There was a hug from Espurr, one last check up from Leavanny, a quasi-incoherent rant from Mawile, and wishes for a pleasant sleep, before the shadow waved and slipped out from the Town's Heart and into the alleyways, slithered down the avenue and up the hills, plunging into the darkness of the Blightwoods, at which point Pumpkaboo's rays of light abandoned him.
Only comfortable enough to do so once they thought him too far to hear, there were some others who even dared to wish him a good night in turn — having to hold themselves back from saying they had faith that he would wake up, as they would do with any other villager — only for the Moonshadow to turn around and wave back at the, at which point they all fell silent.
Gallade had also naively joined in on these wishes. A part of him felt sad to see Darkrai go, really, even if it would — very hopefully — only be temporary, from now on. He had enjoyed their talk... and he had to admit that seeing the Nightmare Weaver have to take Leavanny's course on berries, and raise his hand, and ask dumb, banal questions, like a first-stage evolution, was not only hilarious, but also the only revenge truly needed for the humiliation Gallade had been put through before.
Not that any of that had made the pain in his gut go away, but it remained manageable.
Like clockwork, however, his absence — and that of Espurr and Mawile, who Leavanny went to put to bed — was soon to be surrogated with the arrival — well, the return — of two townsfolk who had been irritatingly gone this entire day.
"Please, don't land before we've made sure that he's gone!"
Morgrem's grating shriek pierced through the relative serenity of the dusky sky, with him only being revealed — stuck to Scyther's back, with claws latched deep into the gaps of the bug's carapace and with hair coiled twenty times over around the insect's waist — once Pumpkaboo illuminated him.
"Darkrai is gone, yes," Gallade responded, hastening their descent by wrapping Scyther in psychic energy and pulling him — and Morgrem — down to the ground with... relative delicacy.
Of course, such liberal usage of his powers — even for the warden — he would usually shun, but the current situation had served to put their pearl clutching on this issue into perspective: if they were allowing Darkrai to stay within their vicinity, the former was no grave threat in comparison. Besides, if his paralysis during the preceding fiasco was a testament to anything, it was that he needed to fine-tune his reflexes and maneuvering with them, lest he again find himself incapable to respond to an entire stadium collapsing.
"Scyther, I have told you twice already now that you were to be here with us!" The pumpkin's light followed him along as he marched over to them, with the projector then shifting onto the duo, while Gallade put the finesse of his Psychic to the test, cleaning from the insect's carapace and the goblin's hair the leftover bits of straw and dust with only one gesture.
The insect covered his eyes with one claw and then huffed, Morgrem retreated behind him, much less stalwart. "And I made it more than clear to you twice already that me and Morg will be spending time together at the farm until this blows over!"
The little creature hidden between his legs was resolute enough on this particular matter to dare and nod in agreement, though.
"And when will this be over with, anyway?" Scyther continued. "It's not like I enjoy swiping at wheat for an entire day, either!"
"Let me be the one to summarise all of the madness which has taken place here for you, Scyther," scarce were the occasions where Gallade could freely talk, without Gothitelle lurking but a few meters away from him, ever ready to pounce at the first sights of an important exchange. "What Gallade here is proposing— nay, imposing! Imposing upon us! What Gallade here is imposing upon us, and right after Darkrai injured him and Honchkrow, mind you, is—!"
"Wait, Gall, you guys got injured? What... what happened?" Scyther shuddered with concern, flying closer to his chief.
"Are you okay, still?" Morgrem soon joined him, crawling onto his back and shoulders to check for any wounds.
"Well, it's not that Darkrai injur—"
"Almost the entire village got injured!" Gothitelle cried. "And, to top all of this insanity off, our warden — after all of this! — has now been convinced that Darkrai ought to stay, actually!"
The formulation of that last sentence made Gallade flinch, before he realised that he could shake that sudden anxiety off: no, her telepathic powers had not been returned to her, and she had not read his mind to find out his true intentions, she was just being polemical... well, outright lying, but doing so in a way that made her tread closer to the truth than if she were entirely honest... but lying, still.
"Gall, what are you even—?"
"Scyther, do I really have to tell you that she isn't being entirely fair with her summary here?" Gallade immediately cut him off, causing the insect to consider for a short while, before confidently nodding, and then averting his gaze from her vexed expression. "Right, now, let me actually explain what I'm—"
"Let me try my hand at this again, then, if it was unsatisfactory the first time around," Gothitelle strode over and physically shut him up with her hand. "Gallade here challenged Darkrai — the Nightmare Weaver — to a duel! A duel!"
