After her morning patrol and a hearty nap, Latias had been prepared to tackle the problem of the purloined paper. To her chagrin, her salvaged letter proved almost entirely incomprehensible. Michael – she could at least read his name, printed neatly in the unmolested label at the top of the stationery – had crossed out almost every word with various scribbles and streaks of ink. Emotional residue, her greatest tool, was thick and layered in so many places that it proved almost as impenetrable. Even the few coherent fragments themselves yielded little. Here, the mention of a female, with affection associated. There, a note of pride accompanying an aborted description of some task. Michael connected the Ninetales to others not mentioned. At least this information could paint for Latias a picture; she guessed Michael intended to send this aborted draft to the people in the picture on his desk. Considering the emotions involved, they were probably his family. None of this information, however, illuminated a way forward.

Latias placed the unrumpled letter on the surface of the low table, taking the picture frame that occupied part of the space and placing it face-down on the paper so it wouldn't flutter away with a breeze, before returning to trying to figure out what to do.

The puttering sound of one of the island's fleet of mopeds brought Latias out of her thoughts, and after shrouding herself, out of her cave as well. An old lady drove it at a leisurely pace up the sloped driveway. Latias recognized her face; the woman occasionally delivered baskets of pastries and confections to the house, addressed to 'they know who they are'. Latias knew the woman lived and worked in town, but had only seen her in passing before Clayton passed away.

Latias quickly darted through the air to hover over the roof of the porch, and heard Michael emerge from below. The emotional signature of dissipating tension surrounded him, slowly being replaced by curiosity as the old woman dismounted, removed her helmet, and walked up the footpath. The grey-haired lady waved cheerfully, and moved at a pace remarkable for her age and borderline obesity. Michael said nothing as she approached.

"Hope you're finding the place to your liking," the woman said, with a fried, broken voice. Latias blinked; she had never heard the woman speak in the past decade. Latias smelled the trace scent of cigarettes on the offering baskets that were left here, but with a voice like that the lady must have been quite a smoker.

"It could use some work," Michael responded, "but I needed a big project anyway." In contrast to the lady's loud, rough voice, his was clear and quiet. "I was expecting a little more time before I had any guests. I'd invite you inside, but the furniture is in poor shape." Latias heard Michael shift his weight, but couldn't see how he changed his stance. She slowly drifted away from the porch to get a better viewing angle as he continued again. "I didn't even know anyone realized I was here. Word must get around fast."

The grey-haired woman laughed, a rough grating sound that still somehow carried her cheer. "Everyone knows each other here, except for the tourists. Even they hardly ever come alone, I think you're the only one here with nobody else!" Latias felt a wave of remorse emanate from Michael as the woman peered into the windows of the house before her. "Everyone knows each other here with one exception, that I was hoping you'd clear up for me. Have you come across the house's current occupant?"

Michael turned to look back at the house himself, as if just seeing it for the first time. "No, it was abandoned when I got here. Looked like it had been for a long time. Is there someone I need to talk to?"

The lady laughed again. "The only person who you would've been able to talk to about it has been dead for a decade. I was hoping you'd be able to tell me who has been staying here! I wanted to give whoever they are my appreciation for keeping the place standing." The final sentence heartened Latias as much as the first stung, and she allowed herself some satisfaction of a stewardship well-executed.

"Well I haven't seen anyone, but if I do, I'll tell them someone was looking for them."

"Tell them to come to the café on Tide Street, ask for Nola. My daughter runs the place, she'll be able to get ahold of me." The woman looked over the house again before putting her hands on her hips and sighing. "If they come around, tell them that I said hi, and ask them if we could finally put a name to 'they know who they are'."

"Will do," Michael replied. He spoke a little slower and more careful, Latias could pick up a note of caution surfacing in his emotions. "I'll stop by sometime either way, I'd like to know more about this place."

