Chapter 77 – Under the Red Sky

This had to be a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.

Owen, back to being a Charmander, with weak muscles and an even weaker flame, panted as he ran by the red river. He didn't know how long he had been running, or why—he just wanted to find… No, he didn't even know what he was trying to find. Was he trying to run? To what? From what? He was just running on instinct—something that seemed a lot stronger, now.

At least it provided him with a sense of guidance. Usually he'd be aimless and sitting around until he was given some sort of direction—at least now, he knew to go someplace instead of stay put. He didn't know which one was the better option, though.

To his left were the strange plateaus, carved, potentially, by eons of wind. To his right was a large river, the depth of which was impossible to discern. Thick and red like blood, but it smelled like… Owen wasn't sure. Maybe it did smell like blood. Ever since he had gotten here, his sense of smell had been failing him. Perhaps everything was so strong that it had made him scent-blind.

His legs burned. He had to slow down. But once he slowed down, would he be able to start running again? His chest felt simultaneously cold and hot and tight. "Ngh, nngh, hnngh…"

He had to keep going. Someone had to be out there that had come here, too, wherever here was. And even if he chose to go in a random direction, it felt like the way he was going was now the right way. Forward. Wherever forward was.

And then he tripped over his own clumsy steps, slamming into the strangely hard, yet dusty ground. After a sharp inhale, dust coated his tongue and throat, leading to rough coughing and wheezing. He rolled over and, not thinking, scrambled to the lake and took a drink.

Foul.

He heaved the water back out, at least losing some of the dust, but it had been replaced by what Owen would have imagined Rhys' trash pile would taste like. The thought earned another gag, then a cough, until his chest hurt more.

With a cough that was slightly too hard—nearly all of the air in his lungs seemingly gone, a splitting headache crackled across his skull, blurring his vision. He breathed through his nose next, careful that he wasn't face-first in dust this time, but the air was dry. It only made his lungs hurt more.

His arms trembled, finally gathering enough strength to push Owen onto his back.

The Charmander's head lay in the very edge of the shallows, tail dry. The sky was still red as ever, but he spotted a few clouds this time—gray things that gave him something to concentrate on.

The painful feeling in his lungs was starting to subside, though the dull throbbing of his legs hadn't gone away. The same went for his sore throat and dry mouth. The thought of getting more water from the red pond made his whole body seize at the thought. But was there water anywhere else?

Owen turned his head to the left, seeing plateaus and the lakeside. He turned his head to the right, seeing plateaus and the lakeside. He didn't have to, nor wanted to, lift his head up to know that the same scenery—aside from the lakeside—could be seen ahead.

A little time would be nice, just to relax and let all those pained feelings fade.

Owen wasn't sure when, but at some point, he had drifted off into a nap.


Charmander hid behind Charizard's tail, poking his head out now and then to watch the fights. Bigtail and Redscale were fighting. The Charmander with a big tail and the Charmeleon with crimson scales were always training, even if it wasn't as good as it could be. But it helped to pass the time.

Bigtail weaved to the right of one of Redscale's slow sweeps. He stumbled and fell over, but Redscale waited. Bigtail got up, but then lost his balance and fell backward, pressing his tail against the back of his head. He whined and rolled, puffing a stray ember into the dirt.

It was mostly dirt. Any grass in the training area had burned away a long time ago. Before he hatched, that was for sure. He didn't see grass that often.

Charmander ran his claws through the dirt curiously, squeezing between little, dry clumps. With curiosity and impulse, he lifted his claws and licked at it.

No real taste. Dry. A little bitter. He didn't like it.

He grimaced and ran his tongue over his teeth a few times, snarling at nothing. It wasn't coming off. He kept licking, bringing his paws to his tongue again. Why was there more dirt, now? It still tasted bitter.

"What are you doing?"

Charmander chirped and looked up, dirt still speckling the scales around his mouth. Charizard frowned, leaning forward to lick some of it off.

"Stop that."

Charmander whined and licked at the roof of his mouth again. He puffed a small flame, but that just made it all feel dry again.

Charizard closed her eyes, but then her attention turned upward. Charmander followed her gaze.


