The streets of Haven finally went dark and, with even the plentiful oil lamps eventually burning out, Pumpkaboo's long streams of light — shaking, as she directed them to dissipate the suspicious shadows down the barren avenues — and Lampent's radiant, blue flame were the only sources of clarity left in the little fortress-village.
After the disaster that had taken place there at noon, an assembly had been convened at the dead of night, when it would be least expected. However, before such a meeting could happen, there were certain technicalities to be sorted out between the participants.
"I cannot even begin to describe the horrific day I was forced to endure at the hands of these two vermin," Gothitelle huffed and handed over Mawile to Leavanny, being joined at her first words by Pumpkaboo's rays. "There were things I wanted to do for myself today as well but, alas, I'd administer her the bandages, tell her to sit there and rest... and then she'd start crawling all around the place!"
"It was boring and my foot didn't hurt that much anymore by then!" The pumpkin moved the projector down to Mawile, now in her caretaker's clutches.
"Oh, well, mine wasn't all sunshine either, believe me, dear," the bug sighed, her leaf-crown growing out and adjusting itself to shield her eyes from the brightness above.
"I had to comb this little Raticate's hair twenty times over," she nudged Morgrem to his keeper and the spot of light followed him along. "There was an entire tree's worth of vegetation weaved up in there!"
"Thank you for combing my hair, Miss Gothitelle," the goblin latched onto the insect's leg.
Gothitelle exhaled in turn and reached to give them both a consecutive pat on the head. "You're welcome, now run off to bed, please," she glared to Leavanny. "We're going to be having a serious talk between adults here."
"Can I stay up?"
Her frown sharpened. "No, my dear Espurr, I believe it to be of utmost importance that you leave for bed without hearing any of what we're about to say, actually," all the same, the furball received an ambiguously affectionate pet. "After today especially, I... frankly have difficulties even looking at you," she took another quivering, deep breath.
"Uhh?" The little Pokemon squealed and attempted to look up at Gothitelle, only to be blinded by the spotlight and have to rubbed her eyes instead.
"You know what I mean, and you know why I mean it," she solemnly responded. "Now, off to bed with you three."
The distraught Espurr looked to her elder, grimacing as if to cry. "But—"
"Espurr," Leavanny hurried to pick her up and give her a short hug, chiming the bell tied to the ribbon on her ear. "To bed, dear. Follow Lampent, he'll safely lead you three back to the Shelter, alright?" The ghost, with Mothim stuck to his side, waved at them from the entrance of the street they were soon to take.
She attempted to set Mawile on the ground, only to discover from a pathetic yelp that her foot had not quite healed well enough for that. "I guess I'll have to carry you over then—"
"I can make her float!" Espurr said as she did just that, encasing her friend in a field of magenta energy — much to the horror of the crowd around them — and pulling her into the air with herself.
"Wait a short moment," Mawile was suddenly ripped from Espurr's hold, getting covered instead with a radiant blue and pulled towards Gallade. "Mawile, I just want to make some things clear with you."
"Uhh?" She took a moment to appreciate her newfound lift with a swirl in the air. "What is it, Gallade, sir?"
"Pumpkaboo, point your lights away from us for a second, please," he ordered and the Grass-type obeyed, accidentally blinding one of the Murkrows lurking in the dark. Meanwhile, the Steel-type was made to gravitate even closer to his face. "Your demeanor today was even worse than that of yesterday. I want to remind you again that you're not meant to antagonise Darkrai at all, much less attack him."
"But he scared—"
"Look," finally, she was pulled in even closer with an embrace. "That was incredibly brave of you. Even I wouldn't have done that. But stop antagonising him, you're putting yourself and everyone else here in danger."
"No, I was trying to defen—"
"Mawile," Gallade roared, making her go mute. "Do you remember the story I told you? About how I once got stuck in the woods because I was stubborn and overconfident, like you? And what that eventually lead to?"
She gave a timid nod.
