign of the Alfa. Initially the chambers were wondrous to behold; the bodies and any organic matter had long since fallen to dust but much of the pottery and treasure remained untouched.

The deeper they went, though the emptier they became, until they abruptly passed the point where burial had ceased altogether.

It was here that Lucario, their vanguard, slowed to a halt, almost seeming to stagger as he passed some unseen barrier.

"Lucario?" Cynthia almost reached out to touch his shoulder in concern.

'It is close. The next… the next chamber. It sits there. It is… I can sense it clearly now. It is a corrupt thing, full of rage, pain, grief. It is negativity embodied.' He sounded nauseated.

"It's not anything we've seen before?"

'I have never heard of a thing like this. Perhaps were my upbringing among my own kind, we would have tales of such a thing, but I have known only your company, Truth-Seeker.'

"It was worth a shot," Cynthia sighed. "Thank you Lucario. Are you ready? Chryssa?"

'We are ready, Truth-Seeker. We shall not fail.'

Cynthia smiled at them. "I never doubted it."

'It is around the next corner. There is no door. A large chamber. Circular, with a tomb in the center. The Aberrant sits between it and the door… it is… it is like a cloud, hovering above a stone. The two are connected in some way – the stone anchors it. It may prove a weakness.'

She was suddenly intensely glad she'd drilled her pokémon in tactics as hard as she'd drilled herself.

'It senses us. It churns. Rages. Let us go now, before it decides it no longer wishes to wait on our arrival.'

"Go. Lead with quick attack, get in there and hit it with aura sphere. Test it while we catch up. Chryssa, open with magical leaf. See how it responds. Guard Lucario and the rest of us."

'Acknowledged.'

She glanced backwards. Leanne and Hudson nodded to her. "Now!"

Lucario blurred forward. Chryssa sprinted, not quite as swift, but fast in her own right. Cynthia followed as close behind as she could.

She rounded the corner as Lucario's aura-sphere connected.

She entered the chamber as Chryssa's magical leaf flew forward in a storm of howling vegetation.

She skidded to a halt a safe distance from both pokémon in time to catch a glimpse of the thing they fought, or rather an impression.

A small, brownish-grey stone. Roughly triangular, rounded at the top. Cracked, reminiscent of a scowling visage – odd, really – and seeping pale, ghastly purple vapor which rose, coalescing around it as a cloud, green fire, and—

The migraine splintered Cynthia's train of thought without effort.

In truth it was more than simply that – it was a sound. More than that. It was an unearthly screech so piercing she felt it in her bones, felt it as broken glass forced through her veins, as liquid magma in her bones.

She felt it as raw emotion, drowning her, driving all rationality from her mind.

Her voice was added to the cacophony. Her scream hit notes she didn't think possible of herself. She tasted blood – her vocal cords tearing.

Rage was a white-hot spike driving through her skull, searing the soft tissue within.

It pounded in her ears, a low note faster than her heartbeat, encouraging her to pound her fists into the stone floor, beat her knuckles bloody, pulverize the bones beneath, if only to relieve the unbelievable pressure cracking her from the inside out. This sound was nothing – the meanest expression of the truth boiling within as rarefied, unyielding flame.

Cynthia bit her tongue to restrain her howl, tasting metallic blood as her knees crashed painfully against the stone floor. Her kneecaps screamed at her – she could feel them fracture, shatter, bony shards leaping through her skin. It was just a drop in the bucket.

She wanted—

She—

HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US

—The world was ablaze. She was – she was in Celestic, no – the snowcapped peaks of her childhood towered in the distance, the village nestled in the valley, the crater of the Old Gods, it was Celestic—

—Green and blue flames licked the ancient huts and longhouses, spectral fires gnawing reality. They reached unnaturally into the sky, towards the ground, spreading across the turf, leaping onto those unfortunate enough to pass near, biting them with maws of blood-stained razors—

—Cadavers lay scattered and charred, the hollowed living led in chains down the valley, away from home. They took us from here – our home MINE MY HOME THEY STOLE MY HOME THEY STOLE MY BLOOD THEY STOLE ME—

"NO!" Cynthia roared, tears streaming down her face as she fought the foreign presence from her thoughts, her mind, her soul—

Self-loathing was a thousand nails driving deep into her skin.