"Bring something to take notes, I can tell you the whole history of the town," the lady replied, before heading back to her motor scooter. Michael waved her off, and Latias flew around the house to the balcony in the back as he turned to go back inside. The spark of a plan flared to life in her mind.

Slowly opening the door, she drifted over the recently-swept floor to the drawing table. A random collection of blueprints or designs sat atop it, and the pictures which used to hang on the walls were gathered in a loose pile in a nearby corner. Latias bristled at the treatment of the frames while she reached for her objective; a pen sitting in the desk's tray. She promised herself she'd come back for the discarded pictures as she snatched the writing implement and quickly exited the building.

Back in her cave, she tore a strip off the top of the crinkled paper and flipped it over to the clean side. Holding the pen in an iron grip she slowly wrote out; THEY KNOW WHO THEY ARE. The lines were painstakingly drawn straight, and the curves drawn careful and perfect. The entire exercise took Latias almost five minutes; her hands were very different than a human's, not well-suited for handwriting.

The now-standing picture that had weighted the recovered note depicted two figures. Clayton, half the age she first met him, wrapping his arm around the waist of a woman equally young. The woman, named Anne, provided Latias her human form, learned from Clayton's memories. This illusion allowed Latias to experience the town at ground level, by Clayton's side. In the end it had become much more, and for that reason Latias hadn't used it since. Now, it could serve her once more.

With the strip of paper in-hand, Latias flew out to the front yard. Near the base of the hill that led up to the top of the bluffs the house sat on was a large, old tree. Latias hid behind it as she slipped into her human appearance. She found she remembered all the little details despite the recent disuse, and the act gave her a little thrill. With the confidence boost, she stepped out from behind the tree and started to approach the house on 'foot'.

In the front yard, Michael played with the cream-colored Ninetales, stopping before long as the fox noticed her approach. Even from this distance, she could hear him make a comment to his pokémon about the peculiarity of two visitors in one day.

Getting as close to any sort of canid pokémon as she was now always made her nervous. Their keen senses of smell had the best chance of anything to detect her true nature. Ninetales in particular were very intelligent. To her surprise however, it stayed quiet when she drew near, no indication it knew anything was strange except a slight huff.

"Who might you be?" Michael asked, as she got within easy speaking distance. She held the piece of paper out to him, the text cleanly visible. She felt his demeanor change as he read the clear print, curiosity pushing aside all his other emotions. "You know, someone just stopped by looking for you," he said with a smile when he looked back up.

At first, Latias smiled back. Cold fear spread throughout her mind however when Michael's emotional signature shifted suddenly as he turned the strip of paper over. On the back of the strip was a sizable portion of the top of the emblem from the stationery his original letter had been written on.

A wave of hostility surged outward from Michael, quickly being withdrawn behind a wall of guarded caution. "How did you get this?" he asked, with the same slow, careful speech she heard him use earlier.

She raised an arm to point to the master bedroom where it faced the front, but aborted the gesture mid-attempt. Instead she just pointed towards the front door and waved her hand around in a vague manner, indicating the whole structure.

Michael's emotional signature picked up a tinge of panic, but outwardly he remained collected. "We haven't left the house since we got here, and my pokémon should have been able to detect you," he looked down at the Ninetales, which huffed again, its tails writhing in agitation. He looked back up at Latias, and his composed demeanor cracked. "What are you…?"

Latias pointed at the scrap of paper, with greater urgency this time. He folded the piece of paper and shredded it into several pieces in response. "This doesn't tell me anything!" Though every instinct was telling her to flee, Latias just took a step back. She had to recover this somehow. She didn't dare reveal herself now, she was positive if she did she would be attacked. After a moment she slowly drew the letter A in the air, repeating the gesture several times.

"Ay? What is that supposed to be, a name? Or an answer? You're a what? Why don't you say anything?"

Latias made the A gesture again, with sharp chopping motions. Without warning, the Ninetales leapt at her, and even as she dodged out of the way she realized her movements may have seemed aggressive. The pokémon exhaled violently, and Latias saw the air shimmer wildly from the oppressive heat, creating small shock fronts of thermal and pressure differentials.