Muddy drool caked the edges of Owen's mouth. "Ngh—" He squeezed his eyes tighter, but then cracked one open. Same sky, no sense of how much time had passed. It couldn't have been that long, but his body felt horribly stiff.

His dream felt blurry and distant, but he remembered a bit of it. What was that? He remembered… warmth. And the dirt. And…

Owen rubbed at the corner of his mouth, wrinkling his short snout when his claws ran along the thick layer of dried dust-mud. He tried to sit up, only to realize that his head had sank partway the wet ground. With a loud, sucking sound, Owen managed to pull the back of his head out of the muddy lakeside, looking back at the imprint he had left in it with a worried frown.

Maybe that had been more than a nap

Perhaps he could continue his advance now that he had some time to rest.

Where am I? Where… what happened when Anam… when everyone…

He felt like he should have been panicking, but he was too exhausted. There wasn't much energy in him to run. Sitting up had been a chore. A simple walk would probably be best for now—at least until he could find something to eat, like a few berries, or maybe if there was a shop nearby.

After all, everything was usually just a warp away. Even without those, it hadn't taken too long for him to find something if he needed it.

A dry wind sent up plumes of loose dust, forcing Owen to close his eyes and cover his face. When the wind settled down, he took a peek to verify it was safe to open them completely.

It occurred to Owen that he hadn't seen anybody since he'd first been… defeated. Yeah, let's call it defeated.

It was a better idea than anything else that may have happened. But he was still breathing, and he was still walking, and everything still hurt—so he had to be okay.

He finally got to his feet. Wobbly, at first. His tail felt heavy. Arms, too.

One step after the next. Step, step. Soon, he found his rhythm again. At least his throat wasn't dry anymore.

His mind wandered. He replayed the fight over and over in his head, trying to recall small details that he might have missed in how frantic it had all been—but that was just it. So panicked, so desperate to survive and save everyone… All I remember is Dad—no, that… Eon got taken, and… and I told everyone to run. Did they get away? How is everyone? If… they didn't… are they here?

Owen's walking had been off-center, and the reminder was his foot splashing into foul, red water. He shuddered and corrected his path, but not before looking behind him to have any sense of how far he'd walked, or how far this pond went. It seemed circular, and now that he had gone so far, it felt like he was losing track of where he had to go.

I can't follow this thing forever. I'd go in a complete circle. Do I just…

He had to break away from the lakeside. But his throat… It was starting to feel dry. And his tongue, and his breaths. Owen looked at his arm, pinching at the scales, looking at the little wrinkles of his elbow.

Dehydration?

He needed… water?

But he hadn't needed water—truly needed water—for moons, now. Ever since he'd become Mystic, he…

It hit him even harder than before—a horrible pit, a knot, a weight in his stomach that twisted, and then loosened with a low rumble.

It wasn't just a lack of water. He needed food.

Clutching at his belly, the Charmander winced and eyed the river with a quiet whine. He hadn't come across any sign of water since he'd arrived. That… red stuff was the closest thing to water that he could find. If he went away from the river now, and he didn't find anything to drink…

With no choice, he approached the water. He smelled nothing at first, but once he had his mouth just barely above the water's surface, a tinge of foul, rotten odor, simultaneously sweet, sour, and bitter, assaulted him. He squeezed his eyes shut, held his breath, and dipped his muzzle in for a deep gulp.

It wasn't any better. It coated his tongue and freed him of any residual dust, but the taste was like bile—even worse when it went down his throat. It wafted to the back of his nose, lingering there. What he'd just downed threatened to rise back up. He shut his mouth tight and even grasped at the edge of his maw with his hands. He had to keep it down—otherwise, he wasn't going to get any water at all.

It wasn't enough. He needed a bit more water… It was water, right? He didn't want to know for sure and just hoped that was the case—because, otherwise, he was going to be without water. And if he was getting hungry, then he'd just—shrivel up and die if he didn't get something to drink.

He took another revolting gulp, this one slightly better than the last. Maybe his tongue had gone numb to it. Still, the aftertaste—the scent that battered the bottom of his head—made him retch.