She shivered on the floor, the cold so deep and profound she might have been bleeding out. Was this not how it was described in the texts? Her hands were pinned to the floor, her feet –

HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR

—The cold iron around her throat—

—thrust into the black hole, the door slamming shut above. The turn of a key. He roared defiantly at his jailor, just one challenge, he would throttle the bastard where he stood—

—It was so cold. They left them there for months without so much as a glimpse of the light. Only candleflame accompanied the grimy, disgusting slop they fed them. It glinted redly on the gritty, metallic water. Defiance drained away slowly, then faster as the cries of his kinsmen slowly faded away, then resurged again as their minds shuddered and failed one after another—

—The man, the man, the man with the keys who took his mind and opened it up and dug around inside his skull he turned he turned he turned HE TURNED HE TURNED ME TURNED US—

"GET OUT!" Cynthia howled, clawing her ears.

The hatred had turned inward. It was an impossible weight chained to her throat, dragging her face to the dust. Deeper – it was – the nails – they were driving deeper, drive the nails in, it hurt, IT HURT…!

Fury came as an unquenchable bloodthirst, kindled to a roaring inferno by the force of her defiance. Her lips pulled back to bare her gleaming teeth.

Her head turned, pulsing agony with the barest of motions.

She saw the whimpering wretch beside her, crying out for her daughter, her husband – how dare she scream, she cry, how dare she be weak? The old man, the worthless, bitter recluse – she would erase them, bite them, tear them from this coil with her fists, her nails, her teeth…!

HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US YOU BASTARD HEAR US

—They pinned her by spearpoint to the hall, wrenched the haft, laughed at her twisted face—

—The weakest wretch has fight when on the brink of death. They starved him, left him without food or drink for weeks he shouldn't live but he did he carved the stump of his arm into a blade he would stab the first bastard to open the door and taste his BLOOD—

-The didn't laugh when she snapped the tip from the wall and tore out their throats with her hands HOW DARE THEY TOUCH HER HOME—

-They had a purpose they came for us for warriors they would make us fight they would make us angry they would make us hate he made us hate he made us hate we hate we hate we HATE WE HATE WE HATE—

"I DO NOT!" Cynthia roared, pulling herself up on trembling hands and knees.

The thing – WE ARE SPIRITOMB WE ARE HATE – coiled around the circular chamber, the toxic, distortional fog that made up its 'body' curling in long, dangerous tendrils over every living being.

Lucario lay prostrate, all power and dignity stripped from him as he dry-heaved onto the stone floor, his scarlet eyes unseeing as poisonous green fires danced before his face. Chryssa lay atop him, nearly unconscious – the fires dug deeply into her wrists and ankles – it would undoubtedly scar.

She turned to look at Hudson and Leanne was a mortal effort, as the cacophony of her own mind resisted her every action.

The Elder was slumped against the wall, hands clasping his ears. She couldn't tell whether he was muttering a prayer or pleading for death or speaking to some unseen face in his mind.

Leanne lay like a corpse, the green fires clustering over her face, holding her as a tormented captive.

The sight… Cynthia made a noise, something that tortured her abused throat.

She had no idea how her friend heard it, but Leanne fought through the hypnosis – she fought she fought she was strong – to look at her.

Cynthia could tell by her eyes what the ghost – Spiritomb – was showing her. She knew – she should have known. She should never have allowed Leanne within a league of the thing.

It had made a feast of her friend's fear.

Leanne's voice was distant, erratic, halting, hear gaze forcibly locked a thousand miles away. "Cyn…thia… I'm sca-scared… I don't want to die – I swear I'll never… I'll never leave Rand and Nema again— just please don't let me die here—"

Despair was a coarse noose around her throat.

Tightening.

Pulling.

Suffocating.

Her vertebra creaked – she couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't hear. All the world faded, pulsed, was consumed in beautiful green fire as the will-o-wisps descended upon her.

Life was a cacophony of pulsing blood and screeching, she was out of her body, she could see the whites of her eyes, stormy grey reduced to blank specks in a bloodshot field of white.

HEAR US HEAR US PLEASE HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US

-They led them in threes to the man the man the man—

-He tore them—

-He tore US—

—Bound us—

—Every moment—We felt—

—We Me I We last three—

—We surrendered we surrendered we surrendered WE SURRENDERED WE SURRENDERED WE SURRENDERED WE SURRENDERED WE SURRENDERED WE SURRENDERED—

"No…!" Cynthia moaned, her nails scratching against the stone.

Her body felt heavy. Her head pounded – the screeching had died somewhere along the line, giving way to an endless, broken, keening howl.