Predictably, Scyther now moved to verify this information with Gallade, who confirmed with a gesture of the head before any question could be asked. Meanwhile, Morgrem was already pulling his hair in shock.
"Thus, Gallade lost, confirming to that thing that, no, there are no Pokemon in Haven capable of adequately defending themselves against it!"
"A... at least... at least Gallade's still alright," Morgrem stuttered, the warden shrugged.
"Now, Gallade has reneged on his prior promise to have Darkrai leave as soon as he is in condition to do so, preferring instead to have him stay, all while someone from here is sent on a treasure hunt after some panacea which we aren't sure is even real: a Lunar Feather, an item which — though it almost assuredly does not even exist — the Nightmare Weaver himself declared would be nigh-impossible to find!"
"Well, if Gall changed his mind, he surely has a good reason to...?"
"And indeed I do, Scyther," Gallade began, immediately turning to the entirety of the village, only to restate to them what he had repeated multiple times before. "Let me walk you through it, actually: Darkrai has remained here for a few days now, during his stay, he has harmed absolutely no one, with the case of the Wiki Berries being entirely avoidable, and basically guaranteed not to happen again, now that Leavanny gave him her crash course," he quickly shut down any of Gothitelle's coming remarks on that matter. "Much the contrary, actually: he has been nothing if not well-mannered and helpful, as many here can confirm after today."
He left a moment of silence — just for some, like Mothim and Lampent, to be forced to reluctantly nod along — and then turned back to Scyther.
"This morning, when him and I held our duel — during which he was thoroughly mindful not to gravely injure me, even though he easily could have — there was an accident in the stadium, Espurr had another outburst, and he dove in without hesitation to calm her down."
"Okay... well," the goblin chimed in. "That does sound pretty... nice of him...?"
"Well, recently, and you should have been here to hear this, let me just remind you of that, Scyther," having to repeat all of this was a chore, but at least doing so became easier with every instance. "He went on to tell us that there was in fact an item — one called a 'Lunar Feather', as Gothitelle stated — which could soothe his nightmares. I will have someone sent to find that item for us, if the attempt is successful, Darkrai will get to stay with us indefinitely."
The plan, however, was to give Darkrai a few days to make them more comfortable around him, to ease them into an idea they were bound to find more than unpleasant today: to allow him to remain there forever, in spite of the lack of a Lunar Feather.
He had seen how Honchkrow had reacted to Darkrai — assuming that Honchkrow's reaction was fully his own... and he had no reason to believe otherwise... right? — this, paired with the vague remarks the Moonshadow would sometimes let slip, and the latter's nonchalance at being brutally attacked by the former, painted a clear picture: for Darkrai, this violence was nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary, and Darkrai did not want to cause any more pain.
While it was almost a certainty that they would never find that Lunar Feather, it was also evident that him moving would bring only that: more pain. Darkrai did not want to leave, and Gallade did not feel it within his right to make him leave. Was the wraith's goal any less noble than his own? Certainly not. Had he bested him in anything, thereby giving him a right to dictate terms to Darkrai? Well... maybe, yes... but not truly, no...
Another thing which had been made evident, then, was that Darkrai was powerful, far too powerful — the strength of the few travellers Haven had received these past few years, in spite of them all being wandering fighters, paled in comparison nonetheless — to be expulsed into the wild, where he would be attacked and, more worryingly still, forced to defend himself.
It wasn't that he was placing the safety of others before the village... at least, it didn't really feel that way: all had told Gallade that, as warden, he had a clear responsibility towards Haven... but what was Darkrai, if not an integral part of it? Did he not also fall within the realm of Gallade's responsibility?
Evidently that he did! 'The warden of Haven has an obligation to attend to any issues relating to the Nightmare Weaver' was a core tenet of the role! It had even been put to ink — that exact phrasing! — in Grimmsnarl's Manuscripts, which had acted as the uncontested guidelines for the village for a century now!
Maybe this... situation wasn't exactly what Grimmsnarl had in mind, but Darkrai had shown him mercy, Darkrai had shown them all mercy, if his attempt to fight him had made anything obvious. Darkrai was a member of Haven, under the responsibility of the warden of Haven, and he was extending a hand of reconciliation, even after all of the hostility — all of the attempts to destroy him — he had faced, and had continued to do so out of nothing but good will... there was no other answer!
