Having deep blue curtains over every window and plastering across each wall was not the most aesthetic choice for their business, but when their Teacher insists, there's no arguing against him. When asked why it was necessary to blot this room in velvet-blue, he claimed it was to "abate discordant thoughts." He insisted a direct view of the sun could "miss-align his aura" while mid-work. Were his delicate touch to disturbed in any way, it would wreck untold consequences on his clients. So he claims.

There's only so many signs or fliers on the outside that can grab patients' attention, they need things in their window. Trinkets, baubles, things other than the giant curtains currently making their business look like it's been closed by the blue mafia. (The blue mafia does not exist, no mob of any worrisome size could thrive in a guild town. Too many eyes everywhere.) They need to catch the eye of the townsfolk, entice them to explore the vastness of their mind; their future and their past.

Due to their Teacher's eccentricities, The Emporium isn't open during daylight hours. The availability of their services depended on their two owners, so business was operated by commission. People will send letters in or come to schedule a time, afterwards they will be served by their specialists for one of three things: a look back through their memories, a prediction about the foreseeable future, or an aural reading. The latter was used by guilds to vet newcomers to their fold. It's the Emporium's moneymaker.

This puts much less emphasis on what the younger of the two brings to the table. Their more cerebral service gets significantly less pay than their Teacher's less tangible approach. Which is a shame. It's truly important to have an understanding of the mind, to make sense of one's memories, to have a second opinion on one's life. This is an opinion they, as someone who has done this work for much of their life, believe to be quite underappreciated. Ultimately the value of either service is up to the individual. They're not going to bash the work of someone they've apprenticed under for the last four years. They just want a little more work, Is that too much to ask?

Apparently so.

It's common for Teach to go off on spiritual ventures. He's abandoned his work too many times, compelled to wander by whatever it is he hears from those stars he's become obsessed with. They've gotten used to this. It's normal to find his bed empty one morning, then for him to come back in a week's time, looking as though he had learned why Dungeons exist or like he's met some mythical being on his travels. These vacations, as they've come to call them, are responsible for the Emporium's backlog. Because when one of two pokemon who run a very specific service go inexplicably missing, orders start piling up, and the steam of coin comes to a simpering stop.

Three weeks. He's been gone for three weeks - the longest he's ever been on a vacation. No correspondence, no note, an apparent hurry and a missing explorer's pack which had been stocked for emergency vacations. They've had to turn dozens of folks away since then. It's gotten so bad the Sundown Guild has been forced to order a whole shipment of Enigma Wine from the Scholars. Guilds never use another guild's method of vetting, the Sundown Guild's has to be assuming the worst by now.

Wherever he is, he can't be lost out there. But as the Apprentice's patient wears thin, as they turn more folks from the Emporium, and questions about coin begin to bubble to the surface, they too have begun to think their Teacher, Xatu, may be gone for good.

A small, round hand palms through an index. Card after card of requests flip by with a pleasant sound. A sound of failure, of looming bankruptcy. Still than the silence they've become all too familiar with. The small Elgyem takes one of these cards from the index at random, flicking it into their round hand with a telekinetic trick. They sigh as they read it.

Just another pokemon with starry eyes, looking to have their aura read before they resign themselves to a life of guild work. There were at least fourteen just like this, all of whom asking for a service they cannot, nor even attempt to provide. They wanted the pokemon who could read their futures, the typical "real" psychic, the one everyone in town knows about. It's as though Xatu's professional touch will instantly transform them into explorer material.

These people just want to be told they're good enough. They enjoy feeling like explorers without walking the path of a guildie, without countless life-threatening dungeon rhomps, or dozens of criminals caught. It's for novelty. Nobody actually wants to be an adventurer.

There are exceptions, as there are always exceptional people out there, but those people wouldn't need to go to a psychic to be told what to do with their lives.

They put the card back, then give the index another spin. Whirring sounds fill the air as the cards turn like a carousel, words on yellow cardstock racing by like Pidgeys. They watch the roulette spin round and round until it lands on a card. When they reach for it, there's a knock at the door.

Somebody's here. A tall, bristly figure is standing behind the window, tapping on the obscured glass with an off-beat. A customer this early into the night?

