His descent down the wooded hills was languid. Languid and anguished: the closer he came to Haven, the harder his claws shook, the harder his heart throbbed against his chest. Every few moments, he would protract his legs, land, and attempt to calm himself, only to be forced to lean against a tree trunk or boulder, reminded that he could barely stand.
Every fallen branch, every innocent pile of leaves, every rock which could be seen as out of place, had become a distraction he would trick himself into thoroughly examining. Trying his best to postpone everything which awaited him for as long as possible.
He did not want to return there. He did not want to have to face them after what had happened the day before. He did not want want to face Gallade in a duel. He did not want anyone to watch their duel. He did not want to find out what hidden motives Gallade had in mind when he proposed it.
Uncaring for the anxiety it caused him, the edge of the forest manifested itself all the same. A white portal to a lush meadow of flowers, to an open sky, where all was grazed by sunshine. In a sense, it was the land he craved, after drowning in a miasma of his own unease since awakening.
It was also a barrier he knew he would struggle to breach.
He planted his legs, still wobbly with nervousness. A deep breath. The first day had ended as a disaster, through a mistake so minute and avoidable. The second attempt would produce better results, that he would convince himself of. He had experience now, he could stomach the villagers.
His hand timidly reached for the light, basking in the Sun's morning rays for but a second or two before retreating.
The wraith crossed his arms behind his back and stared at the beginnings of vegetation just outside. He had never taken the time to appreciate those flowers of the field between his weald and the village... or perhaps he had, and it had all been far too long ago, with the landscape having morphed beyond recognition since. Every colour of the rainbow was represented, though most were pink, they even reminded him of Gracidea flowers, or maybe they were Graci—
He sighed and clenched his fist. No, that would be enough stalling.
As if attempting to ram an actual wall, Darkrai thrusted himself forward into the light. At first, it blinded him, but he soon adjusted and heaved a deep breath, taking in the admittedly pleasant sunshine for a short moment.
But that was not enough, the wraith needed to press onwards.
And onwards he pressed, shakily drifting down the slope, catching himself from heeding any attention to the foliage along the way, until another barrier-gateway imposed itself: the back of the marketplace.
Finally, he had arrived. Good grief, he had arrived!
The wraith was hovering in front of an outstretched, red and yellow drape, the drape covering a shop, the drape covering the Murkrow's 'Anything and Everything' store, to be more precise.
From its front emanated the highly recognisable voices — and other, adjacent noises — of the birds, and, further along the way, of the entirety of the village... no, of a section of the village, it was less thunderous — and, thus, certainly less crowded — than usual. He did not know why, but it was relieving.
To find out, he needed to penetrate the central path of the marketplace... its main entry was to his left, yet...
Ought he to spy on them — for but a little while — to gauge what their reactions had been to the antecedent events?
...
No, Gallade had made clear to him within the last moments of their talk the night before that Darkrai's arrival needed to be done with as much transparency as possible. He would do this correctly, no more half-measures nor complacency.
Right, here he went.
"Good morning to all, I have arrived," the Nightmare Weaver made his presence known as loud and clear as possible from behind the emporium — immediately muting all those on the other side — before floating up into the air, over the terrified — and oddly small — crowd, heeding them as little attention as possible, and making haste to abandon the populated marketplace and reach the Town Square.
"Darkrai!" A voice called, it took but a mere shift of the gaze to tie it to Miss Leavanny, wildly flailing both arms at him from up the road. "Good morning!"
Her peculiar cheer dissipated once she locked sights with the wraith, causing it to slowly levitate towards her. The insect went mute, she unconsciously took a few steps backwards, almost tripping herself.
"Good... morning, Miss Leavanny," he landed his legs — dwarfing her — and bowed, prompting her to get a gripe on herself and relax, if but a tad.
"Oh... uh... uhm... thank you! Likewise!" She fumbled her end of the conversation with a warm smile, forgetting that she had already wished him a pleasant morning, but Darkrai had no reason to correct her.
A short silence set in, during which the Moonshadow tensed his shoulders — expecting for a familiar furball to strike him like a cannonball — before looking left, right, behind himself, and then behind Leavanny. "Where is Espurr?"
He hadn't meant for the distress in his voice to be made so evident.
"She... is off tending to an affai—"
"Is it seri—"
"No, it isn't! Don't worry about it, dear!" She shot a glance to the few Pokemon peeking from around the street corners, not wanting to cross paths with the Moonshadow. It was a wonder that they could see any, with how barren the town had become.
"Miss Leavanny, may I know... why there are so few villagers... around?" He had a clear guess as to what the answer would be, but he had been perpetually dazed to some degree for the last few days, so perhaps he was forgetting an event.
"Do you want us to go to care center already?" She avoided the question, making him tense his shoulders and instantly scan his peripheries once more, dreading an attack from the alleyways.
She wouldn't lead him into an ambush... right?
...
"I would like to... yes," what else was he meant to do but tread on?
And, thus, she caught him off-guard by loosely — very loosely — taking a hold of his hand — all while avoiding his gaze — and began to lead the compliant but anxious Nightmare Weaver through the village.
What else to do...
They would now know of his ability to hide in shadows, his Dark Void... his Haze... his Double Team... a Haze could be countered using Defog, but there was no easy solution to that last move.
He would not use Dark Void, no... nor Hypnosis.
...