Did Gallade have any other choice, then, but to integrate him? Or, at least, attempt to do so? What would it entail, really? Wouldn't it all just be a return to normalcy? With the Moonshadow continuing to lurk in Haven, with nothing new tormenting the village, only that which they had learned to endure already? They could even become more lax on certain regulations, and their fears would partially be soothed, knowing that there was no monster, only one, admittedly sad member of their village...
What the townsfolk were being proposed was still an undisputable improvement from their situation from but a few days ago...
But a few days ago...
Gallade had been the first to put his life on the line — to fight the supposed demon — but a few days ago, him... and Ursaring... and Ursaring hadn't contested any of his decisions yet...
'The warden is to guarantee the safety of the village — with his life if necessary — and, in exchange, demand nothing short of unflinching, total faith,' those words, in that same manuscript, were perhaps not always the greatest of guidelines, but they rang true and necessary today: Gallade was acting well within his duty and his right.
What was to be done was up to him.
"This will only be a few more days of Darkrai, or an eternity of no one ever having to worry about Darkrai causing any harm ever again. Please, trust in me as we get through this together," he lied, armed with a topic to immediately switch to. "Now that that's all over with — I would hope — I just want to bring up another affair that we need to tend to, this one more urgent: Chatot and Drifblim's whereabouts. They've now been gone for multiple days and nights, finding them ought to be our primary objective."
"Gallade, I wish to speak with you... alone," Gothitelle stated in a hushed — though far softer — tone, taking him by both hands and pulling away, no response truly being required.
Together, they crossed the Town's Heart and plunged into an alleyway — thus leaving the rest of the village to argue and discuss amongst themselves — at which point Pumpkaboo's beams abandoned them, and Gallade had to turn to his Psycho Cut for light and psychic faculties for navigation.
Gallade, at least, had become accustomed to such expeditions, and they knew now that there was nothing malignant lingering in the darkness of their streets — Gothitelle, as well, had seemingly accepted this, maybe without much self-awareness — so they might as well treat it as a refuge for private conversations.
Eventually, after an entire escapade through the dim streets and narrow alleys — with Gothitelle almost tripping or running into objects, at which point the warden was forced to make her float — they arrived before her Sanctuary. Both of them were sure that there was nothing rationally to fear from the dark in Haven, but there was no use in pushing that too far: her home remained the only place where she would feel wholly comfortable to hold a talk.
She reached her hand to clear the drapes acting as a doorway, only to suddenly freeze up. She began to quiver, not noticing that she was standing paralysed in front of him with eyes and mouth gaping open... her face paled... something was wrong with her, and it soon became apparent to Gallade why: a foreboding miasma was seeping through the fabric, something vile had seated itself inside her home.
Gallade attempted to concentrate on it, only to jolt backwards, a shock coursing through him.
Holding his breath, he composed himself and gently reached for her hand — with her retracting it with equal care — and moved it away from where it had become stuck, with only a few, fine cloths separating it from the hungry abyss on the other side. Together, almost hugging each other — and with Gallade's pains becoming more and more acute, a screeching static beginning to overwhelm his senses — they slowly stepped back from the entry and... forgot what it was that they were afraid of.
The headache had subsided.
...
He looked to his left: the library. They... had marched a long way in such little time. It had only felt like a mere two or three steps...
Gothitelle took in a deep breath, seemingly also having become wholly calmed. "Those two ought not be an objective at all," she evidently wanted to say as much with a more authoritative voice, but, even if she was no longer distressed, the aftermath of... whatever she felt at the door of her Sanctuary — the quivering and coldness — still lingered. "Truth be told — and I have neglected to tell it — they are not lost, I... I sent them both on a... mission for me, outside of these lands, right before the beginning of the New Moon Festival," for once, she appeared to shrink onto herself, crossing her arms and shooting occasionally glances to the ground.
The warden could not bring himself to anger, not when he was dissimulating far more than her at the moment, but why she hadn't made that clear beforehand was evident. "You should have told us! We've been panicking about this daily!"
"That is not the question, Gallade!" To his discontent, as soon as she saw that he was not showing himself to be as furious as expected, Gothitelle snapped back. "The pit you want to bury us in is a thousand times more dire!" She seized him by the shoulders, right after reciting that line which seemed... off, somehow. Was she still not too well after... after... what had happened? What... had—? "Tell me, just tell me: why do you trust him so?"