She didn't even bother to manipulate the illusion to give the impression of turning around, instead just flipping it to show its back and starting to fly away. Despite flying backwards to allow her to face the threat, she moved at a speed that even well-trained sprinters would be hard-pressed to keep up with, and she wasn't altogether sure she was able to make the illusion's flat-out run convincing.

Darting behind the tree at the bottom of the hill to hide herself from sight, Latias dispelled the image and rendered herself completely invisible. Now free of any limitations, she darted around the base of the bluffs and straight into her cavern home. She shook badly from fright, and drew in the lingering impressions of the fabric she buried herself in to create a mental presence she could focus on to calm herself down.

Beyond the unexpected aggression, part of her wondered if she had forever lost any chance to be on friendly terms with this new arrival. Fatigue replaced adrenaline as it wore off, and after making sure the illusions protecting the cave entrance were working, she fell into a depressed funk, mulling over lost opportunities and future complications.

By the time sunset approached, signaling the start of her evening patrol, no answers had emerged. Residents in town mentioned a storm expected that night, but this only fostered a detached interest in her, preoccupied as she was with her unfortunate situation.


The night's darkness lifted for a single moment as a spike of lightning augmented Palatine Light's beacon. Thunder reached Latias' chimney-top perch immediately after, the half-mile distance providing no perceptible delay.

She had always loved thunderstorms, more so after Clayton borrowed a strange tutor machine to teach her to how to tame them. Now she could cavort with the storm, fly through its power and bask in its fury. The easiest work is fun work, and Latias viewed this most critical part of house protection as playtime.

The moment her wingtips started tingling, Latias shot skyward and formed a bubble of force around herself. The predicted bolt slammed into it, bouncing off to the west. As soon as it hit, Latias arced it northward, seeing how far she could nudge it off course. Through the extreme tinting of her bubble, she saw the bright streak curve almost thirty degrees. Not a new record, but not bad considering her low altitude.

Between strikes, she was left with much time to contemplate. When thunder had first roused her, she wondered what purpose she served if this house's new occupant despised her. Besides sheer sentimentality, she watched over this house to fulfill Clayton's request to befriend its next tenant. Failing that, she had little reason to remain.

In the thick of the storm now, however, she knew even if she returned to the lighthouse on the opposite side of the island, she'd still do exactly this. The location mattered not; here as good as anywhere. Thunderstorms provided the bulk of her entertainment since Clayton's passing. She wasn't going to miss one because a setback earlier in the day.

Her improved mood brought with it hope. Not all was lost below. She would give Michael time to cool off, maybe even forget. She'll find another way to approach him eventually, and after ten years a handful of days felt like nothing. For now, however, she maintained invisibility in case Michael awoke and spotted her. She can't protect the house if she got stuffed inside a pokéball.

Lightning once more lashed out, striking the piling at the end of the nearer breakwater in the harbor. A smile accompanied the thunder's arrival. No matter what happened to her, she always had the storms, a gift Clayton gave to her long ago that never lost its luster.

Her wingtips tingled again, and once more she climbed into the dark sky.


Protecting the house through a storm always demanded a lot of energy, the closest Latias had ever come to what she understood as a hangover. She slept through her morning routine, customary the mornings following such exertions. The day after a storm provided bountiful fishing, and she always partook, albeit around midday.

The depths rewarded her with her third catch that hour, some species of small bass. It struggled in her invisible jaws as she caught her breath after surfacing, but she stopped that quickly with a powerful crunch. Flipping over and flattening her wings into a single plane, she floated on her back while she made short work of the meal.

As close as she was to the island, she could easily make out across the water when a voice started calling out. "Hey! Heeey!" She quickly flipped back into her belly, dunking her face in the water to rinse it, and took off towards the sound. It wouldn't be the first time she's had to rescue swimmers in over their heads.