How many could follow him into the air? There was Scyther, Honchkrow, Ribombee... Kricketune, maybe... Lampent, Mothim... Drifblim... no, not her nor Chatot. But a handful.
He could use Quick Attack to rapidly join the sky, evading a good portion of them.
Scyther was frail and could be removed from the fight using a — tame — Sucker Punch.
Ominous Wind would then do minimal damage to the rest and simply throw them off of his track...
No, there was Lampent, who had been injured not too long ago. Ought he to not use Ominous Wind? Or, instead, to consider how he could go about losing them in the alleyways?
That would certainly be far easier, come to think of it. Would he use his Double Team shadows to confuse them, in such a scenario? Or instead rely on Shadow Sneak, with its more limited range, but which was not but an illusion and could be used to exert physical — only slightly harmful — force upon them?
He realised that he needn't pick between either, truthfully.
But, then, if Lampent was not among them, would he use the skies or the streets? That, he was remained uncertain.
...
A chill ran up his spine. Why had Miss Leavanny stopped tugging on his arm?
He snapped out of his considerations and turned to see her halted as well, with antennas stiffened, before the entrance of a dark alleyway. Thankfully, she was not communicating some sort of signal to have him attacked, nor had she lead him to the heart of a snare. She was just afraid.
"Would you rather... we walked around it? The alleyway?" He proposed.
"Oh!" She flinched. "Uh... no, though..."
Afraid of the dark or afraid of him.
"May I lead the way?" Intent to show her that, either way, there was nothing to fear, he permitted himself to now tug on her arm, and she dared not protest as he lead her into and then out of the abyss in one piece.
At the other end, he let go, and was delighted to receive a smile from her in return, before they went inside.
The door was shut closed. "Did you... sleep well?"
The question gave him whiplash. It was one she would not dare ask any of her compatriots. A wholly forbidden one, except to the Nightmare Weaver, whom there was no more intuitive question to ask, seemingly.
He carefully considered his one word answer. That was all that would be required, he knew how these things went, he had observed how they had gone for decades. Speaking in detail about one's nightmares was a taboo as well, and Darkrai did not know whether he had the right to break any.
"Yes," no.
He had come to regret not talking to Espurr, not only because she was not there to immediately meet him in the morning after, but also due to what he had been forced to endure in stead of a conversation with her.
He had not wanted to live through any more scenarios which had yet to come, that night, yet... the nightmare had decided otherwise... the dream his own, so he was not lucid enough to put an end to it before awakening... Gallade maiming or impaling him... him maiming or ending Gallade... torment after torment for the entirety of the night...
Why had he accept his request for a duel?
...
No, he knew why: in Haven, in paranoid, hypochondriac, conflict-averse, little Haven, where it was not possible to faint without gambling with one's life, there was no higher sign of mutual trust — trust with one another's lives! — than the proposal and acceptance of a duel.
He had not been able to abstain from declaring his full support for such a proposal, when he knew what an honour it was... when he knew how it would be perceived... but Darkrai had to admit to himself that he did not have any such wholesale trust in Gallade... and what were the chances that Gallade would place such trust in him? Null?
There was something more to it.
What had he gotten himself into?
"Darkrai, dear...? Are you alright?"
The Moonshadow snapped out of his considerations with a flinch, once he felt her hand lightly graze his shoulder, only to be instantly retracted.
"Pardon me, Miss, Leavanny! I am well, yes, however..." an idea rushed to mind. "I... I can still feel certain wounds be inflamed every so often, my silence was due to an unexpected strain along my arm."
"Oh!" She gasped, charging over to her laboratory and beginning to fidget with her flasks and items. "It's best that we go on with your treatment for now, then. The course on the berries can wait until later."
...
And, just like that, he would no longer need to pay much attention to whether he was fabricating sufficient hints for them to continue to believe that he was pained. Going forward, every time he would stare off into the distance, lost in thought — which happened quite often, he had come to realise through his interactions with them — it would be interpreted as a moment of weakness, reinforcing that he still needed to remain there for longer.
... he wanted to remain there forever, but he did not know how to go about doing so, though. Far too many issues had arisen since he had fainted for him to find the necessary time for such a consideration.
...
Dared he to hope that, perhaps, perhaps — if it was not some foul trap after all — Gallade would, in some way, hurt him severely enough to justify an extended stay? He did not know if he dared...
"Where does it hurt now, dear?" Leavanny's voice dislodged him from his thoughts once more. "I have a new bandage for you on hand!" She held it to his face and smiled.
A feeling welled up inside him. He... he was not used to this! "I... I do not know if I am truly deserving of this care."
She tilted her head. "Did you not do... everything you did, on accident? Why should care be withheld from you?"
He took a moment to consider his words, though did so quickly enough to begin speaking before she asked if he was hurting again.
"I did not, no. I have no way to prove my goodwill to you — and I do realise that my promise is of very little value — but, all the same, I assure you that all Espurr told you was true, I do not bear any ill intentions towards you, nor anyone else in Haven... if anything, you now have my most profound gratitude," he sighed and intended go silent, before noticing her suppress a wide grin. "How—However... in general, when I am hurt, I am left to suffer through it and not benefit from... all of this. I have only ever been a blight upon your village, I concede, yet... here I am. You have no reason to help me," no reason outside of a potent fear for their lives, no.
"Oh," it was the bug who went mute for a few seconds. "Well, I promise you that we'll get something positive out of your last few days here. Alright, dear?"