"Gothi, have you not been paying attention for the past few days?" He gave up on trying to remember what he had in mind — what 'had happened' — and responded with now boiling frustration. "To what happened today, even? I can point to so, so many things that he's done — he wanted to spare me during our first battle in the Blightwoods, now, he was nothing but careful during our second, he forgave Ursaring's attack instantly, before that, he helped Espurr, and then Mawile — it no longer makes sense to even assume that there's some form of deception here! It would just be an incoherent scheme, if so, and it's evident that he's not dumb!" He took a breather, only to realise that he had one more proof to list. "Last night, in dream, Darkrai even revealed that he had seen me, back when I got stuck in his forest, and had just... decided to let me leave!"
She was lost in thought before that point — evidently struggling to string together all of those events into one convenient narrative of some master plan — but her face suddenly lit up, before once again morphing into an irritated grimace. "Gallade, you're such a fool," Gothitelle replied after a short pause, whining, more so than truly further angered. "We have been talking about that incident for ages now! Do you really believe that the Nightmare Weaver would not know of it, when it's evident that spying on us is his only pass time? I repeat myself, but are you truly so blind?"
"That is a reasonable assumption, maybe, but there were so many... details, that were shown in the dream that he couldn't have just known about if he wasn't there for them! There was a point where I circled around a tree, as a dumb child, I thought that I had outsmarted him, but Darkrai was only a meter away, basically, on the other side! I never told anyone about that, that I was playing ring around the rosie with the Nightmare Weaver! It was ridiculous, and I thought I had misremembered it after the fact!"
"So you saw something in a nightmare that exonerates the nightmare-manipulating demon? Give me a break! You could've seen those details in nightmares — you had a lot of those, after we got you out of that forest! — and he could've seen them, or he could've simply burrowed into your head and shown it back to you! It's a dream, it's obviously in your head, with your memories!"
What he had seen in that dream hadn't been a solid proof of anything, no, but Gallade had followed his gut feelings at the time, thanks to that, he could now point to the spar they had had. Darkrai was obviously not malicious. Darkrai was obviously not malicious. Darkrai was obviously not malicious.
"Gothi," he took in a deep breath. "You yourself don't even believe that he's evil anymore, it's painfully obvious from the way you treat him that you aren't afraid of retaliation. Still many others — many others who have lost family members, both sons, daughters, siblings and parents — are less antagonistic than you are—"
"And tell me how many of those loved ones were lost because I could no longer help them?" Gothitelle cried. "This is not just me being spiteful, selfish, because I have to walk and not float, or march up to an apple to grab it, instead of telekinesis bringing it to me, or whatever else you imagine I've been seething with rage about for so long now,"
Gothitelle sighed and turned to the sky for a moment, observing the stars, the sole sources of light in pitch-black Haven, and then began anew, in a now more quiet tone.
"My powers helped so many wake up from their nightmares. If I could enter their dreams, I could bring them back, no matter how long they had fallen to his influence... I decided to stay here because I wanted to help this poor place... but when I lost that power, I wasn't just left defenseless and vulnerable, but became a burden. Half of the village imagined that I wouldn't make it past the next night!" She turned back to him. "Did anyone ever tell you about that last part?"
He was now the one to fall silent, to shrink on himself. "No... not in such detail, no..."
"Well, you weren't wrong in your assumption that I was upset for my own sake, either: I could no longer defend myself, I couldn't leave — lest I got mauled along the way — I could not even walk, because I had relied so much on levitating before that point! But... but the reason all of that ached all the more was because I was turning into such a burden for a place already in deep suffering. I remained here to help... only to be turned into an object of constant worry and accommodation after that."
For a short moment, back to the stars here eyes went.
"Granted, since I could not leave — leave, to keep myself from being but an affliction all others had to worry about — I decided to make myself useful, but the before and after of what I could do remained clear: half-efficient elixirs, from recipes I manage to cobble together from whatever Chatot or the Murkrows had overheard or seen, Dream Eaters, who were cowardly, self-interested to the point of potential murder, or — as much as I like Espurr, I really do! She is an utterly kind little girl — hazardous."
From the stars and onto Gallade her eyes shifted.
"Now, Gall, I'm angry, justifiably angry, and not only for myself, I don't understand how you don't understand that. I have justified reasons to be hesitant about everything he says but, above all else, even if those doubts were somehow cleansed, I justifiably hate him, and nothing can change that, I think," by her rants end, she was depleted, nearing tears...
"Gothi, he has been a burden upon all of us, and no one Pokemon has helped this village carry on in spite of that burden more than you... not only is everyone one of us grateful for that, but Darkrai is as well. Gothi, he's so grateful for what you've done as well, so much so that he's willing to forgive everything you've said about him, and to endure your hatred, if you do not want it forgiven!"