They look at their counter, all the clutter which has accumulated over a drought of work. Papers unsorted, files out in the open, orbs without holders, nonsense stacked on the shelves behind them, and burned out Odd Incense. With nowhere to hide the clutter, the Elygem pulls the psychic rug out. A thousand invisible hands pile them underneath their overly tall stool just in time to hear the person jostle the open door.

"We're still open, you can come in!" they squeak out.

The hinges scream as the old door flies open. Heavy footsteps cross into the Emporium, and a large, dishevelled figure emerges. He wears tattered garments, a hat not unlike those delivery murkrow. His eyes are sunken, his beak curved like a rusty hook. His brass badge brands him as an adventurer, though not from any guild they recognize. This flying-type has lived through much.

He doesn't say anything. The door shuts behind him as he steps inside. His partly-closed eyes begin exploring the shop, noting the orbs sitting on the table between the couches, and eyeing the two curtained off "rooms" near the back. What's he looking for? Should they ask?

"No one's in the back." They hear him whisper.

He looked at the table again, he's fixed on those glassy spheres. He snorts, then marches straight to the counter. When they meet, the small psychic pokemon gets a better look at the towering bird.

The bird's absurd hat concealed a face which had been mangled into a constant scowl. He struggles to keep his eyes more open than a squint, like somehow his eyelids have a weight to them. A thousand bags uphold his gaze, his feathery mane seems shaven, and scars trace down the left of his neck. At any moment this bird could disintegrate. Yet something keeps him kicking.

"This one of those psychic places?" His voice is accented, clearly he's not of the Dusk Continent. "Saw the little sign out in front, and I decided to take a gamble."

"If it's about gambling, I don't think we can help you." They squeeze out a laugh. "Otherwise, we-"

"It's not." He spits. "It's not about gambling."

"And who's this we, anyways?" The Stranger glances behind his shoulder. "It's just you, and me here, is this right?"

"No, and it's why, as I was about to explain, we can't offer our complete services at the moment." They explain. "Depending on what you're looking for, I may have to ask you to come back at a later time."

Those words always hurt to say, but no matter how many customers they've turned away they had to be honest with everyone. They lack what makes Xatu tick to replicate his tricks. There's no way they'll try it on the job, especially not when they're the only pokemon currently running this show.

"Alright then, so what can you do? If you're able to see what the heck's up with my head, then you canxpect some generosity from yours truly."

Their green, gem-shaped eyes shine with glee. They can't contain their excitement! The cure to three weeks of boredom stands before them now, one which could plug the abyss in the Emporium's wallet!

"M-most curious!" They try to play off their joy. "What ails you exactly? Headaches, strange thoughts?"

"It's uh..." He flashes his wing in front of his eyes. "Memory loss. I wanna know if these memories of mine are permanent, or if it's a temporary fegue."

The Elygem's hands move. A pen rises up from the clutter, and begins to write of its own accord on a fallen card. This'll keep them from repeating questions.

"Amnesia is no laughing matter, and sadly, it's more common than anyone's going to admit." They exhale. "Tell me, when exactly did you start to experience this memory loss of yours?"

It's by now they notice he's never moved his left wing the entire time he's been here, not even scarring, the over the shoulder look of his reddish poncho - did something happen to it? It's not their place to ask, not unless his memory problems are related to his critical injury.

"Well before I go divulging everything to a stranger, can I get your name?" He glares. "Credits too, if you've got them."

"Well, I have been an apprentice under Xatu for three years now." They espouse their honours. "I'm-"

"That means nothing to me. I never heard of your Xatu."

What? All of Calico knows about his Teach, even folks from other guilds! Maybe he's perhaps not the most powerful or famed psychic in these lands, but he's a great deal above the common chaff. Despite the slander, his words and his badge slowly paint a picture of a bird who has truly lost his way. This fellow's not from around here, his ignorance is just a byproduct, right?

"He's a very good psychic, he's helped me develop my own abilities for the last three years? Maybe longer." The light in their green eyes figuratively and literally dims. "I forgot to mention my name, it's Judeau. I'm an Elygem. I've had to become familiar with matters of memory loss, as fortunately or unfortunately, our kind possesses the ability to wipe others clean."

"Wait, you can just snap your…" He glanced at Judeau's hand, a stubby, fingerless appendage with three lights on the end of it. "Magic fingers and throw my memories into the bin?"

