Chapter 20
Guidance
Cavetown's diner was in constant animation as Pokémon came in for a meal or left with their bellies full. Squirtle did not know whether or not settlement-dwelling Pokémon ate at scheduled times, but the constant and regular inflow and outflow of Pokémon pointed to spontaneous meals.
Simple, to eat when hungry, he thought. A Munchlax at the far end of Squirtle's table returned with a fresh plate of food. For some, I guess that's all the time.
The table was abruptly jostled by some blow. A pair of voices rose above the low babble of conversation in the diner. While not angry or hateful, the voices held a note of prideful challenge.
"...could beat you today, tomorrow, or a year from now! Say the time, name the place, and I'll prove it to you!" The speaker was a hulking, bipedal Pokémon with yellow flaps like a skirt. Its voice marked it as female. Squirtle wracked his mind for a moment, prompting one of his context-less memories to come to him. The species was named Hariyama.
The other Pokémon lowered his cream-colored front paws to the floor with a growl, followed by a curt sentence: "Now is the best time." He met the Hariyama's challenge with bright eyes. His red pupils matched the inside of his pointed ears. The back of his head and rear ignited. Spiky flames erupted. He was a Quilava. Quil's evolution.
The diner's onlookers in the vicinity pushed the nearest tables away with scraping and clattering sounds. Squirtle assisted the effort before joining the loose ring around the Hariyama and Quilava. Quil found a spot right next to him. He certainly seemed interested in the duel. Squirtle was more interested in the practiced and instantaneous reaction all the other Pokémon had. No one appeared surprised or discomfited by the impending violence. No one attempted to break up the fight, or flee the scene. In fact, the diners were excited and interested. Some chattered to each other with pointed appendages and knowing expressions of self-satisfied wisdom. Others grinned in anticipation, or at the very least, gave the Hariyama and Quilava their full attention.
The Hariyama hurled herself forward and thrust an open-palmed arm at the Quilava's face. The attack made firm contact, but the Hariyama did not stop. She withdrew her arm, rocketing it forward once more almost faster than Squirtle's eye could follow. Another solid hit. The Quilava tried to dodge the third one, but the Hariyama's accuracy was on point, and her huge orange palms made contact. The Quilava finally managed to dodge the fourth attack.
A cluster of bright embers flurried out of the Quilava's mouth toward his foe. Squirtle had been anticipating any Fire attack from the Quilava to be much more impressive than anything Quil had produced, but he was surprised. The Ember technique appeared indistinguishable from the last one he'd seen Quil perform. The duel's fast pace did not wait for him to think about the consequences of that comparison, as the Hariyama stepped backward while ineffectually batting at the embers. The ones that reached her ignited into intense but fleeting fires.
Some of the embers naturally made it to the circle of onlookers, due to the confined indoor environment. A Delcatty along with a couple of other fleet-footed Pokémon managed to dodge out of the way, but some, like a Bagon, stoically took the attack. The Bagon looked quite pleased with itself, too.
Are they trying to prove how tough they are? Or do they like to feel personally involved in the battle by taking hits from a stray attack or two?
The Hariyama was approaching for another close-ranged attack, but the Quilava fired himself from his legs to meet the Hariyama head-on. Before the Hariyama could execute any technique, the Quilava had violently slammed his front paws into the Hariyama's chest. The attack was very quick, and reminded Squirtle of what the Espeon had done during their battle. She had moved in the same manner. This must be the same technique.
As the Quilava drew back for his next attack, the Hariyama enclosed her arms around him even as she stumbled backward from the Quilava's blow. The crowd breathed a collective 'Oooh'. The Hariyama had the Quilava in a firm two-armed grip. He squirmed, and his fires flared with heat. Following a shout of surprise, the Hariyama maneuvered the Quilava's lengthy body behind her back and over her shoulder into a powerful throw.
The Quilava's flight was stopped abruptly by the nearest rock wall. He fell into the crowd below with a groan. Squirtle could see the heads of the Pokémon around him edging to the side to make room for the fallen Quilava. The Pokémon himself could not be seen.