"This can lead to much worse, so keep yourself in check, alright?" She was lifted back into the air. "For me."
After a moment of consideration and visible yet silent vexation, Mawile relented and responded with a salute. "I won't disappoint! I will be very hospitable to him! Like with Miss Druddigon!"
Gallade returned the gesture.
"Good night, I have faith that you will all wake up," Leavanny waved as both Mawile and Espurr finally flew towards Lampent, soon being joined by Morgrem.
"Good night, I have faith that you will wake up," Gothitelle recited more hastily, Pumpkaboo shifted the projector back to her, and she turned her newly blazing sights to Leavanny and then Gallade. "Now, for our important talk—"
A shrill noise from the sky suddenly filled the streets, sending the anxious villagers into general disarray, instinctively panicking, screeching and begging the unseeable Darkrai to spare them, as they pulled at and stumbled over each other to be the first to retreat into the crevices of the town.
"Pumpkaboo, shine your light at it!" Gallade, having sensed the entity's location, gave her no time to react before seizing the Grass-type with his psychic powers and puppeteering her into flashing the object with her rays, deviating its trajectory and sending it crashing into the pavement.
Once the adrenaline rush had subsided and the townsfolk emerged from their hiding places, Pumpkaboo's streams timidly inched towards where the entity could still be heard whimpering and shuffling.
"Scyther!" Leavanny exclaimed once the projector came to reveal him, lying on a large pile of hay he had been transporting through the night sky.
"You buffoon, what took you so long? Where were you?" Gothitelle rushed over to join Leavanny in helping him up.
"Ahh... uhh," the bug shook out the straw lodged in the gaps of his carapace. "I was at the fields, obviously. Slaving away. Look at all the hay I collected! That's, like, three beds worth of the stuff!" The villagers marveled at what was — with no exaggeration whatsoever — three beds worth of the stuff.
"But I told you that you didn't need to go to the farm today?" As it had been established that there was no threat at all, Gallade retracted his arm blades. "I was too preoccupied with... the obvious thing, to notice that you weren't around, but I told you that we wanted everyone at the village today!"
"Look, Gall, I'm sorry," he rubbed one claw against the other. "But... I just couldn't stay here while it— he— whatever, was around... maybe I'm a coward... but I don't want to go through... what I went through, a second time," the bug paused for a brief moment. "Alright?"
The Guardian sighed. "Fine... sure, you're excused. But I'm going to be doing a training session tomorrow, even if Darkrai will probably still be here. So be around for that."
"Pardon?" Gothitelle's interjection warranted from Gallade another sigh. "Darkrai is going to be allowed to return? After what happened today?"
"What... what happened today?" Scyther reluctantly asked, glancing from one end of the crowd to the other, before his gaze fell down to the head of a small Pokemon, poking out of Arbok's coils. "Oh... Skwovet, are you... okay?"
The rodent disentangled her little arm from the serpent's hold and rubbed her head, before waving at him. "I'm getting better now—"
"She is not alright, no," Gothitelle growled. "That thing made her ingest a substance that made her sick for the entire day! She had to be rushed to Leavanny for aid!"
"W—What?" Scyther's eyes widened. "What do you—"
"We forgot to tell Darkrai about what flavours of food each one of us here was intolerant to," Gallade chose to give a clearer explanation. "Because, well, who would have thought that he would be offering anyone else food? So, long story short, Ribombee gave him a Wiki Berry Pollen Puff, which he then gifted to Skwovet, who was intolerant to it but couldn't stomach to refuse him," the Murkrows chuckled in unison at the unwitting wordplay. "She got confused and hurt herself, I sent Darkrai away for the day after that, because he did not want to stay around at all."
"Doesn't Darkrai not have a mouth — his teeth are fakes, right? — so why give him a Pollen Puff?" The voice of another, less than bothered Murkrow called from somewhere in the darkness, soon being seconded by his equally invisible peers.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Ribombee ascended into the sky before them all, with Pumpkaboo's light trailing her. "But I felt dazed with fright when I saw him arrive and... well, they started talking about flavours, him and Espurr, and I interpreted that as him wanting a Wiki Pollen Puff... it was as if I was nauseous all throughout, honest!"