That's enough, right? he pleaded with himself, but he still felt thirsty. He wanted to cry. Squeezing his eyes shut again, he took another generous helping of red water, and finally jumped back, as if his very body was forcing him to reject any further attempts.

Three massive gulps. That was enough.

After spending some time recovering—and waiting for his stomach to settle at least somewhat—the Charmander got back to his feet and turned his back to the lake. Welcoming him was a long walk to towering plateaus. With his tiny legs and how far away it seemed, Owen feared it would take at least an eighth of the day… if he could tell the time of day!

Where's the sun?!

Owen stared irritably at the sky, expecting to see some sign of what time it was, but there was nothing even hinting at it. Starting to lose his patience, Owen marched onward. It didn't matter how long it took; he just had to go forward, thoughts about what had happened still swirling in his mind.

Another cruel gust of wind blew past. He shielded his eyes, waiting for the dust to settle; he wandered forward anyway, guided by a vague sensation that he had to keep going this way. Was something calling out to him, or was he just trying to convince himself that this way was accurate? He sensed that someone was there, in those plateaus.

The only other person he could think of that would be here would be Eon, one of the first to be claimed. But he wouldn't want to see him, now—not after…

He couldn't get the sight out of his mind. How helpless and desperate Eon was to get him back… surrounded by his mutants—his children… his soldiers… for a war that he never asked to be part of.

That he never…

Something about that thought didn't settle right with him, much like the water in his guts.

Owen tried to think more on that statement, nearly stumbling when his foot sank partway into a false ground—it was actually just a pile of loosely collected dust in a pit as big as he was. After righting himself and making sure his ankle was okay, he continued around.

Didn't ask to. Didn't ask to. No, he did ask for that. But how did he ask that? When did he ask that?

I thought I was done with this memory nonsense!

He stopped briefly and huffed out a weak ember. Even his attacks weren't like they used to be, so what if he'd somehow lost his memories, too? After all, every other time he became a Charmander, he had forgotten everything about having evolved.

At least I kept that this time…

How far had he gone? The lake was just a small, flat circle in the distance, and the plateaus were a lot taller, now.

The ground shook, dust scattered from a small shockwave thanks to the vibration alone.

All this dust would've been very distracting if he still had his Perceive. In fact, since he didn't have that anymore… why did he still have a sense of where to go? This was different from the aura sight granted to him by Mysticism, and his Perceive. This was deeper, weaker, less… precise.

Another rumble disturbed the dusty ground. Those were becoming worryingly pronounced. Where were they coming from?

The plateaus towered above him like angry parents after getting a notice from school. They stared down at him, not mad, just disappointed, at how small and weak he'd become all over again. The plateau to his left was glaring particularly strongly. Owen quickly looked down, slapping his cheek. "Losing it…" he mumbled, and then startled himself at how hoarse his voice sounded. The lake was too far away, now, but maybe he didn't get enough water after all…

Another rumble, and this time his heart skipped a beat. Either the source was becoming stronger and a volcano was about to explode, or an earthquake was coming, or—whatever was happening, or something was coming closer. Why did things always have to come closer? All his life, he felt like he was wandering around in the dark despite all the light his tail provided, and now he had looming shadows to run from, too.

No, that wasn't any different, either, was it?

Owen quickened his pace, the empty, purple fields of dust sprouting a few new decorations, such as the stray rock or boulder. Undoubtedly, it had been chipped off from the plateaus and rolled all the way here from sheer momentum. Did rocks get a thrill from the way they rolled? It must have been exhilarating after spending so much time not moving. But it also must have been fast, too.

Owen stumbled over nothing and slapped his cheeks. Stay calm, don't lose it! He didn't know where those thoughts came from, but they felt so distracted and there was also a rock not too far ahead.

He took a few steps closer—it was black against the rest of the purple dust. Something to focus on before he went crazy, and he wasn't crazy, he was just bored, and not crazy.

It was good to see you, little rock. It was starting to get boring with all the nothingness, and the lake had bad odor. But rocks didn't have bad odor. At least, Owen hoped they didn't. The Charmander squinted at this thought, slowing his pace and approaching a nearby pebble. He picked it up, giving it a curious sniff. No, no scent. That was good. Did it have a taste? Lick, lick. No, not much of a taste, but it did remind him that his tongue still felt dry.