As she got closer she realized she had been mistaken. Michael was by the tree at the base of the driveway, calling her by the letter she left him before, "Aaayyy!" His two Ninetales nosed around the area, the ice-type proving the more adventurous of the two as it made its way down the side of the bluffs to the shore.

Her heart skipped a beat and last night's hope resurfaced. If he was searching her out, she should answer; it might allow her to salvage the fiasco from the previous day. Risks and dangerous scenarios danced at the edge of her mind, warning her to keep her guard up. Nevertheless, she was determined to take the opportunity, to try and set things right.

Landing on the other side of the tree from the group, she drew herself low to the ground, and quickly arranged her down to display her human illusion in a crouch. Satisfied with her quick work, she walked out from behind the tree slowly, as to not alarm the three.

The fire-type Ninetales responded immediately to her presence, turning to face her and issuing a couple short barks. Michael turned to see what the Ninetales had found, and smiled when he saw her approach. She felt no hostility from him, instead discovering a wave of relief. It relieved her in turn, and the illusion of her human form relaxed as she did.

"I wanted to apologize for yesterday," he spoke as he slowly approached her. "I brought this for you. Maybe it'll help." He held out to her a small whiteboard with a black marker. She gingerly accepted it from him and detached the marker, trying to figure out how to hold it in her hand. Its greater bulk allowed her to hold it in a reasonable approximation of the way humans held writing utensils, and she made sure the illusion mirrored the gesture as she secured the cap on its rear end.

His relief remained, along with traces of amusement. The risk to her now was probably as minimal as she could hope for. She sat in the grass, placing the whiteboard on the ground before her. She subtly manipulated its blades with telekinetic nudges, to give her illusion's legs an appearance of weight.

With the same broad strokes and careful curves she used the night before, she slowly wrote out the word 'SORRY', and held the board up for him to read.

He laughed in response, the first time she had heard him do so. It was clear like his speaking voice, but much stronger. "No, I told you I was the one who should apologize. Yesterday was… strange. I didn't expect anything like that. It was a shock."

The ice-type Ninetales had returned to the group by then, and trotted over to investigate her. She stopped erasing the previous word she wrote and floated backwards out of its reach, manipulating the illusion to appear as if it was scrambling back. Michael made a clicking noise and it stopped, before turning around and returning to him. Latias slowly drifted back towards where the whiteboard lay and finished cleaning it as he brought his two foxes to either side of him.

"That's some of what I wanted to apologize about. This is Sparkles, and over here is Flufftail," he said, indicating first the blue and then the orange Ninetales. "Don't ask me about the names, I didn't pick them." A smile crossed his face but quickly faded, and a pang of sorrow entered his mostly positive emotional mix.

Holding the whiteboard up in one hand, displaying the word 'HI', Latias waved with the other and smiled at the two. Sparkles lifted a paw in a rough facsimile of a wave of its own, while Flufftail just leaned on its trainer.

"He's very well trained, and he's never attacked a human before," Michael said, looking down at Flufftail and scratching him behind an ear. He looked back up to Latias wearing a gentle smile, but Latias could feel that he became slightly withdrawn into a guarded emotional stance. "You're not human, though, are you?"

Latias froze for a moment, before holding the whiteboard vertically and carefully drawing a large question mark.

"The strip of paper you gave me yesterday, it had my former company's logo on it. I must have left it on my desk the night before last. I thought I had thrown it out when it was gone the next morning, but you took it, didn't you?" When Latias didn't respond, he continued. "Which means your vanishing act yesterday was the second time you gave these noses the slip." He rubbed the backs of both Ninetales in emphasis. "They were trained as guard pokémon, there's no way a person could have gotten as close as you must have and just slipped away."

Michael looked past her towards the house, "Then, I think but I'm not sure, I saw some of your impressive handiwork last night. Let me tell you, you might have a way to stop a lightning strike, but you weren't able to stop the sound. It only takes seeing one or two bolts streaking a couple meters overhead almost horizontally before you realize something fishy is going on."