They nod.

"I chose to apprentice under Xatu so when I do start to develop those abilities, I'll know how to handle it. This way I don't accidentally make a bunch of confused pokemon who's jumbled memories I'll be personally responsible for." They look upwards. "I think my relatives called the process 'scrambling'?"

"Sounds quite nasty."

"It's more like putting your memories in a knot, instead of putting your head in a jar and shaking it like I'm sure you've imagined." They've used this exact explanation before, it gets old quick. "I'm not capable of doing this yet, don't you worry."

An amnesiac, flying type, wants their memories combed through, seems not to be around from here. Judeau's pen writes out of sight. What about his name?

"Braviary." He says.

"What?"

"You'll need a name to put in those notes of yours." His eyes are on them as he smiles. "And Braviary is the closest thing I have to a name."

The pen's right on the floor, how could he see it moving? Did he hear the pen scratching on the paper? Was there a convenient reflection on the shelf behind them? No, there can't be. Nevermind all of this, they had something to call him now, Braviary. It's not even a name, it's his species. But they'll gladly go with whatever makes this stranger most comfortable. They hide their confusion with a grin.

"Braviary it is. Before I even poke around in your head, I need to ask some questions." They read from an imaginary script. "Do you want to take a seat or would you like to stand there?"

He looks towards the two couches. The one two-times the size of the other was meant for folks the size of Braviary. If they tried to accommodate any pokemon bigger than him, they'd need a new shop. Unless the guild wants to bank the Emporium, there's simply no way.

"Thanks. The ole legs have been begging me to sit down."

Braviary shambles across the store to where he eventually falls lifeless onto the soft blue cushions. His body splays over the couch, his back props him up. When Judeau sits opposite of them, he motions at three crystal spheres between them. Slightly bigger than the average pokemon's palm, they could fit in perfectly in a satchel.

"Where'd you get these ones?" He asks. His gaze is fixed on the glittering objects. "Been having a hard time finding them myself."

"They're Orbs."

"Obviously, but what do these ones do? And aren't you just a store owner, what's a fellow like you supposed to do with adventuring gear, because y'all don't look like you go dungeon diving much." He leans back. "It's a waste to let these sit around in your home. I could take 'em off your hand."

They're not going to sell these, but from a glance, they all seem identical other than the minute variances in size. If they were to examine them any closer they'd look clueless in front of this guild fellow. The lack of labels didn't help. Realistically, though there's only ever two types traders like them purchase. Judeau wings it.

"I'll consider it.." They laugh."These here are Escape and Luminous Orbs. The latter in case we need a light in here, the former are for when my tutor brings them to his escapades. It's the easiest way to keep out of those scary places, dungeons they're called."

"Sounds useful." He groans. "Could have done with one a day or so ago. Don't take the old road if you're ever coming back here from Scoria, stumbling into a dungeon wasn't especially fun. We're lucky to have made it out as quick as we did."

Dangerous, mysterious, without cause or reason. Those are the words Judeau has heard explorers describe these anomalies. It's no wonder they've earned such a reputation if someone who looks as talented as this Braviary could be trapped in one. Combined with the fact they're known to emerge just about anywhere, it makes travel through swathes of uninhibited places a real danger. They have the kind, experienced folk from the Sundown Guild to keep travelers safe, or else they'd have to seriously consider a different kind of training. Without these noble folk no one would dare make the journey from town to town, and trade between them would slow to a painful crawl.

Travel is likely why Xatu has invested in so many escape orbs, other ones too. Those wings of his have carried him to many places out in the world, some of which are surely blighted by these mysterious holes in reality. Wherever he goes on these vacations of his, it sure would help to have a pocket sized solution to the ever-present "took the wrong turn, now I'm in a maze full of crazy pokemon" dilemma.

Oh and they looked very pretty. Good on a shelf, in a glass cabinet, or at the centre of a table. A talking piece for the exploring-oriented mind. Xatu has since been banned from making decorative decisions since he blotted out every window. The orbs can stay. They're the master decorator now.

Right, now back to the conversation. After Judeau pauses for consideration, they nod.

"...a dungeon in between here and Scoria's is bound to be a real problem for us merchants. Have you told anyone about this? Was it by Basalt Peak?"