Another rumble made Owen drop the small rock. More fell from the upper portions of the plateau, rolling and kicking up most purple dust when it hit the ground.

That wasn't an earthquake.

Running on pure instinct, the Charmander scrambled to the largest rock that he could hide behind—thanks to his small stature, it wasn't that difficult—and hoped that whatever it was wasn't coming from behind. No, why would it? There was nothing but empty fields behind him.

A round boulder about the height of a Charmeleon was the first one that he deemed worthy of hiding behind. Panting and suppressing worried chirps, he waited for the next rumble and tried to gauge where it was coming from.

It didn't take long. The next one was even stronger, and it was coming from the left and ahead. He peeked out from behind the boulder again.

Then he saw it.

It was about half the height of the plateaus—bigger than anything he'd ever seen moving before. Taller than Emily—at least three, maybe four times her height. Black, like a thick Smokescreen. It reminded Owen of a wraith. He only saw the front of it before he ducked back behind the boulder. It had something that vaguely resembled a head and neck, but where one began and the other ended, let alone where its shoulders were, was a mystery. Another rumble shook the earth, shaking Owen's balance.

He dared to take another peek at the gigantic thing. From how far away he was, it was like staring at the Heart HQ from across town. Yet for that thing, it was probably only a few paces. And each pace was slow, shambling, and stumbling. Not every step it took made the ground rumble; it just happened to stumble now and then, falling over.

Four legs. It had four legs… he thought. Similar to the head and neck, its inky body didn't have much of a definition for where its body ended and its limbs began. The same went for its tail. The movements… A cross between a quadruped and a Bug. Maybe he'd see something like that from Trina's abode.

It was wandering toward the lake. That meant it was going away from Owen. Good. Maybe while it was distracted, he could hide in the plateaus instead. He still felt a nagging feeling to keep heading inside—and that was even more important now that something like that was behind him.

Slowly, he circled the boulder, peeking only to verify that it was still wandering in its predicted direction. Could it be friendly? Did he even want to risk that? His instincts screamed no, and he complied.

Still, he was paralyzed with fear. Maybe that was part of his instincts, too. If he made a sound, would it hear him? It was so big, maybe it wouldn't. But there was no telling. He should wait until it was by the lake, which wouldn't take too long. It was already halfway there, after all.

Owen held his breath, realizing that in the amount of time it took for him to get from the lake to the plateaus, the creature had passed along it in a matter of a handful of minutes.

Minutes. He remembered that metric. Owen rubbed his head with another suppressed groan.

The creature bent down, collapsing its front legs with another deep thud. Red water splashed in all directions from its knees as its head lazily dipped into the water. Did it have a mouth?

It surely must have. But the water didn't splash near its head. It just… kept its head there, sucking the water in a steady stream. Owen watched, transfixed, still holding his breath, as its body swelled to an even greater size than before, gaining at least another of its heads in height. Its body became slightly more defined—though there hadn't been much definition to begin with. Something that resembled muscular tone formed along its legs; the vague sense of hips and shoulders followed, but it was still of a Pokémon that Owen hadn't seen in books, in person, or described in any way in legends or myths. Was it even a Pokémon? It was titanic…

Finally, it stopped drinking, raising its massive head—which still lacked definition, let alone a face. Tilting upward, the even larger creature stared at the sky. It let out a sound that was a mixture between a tornado's wind and a demon's scream.

What is that? What is that?! What's it doing?!

It felt like Owen's head was about to split open. He covered his head and curled up into a ball behind the boulder, but that wasn't enough. The sound reverberated through his bones, shaking his arms and legs, pressed against his soft insides. He let out a ragged wheeze and breathed in sharply. The tightness in his chest came back with every heavy beat of his tiny heart. By the time the roar was over, Owen remained curled up behind the boulder, trembling and with a loud ringing in his ears.