"Oh, I forgive you for that, Ribombee," Skwovet huffed after much thought. "It was still pretty good, even if it made me sick after."
Ribombee flew in closer to hug her. "I'm glad."
"Well," Leavanny rubbed her chin. "It wasn't too bad, then, right?"
A general uproar ensued, making the insect want to shrink away in shame.
"By what measure was that 'not too bad'?" And, obviously, Gothitelle was the one to lead the charge. "Is him not following proper protocol for foodstuffs and almost intoxicating one of our companions acceptable to you? Were you expecting for something worse to happen? How much worse than than would be acceptable?"
"Oh! I hope that my failure to play him a tune wasn't too grave of a mistake!" Kricketune chimed in with his own worries.
"I thoroughly fumbled my choreography in front of him!" Oricorio fanned herself with her wing.
"Yeah, its stare was... rotten," a Murkrow commented. "Who wouldn't get all jittery under it?"
"Don't you all think that you're being... a tad ridiculous?" The plaza went silent once Leavanny dared to utter what she had been considering for quite a while now. Had she been acting ridiculous? "It was an honest mistake for him to make... and has anyone here thought of any counter-arguments, or found holes we could poke in the explanation Darkrai gave us at the start? Do we really have a reason to be so afraid?"
"What are you even saying?" Gothitelle exploded, strutting closer to directly face Leavanny. "How is it ridiculous for us to be prudent when prudence is self-evidently necessary for our survival?" The Psychic-type thought for a moment, at the end of which her gaze narrowed. "Prudent... unlike letting him roam the streets."
"Oh dear, I guess it's my turn to be sorry," the bug reached in to hug her counterpart, who reacted with nothing but an eye-roll. "I just couldn't stand to be stuck in an enclosed room with him for so long, his presence was just suffocating!"
"By your own measure, that would qualify as 'ridiculous' behaviour as well, but it's not," she sighed, placing a hand on Leavanny's shoulder. "Trust your instincts in this case and don't fall for his act. For your own good," Gothitelle gently shook the insect.
"Did he... do anything to you... in the hospital?" Gallade asked, bracing himself for the worst. "Did he threaten you, or say anything... ominous, or creepy?"
"Nothing like that, no. He was very polite throughout, which was unnerving in and of itself!"
"Could we move onto addressing how utterly outrageous it is that he's being offered extensive treatment at all, actually?" Gothitelle strode over to the Guardian next. "Especially after today, after he showed that he has no care for our folk's good health."
"I'm not sure that that's what was shown here today—"
"You are not meant to offer anyone foods which they are incapable of eating. You are meant to be aware of such personal details for everyone. We know he knows these personal details, because that thing knows everything about us," Gothitelle had to take a moment to breathe and compose herself. "These are the basic rules of our commonwealth. Why would they be any different for him? Is there any reason more justified to withhold his treatment? Any opportunity better for a rapid exile?"
"Generally, a crime relating to foodstuffs does not entail either of those punishments," Gallade retorted.
"Yes, well, I believe that the Nightmare Weaver of all things ought to be held to a higher degree of scrutiny!" She turned to the crowd to search for support but, with Pumpkaboo only following the speaker at any given time and Lampent still absent, it was far too dark still to discern the expressions on their faces. "He is not a general case."
"Right, which is why I can't really punish him thoroughly, and am reluctant to do so at all," Pumpkaboo switched over to Gallade. "He's a special case, and one we can't do much about, except waiting for him to leave."
"Oh, I had a ssssplendid idea on thisss very ssssubject," Arbok attempted to slither over to Gallade — the unwell Skwovet still clutched by his tail — but was promptly cut off by Honchkrow swooping in and pecking him away.
