"You're gonna help me?" the Furret cried. "That would be awesome! Let's go!" She scurried off. Trace and Lysander followed her out of town. On the way out, a couple people saw Lysander and turned away, or avoided looking in his direction. At least, that's what Lysander felt was happening. It was entirely possible that he was just being paranoid. He tried to smile and not look like a wildie, but the act was more awkward than useful—so he just said hi to passersby. To his relief, most of them were amiable enough to return the greeting.

"Hey, newcomer," said one such person—a Mightyena. "Nebbie, this is the Gabite they were talking about. And hi, Trace." Another Mightyena came up beside him.

"Hi, and welcome," she said. "Hi, Trace. Maybe you two can help us with the house sometime. I'm way too busy with the kids to contribute anything."

"Sure," said Lysander. "I'm Lysander. We're on our way—"

"Yeah, don't worry about it," the male one said. "I'm Piers, by the way."

"Are you coming, guys?" Leslie called from up the road.

"Yeah, don't leave Leslie waiting," said Piers, laughing. "See you guys later!"

As they left the two Mightyena behind, Lysander could hear Nebbie say, "Isn't he the one Razor was yelling about?"

He also heard Piers's low response: "I feel I can trust him much more than Razor, baby." It cheered him up the rest of the way to the beach.

"This is where I realized I lost the bell," Leslie said. The ocean gently surged back and forth behind her. "It's not very loud. I don't think you'd be able to hear it, even though this is, like, the most gentlest beach, ever."

The beach was actually surrounding a small bay, shielded from the ocean by a tiny peninsula curving from one side. The water wasn't that clear, but the waves were barely a foot tall.

"D'you think it's buried in the sand?" Trace said, kicking some of the stuff around with his feet. It was high tide, so not much sand separated the ocean from inland.

"Don't know," Leslie said, sniffing the salty air. "Actually, it can't be buried. I only lost it this morning. If we don't find it, then it's probably in the ocean somewhere. It's a little silvery bell, on a collar. Don't worry if you can't find it, you know? It's my fault I lost it. But it means a lot to me. I—"

"It's okay, we've got a long time till sundown for us to look," Trace said. He pointed to where the beach curved around and ended at the base of the peninsula. "You go search over there, Lysander, and I'll look over here."

Lysander made his way over there, and Leslie followed him.

"So," said Leslie as they walked, "Trace told me you don't remember anything."

"Yeah?" Lysander mumbled, uncomfortable. He dragged his feet through the sand.

"Sorry to bring it up," Leslie said, looking down, "but don't think you can't be at home here with us. Tom's dad was like that, too, you know."

"Like—with the memory loss and everything?"

"Yeah, just like you. And now he's one of the leaders of Horizon and he's always helping people out. People go to him for all sorts of things."

"Wow," Lysander said. That was really surprising, that Flayer had been in the same situation he was in.

"Speaking of Horizon, you should join them," suggested Leslie. "They could use tough guys like you."

"I'm a tough guy?"

"You're a Gabite!" Leslie said, laughing. "You know how it is with stereotypes, right?"

"I guess."

"Yeah, it's kinda messed up. It's probably why you got in trouble—"

"You heard about that, too?"

"It's sort of all over town now. Don't worry, everyone's mad at Razor. He's so stupid."

"I think he's just as confused as I am about the whole thing," Lysander said, surprised he was almost forgiving his assailant.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't take much to confuse him," said Leslie. "And for the record, I don't really think you're a tough guy. I can just tell."

"I figured," murmured Lysander as blood rushed to his head. It surprised him to feel an emotional reaction like that. It felt... human.

"Oh, and we're here. Let's start looking!" Leslie said, sniffing again. They were at the place where the beach ended and the rocky peninsula began. Trace waved from across the bay, and the two of them waved back.

"Wait a minute, Leslie," Lysander said. "Was it high tide like this when you were here in the morning?"

"No, it was a lot lower than this," she replied.

"Then the water's probably reached your bell thing. Does it float?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Then it should be on the top of the sand, maybe? Do you see it?"

They peered at the sand around them, then farther and farther away, until they were scanning the opposite shore for something silvery. Trace waved at them several times, confused.

"He would have found the bell if it was over there," Lysander pointed out.