Is it gone? I can't hear. I can't hear…

It was the most he could form in his head. Everything else was drowned in thoughtless, paralyzing fear. Everything was going dark again. Owen reminded himself to breathe, slow breaths, deep, steady. Just like his meditation. He closed his eyes, envisioning a small flame in the dark, flowing with gentle winds.

It's gone. It's gone and I'm too small for it to care about me. Maybe it's just a bad dream. I'm hallucinating. I'll open my eyes and it'll be gone.

No, it's definitely still there.

With his composure returned—but not quite his hearing—he stood back up and tried to steal another glance at the titan. It was following the river in the opposite direction. The relief that spread over Owen was enough to turn his legs to jelly.

On the ground, Owen was wise enough to keep from breathing in the dust this time—that'd be bad, after being so far from the lake. The call from the plateaus returned to him now that the terror had left.

Regaining his composure and his ability to stand, he ignored the fading ringing and continued away from the lake, stealing a glance or two behind him to make sure the titan hadn't turned around. Thankfully, it never did.

Was he dead? What part of the spirit world was this? Could he die again? Did he have something to fear here?

Something primal was telling him that dying was dangerous.

He continued between the plateaus. He thought that they would have just been a narrow passageway, but the flatlands between each plateau were actually wider than even the training grounds of Hot Spot. Still, he was careful not to walk by either of them. After seeing how readily some of the rocks fell, walking along the walls seemed like a bad idea.

Every so often, he'd hear a distant rumble and freeze. Every time, the rumble became softer, rather than louder, and Owen advanced with a bit more relief in his breaths. Soon, he went past the first layer and looked to the left, then the right.

It was an entire forest of the things—that lake was just some sort of clearing. He was a tiny speck of sand among these rocky trees, and he wondered if climbing to the top of one would give him a better idea of where he could go next.

His instincts were telling him to go right again. Without any indicator of where else to go, he followed that vague feeling again. Though, this time, it felt more defined. Sharp. But where was it coming from this time? It almost felt like it was coming from inside one of them.

It felt like a dull itch on the top corner of his skull; Owen spun until he felt the that itch, like some kind of telepathic call, strike the center of his forehead. Yes, there.

The Charmander stared directly at one of the tall structures, imposing and insurmountable. The way the rocks curved outward the higher it went made for an impossible climb for his tiny limbs. Some of them felt like mountains that had been flipped upside-down.

There's no way I'm going to die here, Owen thought to himself, trying to at least keep the pessimism out of his head. Those giants won't find me, and they won't eat me, either.

Owen wrapped his tiny arms around his body, suddenly feeling a chill despite his Fiery nature. Oh, Mew, did they eat Mom? Dad? Are the others here? No—no! They're fine! They have to be fine. If I'm fine, they're fine. I'm so much weaker than they are…

His stomach tied itself into a knot again; he groaned, one eye squeezing shut in a wince, while the other remained trained on the rocks, like there would be some kind of hidden passageway when he actually touched it. He had his doubts; while he lacked his aura sight, he doubted there would be an illusion of a wall out in the middle of nowhere.

Owen glanced at the sky again. Yes, still red. The rocks—none fell. He'd have to keep an eye on those, Owen thought. Just feel for rumbles, right? As long as there isn't anything trying to chase me down, or…

He was afraid to, but he glanced behind him. Nothing. He breathed out a sigh of relief and stopped at the edge of the rocks. Putting that farfetched illusion theory to the test, he leaned against a stone. Solid, without a hint of give. No illusions there. He grabbed another, smaller pebble and wondered if throwing it at the wall would do anything different… or if it would break a loose rock off and injure him.

Best not to try.

He tried to focus on that vague feeling again. It wasn't directly at the center anymore, but now that dull call was sharp, to his left.

A long walk across about an eight of the plateau's circumference led him to the mouth of…

It's a cave.

It occurred to Owen that perhaps this vague call was actually some kind of Psychic trap to draw in unsuspecting victims. His flame doubled in size just as another rumble shook the ground. It was louder this time. Above him, none of the rocks loosened or fell—not nearby, at least. The distinct thud of a larger boulder further away indicated that some other part had broken loose.