The Hariyama laughed triumphantly, and shouted a battle-cry with her arms raised victoriously. Some of the Pokémon in the crowd joined in excitedly. They may have been cheering for the Hariyama since the beginning, but Squirtle guessed many of them were happy to see a spectacle no matter who won. The battle appeared decided, as the Quilava remained down and out of sight. He was a tall enough species that he would be seen, should he stand up to show he was ready to continue fighting.
"Aw," Quil whined beside him. "He makes our entire line look bad!"
The Pokémon of the crowd near the fallen Quilava suddenly stepped aside to make an avenue back into the impromptu arena. A fiery glow from the Quilava outshone the glow of the wan bioluminescent lighting above as he threw himself headfirst into the ring using his front paws. Instead of continuing his bounding action toward the Hariyama, he exhaled flame onto the ground in front of his face. Before he could bash his nose against the rock, he tucked his head and rolled along the fiery ground down his neck, his back, and his rear. All the while, flame poured from his mouth. The spiky fires on the back of his head and rear joined in the spinning construct of flame. The Quilava rolled again, then again, gathering fire about his body as he gained speed.
"Flame Wheel," breathed Quil. Admiration dripped from his voice.
The Hariyama thrust both hands out protectively to stop the living gyre of flame, but somehow the Quilava knew. He tilted left, avoiding the block, then made a sharp right to careen into the Hariyama's side. The orange and yellow fire coating the Quilava's body washed over his opponent with an audible sizzling. The crowd's volume raised dramatically in excitement.
The Hariyama toppled backward and bounced against the wall of Pokémon lining the ring. They stopped her momentum, though she made no attempt to stand back up. After a moment, she raised an arm up from her supine position, a pacifying gesture. Every Pokémon present fell silent to hear her speak.
"You win. I've had enough," she said quietly.
As the crowd's cheering echoed off the walls of the diner, the Quilava rose to his legs. His natural fires extinguished in an instant, as if they'd been doused in an invisible splash of water. He walked to his opponent's side to offer a bow of his flexible body. The Hariyama tucked her chin in turn, from where she lay supine. The Quilava lent a paw to hoist her up.
The exultant expressions of the onlookers faded back to blankness, worry, or preoccupation as the distraction of the fight concluded. Murmurs of "good fight" came from about half the Pokémon in the crowd, before they lugged the tables back into position and dispersed to their meals. "Good fight," Squirtle agreed. Some onlookers went up to the two combatants to offer words of congratulations or sympathy, but Squirtle was not so inclined. Quil, with his fire burning merrily at a height and intensity that Squirtle reckoned was slightly more elevated than the usual, went to speak with the Quilava.
The diner had already returned to normalcy. Clearly fights and challenges were neither unusual nor frowned upon in Cavetown. Or any other Pokémon settlement, for all Squirtle knew. He found himself biting into the last of his kebab, if only because of the elation of witnessing a fairly high-powered battle up close. After the last bite was swallowed, he saw that Quil was still speaking to the Quilava even after everyone else had lost interest. So he walked over to join his friend, with nothing better to do.
"Why do you have your back flames ignited?" the Quilava was asking, with seemingly genuine curiosity. Squirtle winced, as he recalled Quil blowing up at a similar implication he himself had made on the first day he met the Cyndaquil.
Quil drew himself more upright. "The idea was my father's suggestion, and I agree with him. He said keeping my back lit means I'm always ready to use Fire techniques if I'm attacked. The fire keeps my energy level elevated and my mood stable, instead of switching off and on, off and on. And-"
The Quilava interrupted him, not unkindly. "Isn't it difficult to always have them burning?"
"I...yes, it is. Especially when I first started. I don't think about it much any more since I'm so used to staying lit, even when I sleep."
"You stay ignited while you sleep?" He looked at Squirtle, evidently noticing him for the first time and looking for shared incredulity or verification in Squirtle's face. Squirtle nodded, and tried to look as if he agreed that a Cyndaquil's being on fire while it slept was outlandish.
"Urgh, what I do isn't that crazy!" Quil protested. "The benefits my father had in mind make sense. Don't they?"
The Quilava looked to be holding back a laugh. Squirtle very much appreciated the Quilava's expressive eyes and ears. Unlike Quil's simpler face, Squirtle could read much from this Quilava. He ached momentarily for Quil to be as easy to read as the Quilava.