The will-o-wisps whispered to her, pleaded, begged her to simply lay down and surrender. Do not fight, they promised, and the pain would cease. Give up, give in, lay down, it would be so easy…

They were not beautiful – the ghost's touch was a thousand filthy hands grubbing at the fabric of her mind.

Ghostly fires shackled Lucario and Chryssa, searing them, torturously branding their ghostly touch into their skin. Hudson's muttering grew weaker by the moment. Leanne's eyes had ceased to see naught but what the fires had to show.

Doubt.

And she…

The weakest link…

Failure.

HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US HEAR US AND UNDERSTAND HEAR US AND SEE

—She had been Elder of Celestic once—

—He had been a simpler farmer—

—He had been a smith of fine blades, fine shoes, fine nails, fine craft—

—She had been a mother—

—She had been a tramp, outcast—

—They were they were they were they were they were they were they were—

NOTHING NO ONE NOTHING NO ONE NOTHING ONE NOTHING NO ONE YOU ARE NOTHING YOU ARE NO ONE LAY DOWN AND DIE!

She was…

She…

Cynthia felt the tears stream down her face, the weight of a hundred and eight souls drowning her own amidst their cacophonous suffering.

She…

Warmth.

She gasped, the first fresh breath of air since…

Lucario's frail connection touched her thoughts, connecting her mind – no, her soul, her aura – with his own, with Chryssa's verdant green, Leanne's soft blue, the Elder's cocoa brown.

Spiritomb's probes recoiled, as though burnt.

She felt them. Felt Lucario's sickness, the suffering Spiritomb's proximity brought upon him. Felt Chryssa's physical pain, and the spiritual torment she was too stoic to voice. Felt the dread Leanne had never learned to let go of, and the fearful root of Hudson's bitterness.

Warmth. Urgent. Powerful. Demanding.

Cynthia grabbed it like a lifeline, pouring her emotions into the bond, reached for the others.

Her first pokémon's egg was hatching! What could it possibly be, would it be a her or a him they would be the best of friends she couldn't wait this meant the start of her journey!

He emerged from a world of warmth and wet and dark to a world of cool air and dry and light – a girl with grey eyes and an aura of white picked him from his fractured egg and wrapped him in soft warmth and held him.

The trainer girl cradled her as she sprinted to the healing-place of the humans. She did not understand why the trainer girl would do this. Part of her wanted to know, wanted to see what the others who had left the wilds had seen. Perhaps this would not be an ending, but a beginning.

Pain and exhaustion were nothing, for as she held this tiny, squirming, wailing bundle to her chest and looked upon the face of her daughter with her husband kneeling beside her she knew fulfillment.

His grandchildren had grown beyond him, beyond these paltry isles that ought to have been their own. They had left for brighter shores, brighter futures. They would succeed, this he knew, and though he could not shake the unending regret he could not secure their futures himself; he was at least content that they would prosper.

The ghastly purple vapor churned, its snarling visage, so much worse than any Arbok's, crumpled into a confused scowl, its fractured mind unable to bear their touch, the feeling of such warmth, such light. Its arms retracted, the vaporous cloud condensing around the keystone.

Cynthia could feel its hesitation – the connection it had forged between them all lingered. She could feel its fury building, its self-loathing fueling a jealous inferno that would consume them – sweep their pathetic resistance aside if she did not act.

"LUCARIO, AURA SPHERE, CHRYSSA, MAGICAL LEAF!" Cynthia roared, lurching upright, willing through the link they bore that they stand up right now and fight.

Her faith was a brand, brighter than the ghostly fires of the aberrant.

They did not disappoint.

She knew they never would.

Spiritomb wailed, but the sound lacked the indomitable power it had held before. Lucario surged to his feet beside Chryssa and charged a blinding white sphere between his hands, drawing them back in preparation to unleash.

Chryssa hissed – a sound Cynthia had never heard from her friend before, not unlike a gale whipping the leaves – and a cloud of razor-sharp leaves and petals gathering around her.

Behind her she was aware of her companions only peripherally.

Hudson lurched to his feet and grabbed Leanne, gathering the sluggish archaeologist into his powerful arms. "Cynthia," his voice rumbled like a rockslide. "Deal with the abomination. You have my permission to do whatever is necessary."

"Thank you. Get Leanne out."

He made the doorway just as Lucario and Chryssa's attacks penetrated the distortional shroud surrounding Spiritomb's keystone with a thunderclap, the nauseating pressure redoubling in response.