Her faced morphed from vexed to perplexed, and then back again. She gave no response, he would go on.
"Not to detract from your own suffering, I swear, but... he has been a burden upon everyone, and that has always included me: from even before my first evolution, I was designated to watch over this place, to protect us from him. Up until this week, I had to live with the idea that I could one day have to give my life to save someone from him. Now, though — when I know that I can trust him — I am presented with an opportunity to make sure that he's never an issue again," Gallade took in a deep breath and prepared to reiterate more calmly. "If we get this Lunar Feather for him, and allow him to stay here, he'll never be an issue again, for anyone. We need to do this for everyone else, for everyone outside of Haven. Darkrai is our demon, he's our responsibility... mine the most."
"But I don't care about anyone else! About anyone outside of here!" Gothitelle lashed out. "I care about the village I grew up in, which I've protected and helped for more than half a century now... which I love," eventually, she stood back up. "I want either the wrongs committed against it to be righted or, if that's unfeasible, for the constant, continued wronging to stop! I don't want anyone else to succumb, to have to fear succumbing!"
"And I also love this place, and I also grew up here, and I also love protecting and caring for it... but the village has certain roles, tied to duties and traditions, which I want to respect, and a certain respectability and honour I want it to maintain. I'm sorry, but we can't just release Darkrai into the wild, with no care for what happens after, and as warden I am to do my best to curb any damages he might come to cause."
Newly irate, she moved to speak out, but he cut her off. "I'm not telling you to not be angry at him — justifiably angry — but I am not taking any more input, and I am advancing at my own pace with a clear goal from now on: since Chatot and Drifblim aren't back yet, I intend to send a Murkrow on the search instead. Do not sabotage me and my best efforts. The village is still here, even after what was inflicted upon it. If Darkrai remains, he will do so as a friend of Haven, and the paranoia will end, and we will get some respite from our fears. Everything will improve, no matter what happens."
There was a scheme, there was a plot, it all lined up far too perfectly, Gothitelle told herself as she marched back to her home, heeding close attention to every shadow she passed by.
Darkrai had malevolent interests, she was sure of that, she was sure of that, she was sure of that. There was no other option. He would not be leaving, not of his own volition, she was sure of that, she was sure of that, she was sure of that. He had approached them, bided his time, made them comfortable with him, in order to use them. If he acquired this Lunar Feather, or if he was allowed to remain in Haven for those few days, they were done for, she was sure of that, she was sure of that, she was sure of that.
Either such an item did not exist, and his objective was to extend the wait, or it did, and him acquiring it would spell their end... or far worse. Neither could be allowed to take place... neither could be stopped from taking place...
Alone, she could do nothing. The only thing she truly wished for at this point was the ability to better steward the villagers, because the Great Dragon knew those fools needed stewardship!
Instead, however, she had to rely on Gallade... 'rely'? No, she had only allowed herself to be disappointed again and again, outraged again and again, dumbfounded again and again, by that extreme IDIOT!
If only she could read minds... Darkrai's would remain out of reach, but she could at least understand Gallade better... if there was a Gallade veritably left in there to understand, and not just a hollow shell, a puppet... all that was left from her friend, who had vanished into the woods and returned, having allegedly bested the Nightmare Weaver, only for such a feat to seem impossible the second time around, only for him to bend over backwards to serve its interests.
...
No longer! He had no concern for her... concerns. He could not be reasoned with, evidently, very evidently, even if he was not being possessed or puppeteered. She would take matters into her own hands!
Somehow...
Once again, she found herself at the entrance of her Sanctuary and — once again — she halted before the doorway, this time not because some alien feeling had overwhelmed her, but... well, it was an overpowering sense as well, but one she was not dazed by... well, no, it was sickening as well— it was an odd odour, was what she meant!
A foul odour of... burning! Darn it! She had left the Incense Burner on again, hadn't she? That feeling was one of torched Odd Incense!
Panicking, Gothitelle snatched away the drape covering the entry — on the verge of diving into there — before a veritable cloud of smoke erupted in her face, the stench sending her on the retreat, to the other side of the road, and, then... her nerves calmed... she felt better... how odd... but pleasant...
She took in the last whiff of the odd aroma as it rose away, into the heavens, her eyes then veering to the parts of the tent which had been grazed by the escaping gas: they had been... iced over? Crystallised...?
Wait, the burning!
This time for real, she penetrated into her home, passing the antechamber, only to see the ceiling — where the smoke would have amassed — blanketed in magenta glass.