"Not so fast, serpent!" The bird turned to face the Guardian, grooming his mane of feathers all the while. "I am far more eloquent and well-spoken. I ought to be the one to present our idea."
"We don't need thosssse qualitiesss!" The snake's menacing hiss drove him into submission. "We need to make hassste!"
"Then please do so," Gallade loudly insisted.
"Right, right," Arbok was now the one to submit, coiling himself into a ring. "If Darkrai isss not to leave for the coming dayss—"
"Move over, you hiss too much for this to be efficient!" Honchkrow abruptly imposed himself once again between the serpent and Gallade, rushing through his sentences. "Our plan is simple: if Darkrai is to continue and dwell in our village for the coming days, ought not most of our populace to move away from Haven, to perhaps the meadow? Such an exodus would mean that his presence would entail no risks to ourselves."
"We are doing exactly NONE of that," Gothitelle put their considerations to a halt, startling both the snake and bird.
"I agree," Gallade nodded. "It would be hard to implement logistically: you have to consider it in terms of our movements and in terms of the movement of food, drinks and, potentially — mind the 'potentially' — medical items. What's more, some of us would need to remain here with Darkrai no matter what, and splitting ourselves up is self-evidently not in our interests," the end of his response was received with universal nods, vigorous enough to be seen from the darkest ends of their ranks.
"Personally speaking," Gothitelle took the lead of the conversation again. "Since the initial choice we gave Darkrai was death or exile, I don't see the issue of exiling him with the chance that he might die due to an infection or the like. It seems to me like a reasonable compromise, honestly."
Her blatant mockery of the terrible Nightmare Weaver left the assembly deeply troubled and Leavanny's coming, emotional response would only serve to exacerbate that tension. "I won't stop caring for him!"
"Do not stop taking care of him," Gallade rose his tone just enough to be heard over the many ongoing disputes in the plaza, hushing them in the process. "We need his good favour if his departure is to happen peacefully. To that end, we will make known to Darkrai some of these... technicalities — so he doesn't accidentally poison someone again — but otherwise we'll act like this didn't happen at all. Everyone in agreement?"
No responses outside of Leavanny's slight nod and Gothitelle's continued, irate mumbling. At least none that he could make out in the night.
"I think that's fine," Ursaring eventually answered. "I frankly think he seemed genuine enough. I know how these things go and I think that he could've done much better if he was really trying to trick us."
Gallade nodded with newfound determination. "This'll all be over with soon, I promise you that. As for now: good night, I have faith that you will all wake up."
The grains of sand themselves began to sizzle and what used to be a myriad of fissures running through the barren dirt was soon flooded by a stream of ooze, reaching out from the depths beneath the ground, imposing itself as a scalding puddle above it, unevenly swelling upwards with violent convulsions... until Darkrai was made manifest.
As his plume bleached, his collar rubified, and his eyes flared cyan, the wraith cleared the last of the coarse liquid from his now solidified form and then dragged the core of the scenery to the forefront of his sights: the silenced husk of a village languished before him, basking under a wavering, crimson sky which radiated all of the misery of the worst heatwaves of summer, with none of their warmth.
Once he hovered closer, daytime was ripped from that world as well, leaving behind only a gloomy, twilight aether, and a village of shadows so long and deep that they twisted and melted the Nightmare itself, morphing every unassuming angle into a crevasse leering into the abyss.
... and it wouldn't be getting any more hospitable than that, Darkrai simply did not have the concentration to subjugate it anymore.
This day had been a disaster. It had wholly worn him down. This day made his stomach turn as he waited for the one after it. He no longer wanted to even practice conversations. He could not concentrate enough to be able to do so. There was no use in a talk with Espurr, not even recapitulative, he had made this clear to her before leaving.
What an utterly stupid way for this all to come apart for him!
...
Poor Skwovet. He had simply wanted to thank her... but he should've known better. He ought to have memorised the effects the flavour of berries had on different organisms, no matter how trivial it seemed before that day... he ought to have remembered that they were susceptible to cause confusion, at the very least.