The Quilava calmed himself and said, "Sorry, I shouldn't be amused. Your father has some bright ideas. Typhlosion, correct? I almost feel jealous. I might start keeping my fires up!" His own fire spots hissed as he let off a set of smoke puffs from them, for effect.
Quil looked pleased by the Quilava's sentiments.
"I have no doubt that you'll be better off for the training regime," the Quilava continued. "You'll need that edge, for the end of your Pilgrimage." He smiled mysteriously.
"How did you know?" Squirtle gushed with surprise.
Quil chuckled knowingly, a counterpoint to Squirtle's shock. "A Cyndaquil like me in a place like this makes me a prime candidate for a Cyndaquil on his Pilgrimage. Right?"
The Quilava nodded. "Couldn't be anything else. Anyway, about what I mentioned earlier: I can't help you develop your Fire moveset, but I think you'd be able to grasp the trick behind the move I did in the middle of the battle. They call it Quick Attack, which works exactly how it sounds. Want to practice in the commons?"
To his credit, Quil thought for a moment and looked for Squirtle's blessing before agreeing, despite his obvious enthusiasm. Following some quick introductions amongst the three of them, and returning empty plates to the kitchen, they left the diner. The Quilava, who was named Cyndill, revealed that he was not a native 'Cavetowner', so they all followed the signs to the commons together. Its symbol on the wooden signboards was a stalactite.
Squirtle needed time to think of an agenda, so he tagged along while zoning out their conversation. Maybe Quil would cook up some ideas too. Squirtle didn't feel much pressure at the moment though. After traveling for days almost nonstop, he figured they'd earned a vacation. A minimum of an hour or two of not worrying. No Electric-types, no wild Pokémon, and no other glaring concerns. They had time to spare, perhaps to work on Quil's hydrophobia, or even to simply explore Cavetown. Bein's parting words still held a weight to them, but the draw of a short vacation was stronger.
Cyndill spoke of the reflexive nature of the 'Quick Attack', how sensing an opponent's incoming technique was the trigger to react. He spoke of releasing energy into movement like a spring being able to uncoil, and the devotion of effort to moving from one point to another as close to instantaneously as possible. Squirtle followed the terminology and the theory of the technique just fine, but could not see himself performing it with any success. Pokémon each had their own strengths and weaknesses, so maybe he was one that was not capable of learning the technique. Quil, on the other hand, nodded along and sounded like he already knew about the ideas explained, but had never given them a good think-over.
The signs conveyed them to the commons. The short tunnel branch they arrived at was the entrance to the humongous cavern Squirtle, Quil, and Bein had passed earlier on the way to the diner and kitchen. The magnitude of traffic passing in and out of the tunnel made it clear that this was the sole entrance and exit to the commons. Cyndill hesitated along with Squirtle and Quil before pressing into the flow of Pokémon heading into the cavern. A suggestion of claustrophobia pulsed in Squirtle's mind as he entered, caught between a Snorlax and Croagunk, but the passage was soon over.
Unlike most of the rest of Cavetown, this cavern's lighting originated from low on the walls, and even in clusters of large mushrooms on the ground. Fortunately, Pokémon had altruistically left the glowing fungi alone despite being within easy reach to destroy or steal. The result of this placement was that the ceiling of the cavern was a darkness that Squirtle's eyes could not pierce. The bioluminescent light reached only sixty feet or so up the walls of the cavern, so it appeared that the walls faded away into blackness.
The only visible features of the ceiling were the immense stalactites that had no doubt given reason for the commons' image on the Smeargle's signboards. The natural icicles of rock protruded downward into the soft light. Squirtle knew they had likely taken hundreds or thousands of years to 'grow'. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have feared them falling in the brief hours or days that he would remain in Cavetown. However, in the commons, he felt threatened by the imposing formations hanging from above, because some stalactites had already fallen. A few massive stalactites lay on their angled sides on the cavern floor. Cracks from some impact were evident at the fracture site of each of the stalactites. Squirtle could not imagine destruction of these majestic formations as being intentional. The commons must have seen some fierce battles in days past.
In the floor below some of the larger stalactites were a few pools of water, one being much larger than the rest. Pokémon, not all of them Water-types, relaxed at the poolsides. As Squirtle observed, a drop of water from one of the stalactites caught the light as it fell into the pool. The would-be serene sound of the drop finally reaching its pool was lost amid the conversations and movement of the Pokémon in the commons. Squirtle could see battling, conversation, resting, games and competitions, congregating Pokémon, solitary Pokémon, singing and dancing, and plenty of other activities that he could not entirely categorize.