And then another boom, even louder than before, sealed Owen's choice. It was coming closer. He couldn't afford to get caught, trampled—eaten? Would it eat him? No, that was silly. He was too small for something like that.

…When was the last time he'd come across another living thing his size, anyway? The way there was no sun or any indicator of time passing, it could have been anything from hours to a couple days. He didn't even know how long he'd been asleep.

The fatigue hit him again. He had walked more in this day or days than he had in the past moon, he was certain—perhaps, in part, because most of his travel had been with Waypoints. Those would have been nice to have. Or wings. Yes, wings would have been nice, Owen thought bitterly. What was worse, forgetting that he'd ever been a Charizard, or remembering it, and yet still being a Charmander?

Maybe ignorance really is bliss, he snorted.

A third rumble shook him from his thoughts. Without thinking, he scrambled toward the cave's entrance. He pinned himself against the inner wall of the cave, breathing shallowly, and checked the interior for—

"SKRAAAA!"

Something leapt onto Owen's back and jammed its fangs into his shoulder. Owen shrieked and slammed his back against the wall, which was barely enough to loosen it from his body. He spun around to see his assailant—another ink-black, amorphous thing, this time with two wings and a gaping mouth. The fangs, also black, had a small fleck of Owen's blood on it.

The winged wraith lunged at Owen again, screeching. Owen dove to the right and swiped at it with sharp claws—probably all he had to work with, as far as he knew—and stepped back to gain some extra distance. The wraith screeched again and blew a gust of wind toward Owen, forcing the Charmander off his feet. He yelped and hit the ground in a rolling stop.

The feeling was sharper than ever. It felt like it was right behind him. But the wraith was a bigger worry. Despite landing its attack, it seemed even angrier than before, flying clumsily toward him. Owen puffed a gout of fire, but it evaporated early, leaving just a bit of heat haze to distract the wraith.

It closed in fast. Falling back to another reflex, Owen crossed his arms and braced himself. A golden bubble obscured his vision, his Protect shield as radiant as ever. The wraith bounced off of the shield with an ethereal thud. Taking advantage of its dazed state, Owen stomped on the ground and channeled a bit of energy into the floor. Then, he stepped back, losing his balance on something smooth and hard.

The Protect shield dropped and the wraith advanced again.

"Stop!" Owen shouted, like it would listen.

He focused on the spot he had stomped; a pillar of fire burst from the ground for a split-second, illuminating the small cave in orange light and engulfing the wraith in embers. It screamed again and flew in the opposite direction, out of the cave, and then into the air, even as another thud shook the entire plateau.

Owen breathed quickly, eyes darting left and right. Only his tail kept the cave alight. It was only ten, twenty of his paces deep, and he was already near a dead end of the cave. The entrance, a dim circle that felt so far away, revealed no further movement.

The wraith probably wasn't going to return.

Hoping that he'd hear it if it did, Owen turned his attention to the strange, solid thing that had tripped him.

What's… that?

The smooth object was a flat, rhombus-like crystal, a calm green. It was see-through, like colored glass, with a black symbol in the center. Curious, the Charmander prodded at it. The crystal sparkled a bit in response, which only heightened his curiosity. He shined his flame over it, and the orange light glistened against the radiant crystal. Owen finally picked it up, rolling the diamond in his hands; it was a bit too big for him to grasp with one hand completely; his fingers could only touch if he held it by the edges. Still, something about it fascinated him, and it was definitely what had been bugging him.

Odd. He didn't feel much of that call anymore, now that he was holding it. He rolled it in his other hand, chirping curiously. Finally, he studied the odd, black symbol in the middle more closely. Within the transparent, green structure, the black symbol that reminded Owen of a leaf sat stoically.

Can I call on my Grass powers? Owen wondered to himself, focusing. As much as he didn't like losing his Fiery pride, there was some practicality in it, if he could. He envisioned his flame sprouting into a beautiful flower, his scales becoming leaves. He held the crystal to his chest, like it would somehow help. When that didn't work, he pressed it on his forehead. Nothing. He checked his tail—still a flame.

With a disappointed sigh, Owen finally sat down. The rumbles were softer again. It must have taken a different route. Was that another creature that he had to worry about?