...
It was best that he not think about it, and proceed with a heavier pace.
A heavier pace which would not need to be sustained for long, however, as he arrived at his first objective — heralded by eyes in the darkness of the alleyways or gaping doorways, continuously shifting their focus to glare at... something — with but a turn of an avenue: a maddened Gallade sprang from one porch to another, halting to frantically bang on a door until it cracked, or a window until it shattered, before moving onto the next with such speed that the simulacrum was struggling to keep up, periodically leaving him without a clear manifestation, as a cloud of erratic smoke.
Initially in shock at the display, the poor kid's screams as he bounced through the street — "where is everyone?", "please come out!", "please tell me that you're all okay!", "please tell me that you're all here!" — made clear to the Moonshadow that he was panicked and not truly mad.
Usually the Nightmare Weaver would need to wait a short moment before interfering: the nightmare was at its most malleable at the very beginning, where interjecting himself ran the risk of recalibrating its contents to absorb him and, so, could make it harder for him to bring Gallade into a lucid state... but this was just so embarrassing to watch unfold.
...
It was not as if he had the time nor leftover energy to idle, either.
To make certain to disrupt the dream, Darkrai lunged forward with claws extended — his thrust so powerful that it tore from its roots and form the entire dimension, forcing it to stream alongside him as an ever-pitchening tsunami — and clamped down on the harrowed, wailing Gallade's neck, before both were consumed by the ensuing tidal wave of blackness.
Immediately, he felt himself lose his grip on the Realm and on Gallade alongside it. The latter phased out of his hold and plummeted into the surrounding darkness, only to be made visible soon after — once the ooze had morphed into leaves, wood, dirt and fog — now exhausted, with blades protracted and eyes fiery with rage.
There was an attempt at another lunge — this time Gallade's, this time with the aim of skewering the Nightmare Weaver — but it was foiled by Darkrai simply willing for it to be foiled, suspending the bloodthirsty Guardian in the air, before the tendrils of the trees came to restrain his legs and pull him closer.
"Greetings, Gallade. Are you alright?" Darkrai was quick to hover up to the struggling Guardian, receiving only feral growls in response. "Please, calm yourself."
Hesitantly, he extended a hand to place on his shoulder, but the Psychic-type leaned away. His focus was ever hectic, incessantly scanning his peripheries from the spot where he was chained, desperate to find any hint of salvation in surroundings which were equally constant in their shifting and morphing.
When it became apparent that there was none to be found, his brawl with the vines, roots and branches intensified, compelling the Nightmare Weaver to back away, as the tugging quickly became so strong that the entirety of the tree began to shake.
... soon joined by the ground of the woods.
... before the whole Dream Realm was being strained by the convulsions.
And, with one last pull, it tore.
All of it tore, and Gallade began to fall... and fall... and fall, and fall, and fall, pulling down with him the mangled remains of the dream into a gaping, bottomless abyss, catching even the Nightmare Weaver off guard—
And then they all abruptly stopped falling.
And Darkrai was alone, in the middle of his Blightwoods once more, on the first hours after the end of a rainstorm, with droplets of water still sliding down leaves and branches to land on and around him.
What a peculiar series of events... and what a peculiar feeling pervaded this newly born forest... generally, he could feel every part of it as an extension of himself, possessing omniscient knowledge of everything within it other than the thoughts of the dreamer... but this... this felt oddly separate... almost grounded...
Darkrai extended the palm of his hand towards a tree trunk, making it burst from within and leaving a hollowed shell in its stead, soon beginning to drip with a bubbling ooze... and from that sludge emerged the eyes, again.
Yes, he still could do all that he pleased. It was still the Dream Realm, yet... the crackling of the wood under the pressure he had exerted... the rhythmic popping and dripping of the liquid... the rustling of the bushes from the breeze... the breeze itself... the air wasn't stale... the warmth of the rare rays of sunlight penetrating through the canopy...