Last few days, yes...
"Speaking of," she came to some sudden realisation. "I have someone who wants to make amends, after... some things which she did to you that she regrets. We'll go and meet her once I'm done with some stitches!"
His eyes widened. Had Gothitelle softened her stance? Truly?
"So, uhm, first of all, I'm very sorry for screaming at you — Espurr said that you had sensitive hearing — second of all, I'm sorry for ruining your night and everything you had planned on doing, and, third of all — obviously — I'm sorry for hitting you with that Shadow Ball, but I thought you were Lampent skulking out of bounds!" Leavanny accompanied the end of Pumpkaboo's address with a sharp applause.
It had been recited with constant stutters and intermediate pauses, there to let her catch her trembling breath. No eye contact had been made between them both at any point — Pumpkaboo had thoroughly avoided it — with Leavanny whispering to him that it was because the poor pumpkin feared being hypnotised.
They all feared being hypnotised, which explained their reluctance to look at him at all, outside of those who were paralysed and could not look away.
Actually, it was preposterous, is what it was! Why would he need Hypnosis when he possessed Dark Void in his arsenal? It was far more malleable in usage — its power could be passed through touch, unique, devouring spheres, or even as a barrage of strikes — and not to mention far more accurate!
...
His irritation was pierced by an abrupt thought: he had excused himself to the village as a whole, certainly, but perhaps he ought to tread the same path as Pumpkaboo there and follow it up with personal excuses to the handful of Pokemon he had done recent or a particular degree of harm to, like Goth— like Skwovet, like Scyther — once more — then there was Gallade... and Ursaring...
There were a lot of them.
"Mr. Darkrai...?" Pumpkaboo called with a quivering voice. "Mr. Darkrai, w—why are looking at me like that?"
"Oh, he isn't being rude, Pumpkaboo, don't worry," Leavanny rushed to her side before the Moonshadow could respond. "It's just that he's still a wee-bit pained and tends to suffer mild paralysis."
"Ah! It's true, yes," he caught himself. "I am rather... hurt... though I am still sorry for my silence! And for the scare which I caused you that night, too... yes!"
Under pressure, he could not help but exclaim every sentence, which would make Pumpkaboo recoil and shrink away a tad with each stuttered shout. Once he was done, she did her best to straighten her grimace and looked to Leavanny.
"I forgive him!" She forgot to address him directly. "Can I go now?"
"Ah... yes, it's all good, have a good rest of the day, Pumpkaboo!" The bug saw how terribly this interaction had fallen apart, and waved her goodbye.
The pumpkin did not wait for the Moonshadow to pronounce those same wishes nor make any such gesture before departing...
"Darkrai, dear," he could not help but shake and try and attempt retreat when Leavanny placed a wholly unexpected hand on his shoulder. "Please, keep calm."
Puzzled, but having realised that his panic was unwarranted, he heeded her call to composure as best he could, though not without keeping his gaze firmly fixed to the leaf-hand she had wrapping around his arm.
"Can you close your eyes for me?"
He recoiled away again, his sights frantically darting from one empty street to another, excepting to catch a glimpse of the fiend who would stab or blast him once she had made him let his guard down.
...
There was no one.
"Please?" She clasped her hands together, as if to beg.
No!
He did want to do that!
He did not trust her!
He did not trust them!
...
His gaze slowly veered to the ground, and he closed his eyes.
"Now, stretch your arms out and leave them there for a wee-bit," he could heart the rustling of her own leaves, confirming that she was following along, at least. "Basking in the Sun for a short while."
He was sweating. How quickly could he react and protect his chest if, say, a Shadow Ball had been aimed right at his heart? She had just made him such a vulnerable target!
"Take a deep breath..." she told him before pausing. This was a moment of silence the Nightmare Weaver rushed to use to its maximum extent, concentrating on the most minute of noises around him... only to hear nothing of suspicion. "... and exhale."
He did just that.
"Alrighty, you can reopen your eyes now," he had already done so immediately after exhaling. "Do you not feel more at ease now? I was using Photosynthesis during that, but some sunlight should still be soothing for you."
...
Actually!
"I do not like having my eyes closed, no," he responded. "It makes me feel... vulnerable."
He hoped that a clear message had been sent: he knew that there was something amok there, and he was on guard for it. Hopefully, they would no longer dare chance it... whatever it was.
"Dear," that wretched hand was placed once again on his shoulder, this time without hesitation. "You have nothing to worry about here, everyone else is just afraid. They don't want to risk being around you, but I know that they're good enough Pokemon not to wish harm upon you when they have such doubts still."
He looked her in the eye — apparently with a glare intense enough to finally make her remove her touch, but not enough so to make her avert her own gaze — but realised that he could not continue that conversation.
"Miss Leavanny?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Could I perhaps now go on to meet Skwovet, Scyther and—" not Gallade yet, no, later, as later as possible. "... I would... I would like to present my apologies to them both as well."
"Well, Scyther is—" she caught herself as well. "Scyther doesn't..."
"I understand," he was either not there and on the fields, and she did not wish to reveal that one of the Pokemon who could potentially combat him was absent, or she did not want to tell him that that same Pokemon was far too afraid to meet him. "Skwovet, then?"
"To begin with, I would like to say that I am very sorry for giving you a poisoned Pollen—"
"Darkrai, no!" Leavanny's abrupt cry made him recoil and impose his right claw in a defensive stance, which in turn caused her to jump and squeal. He was sensitive to loud noises!