"The spooky place was in a forest right at the foot of the big rock." Braviary Touches his temple. "I haven't told anyone just yet because I'm not too sure who to tell. We reckoned by the way the actual road winds all over the place on the map, that whoever decides these routes must've been aware of this dungeon already."

"You report it to the guild," They implore. "to keep people safe."

Braviary shrugs. He doesn't care. Despite the fact it's especially important to warn others if it's near a trade route, he chooses not to. On another glance at Braviary, Judeau instantly knows why. It's Braviary's badge. Whatever guild he hails from likely doesn't care to share information to other groups.

Very unfortunate.

"Either way, I could do with a couple of these orbs just in case." He reaches out for one, then stops himself. They ain't his to take. "Where'd y'all get them?"

"...we buy them from the market."Judeau almost didn't tell him. "Mismagius is the vendor's name. Don't mind her, she's a bit like you. She only goes by her species, and keeps much to herself. She's been peddling these things since long before I got here. The two guilds are her biggest customers."

"A real mysterious lady, huh?"

"Wouldn't say so." Judeau shakes their head. "Trade secrets are a coin a dozen, and other times some people like to be on their own. Anything else I know about her are Town rumours. I guess ghost-types must still scare folks."

"One of the fellows I know went all pale in the face, the second I suggested there could be ghosts where we were going." When he recalls this, he smiles for a brief moment. Braviary smiles. Then it's back to his squint, partly obscured this time by the brim of his hat and the dim light. "You're right."

"The mind fudging I've come here for?" He asks impatiently. "Are we gonna cut to the chase?"

A pen drags itself all the way across the shop's floor, the paper with it. The pen writes on an invisible clipboard on Judeau's lap. The Elgyem takes a breath, it's time to put on the boring voice.

"We won't get to the process tonight, no unless this is a very serious situation. With your permission I'll be picking through memories of your choosing. I need several answers before I do this. As I am not Xatu, I can't divine any future other than the path you've laid yourself. This is not to assume you've come here specifically for predictions, however, the questions often crop up."

They let the words settle, they let his mind consume the information. After an indeterminate amount of time, Judeua speaks again.

"Do you understand, Braviary?"

"Yeup."

They exhale. The preamble is always the worst, now onto the questions. Start with the first thing they ask to folks with holes in their memory, then let it flow naturally from there.

"So when did you lose your memory?"

"It's been ever since I got here." He taps his temple again. "Been a couple days since I woke up. Let's say a week?"

Like the morning after a long night, it slowly becomes clear to them. This was not from wandering a dungeon forever, or the work of a psychic blasting their mind. This was not ordinary. It's a kind only ever spoken about in guild tales and written in lengthy memoirs. It's existence is argued by many, others warned of it.

No, there's no way he's one of those outsiders. Braviary looks to be much too old, too aware and familiar with his body. They'll have time to humour fairy tales later.

"Where…" Judeau stutters "Where did you wake exactly?"

"On a beach near Scoria Town." His wing draws lines on an unseen map. "There's a long stretch of black shoreline there, like the sea it looks like it goes on forever. I came to when some kid stumbled onto me, the boy brought me to safety."

"When describing waking up there, do you remember anything before that? Was waking up there the start to everything?"

"No." He slumps forward, almost to the edge of the couch. His eyes nearly glaze over as he stares at the floor, towards nothingness. "I.. have the experience of a guildie, battle fundementals, know-how, but none of the memorie. With how I am, there's no world where I haven't lived this life for years."

He taps the ornament which holds his rags together. A brass diamond-shape, flanked by six winglets of various sizes, three on each side. What it stood for, or where it came from, were questions not even its wearer could answer. No matter the badge's origin, it's the unmistakable brand of a travelled man.

"Woke up with the hat, my clothes, and this thing here. It's special to me, I reckon. There's a warm feeling when I wear it. I think it's pride."

Resolve washes over him as he straightens his back, and lets go of the metal trinket. He sits still in wait of answers. His impatience has vanished altogether.

It didn't come up, but if he hasn't retained a single memory from his adventures, or his whole life until the moment he awakened on Scoria's pitch black shores, then it's safe to assume his severed limb was a mystery to him. Braviary were a hardened ilk, fighters by nature. So what could have led to one losing their wing? Maybe it's why he came here, to find out for himself.