Space was in excess. The cavern's immense size, with its far wall being more than three times the length of Blindhollow's crater, dwarfed even the horde of Pokémon. Cyndill led the way to a space for sparring, but Squirtle had his eyes set on the pools.
"Hey, I'll catch up with you two," Squirtle said as he waved to the two Fire-types. "I'll be exploring this cavern a little, maybe have a swim."
They waved back in return. With a tinge of either guilt or concern in his voice, Quil said, "Okay then, see you soon!"
Let the vacation begin, thought Squirtle with reserved joy. Separating from Quil made him cautious, uneasy, if only a smidgeon. He'd been at Quil's side for almost every single minute of the past week. Quil was still his lifeline even if that status had diminished from the desperate and disorienting circumstances of his first few hours as a Squirtle. While he had purpose now, a new set of memories, and new connections, Quil's friendship meant more to him than any of those things.
Head swiveling to watch all the Pokémon, he strolled toward the first pool, occupied only by a Floatzel. It floated on its back with its yellow floatation sac inflated. The base urge to envelop himself in the water began to fill Squirtle's mind. Closer up, he could see that a different type of fungus grew on the walls of the pool beneath the surface. The underwater lighting caused the pool to glow a welcoming cyan.
Squirtle took one final look around at the nearby Pokémon before preparing to dive in. He did not intend to breech the propriety of the commons by acting in haste. A Gardevoir was gliding toward the commons' entrance on slim white legs, a trio of Zubat squealed overhead as they fluttered by, and a couple of Cacnea were chatting by a cluster of mushrooms by the poolside, but none showed any warning signs that Squirtle was doing something wrong. So he placed his toes on the beautiful pool's edge, claw tips digging into the rock, and bent his knees for the jump.
Yet now some fact nagged at him. He was suddenly distracted. Gears of thought in the back of his head whirred with motion. What was it? The pool beckoned. Why was he preoccupied?
The Gardevoir, something about the Gardevoir. The elegant Pokémon with green hair that concealed its face. What about the Gardevoir was important? Squirtle's head was abuzz with silent noise, but he couldn't yet identify the emergency. What did some Pokémon species he'd never interacted with have to do with him?
Then, like a dam bursting under the pressure of an eager reservoir, a realization: the Gardevoir species had renowned Psychic aptitude.
All the old questions, worries, pain, and curiosity rushed back to him. Why was he here? Was he previously a human, or were humans an invented falsehood instilled in his head? Was he connected in some way to the great storm? What happened to him? Was traveling with Quil or addressing the Electric phenomenon really what he should be doing? A tumult of emotion and thought churned as he swayed on the edge of the pool. He'd thought less and less about his origins as his journey with Quil continued and grew complicated. How subtly the questions had faded as he became occupied with other matters.
The Gardevoir would soon be lost amid the other Pokémon in the commons, and who knew when Squirtle would encounter another Psychic? This was the chance he'd so dearly coveted after his battle with the Espeon. Without even dipping in a foot, he turned from the pool and hurried to catch up to the Gardevoir.
"Hello," she said in a silken tenor as Squirtle neared. He fidgeted with his claws, and opened his mouth once or twice, but said nothing.
The Gardevoir smiled nervously and her eyes flitted back to the direction she had been going. "Did you need something?"
"I'm not sure how to ask what I want to ask," he began before the Gardevoir could become more unsettled by his silence. "I've begun traveling only recently, and never properly met a Psychic-type. Is it true that you can, um...read minds?"
The Gardevoir inclined her head humbly. "We do our best, though only the most skilled Psychics can see the contents of a Pokémon's mind like ordered words in a book. I would not place myself quite at that level, no. Why do you ask?"
Quil was right! Psychic-types are what I need. Squirtle's eyes brightened as he looked up at the Gardevoir.
"Perfect. I know my situation is bizarre, but I have almost no memories from my life before about a week ago. My earliest memory is waking up in the forest near Karprest a week ago." The Gardevoir's face changed to the pitying expression that the Pokémon of the Karprest ferry crew had worn when Squirtle mentioned his memory problem to them that peaceful morning.