Latias blinked several times and tried to think of a response, but only managed a shrug. She had never given any thought to how obvious her efforts might look to someone watching from up close; nobody ever approached anywhere near the house during inclement weather, and when she lived at the top of the lighthouse she rarely had to intervene on its behalf, engaging the skies over open ocean. She felt silly that she had believed being invisible would be enough last night.

"So what are you?" His tone was a lot softer than when he asked yesterday. "Some sort of benevolent spirit? Guardian entity? A ghost?"

Latias shrugged again, and wrote on the board, 'I GUESS'. On the most basic level, he was right.

"I can't say I haven't heard stranger stories, my psychic aunt was always going on about spirits..." There was a pause as he digested this before looking back up at her. "You know, you look really cute for a dead girl." The quip earned Michael a remarkably hard shove from Flufftail, forcing him to catch himself with an outstretched hand to the side before he fell over.

"So where do you stay?" Michael looked around. "This tree?" When Latias shook her head no, he looked to the house. "In there?" Latias shook her head again and this time pointed downward. Michael gave her a strange look she couldn't quite process. "Oh. Can you show me?" Latias vigorously shook her head no. That was definitely a step that should wait until later.

Softer this time, "Is it lonely?"

Latias quickly looked to the ground before nodding. She held up the whiteboard again, 'VERY'.

"Well, maybe we can be lonely together, then."

At the comment, Flufftail let out a loud whine. Sparkles responded with a loud snort from behind the tree, which it had been valiantly attempting to climb. Michael chuckled at the display as he stood up, "she's easily distractible. Let's leave her to her thing and go inside. I'd say I'll show you around, but maybe I should be asking you for a tour. I have a couple questions about the place."

Latias smiled and elevated her body, willing the illusion to stand. She let Michael take the lead, and Flufftail slipped by her to take his side. She followed behind at a short distance until they got to the porch, where he waved her inside first. She shook her head no, to which he simply shrugged and went in himself. Making sure she cleared the tails of his pokémon, so they wouldn't cut through her illusion's legs, she followed behind him.

The furniture had not been moved, and boxes sat piled in corners, but the dust in the living room area inside the door had been removed and the place already felt a little like a home again. As his fox made its way into the kitchen, Michael stood in the middle of the living room with his hands on his hips and turned to face her. "So, what happened to all the cushions?"

Blushing, Latias put the whiteboard on a table and wrote, 'I TOOK'. This drew another laugh from him, laughter Latias was beginning to enjoy. It had been quite some time since she made anyone laugh, and she found the cheer infectious.

"I hope you won't mind if I replace them then, little good they'll do me like this." Latias nodded her assent as he moved over to a recliner "I don't know what to do about this though," he said, reaching out to touch it.

A strangled note of alarm sounded from Latias' throat. She looked at him with wide eyes, like she just broke some priceless antique. He looked at her with eyes almost as big. "Wow. I thought you couldn't make any sound. What's wrong with this thing to draw that sort of reaction from you?"

Memories temporarily overpowered her awareness. Clayton's struggles and her sense of helplessness. Her body atop his, their heads touching. Her attempts to order and soothe his mind as his body failed before rescue could come. A mind she'd known and touched and so much more slipping away from her forever.

Michael's sudden approach snapped her back to the present, and she hastily backed away from him. "What is it to you?" he asked.

Hastily scribbling on the whiteboard, Latias held up a sloppily-written 'DEATH'.

Michael scratched his chin in thought before pointing at her, unable to voice his question.

Latias shook her head negative as she erased the word, writing in its place, 'FRIEND'.

"Ah, the last owner I'm guessing. I'll get rid of it if you want."

Latias nodded absentmindedly. This room never failed to push her away, just standing in it weighed her down. She pointed upwards, then moved towards the stairs, hoping he understood her meaning.