All details so fine, which ought to be consuming so much of his strength to be simulated... yet he felt light and at ease. They took no effort.
...
Where was Gallade? Why could he not sense him? In normal circumstances, he would be able to immediately detect the position of the nightmare's subject. That was not the case here... yet... more rustling through the undergrowth — this time far too isolated to be the doing of the wind — caught his attention.
The wraith pivoted on himself, fully expecting to have to undo an oncoming assault through sheer force of will — and with a lingering doubt as to whether he would be able to actually do so, with all of the curiosities which had taken place thus far — but instead came to face some twitching shrubbery... with a small, red pair of horns protruding.
"Gallade? Ralts?" He had seen this happen far too many times in nightmares for it to be of note anymore. It was evident that anyone would be more fearful when a vulnerable toddler and, so, it was evident that devolution would often take place in these terrors.
Once he hovered closer, however, and once little Ralts bolted into the deep of the vegetation like a Dedenne, it finally struck Darkrai what this was all an allusion to: the rain drops, the gentle, morning rays of sunshine, Ralts scurrying off... even the little rainbow arching across clearing was a macabre foreshadowing of what was to come!
No, it was already there.
Darkrai — hunched over, with legs firmly planted into the humid dirt, so tall that he could almost be mistaken for a part of the woods — suddenly found himself at the edge of a hollow, at the other end of which was the apprehensive but determined Bisharp, already in an attacking stance.
He had guessed correctly, this was that memory.
There had been a thunderstorm, a long thunderstorm, and — believing his domain to be secured by the fright those tended to induce, making the villagers lock themselves away in their homes until the very end — he had slept, slept for days. It had been a nigh-heavenly experience.
But Bisharp — slow and unwieldy, with armour rusting from the extended downpour — had been frantically scouring his Blightwoods, on the search for the lost, little Pokemon which had infiltrated the dark weald and was currently hidden in the grass right behind the former Guardian's legs, suddenly far too much of a coward to face the Nightmare Weaver.
Ralts being thrusted into the bushes with a push of the leg, and a glint in his enemy's eyes — Laser Focus — was a precursor to an attempt to strike him down quickly with a single Night Slash. An attempt which Darkrai did not wish to see the results of for the umpteenth time, so Bisharp was waved away into a cloud of smoke instead.
He had been over this far too many times for it to have any emotional impact... and yet also far too many times for him to want to experience it anew.
Now...
Darkrai retracted his legs and rose into the air, before beginning a slow advance down the decline behind where Bisharp had been stood. His influence drained of life the dirt, shrivelled the protruding roots and branches, burnt the leaves to an onyx crisp, until, finally — cowering behind the trunk of a tree this time — Ralts' horns were seen peeking out once more.
"Gallade," he called, the trembling horns stiffened, the whimpers of fear subsided.
"Uhm... hello... Darkrai," the Ralts dared to turn around, having — finally — gained his lucidity. Yet his twisted grimace, along with the glances he shot to his left and right, made clear that the Guardian's thoughts were still 'you're about to condemn me to death or to an eternal torment, aren't you?'
"I have come to you in dream, Gallade... to once again excuse myself for the entire ordeal which I caused today," with how oddly long this had all taken, it might have even been 'yesterday', at that point.
"This is all a dream?" The green flaps crowning Ralts' head abruptly rose, revealing his wide-open eyes. "Does that mean that Bisharp's alright?"
Uh...
"Oh..." thankfully, he was quick to dash his own, confused hopes. His hair fell to cover his eyes, his stubby hands retreated to wrap around him, his sights veered towards the ground.
... and then a vicious silence set in. But — in the Dream Realm, unlike in reality — Darkrai felt comfortable enough not to allow it to prosper.
"In a similar vain to you, he grossly misinterpreted the many opportunities I had been so diligent as to offer him," the wraith approached the little Pokemon, who receded some clumsy steps away. "My calls for him to turn back were heard as malicious ruses, my retreats seen as signs of weakness... it did not culminate as well for him as it did for you and for that I am terribly sorry, but he... offered me no other choice, if I did not wish to succumb myself!"