"True. And I don't see it over there, anyway. Do you think it's gone?"

"Maybe it's stuck on a rock. I'll swim by this peninsula thing and look for it."

"Good luck. I'll go talk to Trace." She scurried off.

Lysander waded into the water, exhilarated by the cold water. He had always loved swimming in cold water, no matter how much it bothered G... somebody.

Once the water was deep enough, he dived beneath the surface. He hadn't noticed it before, but he could see clearly underwater, like looking through glass. It thrilled him. He experimented with his swimming technique for a few minutes, before remembering what he set out to do. He swam alongside the rocky peninsula, inspecting the rocks both above and below the ocean's surface. After a few minutes, he came across a Remoraid swimming around near the rocks.

He dived into the water to look at it, and it said, "Don't eat me!" It kept its distance, ready to dart off at any moment.

Lysander tried to say something, but only a mess of bubbles came out. He had to resurface for air.

When he went down again, the Remoraid said, "Hold on, mate. I'm a pro at figuring out what air-breathers are saying. That was... you talking. Also, you're not trying to eat me. So you're not a wildie. That is deduction on the highest level, mate."

"Have you seen a little silvery bell?" bubbled out Lysander.

"Have I seen a bit of silvery shell?" went the Remoraid. "Not really, mate. No shells, but rocks are bloody all over the place. Bother for your feet, innit—"

"No, a bell!"

"Oh, a bell—speak up next time, mate. No, can't say I have. Sorry."

When Lysander returned with more air he said, "Thanks anyway."

"No problem, air-breather," the Remoraid said proudly. "You know, there's this cave thing on the other side of this here rock wall. On high tide the ocean goes up into it, but anytime else it's high and dry. I seen a coupla blokes go there, looking for shiny stuff. I can show you there."

"That would be great," Lysander burbled.

"Follow me," proclaimed the Remoraid, swimming along the rocks. "Oh, and if you could do me a favor and scare away any wildie types that come along, that would be gorgeous."

Lysander resisted the urge to laugh, and followed him around the entire peninsula until an opening appeared in the rock. It was barely visible from underwater.

"You go climb up in there, airie," the Remoraid said. "I don't particularly feel like risking my damn life up there."

"Thanks," said Lysander through the water.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," the Remoraid said, swimming off, "I have a Mantine to go find. Till next time." And he was gone.

Lysander climbed up into the opening, which really was a cave. A shallow pool of water flowed in through the entrance, but the cave floor sloped up in the back of the cave. The Remoraid was right: detritus littered the back of the cave. Anything that floated in during high tide got deposited in the cave when the waters receded. The cave wasn't large, but it was at least tall enough for Lysander to stand up straight. It was about the size of Trace's house.

Lysander sifted through what was mostly junk—seaweed, rocks, and sand—but a faintly shining object caught his eye. It wasn't the bell, but a little ball that was almost as small as Lysander's eye. The ball was divided into two halves by a black stripe in the middle; the bottom half was a light gray color, and the top half was a much darker gray—with a golden stripe curving around in an odd pattern. When Lysander touched it, it rolled around, revealing a tiny button.

It felt like déjà vu. Lysander had never seen such a ball before, but it nonetheless looked awfully familiar. It was like having a thought at the tip of his mind, instead of a word on the tip of his tongue. He dismissed the uncomfortable feeling, giving the ball's button a poke. It immediately grew in size, making an odd warping sound. It was now an orb the size of an orange, with a larger button and the same coloring.

Lysander pushed the button again, wondering if the ball would get even larger. But instead, it opened with a click. A red laser shot out from inside, missing Lysander by inches. A quiet hum filled the cave. The ball rolled over, and the laser moved across the cave until it was pointing into the water.

The laser wasn't evaporating the water or doing anything else dangerous like that, so Lysander tentatively reached for the ball to try and close it. When he tried to push the two halves together, though, the ball rolled, and the laser turned and came in contact with his belly.

The cave exploded in violent bursts of light as the world around Lysander began to warp and disintegrate before his eyes. The blinding light was taking him somewhere, and he fought it with all his strength. In an instant, all of the light disappeared, to be replaced by complete and utter darkness. Lysander fought even harder, because the darkness was terrifying. He thrashed one way and then the other, and he knew it was having an effect. Whatever force was holding him in the pitch-black space seemed to give way a little whenever he fought it.