"I— I— I apologise, Miss Leavanny, it is just that... you startled me," the wraith was considering whether to tell her that she had also startled Skwovet, who it had been a chore to even convince not to bolt away into a tree at the first sight of the Nightmare Weaver... but then what he had just told her dawned on him.
"Ah— uh— I did... I did not poison the Pollen Puff, no," Skwovet was petrified. "I... I... that was a slip of the tongue. I... I..."
"Deep breaths, deep breaths, dear," the insect returned to his side, gently patting him on the shoulder. "You're shaking, relax. Deep breaths, and then tell her what you meant," she glanced down at the rodent. "Do bear with me here."
"I did not poison the treat I offered you, no," he made clear, after seven deep breaths, as she had advised. "That was but a slip of the tongue. What I wanted to tell you is that I was sorry for offering you said delight in the first place, when I ought to have known that it would confuse you," he really ought to have known.
Skwovet did not verbally respond, but she nodded.
Nodded and then stared at him.
Stared at him... along with Leavanny.
...
And now he had simply forgotten the entirety of the monologue they had prepared together! They had even plagiarised Pumpkaboo's little speech for this! He panicked. What else? What else?
The angelic bug gave a short applause, sensing that she ought to cut it off early.
"I'll be teaching him our entire flavour chart later today, Skwovet," again, the rodent nodded. "You do remember how much difficulty you had with it yourself, right?"
Another nod... and then a movement of the lips? "Y— Yeah... good luck with it, Mr. Darkrai," she timidly waved, before scurrying off.
Leavanny being by his side was helping, apparently. Still, this was all so tiring... well, he ought to get it done with.
"May we move on to Ursaring next, please?" The bear's reactions thus far had been... odd, but — oddly — not in a negative sense.
At first, Darkrai had interpreted his replies as contrived mockery, but with further consideration — consideration he had ample time to give, when keeping his mind off of everything else tormenting him — that was likely to be incorrect and, if he would be forced into interactions with the townsfolk anyhow, the wraith may as well favour those he was legitimately interested in.
And then... something would happen, and he would find a way to exempt himself from the negotiated duel with Gallade. He did not think this due to any sense of exaggerated optimism, necessarily, but rather because these last few days had shown a reoccurring pattern of his plans being thoroughly interrupted by unexpected events.
Hopefully, this would continue to be the case.
"Oh, I'm not sure how much I would bother, honestly," Leavanny responded, lightly readjusting one of the bandages around his arm, as she had believed him to be momentarily paralysed or pained, just as planned. "He generally doesn't care much for excuses. That being said, if you insist, he's probably at the Dojo with Gallade and Scyther... that reminds me!" She exclaimed with glee. "Gall said that he wanted to meet you for something there, should I take you?"
No!
They would not attempt to kill him — he was fairly of that certain by that point — but he still did not want to fight Gallade.
He needed an out. He needed to stall. He needed an out. He needed an out! Someone else! Someone else!
...
The summit of the Sanctuary stuck out above the town...
Focus Blast missed.
Focus Blast missed.
Focus Blast missed.
Focus Blast missed.
The dummy that Ariados had made stood there — still stood there — mocking him. Clouds of dust rose all around it... each with a crater he would later have to fill in lying beneath them..
He was cold. He was shaking. He couldn't concentrate for the life of him, even with the dreadful suspicion that he maybe needed to be able to concentrate for the life of him.
He had made that offer... made that offer and then slept... made that offer, slept, and then had been given half a day's worth of time to regret it. Was it to test whether he had recovered? To test his true strength? A test in trust? Did he even have enough trust to run such a test in the first place?
There were many reasons, in theory, but he knew well that they were all after the fact justifications for an irrational urged he had experienced, back there, in the nightmare. A slight urge, a passing thought, one which ought to have dissipated before he could even grasp it... but no, instead, it was one which the nightmare had tugged on, tugged on and extrapolated into that damned suggestion.
Something foreign had tugged on him... he felt. Had Darkrai extracted that — possibly suicidal — proposal from him? He didn't know. As unexpectedly eager as Darkrai was to accept it... maybe Gothitelle was right, and he knew so much about them... and maybe he knew the honour that an invitation to a duel represented... or maybe maybe Gothitelle was right... or maybe he was that good at deception and subtle manipulation.
... probably not... hopefully not... probably that it was his own urge, that urge he had always felt, before Bisharp's death had knocked some sense into him. The urge to march into the Blightwoods and to finish off the monster none had been allowed to talk nor think about. The dream had brought him back to his infancy, after all...
No, Darkrai could've ended him at any other point in the fight that had already taken place... Gallade would survive this duel, yes... he would survive this and they would start to realise — and he would prove to himself — that Darkrai was telling the truth, and that Gallade's instincts had been right, and that he had never endangered them.
...
He would survive this, yes, and, even if they were justifications, the reasons he had already considered would gain him a degree of insight he desperately needed in these confusing times.
Another thing he needed right now, however, was to train for the occasion. To train to avoid hitting Darkrai too hard, yes... he was not training to avoid getting killed by Darkrai, no... no.
Perhaps he would try and not impact the dummy, then? A duel demanded restraint and self-control, after all...
Focus Blast hit. He gave up and sat down.