He had fine-tuned that explanation quite a while ago, perhaps it was even the night right after. His thoughts lingered in perfect clarity in the pervading miasma of the Dream Realm, preserved for future use, such as this one... otherwise, he would be lost. But not here. Here, he was unquestionably mighty.
"Y-You know," Ralts stuttered, avoiding any talk of guilt... or forgiveness. "I was there when it happened, I was the reason he was there in the first place... I've penetrated into your woods twice now."
"I was well aware of your presence back then, yes," Darkrai's comment seemed to confuse Ralts, whose baffled expression soon turned to the figure they were both made to know was standing behind them: the form of Bisharp, Bisharp standing in the somber woods, Bisharp standing opposed to fanged, clawed, and — for some reason — many-eyed column of shadow.
The column came crashing down and, then, there was no more Bisharp.
The focus shifted onto the running little Pokemon.
Running...
Falling...
Getting back up...
And running again — with its inadept, stubby legs — down a slight incline.
The creature suddenly appeared, and Ralts hid behind another tree.
The creature crept around the tree, its tail and tendrils trailing behind, still visible.
Ralts could feel his heart sink, yet kept turning around the trunk to avoid being seen.
The creature, seemingly content with having found nothing, abandoned the ringing around the stump.
And Ralts ran, under the combined gazes of three dozen eyes, peering from the gaps in the trunks and within the canopy.
"I believe that the reason I did... that entire comical thing, was because you were headed the wrong way and I needed to make you pivot," the Nightmare Weaver explained. "I still followed you along after this, however."
The true Ralts watched with stupor as, after his clone had turned every corner of the forest and shuffled through every bush along the way to avoid the gaze of the surveilling Nightmare Weaver, the dark creature still managed to creep up from behind him and infiltrate his shadow.
The child scurried through the forest until, finally, the sobbing little thing saw a portal of light ahead and plunge out of the Blightwoods, into safety.
As he did so, a second shadow was left behind.
"I could've been a goner," Ralts muttered. "I would've been a goner..."
"You could have been a goner, but I had no such intentions," Darkrai reminded. "I had been following you for quite a while from the shadows, as you crawled through my woods. I had no clue what to do about your presence," the incident had inspired the contingencies he had utilised with Espurr, actually. "You were wildly shouting, accusing me of having caused the thunderstorm, I believe."
"It was kinda ridiculous, yes," he rubbed the back of his head. "I would like to think that I came out of that more... well-rounded," Ralts chuckled. "At least eventually..."
The chuckle was forced. He was still afraid. He was still bothered by him. He had not forgotten. It was uncertain if he had even forgiven.
"Again... Gallade, I would like to state just how grateful I am for everything, as well as just how truly sorry I am for the ordeal which I brought about this morning."
"Ah..." he held his tongue for a while, running some calculations in his mind. "We convened an assembly on the issue and... you are excused, there is nothing to worry about."
"What?" It took Darkrai a second to realise that he had not suppressed his thoughts, making his utter bafflement audible to Gallade. "Gallade, I swear to you that you have no reprisal to fear. My fault was terrible, I accept that, and you may punish me accordingly."
"Genuinely, it's excused," his interlocutor accentuated his answer with a vigorous nod.
"Excused?" Again, he — rather loudly — exclaimed, rather than thought, getting immediately embarrassed.
What was happening with him? Why did he have such trouble enforcing even a modicum of his will upon his realm? Where was this turbulence coming from?
...
He had to go on. He'd figure this out another time. He was tired, probably. Tired and irritated, not in best shape to exert his control.
"I truly do not understand how you can be so indulgent with me. Now and even before this, or at all, to be frank!" Again, he had trouble containing his emotions at a first stage evolution which could fit into the palm of his hand. This was unlike him. It was so odd. It made him feel unwell. "It's honestly baffling that you would even consider hearing me out, not to mention extending to me all the trust which you do," to a certain degree, after what was now definitely the day before, that trust may have been misplaced. "How come?"