"Amnesia," she murmured. "I'm truly sorry to hear that, Squirtle."
"Since that time, I've been searching for a Pokémon able to restore my memory, or at least uncover what happened to me on the day I woke up as a Sq-er, woke up without my memories."
The Gardevoir straightened her posture as she looked over Squirtle's head into the distant darkness of the cavern. "Reinstating memories for normal retrieval that have been repressed, buried, or removed entirely. Possibly simple, or possibly...not possible."
Squirtle's felt as if his heart would skip a beat at those last words, but she brought her eyes to Squirtle's once again and smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. While I have honed my talent, I've not reached the level of my teacher, Wolos. Have you heard of her? She's a celebrated Psychic, a Reuniclus. Pokémon from practically everywhere come to Cavetown for her tutelage, or to purchase her services. I believe she has openings in her schedule in a week or so. Would that interest you?"
Squirtle reluctantly shook his head. "No money, and I fear I won't be in Cavetown for long anyway. Do you ever personally help Pokémon like myself?"
The Gardevoir brought a hand to her mouth and glided back a step. "Me? No, no. I'm proficient with techniques for defending myself and attacking others in the wild, of course, but I am barely practiced at the more delicate art of Psychic therapy. It's for this reason that I learn from Wolos for two hours each day. I have much still to learn from her."
Squirtle's mouth twitched as a proposition dawned on him. "I'm looking for immediate Psychic assistance, and you're in Cavetown to practice providing said assistance. The arrangement seems beneficial to both of us, doesn't it?"
She combed a green hand through her matching locks of hair in a flustered fashion as she replied, "I've forayed only into slight mental modifications. Procedures like single-detail memory alterations, or association drowsiness to treat insomnia. Your memory condition is of a severity that I have neither heard of nor witnessed."
"I have no doubt that your teacher is a fantastic, er, Psychic therapist. But I had some presumption that your kind, Gardevoir, were precise and graceful in the way they used their Psychic abilities. Are you sure you're not willing to try?"
The Gardevoir stopped combing her hair, and shook her head to let the bangs fall into the characteristic 'V' shape. "I am a student, and though I am a Gardevoir, I would not feel at ease if I recommended attempting the adjustment by myself and with no assistance."
"What's the worst that could happen?" Squirtle asked seriously.
After a pause, she said, "I'll relay the answer Wolos always gives: It is better to not discuss that unpleasant topic."
"I see." He tried to keep his voice clear of anxiety. Squirtle did not want anyone in his head that lacked confidence in their abilities, but at the same time, passing up an opportunity like this one in this favorable setting would be a blunder.
In the Gardevoir, Squirtle saw hesitation and doubt. Yet he also saw a restraint. She was hiding some emotions or thoughts behind her screen of polite professionalism. The Gardevoir was not divulging her complete opinion. Why would she hide her true feelings from a random stranger she'd just bumped into, one she'd probably never see again? Squirtle chewed on the idea, willing forth an answer. To maintain her professional appearance, maybe? To separate her personal desires in order to do what is best for the client?
He recalled the concept of a doctor's practice from the haze of his past. A doctor, entrusted with the health and sometimes the life of their patient, would always advise caution with any treatment that they had never administered before. However, the doctor could still feel confident in their abilities, or even be eager to practice, despite not hinting at such feelings for the sake of professionalism or a perfect track record. The analogy was imperfect, but equating the Gardevoir to a doctor was not too far-fetched in Squirtle's eyes. Deep down, he believed the Gardevoir was not unwilling to try.
"I can't say I understand how this Psychic therapy works," he said, "but would it be possible to take it slow? To withdraw if you start to stumble, or if my problem seems untreatable?"
"If I were to try to help you, I would be cautious and methodical in my efforts, but Psychic therapy drains the subject's energy just like most offensive Psychic techniques. The longer I spent working in your mind, the more fatigued you would become. A failed attempt would cost hours while we waited for you to fully recover, as it is following any battle." She broke eye contact. "And, in the same way that a Charmander cannot reverse the damage when her tail ignites a passing bush, a Psychic cannot undo injury to the psyche once it occurs. That is my greater concern."