"Ya ain't doing nothing to it, you dunce!" A Murkrow mocked from the top of a tree, being joined in immediate laughter by his cohort.
Gallade would take that as a good opportunity to rest. "I'm not trying to damage it too much," he wiped the sweat off of his forehead, partially lying.
"Wah! Why?" A bird tilted his head.
"What's the point?" A second interjected.
"That makes no sense!" A third wailed.
"Idiot!" The last one shouted, before they all turned to each other to shake their heads in disapproval at him.
"Well, I'm trying to master my self-control," the now mildly irritated Guardian explained, without adding why.
"Useless!"
"No sense!"
"Wasting time!"
"Idiot!"
"Dunce!"
It was all so tiresome... the now fully irritated Gallade could only turn away, sigh, and try and wipe the vexed grimace from his fa—
From the corner of his eye, a silent cloud of blackness descend from the abyss above.
He froze, feeling his heart sink.
A pain formed in his stomach, arriving before the Nightmare Weaver had even pierced his gut.
He wanted to scream, but fear gripped his throat.
"Now, now, no need to get so upset over what they tell you," he heaved an equally fast sigh of relief, once Honchkrow began to speak.
He had thought that it was... well...
Yeah...
"They're not worth the straws and sticks they make their awful nests from," the bird hopped onto his shoulder, leaning into his face. "And if you're interesting in how I estimated the value of both, I can give you my methodology."
"That won't be needed, Honchkrow," he pushed its head out of his face. "Otherwise, how's your training been going?"
"Well, first of all," he began, lunging off of Gallade and instead keeping himself hovering in the air. "Obviously I'm not really a fighter," the bird zoomed to his side. "Here, you may considering adding — or are already thinking — 'unless the thing being fought is a small Pokemon that neatly fits into the grasp of your claws, like a Ralts, then you're fine with fighting, Honchkrow' and to that I would respond 'forget about it already, I'm a changed Pokemon'!"
Honchkrow and Gallade — as well as 'Honchkrow and every other Guardian' and 'every Honchkrow of Haven and every other Pokemon of Haven, ever' — had seldom been the best of friends, before the former had been enthralled by the subtleties and revenue from managing 'Anything and Everything' and then the Haven Bank, that was.
"I am but sly and even effete," the avian continued. "Over-refined, frail—"
"Are you... trying to get yourself out of training, or are you setting up some sort of gloat?" These last few days more than ever, he really wished he could psychically parse the intent of Dark-types.
"Ah, let me show you, and you may decide for yourself," Honchkrow stated, before flying over to the training dummy and taking a deep breath.
And then — blow after powerful blow — he hammered it with his wings, tossed it into the air and then thrusted it back into the ground, over and over again, until there was only scattered debris left of the thing.
... and then Honchkrow dropped down face first into the ground himself, exhausted and sweating. "Tired..."
"So... was that meant to show the former or the latter? How fast you tire, or how fast you can break it?" Gallade used his Psychic to accumulate the mess into a single pile.
"First..." the raptor got the word out between deep breaths, causing the Murkrow to discuss how reluctantly impressed they were by him with one another.
"Great! It's normal that you feel drained after, that's what Superpower does to you," Gallade waved him good-bye, intent on leaving to supervise the others. "If anything goes sour, you and your Superpower and Insomnia combination will be very useful in keeping the place safe."
"Well... uhh... it's not like I'll necessarily fight Dark—" Honchkrow continued to try and talk while still hyperventilating, but the Guardian had already moved on.
The Guardian passed by and helped Arbok, who had managed to tangle himself in his own coils, Ariados, who couldn't dislodge his horn from a dummy and was incapable of pulling himself out of there using his string, Kricketune and Oricorio, who had to be reminded that training entailed more than just dancing and singing, and plenty others before, finally, on the cavea by the entrance of the wooden amphitheatre, were sat Espurr, clutching her bag of remedies, and Mawile, clutching her sore foot.
"And how are you two faring?" He sat down beside them.
"I'm bored," Mawile whined. "That idiot Darkrai spraining my ankle means that I just have to... sit around, and that's no fun!"
"He didn't do it on purpose and he is not an idiot," Espurr pouted. "I really miss him, he didn't want to talk tonight! I'm quite aware that I have to be around here to make sure no one who faints can't wake up again, but could I just check up on the poor friend?"
After a moment of consideration, he realised that he really did not want to have to deal with that right now. "Would you two not rather be with Gothitelle, then? I'm sure that she'd find some way to keep you both occupied," sorting bottles by the colour of their caps, or arranging papers in alphabetical order, no doubt.
"No," Espurr protested. "She acts quite rude with me now!"
"And besides, she said that she was busy with something and didn't want to be disturbed," Mawile added. "Plus, I prefer watching."
"Well," Gallade stood up and was on the verge of leaving. "Happy watching, then, but Espurr you have to stay here, you'll meet him later."
Later was when he would also meet the Nightmare Weaver again, and he was not looking forward to it...
"Gallade!" Mawile's appendage caught him by the leg, almost making him trip, had he not caught himself with Psychic. "Can I know just one more thing?"
"Yes?" He positioned himself right-side up.
"Are you sure that leaving Miss Leavanny with Darkrai is safe? With no one to protect her?"
It was not a certainty, but she had insisted on taking care of him alone, for some reason.
"It is!" Espurr was quick to react.