Staring into it, she felt her legs go numb.
A sudden dread overtook her.
Her breathing intensified.
For some reason lagging behind, her reflection finally manifested on the ceiling above... the eyes were not hers.
Her limbs found no new vigor and, as she stood there, staring upwards, paralysed and dizzy, the anomaly pounced upon her: the crystals crept down the walls, tearing through the fabric of her tent, and soon reached the ground, glazing the floor in a coat of steaming, ravenous lava, which dragged along with itself an ever-twisting image of her.
A new gust of smoke was born from the union of the searing liquid and the floor — denser, far grander than the last — jumping to devour her and... the intoxicating scent of the fumes was refined into that of blooming flowers.
And there was a blooming flower in front of her. A pink petal, surrounded by crystalline, green leaves. Crystalline. They reflected her...
Those eyes were still not hers...
She would look away.
Her gaze slid down the branches, and the flood of colours followed her line of sight. The greens and pinks of the crown and flowers crashed against the blue of the sky and the browns of the trunk, some droplets escaping and taking the form of petals and hovering leaves, peacefully swaying down along with the ever-refining, winding bark...
And, then, new forms — clouds of white and green, green and yellow, yellow and gray, gray and pink... black and white and red and blue — emerged, slowly taking shape while, finally, the quietude that had reminded her of being submerged was pierced by sounds... sounds, no, voices!
The voices of Gallade, and Leavanny, and Mawile, and Espurr, and...
"I am not sure that I understand quite well what you have in mind, Gallade," Gothitelle couldn't help but grimace at the sound of that voice. "I do truly appreciate your willingness to let me remain, it is beyond words how much so... however," to let him remain? Remain for but a few days, Darkrai obviously meant. Obviously. "What of substance will this deception permit me to accomplish?" Deception... "It is not as though you will be able to find the Lunar Feather within that period of time," they won't be able to find the Lunar Feather... "Frankly, I do not see why they would come to accept me after such a disappointment, then."
"For the little time that I've interacted with you," Gallade began, Gothitelle braced herself. "I've realised that, in spite of the stress of these last few days, knowing that I'm on the good side of the Nightmare Weaver has... put me in a state of comfort that I've rarely felt before. The rest of us are paranoid, yes, but I think that, if you can break that initial ice, your presence — the realisation that the Moonshadow, for once, is not looming over them as death incarnate — will be a great relief to anyone, they'll begin to actively seek you out."
"I... I am happy that my company has had some positive effects upon you, though how am I to accomplish any of this?"
"Your job is very simple. You've been accomplishing it already, actually: just stay around and continue to... be yourself, with the rest of the village. No matter what you think of yourself, you aren't really unpleasant to interact with and, for as jumpy as they are, they appreciate the comfort of strength, and will be more than happy to find refuge in fraternity with the strongest Pokemon around, even if your might will not necessarily be useful to them."
The brief silence Darkrai gave himself to think also offered her a window to fume and snarl.
"Once more, I am highly grateful for this chance, for every chance you have given me! You... you cannot imagine just how much!"
...
Her gut instincts had been proven correct. This was all deception. This was all deception. This was all deception. THIS WAS ALL DECEPTION. THIS WAS ALL DECEPT—
The world tore, and she was catapulted back onto her feet, back in her tent, still shaking with rage... and then confusion. The smoke rose again, soon enough, her coughing, and then her inability to breath became her main concerns.
Having to fight to remain worried, even as she could feel the lingering fumes tug back, struggling to dull her senses, to make her complacent once more, Gothitelle marched onwards past the corridor and into the main chamber. Its roof, supports and upper shelves had also been coated with the purple shards, while something glimmered beneath her table: the Life Orb...
The Life Orb, sizzling, its colours waning with glint... gutted... a lesion melting into its screaming, tortured core. Its smoldering edge had been deformed and stretched, with a single, charred line of black running from it, across the floor and joining...
An equally darkened and decomposing rune of sandstone...
Her muscles tensed, her skin bristled. She had only just remembered. How... how had she managed to forget about them, about what had happened, at all?
The marks along the slab — where... she had shattered it — were being fed with power... were growing!
V wanted her to help it.
As if of their own volition, her right hand clenched itself and approached the rune, while the other reached for the orb—
She stopped herself, grasping one with the other. No! She would follow her own advice! She would not offer undue trust to the eldritch and arcane... as the rest of the village had— V could help her... he was there to help her... he did not have wishes of his own... this rang true for all of them...