Squirtle initially thought her last point was a scare tactic, but the anxiety in her eyes was no ploy. He began pacing, trying to decide if the risk was worth it. "What is the rate of such a catastrophic failure, in Psychic therapy?"
"When I am administering it, I'm afraid the rate is unknown. As I said, too, your amnesia is severe and by an unknown cause. I doubt even Wolos would be able to estimate her success rate."
Not too helpful. Though he could not deny that his memory problem was extreme, the source of the issue might prove easy to fix. Really, he had no idea how problematic it would be to find out and perhaps reverse what happened to his mind. Why assume that it would be especially difficult to help him? By the sound of it, Pokémon getting Psychic therapy was not a rare event. No way that it would be considered dangerous or risky in a world where one's health was paramount. And this was a Gardevoir they were talking about. Not an inexperienced Ralts, or some half-baked Psychic species.
Squirtle's innate curiosity slowly tightened its grip. The more he pondered the wisdom of this decision, the more his questions demanded an answer. This time, he could not file them away for some other time. The only method to get answers was standing in front of him: a Psychic-type Pokémon willing to assist. If he walked away now, he knew that lump of regret would sit in his belly for the next week, month, or lifetime.
Time to go for it, before I start worrying about all of the terrible outcomes.
He stood in front of the Gardevoir, who appeared thoughtful herself. He said, "I'm willing to try. Are you?" And, trying to brighten the offer, he added, "I promise you won't find a mind quite like mine anywhere else."
Blushing, he regretted his choice of words. I sound like the biggest braggart in the world! I only meant that I have the only human mind in this place.
If she was offended or disgusted, she gave no sign. Her small frame rose and fell with a steadying breath. "Wolos forgive me for making this ambitious decision, but I am grateful for this opportunity, and promise I will do my best to help you."
Squirtle jumped into the air with a fist raised in success. "Great! Thanks, Gardevoir!"
"Please, call me Ralia." Her posture changed, and Squirtle knew what was coming.
"I'm just Squirtle," he said, and delivered a moderate-strength Tackle toward Ralia's middle.
Nothing physically pushed back against Squirtle, but he was nonetheless repelled by some jolt. Simultaneously, he felt a light pressure in his skull, like fingertips pushing against his brain. The combination of sensations gave him flashbacks to the end of his fight against the Espeon. This must have been a similar psychokinetic move. Ralia's greeting was disquieting if not alarming, for Squirtle at least. Perhaps other Pokémon found Psychic-type abilities to be perfectly ordinary.
I'm going to be letting that in my head? The fresh reminder of how it felt to be affected by Psychic-type moves brought about second thoughts about the therapy.
"Let's move down that way, if that's alright with you, Squirtle?" She pointed her long arm deeper into the cavern. After an answering nod, the two began distancing themselves from the busier part of the commons.
"A superlative setting for Psychics sees serenity, stillness, and silence," said Ralia with a reassuring smile at Squirtle. "A memorable teaching from Wolos herself. She believes that a Psychic will be at his or her best while relaxed on the peak of an isolated mountain beneath a full moon. Strange, yes, but not implausible I think. What do you think?"
Squirtle swallowed nervously and wondered if she was trying to distract him from his fear, or if she was merely excited to play with his brain. "Certainly," he managed.
The walk took them well away from the entrance tunnel. Pokémon were not absent from the far reaches of the cavern, but the mood farther in was subdued and peaceful compared to the busy energy by the entrance. Squirtle looked back at the crowded entrance, amazed at how quiet it sounded from his position. Apparently not every cavern echoed sound all about.
"This should do," said Ralia. She gestured at a particularly dim area near the right wall of the cavern. The nearest other Pokémon was a good stone's throw away, a Sneasel. It was focused on swiping its claws furiously at a rock riddled with parallel gouges. Squirtle wondered what had upset it so before Ralia interrupted his thoughts.
"Take the position you find most comfortable."
"I believe that would be in my shell. Is that okay?"
She blinked. "Oh. Actually, yes, that's no problem at all."
Squirtle took one last look around the commons. The big moment had arrived unexpectedly quickly. He'd anticipated some more preparation by the Gardevoir, and a special venue for the therapy. This was further evidence that Pokémon took an undeniably simple approach to most things in life. Already, he was at the special location where he might regain his memories, and have the answer to every single question he had about himself and his past. Everything might change here. All of his priorities. His attitude toward Pokémon. His opinion of everything he'd accomplished so far. The name by which others called him.