"I'm always concentrated on the village," Gallade sat back down next to Mawile, gently stroking her maw. "If I can feel Leavanny get more scared, or sad, or worried, than usual, I'll be there in a split second. We can't let this all stop us from training at all. You have nothing to worry about, I promise you that, alright?"
"Hmm," she rocked back and forth while thinking. "Alright, Gallade, I trust you! If Darkrai does anything at all to Miss Leavanny, mess him up again!"
"But he won't do anything to her, Mawile, that you can be certain of!" Espurr flew closer to her side. "He's not like that..."
"Just because we're training, doesn't mean that anyone's going to fight him," with one exception... "It's mostly just to make everyone feel safer and to have most of us here together."
With another exception, come to think of it...
"Ursaring?" The Guardian called to the bear, who he knew to be mastering his Dynamic Punch by a boulder.
"Huh?" The ursid turned around. "What?"
"Where's—"
"Scyther didn't come, he took Morgrem with him down to the fields."
...
He couldn't help but feel guilty for making Scyther... like that, by sending him to guard Pumpkaboo that night, but... this was just ridiculous! And unsafe, when they weren't meant to disobey orders and split up in the situation they were in!
Gallade was prepared to leap and sprint down the hills to the meadow, to get those two back, but — after having dreaded its coming for so long — the suffocating feeling of another's terror finally clasped his throat.
The Sanctuary.
She would look at them, she would attempt to count them, her head would begin to spin, she would start to feel dizzy, on the verge of vomiting.
She would look away, they would call back, the sickness would begin anew.
Each and every one of these cycles only served to make her boil with ever more intense rage, yet, deep down, it felt like they called for her anger. They would begin to gleefully dance the closer she inched to expressing it, the closer she inched to smashing them to bits...
...
No, the runes did not dance. No, what was she saying? They did not budge, they did not move, they did not chuckle, they did not chirp, nor did gurgle.
... they just lied there and watche—
No, they just lied there, on the table, and watch—
No! They just lied there on the table.
They just lied there on the table... so what was happening with her now?
... marinating in this cold cauldron of her own anger and distress had accomplished nothing for her, but, in truth... she knew it to be only an escape from the insanity unfolding outside.
She would not say that she felt betrayed, no: almost the entirety of the village was firmly on her side, yet Darkrai's presence had made them hostages of itself. They could not hope to protest, they could not hope to tell their Guardian that he was not acting in the interest of those he owed his loyalties to, because that thing was always hovering close by, and, when it was nowhere to be seen... that was no less reassuring.
There was nothing about them that it did not know. That, she had become certain of.
Gallade had gone mad, gone mad or had been manipulated... it was only his word which had exonerated Espurr, after all, and, now, it was Gallade and Ursaring who were vouching for the monster, the two who had defeated it... allegedly.
Allegedly, they had defeated it, but they had returned with it alive, they had encrusted it into the heart of the village and, now, they protected it... Scyther had not joined the woods, and he had been spared from this folly... Leavanny had gone into the woods, and now she wished to heal it...
She dared to wonder, had they defeated it?
... was it Ursaring and Gallade who had returned from the Blightwoods, or something much sinister? Had Leavanny truly returned? Was Espurr still the same Espurr, with the odd manner of speech she had acquired, with her newfound radiance, when she had spent her first days in Haven saddened and isolated?
...
That was it, right? That was the grand scheme she was watching unfold... it had already taken so much from her and would now move onto taking so many... was it too late for her to do anything about it?
A deep breath.
She was leaving. Leaving and not coming back. Leaving and not looking back.
Gothitelle could heave a sigh of relief once she reached the entrance of her Sanctuary, leaning against it for a moment of comfort before swiping away the celestial drapery to reveal the delightful sunlight of the outside.
She dove out of there, feeling like a clamp had been removed from her throat, like she could once again breathe, like if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders... like she could once again floa—
She hadn't fallen face first into the dirt.
She was floating.
Why was she—?
Why...
Why was she so enthralled by the fact that she could float? Of course she could float!
Gothitelle used her psychic powers to place herself right-side up, standing on the ground, and groomed her dressed, removing any accumulated dirt.
...
She had remembered her lower half being more tattered and worn down from age and stress, but no, it was in pristine condition. She was in pristine condition. This was delightful.
She had never felt so light and jovial.
She would enjoy it.
She was not alone in this enjoyment, either: along her way, as she waltzed down the main street on this sunny day, she saw that Skwovet and Pumpkaboo were clamoring at Ribombee's Boutique, where she was dealing out her Mago, Oran, Sitrus, and other flavoured Pollen Puffs in droves.
Arbok served varied drinks from his bar... with no overabundance of Chesto Berry juice.
Kricketune playing his melody, while Oricorio danced her most... reckles— energetic, dynamic moves.
Linoone and a Murkrow racing each other, while Honchkrow and the rest of his minions cheered the latter on.
Ariados and Klefki, meanwhile, were in the midst of offering a group of awed travelers a place to stay and an access to the bank, so as to store their belongings for the night.
By the edges of the forest next to Haven — the one whose name she was having difficulties recalling — Scyther was shearing the protruding bushes and crooked tree branches...
Mothim and Lampent, Chatot and Drifblim sharing stories of what they had read in their books or seen on their travels along with Druddigon, without even considering censoring anything they were saying, for fear of it being nightmare fuel...