What? No!
It couldn't help her! How was it meant to help—?
That tinge of doubt was all that it needed, one of her hands had already found itself cradling the Life Orb, the other lunged forward and struck the rune.
"Now, dear, besides having to know how different flavours correlate to the health of different Pokemon, I want to also mention some other berries which we have banned for consumption, except under specially approval from either me or Goth— oh... ask me, yes," Leavanny explained, Darkrai nodded along, Espurr and Mawile payed attention to her course for a reminder... Gallade was busy trying to see how far he could throw a stick with his Psychic. "Watmel, Wepear, Rabuta, Durin, and Cornn Berries can all have certain effects on your personality. Nothing on the matter has really been proven, but it's tradition to try and distance ourselves from consuming anything that affects a Pokemon's psyche, underst—?"
And, then, suddenly, truly out of left field, muting Leavanny, breaking the scene itself, Gallade's voice resonated. "Darkrai, do you think that there's any way we could arrange for you to stay?"
A flush of happiness inundated him. That memory... even if it was only from this same day, still, was... almost too much to bear for him. He would get to stay there...
But if that was to unfold in the best of conditions, he was to concentrate and study!
Again, he tried to summon his teacher, Leavanny, only for another memory to play from the distance. "No matter what you think of yourself, you aren't really unpleasant to interact with..."
This was rather bothersome... but he could not bother to be annoyed at it.
Such positive thoughts... wrestling control of the Dream Realm from him... positive thoughts wrestling control from him... it was unheard of, he would have called it impossible... yet there he was, now. He did not know how to feel... he knew that he felt well, incredibly well... and he was not used to that, and he knew not how to feel about his feelings.
Well, best to keep at it, to turn to more productive thoughts... or to at least try and do so.
"Aww, you're putting quite a bit of effort into this!" Espurr, the real one — not content to simply keep to manifesting various, imaginary flowers with which to make crowns anymore — spoke up, flying up to him and sitting down by his side. "You're trying it over and over again!"
"I have ample reason to attempt and not underestimate the ease with which I am able to become paralysed in a situation where this knowledge would be required," Darkrai responded, warping a tree right next to them, so as to be able to lean against it with her in his arms. "I simply need to assimilate this knowledge for it to become instinctual, yet I am having difficulties concentrating."
"Oh, welp, you're still trying very hard to take care for everybody," the little creature rubbed her paws together. "But I caused another disaster today, and it got so many hurt..."
Oh, right, that... he had attempted not to think about it too much, multiple Pokemon had been injured yet, deep down, there was this feeling of... he would just say 'happiness', that it had procured him. It was not due to their suffering, of course, but he felt guilty for enjoying the brief moment during which it had allowed him to aid them... as well as the confirmation that, yes, Espurr would get upset on his behalf...
It was all rather complicated, all of these feelings and social conundrums.
He had become used to his routine. That of the disgust at the humidity of his cavern, followed by the irritation from the first rays of sunshine in the morning, the first sliver of anxiety as he monitored his dominion, then the second, as he prepared himself to overhear all sorts of conversations about him in the village, then patches of curiosity as he examined the shops, then tiredness... then terror.
These last few days had been a lot to bear for him, but it would all hopefully become a much smoother affair, from there on.
"It was... rather disheartening, but you were thrown and jostled around, what could you have done differently to stay calm within such circumstances? The fault for your outburst is not your own, and... it is not as though Honchkrow's courage was a vice," he would applaud it, even, considering how indeed incredibly out of character it was.
"But, then, Gallade said that it wasn't your fault, either!"
"Espurr, we are all navigating a rather difficult situation. It is the first such case for your compatriots... and of a sort that I am not exactly adept at," not anymore, at least. "Let us stop talking about who is to blame then — and I do not say that only because it is in my interests — as missteps and wrong reactions are a given. If things are to work out, we ought to dedicate our full attention to prudence, preventive measures, and the like. Speaking of which, if the result of the debacle is that we are now to spend more of our time together in the meadow, I take no issue with that."
"Oh, does that mean that you enjoyed the time we spent with Mawile and Miss Leavanny?"
"It was certainly productive," he appreciated it more in hindsight than in the moment itself, actually, which was definitely not a negative. "The meadow was lovely... and we will be meeting there very often from now on, until you evolve, at least, at which point your powers oughtn't be an issue for you anymore."
Another wave of joy crashed through him at those words. It was exhilarating to know that, yes, he would remain there, remain there and see her evolve... he owed his infinite gratitude to Gallade.