Or, Ralia could make an error, ruining his mind from the inside outward. He wouldn't even have a say in it. How could he run from something within his own mind? Briefly, he wondered if Ralia was trustworthy. There was no telling what permanent damage she could inflict if she had nefarious intentions. What motivation could she have to do something so heinous to a stranger though?
Anyway, he'd already made his decision. Any other thoughts were mere delay. He took solace in that logic, and lay prone on the rock. With a last glance at Ralia's focused expression, he withdrew into his own personal darkness. To the Gardevoir, he would look like an immobile shell resting on the rocky floor.
"Give me a moment to prepare myself," she said quietly. The words were barely audible to Squirtle.
A minute passed in which Squirtle adamantly avoided worrying about the fate of his mind. Ralia then spoke a speech that she'd no doubt be giving some permutation of to all of her future subjects.
"This treatment's goal is to restore your memories to a retrievable state. If that cannot be achieved, the treatment priority will become to determine what happened to you to destroy or block off the memories. Please close your eyes, relax your mind and body, and do not resist the Psychic incursion. You will experience irregular sensations, but they are a normal part of the therapeutic adjustment."
"Rather, they should be," she added in a softer voice that Squirtle had to strain to hear, before she finished her speech. "If you have any questions, please speak now, or I will begin."
Squirtle was silent, both because he was ready to begin, and because he doubted he could talk while compressed so tightly in his shell. Ralia the Gardevoir said nothing herself as she took a final breath. Squirtle could picture her standing tall before him, raising her arms in a climactic gesture of power. Alternatively, she was slumped on the ground with her eyes closed. Whatever worked.
He felt it begin. Ralia's 'Psychic incursion' pushed against his forehead with a force that was both physical and non-physical. He knew she was not crouching in front of him, reaching her green arms into his shell and pressing her green digits against his forehead, but the sensation was indistinguishable. Like a pin poking into the surface of a resilient soap bubble, pressing and squeezing deeper, until the bubble's strained surface finally enfolds the pin's head, and it stabs through to the bubble's interior, Squirtle felt Ralia's power enter his mind.
The pressure of the force was foreign and instinctually undesirable. He steadied himself against the urge to rebel, to throw off this invasion of his mind and run screaming away from its source. Every second, he itched to be done with it, but he also grew to tolerate it to a degree. Ralia was an unwanted houseguest, though a more familiar one as the treatment continued.
Squirtle was surprised that he could comprehend nothing of what Ralia was doing. He'd assumed that as she explored his mind and tinkered with his memory, he would somehow experience the headway she was making. Instead, all he experienced was a physical-but-not-physical pressure inside his skull, moving around, sharpening, dulling, building, fading. He wondered if she could see or hear his thoughts as they formed.
A minute passed. Another. Ralia's presence settled down, becoming steadier and less mobile. Hopefully, she had found where she needed to be. A welcome sign, since Squirtle knew he was weakening. He wouldn't be able to sit still and continue to bear the strain of the Psychic force for very long.
Two more minutes passed before the sensation changed. Now she was withdrawing, every bump and jostle on the way out like the throb of a migraine. Why though? He felt no different. No flood of memory assailed him. There must have been some complication. He supposed he should be grateful that she'd chosen to abort the procedure instead of lingering and causing him further stress or even damage. With instantaneous, palpable relief, he felt Ralia's presence exit his mind.
"Done," said her voice wearily, but with a clear note of satisfaction.
Squirtle extended his head and limbs back out of his shell cautiously. No, he still felt the same. Nothing had changed. A sour expression threatened to show on his face. Was all the excitement, the preparation, and the anxiety for nothing?
"I don't feel any different," he said, careful to keep any disappointment out of his tone. "Did you change anything? Does the therapy have a delayed effect?"
She smiled a content, even proud smile, as she looked sidelong at him. "What's your earliest memory now?"
He began to speak, to answer that he still couldn't recall. Yet her words automatically cast his mind back without any conscious effort on his part, in the way that merely mentioning the past will bring it to mind. His response died in his throat as his jaw dropped and his eyes unfocused.
He remembered.