Bisharp and Gallade having a friendly spar in a corner of the plaza, while Pangoro, Grimmsnarl and Ursaring would switch between momentary cries of encouragement, and then chummy jeers aimed at the duelists...
Gardevoir and Leavanny taking turns combing Morgrem's hair...
Mawile was calmly resting under a tree...
...
Resting?
Without thought, her hand glided to her right, emitting a psychic wave that ripped from its bush a Chesto Berry and deposited it into her palm. Gothitelle was quick to then use Trick to swap it into Mawile's hold, before another Psychic instrumentalised the toddler into ingesting it, shocking her awake.
"Uhh... Wah—?" Mawile heaved herself up, massaging her head and wildly blinking.
"Look at you, acting so tough and fearless," Gothitelle marched up to her, having to keep herself from the urge to grab the careless vermin by the neck. "Do you have no idea of the sort of risk you're putting yourself in? Especially with the Moonshadow here?"
Instead of excusing herself and vowing unending respect to the village leaders as she usually would, Mawile tilted her head and rose a perplexed eyebrow.
"Pardon my meddling, but what is this 'Moonshadow'?"
At the sound of that voice, Gothitelle spun around so fast that she hurt her ailing back, so fast that it made the sky and scenery meld into a unique puddle of colours, before it all snapped into shape: Lilligant was standing behind her.
Struck speechless, the urge to rush and pick her up into her embrace was one she could not keep herself from.
"It's so good to see you!" Gothitelle tightly squeezed her old friend, feeling an intense glee that she could not even explain to herself.
Perhaps was it because of all the time they had spent together, aiding one another as manager of the Sanctuary and main curator of the village's berry holding and reserves? It was saddening that they had stopped meeting further down the line, really.
...
As far as she could recall, their friendship had come to an end within the same range of days as when Espurr had arrived... Lilligant had gone out to the plains to pick berries... Gallade had become far too tired after having to spend so much time looking out for that brat... too tired to be able to read Gothitelle's mind.
Upset herself, Gothitelle had made the calculation to not mention the Sleep Powder particles she had found all over Lilligant, and had instead claimed that there was no evidence of her having been put to sleep by anything other than the direct influence of the Nightmare Weaver. This with the hope of reinvigorating the resistance against the creatur—
Wait.
That was the reason why she was so happy to see her: Lilligant had died on the day they had stopped meet—
She pushed away the undead, taking as many steps backwards as she could and then running into an alleyway. Once there, she instinctively launched her Future Sight, desperately scrambling to find any sort of sense in what she was enduring through the aid of the patterns of the mighty stars, whose images manifested and stretched overhead.
Quickly, it dawned on her: this was all fake, she should not be able to use Future Sight, she had no such instinct, Darkrai was still toying with h—
The celestial bodies broke free of her hold, growing and growing, with ever more sprouting out of thin air, until the wandering planets, stars and moons — blushing with every colour of the rainbow — had come to cloak almost the entirety of the night sky.
Gothitelle knew that she should give up. Give up and let herself fall backwards, onto the expanse of grass.
This place... this place which she had almost forgotten... which she had somehow forgotten... she was back there now... and the wretched noise — the amalgamation of bubbling, gurgling, screeching and crackling — the wretched noise was back as well.
As if having to contend with an entire river crashing down against her, she initially found it difficult to even move her eyes before — with an abrupt motion of the head — she managed to force herself to turn around, the movement somehow catapulting her into the air.
Floating there, amongst the stars that had become so small and hovered so near that she could hold them in the palm of her hand, Gothitelle did her best to block all distractions from her mind — a tingling fleeing beginning to manifest at the circumference of her head, like they were physically trying to claw their way back in — and instead directed her gaze to where she somehow knew the equivalent to Chatot's box to be.
Surely enough, the small, wooden container, levitating in the same position as it would be if on her table and not in the middle of the air, was there... and then it wasn't. A pile of vibrating symbols took its place, crackling with ever intensifying bolts of electricity until — much like the first time this had happened — they disassociated from each other with a shockwave that freed her.
Gothitelle fell down to the — she had to admit — incredibly soft and comfortable grasslands, and was immediately struck with terror upon seeing one of those ghastly things — V, was its name, she somehow knew — inch towards her, growing to such a size that it eventually dwarfed her, looming like a projector... and then her fear evaporated.
V shrank and retreated, without veering its eye from her. Soon, multiple of the scattered symbols — the First, the Last, the Others, all transparent, unlike her dear V — warped forward from where they had been serenely idling in the twilight sky and congregated around V in a revolving ring.
All four of the Unown—
The Unown...?
Her dear—?
All four of the Unown.
All four of the Unown circling her dear V exchanged with him darts of electricity, and scattered segments of the messages they were passing him reverberated through the grasslands: 'help', 'peace', 'free', 'friend', 'out', those words all reached her, in between the fragments of concepts she could scarcely grasp, much less repeat.
She felt a sense of relief which she could not hope to explain either, once the circle shattered and V's kin left it — it, the frightful entity whose presence she for some reason craved to have closer to her — to advance onto where she had been left paralysed in the air.
At first, a wavering perplexion consumed her. She was left to wonder why it wavered in favour of a deep calm, or why it wavered at all, when it ought to be terror to consume her fully... soon, though, the mistake was righted: her breathing intensified until it became painful, her arms began to tremble and sweat, fear gnawed at her insides, weighing her down until she could feel herself begin to descend...