The stone went flying into the tomb.

Cynthia could feel her eardrums burst under the force of its howl of fury, warm blood trickling down her cheeks to her chin. Her vision swam but it was barely a distraction – one more drop in the bucket.

"Again!" her voice sounded strange to her ears, nearly indecipherable were she not the one speaking. "Hit it again! Lucario, get in close and try to contain it, Chryssa use Aromatherapy, disperse the cloud!"

It was a tactic they were still testing but had seen some success against ghosts in the past. Aromatherapy didn't quite erase distortional energies like what Ominous Wind was capable of summoning, but it severely blunted their effects.

Fantina found the phenomenon fascinating when they last compared notes. It would hopefully cripple Spiritomb and give them some breathing room.

Spiritomb caught itself before its keystone hit the floor, ghostly energy snaking out in three tendrils so that it landed on its impromptu 'feet.' Fast as thought, it snapped out three simultaneous Confuse Rays, aimed precisely to catch each of them in the face.

Cynthia dropped to the floor, her heart seizing for only a split second before instinct took over.

'Thank you Byron,' she thought.

The old man had only taught her briefly, but he'd imparted plenty of useful lessons before leaving her. How to avoid collateral damage was one; he'd worked beside too many rock types in the mines to not value the skill. One errant move sending out splinters of stone might cost an eye if one weren't careful and vigilant. Training carried similar risks.

Thankfully, Lucario and Chryssa both managed to avoid the attacks as well, and had their next prepared by the time Cynthia managed to get back to her feet.

Spiritomb tried to prepare for them, its distortional cloud thickening around its keystone to gnaw on the attacks before they could reach the center, but it wasn't enough. Chryssa's leaf storm disrupted its energies before Lucario's disgustingly overpowered aura sphere carved through the remainder to smash into the keystone.

This time Spiritomb's cry barely held the strength to make them shudder.

Cynthia's hand dropped to her belt, where she usually kept her full team.

She only had Tia, though she was unsuited for this cramped of an environment, but she wasn't what Cynthia sought.

The Dusk Ball she pulled from her belt grew to fill her hand as she tapped the button.

Wait.

Wait for the proper moment.

Another wave – Spiritomb unleashed a nauseatingly powerful Dark Pulse that was immediately blocked by Lucario's protect, reinforced thrice over as the attack carved through the first layer, then the second.

Chryssa's Solarbeam burned through Spiritomb's shroud a split second later as it paused to recover. Its cloud flickered, thin enough to almost see through.

Cynthia made her throw.

For a brief moment – a fraction of a second, really – she was afraid she'd simply missed. Her balance was off thanks to the damage to her ears, and her vision was still pulsing faintly.

A brief moment only, for the ball tapped Spiritomb's keystone despite the best efforts of its shroud, and the aberrant vanished in a flash of white light.

It shook. Once.

Lucario drew his arms back, hands hovering together to gather the energy for another attack. Razor-sharp leaves gathered around Chryssa.

Twice.

Cynthia enlarged another pokéball in her hand – Ultra, she only had the one Dusk Ball. If it failed, she would need the best she had.

Thrice.

Click.

Silence.

Cynthia stared.

It was silent.

The hum of Lucario's attack faded away. Chryssa's leaves fell to the floor with a faint whisper of sound.

'It is done, Truth-Seeker.' Lucario's mental voice betrayed his own muted disbelief.

She realized those sounds she heard had come from the connection between herself and Lucario, for as the seconds passed and the adrenaline began to fade, that same connection began to fail, leaving her in silence.

The world dwindled to herself, her two friends, and the newly occupied ball before them.

It was so quiet now, without the voices.

"Yeah," she said faintly. "It is… we… we did it."

Her body and mind alike screamed at her, the one rushing a thousand directions, the other ready to lay down and stop. She didn't know which to listen to, which to give the lead.

What did they do now?

---

Thank you for reading In the House of Sabios! For those who are wondering, the title is a reference to the character Sabios from Pokemon Ranger: Guardian Signs. He's the high priest of the Dark Temple. There was never a place to really slip the tidbit into the story but the tomb Spiritomb was sitting in front of was Sabios's. Please leave a review! Would love to hear your thoughts. And make sure to check out The Straight Elf's story Traveler, and Traveler: Recollections. I don't know what you're doing here if you haven't read that before, but hey, I guess some people have to have a hobby...