The way he once lived his life had come to a painful end. They wouldn't have peace either until they knew the reason why. But now they knew what he truly was. At first it was three borderline fictitious explanations, now it's only down to two extremely rare cases. With the knowledge Braviary woke on the beach, they knew exactly what he was.

"You're a Beached." They state with confidence.

He snorts. "I'm what now?"

"It's one of two names for an observed phenomenon. Pokemon who find themselves mysteriously washed ashore with no memory are labelled as Beached, those who wake up inland are called Fallers."

Their mind races to recount what they know of this, but like Braviary, they draw next to nothing about it. If only the Scholars weren't so far away there may be something they can read about this. Even if they wanted to, the Emporium kept them bound to Calico Town. And if they did leave there's a potential dungeon lying in wait for them.

"There's no difference I'm privy to." Judeau sighs, clearly frustrated. "I could give you theories, but this is slowly slipping out of my league. I'm unsure if Xatu even knows about this."

"I only asked you to scrounge through my memories, not solve the secrets of the world." His laugh reassures them. "Gimme your theories."

"The only one worth mentioning is big among bookworms right now." Judeau clears his throat. "They believe there's no difference between a Faller and a Beached pokemon than the circumstances of before they woke up. One recalls falling for a great distance, the other remembers being thrown around by waves."

Braviary mouths something. His eyes are wide open when he looks at them. It's like he's staring at a shiny bauble, he is actually listening now.

"These people believe these two phenomena are to do with dungeons, they're formed without little regard for location, are numerous enough to be a constant worry, and we have no clue how they truly form. Pokemon who get lost in Dungeons for a long period of time describe their senses becoming a blur from all the wandering, the fighting. Eventually this affects their memories."

"The theory is: Fallers and Beached folk are the result of pokemon becoming lost in a dungeon for an exceeding amount of time. Their memory becomes a blur from exposure, but before the dungeon can take them, they manage to escape. The strangeness of time in these dungeons is what creates the amnesia associated with you fellows. I can't speak for why you awaken on a beach other than it has to do with where exactly the dungeon is located."

Surely this comes as a lot, for it was. It's all they knew. Instead of a quick remark from him, Braviary spends the long moment, head pointed to the door as he drifts into deep contemplation. Time ticks by. The shadow of a trader passes by the window, there's a cart being pulled in the distance. Braviary mouths something.

"Wasn't the Aromatisse, a fella that big's an Ursaring." He says, but he hasn't moved. He's frozen in place; an ancient tree ready to collapse.

"Bookworms, bookworms...like those people in the Scholar's Guild?" He doesn't look at them when he speaks, he's too focused on the outside. "One of those people would know. The librarian, she could tell me."

These words were never meant for Judeau, they still dwell on them. He's muttering about Froslass, isn't he? He's actually met her? What they'd do to get a chance to interview a pokemon of her wisdom.

The weight of him standing rattles the sharp beak curls into a smile as he extends his wing like a hand. Judeau barely gets to shake on their meeting before his wing snaps back to him. He adjusts his hat as he makes for the door.

"We'll be around, you can take a gander at it tomorrow or the day after.." He speaks from the door. A dull glow illuminates his wide-open gaze. "Right now, there's an inn which needs to be checked into."

Judeau waves as Braviary vanishes through the open door. The bell above the door echoes clearly throughout the store. Then, silence. At least he didn't slam the door this time.

They dwell on this strange man. The look before he left seemed off, like he had witnessed a ghost. He could just be rattled from all this chat about the mind; about the world. Talk like this had a tendency to get under the skin. Thankfully Xatu wasn't here, else he may have left after the first minute of Xatu's musings. The man can be a handful; however, they wouldn't live the same life without his guidance. It's truly a shame he could not be here to speak to a Beached pokemon in person.

Despite Beached mons being more common than other phenomena, it's still rare to even see one, even rarer for them to speak of their experience. it'll be a treat to pick apart the memories of one of these elusive folks. Perhaps they'll learn once for all, whether or not the go-to theory is the right one.

Truly exciting.

They make the pen jot the final notes: the time frame he gave, a reminder to send correspondence to the Scholar's Guild. They scoot out of their couch, turn around, and see their workplace.

There's no mirror on the shelf.