Lysander suddenly wondered if he was dying. Or if he was dead. He renewed his struggle, yelling at the top of his lungs. Yelling, roaring, screaming—he couldn't tell, because he couldn't hear himself.

He fought the blackness until he was too exhausted to move. Right when he gave up and was about to submit to the darkness, something about the force oppressing him changed. Lysander's body tingled, and then the black void around him was replaced with an oddly appealing scene.

Lysander was standing on some sort of hard tiling. He was glad to be standing on solid ground, but he was equally happy to see a rectangular pool of water in front of him. It was large enough to hold at least a dozen Torterra, and it looked deep enough that Lysander couldn't reach the bottom safely. The pool was surrounding by tiling, and all of that was surrounded by dry, solid clay. The sky was a navy blue color, Lysander's favorite.

Lysander felt the water. It was precisely the cold temperature he liked. He swam around, contented, briefly lost in this perfect little world.

Then he wondered again. Was he dead?

He got out of the pool, dripping wet. The clay surface stretched out in every direction. As he tried to walk away from the pool, he found that some force—probably the same mysterious light-force from before—kept him from straying too far from the pool.

He felt like he was in a zoo. Everything was just the way he liked it. Even the clay felt nice to walk on; he had the urge to lie down and take a nap right then and there. If he was dead, then surely he could enjoy some temporary sleep on top of his permanent one.

But then his idyllic pool-world erupted into light and was replaced by the debris-laden cave—faster than Lysander could say "eye damage." The cave was darker than before, and all the water was gone. Both Trace and Leslie were there, to Lysander's surprise, staring at him in shock. The ball rested on the floor, closed.

"Were you inside that ball?" exclaimed Leslie. "What—how did you—is that even possible?"

"Lysander!" Trace cried, lurching forward and hugging him tightly. He was shaking. Lysander didn't know why Trace was acting so worked up. "I thought something got you!" he said, releasing the embrace. "You just disappeared—I freaked out—was my fault—"

"It's okay!" Lysander said. "I wasn't gone that long."

Trace and Leslie both gaped at him. "We've been looking for you for hours!" Trace said. "What happened inside that little ball?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"We can ask someone if they've ever seen anything like this," Trace said, staring at the ball like it was a bomb. "It captured you, that's what it did."

"I'll hold it," Leslie said. As she stepped forward to pick up the ball, something tinkled beneath her feet. She gasped, crying, "It's my bell! Yay! It was here the whole time!" She immediately slipped it over her head, letting it jingle quietly a few times.

"What do the symbols mean?" Lysander said, looking at the markings on the collar.

"Um," said Leslie, "those are letters."

"Great. I can't read," Lysander whined.

"It's okay," Trace said. "I can probably teach you—"

"Well, I know how to read and write and stuff, but not with the same letters."

Leslie shrugged. "We're speaking the same language, aren't we?" she said. "It should be easy, then."

"I doubt it," Lysander murmured.

"We can worry about that later," Trace said. "Let's get out of this gross cave."

As they walked back to Trace's house, Leslie thanked Lysander and Trace—again—for helping her find her bell collar, against the odds. Every time she did so, she had to stop walking and remove the ball from her mouth. Fortunately for her, they had figured out how to shrink the ball: holding the button down. After that, she continued to avoid pressing the button as if doing so would trigger an explosive or some other disaster.

"Well," replied Lysander, "thanks for saving me from that ball."

"We'll show it to Flayer or somebody tomorrow," Trace said. The sun was setting... Lysander has missed most of the afternoon.

"Okay," said Leslie as they entered town, "my house is off this way. I'll come by your house tomorrow, Trace, with the ball. Bye!" She took off in a different direction.

At home, Trace said, "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"I'm positive," Lysander said, lying on his back. He stared out at the little piece of the sky he could see through the roof window.

"I'm glad we found you," Trace mumbled. "I thought—"

"Remember what you told me, about forgetting things when dwelling on them isn't very helpful?"

"Yeah? Oh," Trace said. He sighed. "Good idea."

"Good night, Trace," Lysander yawned.

"Good night..." Trace whispered, obviously still thinking about things.

That night, Lysander dreamt of a tiled pool surrounded by smooth, solid clay.