He couldn't stay in that cave for much longer. But now where was he supposed to go?

Now that he didn't feel the dull call of the crystal, maybe he could focus on another. That had to mean something, right? It was all he had to go by. Crystal in hand, Owen stood up—ignoring his fatigue and the pain in his shoulder, and focused on… anything. He knew what it felt like once, so maybe he could feel it again.

He felt it. It was faint, but it was coming from the same direction as before, a vague, dull pull toward what Owen was going to call north. Was it actually north? Possibly, but he had his doubts. Perhaps this was how migratory flying Pokémon felt when going north or south. Did they have this dull, directional feeling, too?

One step after the next, Owen continued his march through the dusty wasteland. He juggled the risk of being spotted by one of those behemoths and being crushed by rocks from above. Any time a rumble became particularly loud, he slowed down and hid near a plateau or other fallen boulder, always keeping the nearest one in mind in case he had to run back to hide.

Aside from one incident where a bipedal one had paced across the path Owen had been taking, though, he didn't encounter another one. For the best; Owen wasn't sure if he even had the energy left to run. A quick walk was the best he could manage; his stomach was already contorting itself to feel full, and he still had no idea where the next source of water was coming from.

Something was tricking Owen's eyes. It looked like there was actually an end to this madness further ahead—far, far ahead, but certainly a change in scenery. The network of plateaus ended with a long, black strip across the horizon, at least where there were big enough gaps between the plateaus to see past them. That was one thing to be thankful about in this field; despite how tall the stone structures were, the fact that entire fields separated them meant it was easy to see for miles.

Still, he didn't go directly toward that black horizon. Something else was dully calling for him, and he had a feeling it was going to be another of those crystals. He looked at the one he still had in his possession; its green glow was a welcome change to the purples, grays, and reds that surrounded him.

Now, where was the next? A bit to his right this time, and it didn't feel like it was at this plateau. Tedious. He had passed by so many of them that it was starting to feel the same.

After another long pass of a plateau—walking at his pace, he counted that he averaged about fifteen minutes each time, even longer to move between them—and then rounding the corner of the one ahead of the first, that feeling became sharper.

Why am I even chasing them down? This one doesn't even feel the same.

That much was true. Unlike the green crystal, this feeling still felt dull even after how far he'd traveled to what he hoped was closer. So, why did he still feel the need to continue? Well, then again, the first time, he got a pretty rock out of it. Maybe this would be worth it, too.

Owen inspected his shoulder. The bleeding had stopped, but there was a clear, red stain running along his chest and, surely, down his back where the fang had punctured him. He'd wash it off… if he wasn't worried about whatever strange substance the dirt was. He was not going to use the red water. It was already a struggle drinking it—putting it right into his blood stream? Pass.

More passes, an unknown number of minutes. Owen lost track of both the time and the times he'd passed across the fields. But eventually, he noticed that his sense of direction was pulling him in a different direction.

Here.

It was inside the stone structure, so it had to be another cave. The same process worked again, and this time he didn't have any rumbling to scare him into running—which would waste precious energy. He glanced at his tail, not trusting his own sense of how much energy he had.

Oh, that's bad.

It was at least at half its usual size. If he didn't find water, or at least food, soon, he'd be dragging himself through the dust.

But maybe some of that was also because he didn't sleep yet. He should have stayed in that old cave, but at least now, this was a new one. No matter what he found in this cave, he'd sleep… As long as he could scare off whatever wraith was taking up residence inside.

With that in mind, Owen took a slow, deep breath and prepared for battle. He still had Protect. He still had Fire Trap. That would be enough. At least he remembered those techniques, even if he wasn't strong enough to use them at their best.

A cruel wind blew by, forcing Owen to brace himself and close his eyes to the dust. He felt a need to protect his flame, meaningless as the gesture was, until the wind settled down.

And to the edge of the mouth he went.

Okay. Just another wraith, maybe. And then the crystal. One… two…

Owen leaped into the cave, arms tensed and ready.

All of the fight left him in an instant.

Slumped against the wall, clutching at the largest of many wounds, was a green Gardevoir, staring at Owen with bittersweet recognition.