At first, Galla— Ralts remained silent, uncertain of how to answer. It was a type of question Darkrai would not ask on principles he had decided upon beforehand, but... it had just come to mind. He could no resist it.
"You know... I think it's just that... the difference between me and everyone else... ever since that night," the unexpected beginnings of an unexpected answer. "Since I had been... essentially designated to become Guardian by circumstances, I owed it to everyone, after what happened to Bisharp because of me... I've— I had been preparing myself for the confrontation that we had," the little Ralts found it frustrating to articulate.
And it was no wonder that that was the case: these memories, this introspection hadn't been brought to mind of his own will, really. The Dream Realm was having a tendency to extract such thoughts from those basking within it this night, seemingly.
"In my head, I kept running scenario after scenario of how it could go."
As the small creature continued its monologue, the world began to weave itself into those scenes: images of Gallade, impaled, mauled, half-consumed, of him left as a husk, or cowering behind a tree, behind a rock, sprinting through the woods, almost able to feel the breath of the beast on his neck, came and went as the particles of dust were combined and dissolved, combined and dissolved, combined and dissolved in a violent stream.
"I never wanted to have to fight you, I never wanted to come back... here."
The turbulent deluge of images came to an abrupt end, halting on the simulacrum of his stale, silent Blightwoods.
"I didn't think I would ever be able to win. But I didn't think that I'd ever be able to avoid a fight ever since that night. At least, it became a thought that trouble me constantly."
The Realm was courteous enough to return to the sight of the frozen Bisharp, on the verge of being shown that his natural armour was no match for the oncoming strike of Darkrai's claws.
"I just felt it in my bones that we would meet again... and that I would then lose, of course," an awkward silence. Darkrai knew not what to say to that, but was soon to be relieved by the Ralts continuing. "Honestly, it was a shock to me to find out the truth... about you, of course... but... really, there were few thoughts that offered me any kind of hope when I was imagining those situations..."
A silence. A long silence. But this one felt natural. He would not interrupt it.
"As you could probably guess at this point," finally, Ralts sat himself down on the dirt and continued. "The Nightmare Weaver having an unexpected change of heart, or revealing knowledge about its interests and motives that would end with me being spared, was one I had spent a good deal of time pondering. Maybe even becoming a bit numb to how unhinged of an idea it actually was at the time... the others tried not to think about you too deeply."
...
Darkrai had accumulated a thousand questions and perhaps over a million inarticulate thoughts throughout this long explanation. "And when I extended this mercy, you did not take it? If your attitude coming into such a fight was as you described it, where did you find the courage to continue our battle?" Was this the most useful question? No. Was it the most intuitive? Yes. Was it the easiest to enunciate? Yes as well.
"There was what happened to Scyther," Darkrai exerted his control over the Dream Realm to pre-emptively suppress any evocations of that moment being spawned. "I had considered having to hunt you down to save or avenge someone but... it was far different in the heat of the moment."
"Well, few plans survive contact with the enemy," he would not say that this was universally the case — he had witnessed first-hand the terrifying foresight of Arceus, Giratina, Dialga and Uxie. "I am quite accustomed to extensive preparations as well, as I'd like to think my spectacle with the illusions and the Haze ripping from you your gained vitality proves—"
"The results were not as you would've desired... I think, but it was impressive — and destabilising! — nonetheless."
"Thank you," the Moonshadow responded after a short hesitation. "My failure was due to unexpected hindrances, for the most part: the ambush, the poisoning, the slowness... the inattentiveness," how had he not managed to hear Ursaring's approach from behind? "I would have bested you, if not for the compounding of debilitating factors."
Gallade's — and not Ralts' anymore — eyes lit up with a certain... malice? Was it cunning? An expression of excitement, yet trying hard to dissimulate its nature. "If you're interested in finding out if that's true, we could have a fair fight tomorrow."