Ascending them briskly and moving through the door to the left at the top placed her into a wide room. It had been designated as her room, before Clayton's death, before she left the house and took up residence in the cavern underneath the basement. Despite this it had always been empty; she always had a place in Clayton's bedroom for herself. It was filled with boxes now, strange logos she didn't recognize on their faces. Mysterious mechanical parts sat between pieces of disconnected electronics in the corner near the closet.

She heard Michael's approach, quickly taking the steps two at a time, muttering about how he was definitely removing that recliner. He came through the door slightly winded, and looked around as he gathered his breath.

"I was going to turn this room into something of a workshop," he started hesitantly. "But the house needs a lot of fixing before I can afford time to work on this stuff."

'CAN HELP'

Michael looked at her and smiled. "I'd definitely appreciate it, if you wouldn't mind."

Latias nodded vigorously. She had always hoped to see the house restored to its original state, and she'd love to be part of the process.

"And down here," Michael said, walking to the other end of the hallway, "Is the bedroom." He looked back and gave Latias a look she couldn't quite decipher. "But you already knew that, judging by an absent mattress." She did her best to look apologetic.

Though he took the right-hand door into the bedroom, Latias went left, into the study. The four pictures were still piled in the corner, just off the corner of the rug. She gathered them up quickly, to spare herself the awkwardness of visually compensating for the differing arm lengths between her and the human illusion she wore.

Just as she managed to get them settled in her arms, Michael appeared in the door behind her. With a sheepish grin, she spun around and lifted them slightly to indicate her purpose. Michael just looked confused. "I have no idea what you'd do with them, but take them I guess. I was just going to put them in the attic." The human illusion executed a little jump as Latias bobbed in the air in joy.

A new picture on the wall drew her attention. After she placed her bundle outside the door to the balcony, she walked over to examine it. The same woman from the picture on his desk sat on the white aft deck of his boat, looking out to sea. Latias pointed to it and gave Michael a quizzical look.

He stepped up to it, but for a moment didn't say anything. Then, haltingly, "That's my wife."

Shifting her load to free a hand, Latias pointed at the floor and cocked her head.

"No, she won't be coming here," he replied, looking down at the floor. "Just me and the Ninetales."

'SORRY', Latias wrote after picking up the whiteboard once more. She managed it noticeably faster than the first time she had wrote the word; the practice was doing her good.

"Don't worry about it," he responded, showing a smile Latias could perceive he didn't feel. "I don't know your story. For all I know it's worse."

'LATER'. Then, quickly erasing and writing again, 'THANKS'

"Wait, where are you going?"

'HOME'

"Er, fine. Will you be coming back sometime?"

'TOMORROW' she wrote, the long word taking up the board diagonally from corner to corner.

She placed the whiteboard on top of the stack of pictures returned to her arms. Taking a moment to look out to the flashing beacon of Palatine Light in the waters to the north, she hovered over the railing of the balcony, shaping her illusion to look like it was climbing up it and turning around. Both she and the illusion smiled, then dropped off the edge to the ground below.

She stopped just above the ground, the illusion assuming a crouch. She didn't bother manipulating the grass to show an impact; she hoped the motion had been fast enough he didn't have time to see. She turned and flew off the north face of the bluffs, looking as if the illusion had ran and jumped into the sea. Assuming full invisibility, she hugged the base of the bluffs as she darted around back to her cave.

All in all, she felt the day turned out well, especially compared to yesterday's disaster. She hummed to herself as she stood the pictures leaning against the table in her cave, two on either side. Michael seemed like a good person, with ambition. She found herself wondering about his life, the strange equipment in the room, and what happened to his family. The answers could wait for another time, however, and soon Latias found herself preoccupied with when she should reveal herself to him. She was actually eager for it now, but felt it prudent to wait just a little longer to get to know him. Not too long, maybe just a week.

It was a strange feeling, having something concrete to look forward to.