... and then plummet — faster and faster — into the black ooze which had devoured the plains, leaving behind her the frantic Unown, desperately vying for control against the tendrils of shadow growing from the shattered moons, before it turned into a mere fight for their survival—
She was back in her tent. Standing in front of her table... in front... her table... the slabs were there.
One's symbol was exuding a glow, crackling with feeble strikes of electricity. It was V, the one she had shattered in her rage... the...
The... what?
What?
What had just—?
"Miss Gothitelle?"
Her eyes widened at the sound of that voice, but before she could truly register what she had already intuited, she strode out into the antechamber — sensing that she should avoid the Unown being seen — only to come face to face with the Nightmare Weaver, alone with it in the dark of a corridor.
Sweating.
Trembling.
Doubting himself. Hating himself.
His heart hammering against his chest. He was actually pained.
Darkrai forced the drapes aside and slid into the antechamber, immediately being assaulted by the sight of Gothitelle, who lunged out from the other end of the corridor and collided into him.
Alarmed as he was by how dazed she first appeared — her prime instinct being neither to scream nor hiss at him, but rather to shoot a terror-struck glance back to the drapery leading to the core — he soon came to regret not enjoying the brief moment, once she got a hold of her senses: the Sanctuary's manager gaze veered back to the wraith, her eyes shot open, face paled and contorted into a grimace of illness.
She tried to push him away at the same time as he recoiled back to the entrance, leaving her to instead flail her arms and stumble backwards, all while spouting panicked gibberish. "Uh— Wh— What— What're—?"
"Greetings... Miss Gothitelle," realising that he would need to be the one to begin by soothing her worries, lest this situation somehow escalated, Darkrai held in his breath and broke free from the overwhelming urge to go silent. "May we speak?"
Offering no response, she held onto a piece of cloth from the drapery for comfort and protection — as if trying to hide behind it — and stood there, staring agape at him from the shadows, with only her deep, frenetic breaths piercing the quietude of the corridor they had both been made prisoners of.
Feeling that he was falling back into very muteness he had reneged at first, the Moonshadow clenched his fist and laboured to continue on. "I... I simply wished to tell you that... I am very... for..."
...
How was he meant to phrase this? She had not even responded and this had already turned out to be a disaster of an exchange! He ought to have planned for this occasion better! He knew that he shouldn't have gone on with this yet! He had misstepped, he shouldn't have tried to flee the duel with Gallade so hard, no, no...
"I am... sorry... for everything I have caused you."
Devoid of any detail or emotion — without a hint of any of the sadness he genuinely felt at the sight of her, the sadness he felt when he remembered what he had caused her, the sadness he felt when he was reminded of what she thought and said of him — the Nightmare Weaver blurted out his truncated apology as if he had no care for it.
Gothitelle, likewise, was uncaring for anything he had to say, preferring to keep cowering at the edge of the room, making nervous, inarticulate sounds, until Gallade burst forward from the gateway behind Darkrai, and imposed himself between the two.
Darkrai's sights darted to the closest one of Gallade's arm-blades, his arm tensing, ready to block the surely oncoming attempt to impale him... but nothing came of it.
Gallade stared at him, at first seeming mad, before his gaze suddenly went soft. "What were you two doing?" After another glance to the Nightmare Weaver, he retracted his blade and assumed a more relaxed stance. All this, but the tone of his voice did not lie: the Guardian was still on edge.
When he saw Gothitelle blink as if she had just been shaken awake, he knew that he needed to act, lest she took the opportunity to lie. "I was only here to offer her my excuses... for..." Gallade could guess. "You... you may even ask Miss Leavanny, she... she will tell you that this is what I have been doing since this morning... thus far."
The protector turned to the other Psychic-type. "Is that true?"
And, now, after the initial shock had dissipated, Gothitelle assumed the signature, snarling grimace she wore whenever around him. "I... I don't need your 'sorry', I don't want your 'sorry'! Your 'sorry' does nothing for me, nor for any of your other victims!" She took a few, cautious steps to place herself closer to Gallade. "Even if you were telling the truth, even if this were not all an elaborate ruse, I would still hate you and I will take my hate for you to the grave!"
With every exclamation at him, Darkrai flinched and recoiled. Her words were like daggers, stabbing into him, twisting, tearing for as long as needed to keep the wound bloody and sore, but... he was grateful that she had not attempted to sabotage him by telling Gallade that he had threatened her, at the very least.
... why had she not done that... yet? Had he really stunned her so?
"She isn't exactly a very indulgent type of person," once he had been dragged outside and a concerned Leavanny had joined them, Gallade began to speak. "But, look at it this way: if she feels comfortable enough to scream at the Nightmare Weaver, she probably isn't as certain in what she says about it as she'd appear. She's the smartest person here, once she solves that dissonance and moves on, she'll be clamouring for 'rightful revenge' much more often, which I can guarantee you everyone else will be much less enthused by... after that, I don't know."
"Then so be it," Darkrai responded. "If she continues to hate me beyond that point, I cannot blame her... truth be told, perhaps you all are being far too forgiving..."
He had be allowed to keep his life, had been allowed to frequent their village, been provided with medical aid... they had turned the other cheek when he had caused trouble... to an extent, he knew not whether he did deserve some form of retribution, all that he was certain of was that Gothitelle's terms were unacceptable: he would continue to exist.
"Would... this be a bad moment to remind you that we had a duel scheduled?"