Espurr looked up to him with a soft smile. "Well... your powers won't be fixed, but... no one else will try and hurt you anymore, you'll still get all of the warmth and respect that you deserve here from now on, I promise you that!"
...
He wanted to cry...
Quickly, Darkrai, think of productive thoughts!
...
No.
He just hugged her, this reflection of her. She hugged him back, her soft, fine fur grazing against him.
This reflection of her... it was just a reflection, but it was good enough...
No... this felt... odd...
Oddly real... oddly real, once again... why? Why did it feel so real?
He gently took her in his hands and pulled her up, just to get a better look: her Soothe Bell was there, tied to her ribbon... the two did not usually manifest within her dreams... her eyes, they were... so detailed, and they did not lose said detail when he looked away, or when he did not concentrate... his attention turned to her fur... it was fine, as he had remarked before, with every strand clearly visible...
How odd. Why did she feel so real?
He did not know, but it would seemingly be a constant phenomenon, this new ease of manifestation. The positivity from before had been a first as well, so perhaps... well, he did not truly know, but they were both changes for the better, what was there to be worried about?
"Uhm, what's happening?"
"Oh, nothing!" He responded, only just now realising that silently examining her like a doll would itself be perceived as odd. "Anyhow, as we were speaking of preemptive measures and so on, I would like to return to an older concern of mine: I need to find some way to be useful to the village. I do not mean to say that the tragedy was welcomed, but today was a good day for that and, if I am to stay, I must continue to make up for being a burden to others."
"Well," she giggled. "Perhaps what I and Miss Leavanny have prepared for you tomorrow is a bit like that."
"First of all, it is 'Miss Leavanny and me'," he often made that mistake as well, but it would be easier to avoid for her if she did not pick up on it to begin with. "Second of all, please do not keep me waiting for such information, you know that I detest having to improvise in these situations."
"I'm not telling you yet!'
"Please do."
"Nope!"
He could induce his friend into telling him, no doubt, but he did not wish to intrude upon her in such a way. All the same, however, he genuinely loathed these surprises—
A deafening explosion occurred, a wave of bright light devoured the Realm.
Suddenly, he was alone.
No, he wasn—!
...
His befuddlement subsided as quickly as it had taken form. No, he was well alone, and the moving figures all around him were none other than himself. They were reflections... reflections?
Darkrai hovered closer to the warped column of crystals before him, taking a curious look at the many images of himself that took form on its myriad faces. Every feature of the wraith was there, his eyes were detailed, even the subtleties of the texture of his skin were present. It was rather deformed — following the shape of the accumulation of shards — but it was a very well manifested simulacrum of glass nonetheless. The Dream Realm usually did not produce those too well.
Content yet perplexed by what he had observed, the Nightmare Weaver took his sights off of the particular structure and, instead, veered them towards the whole, the light immediately accosting his eyes: a magnificent, crystallised cave, its fabric transparent yet glimmering purple at some points, pink at others, orange at the rest. Its supports, stalactites, and stalagmites — covered in pristine, sharp shards themselves — twisted and winded with great elegance all throughout the space, reaching into the distance, at which point the megalith became far too convoluted to admire.
The patches of yellow, of red, of green, and of blue dotted all throughout the monolith soon caught his attention, however, and concentrating upon them revealed the anomalies in the construction to be pure ores or sprouts of gems, composed of gold, of ruby, of emerald, of diamonds.
None of this was exactly nightmarish, oddly enough...
...
Espurr!
Ignoring the far-flung echoes of crackling glass that began as soon as he thought of her, Darkrai took off into the air, the remaining power he knew himself to have over this world still granting him an intimate knowledge of the direction of his friend, at least.
Disturbing the fine, pink mist hovering throughout as he rushed through, this instinct guided him down distorted tunnels and into hidden crevices. The Moonshadow dove into and out of gaping, downwards spirals, at all times being followed by a handful of reflections of himself on the accretion of magenta mirrors all around, evading the multitude of sharpened obstacles in his way with a maneuverability his Blightwoods had trained him for.
"Help!" The distressed voice of his friend resonated through the caverns, forcing the Nightmare Weaver into a halt. "Help, please!" She echoed once more, giving him a general idea of her location: just above him, she was not at all far!
He rose through the porous megalith of crystal, arriving at his destination — now out of breath — Darkrai soon came face to face with... Chatot...
Chatot, sat on a ledge...
Chatot?
"Help!" The bird cried, imitating the voice of his friend, looking at him with a dull stare, grooming its feathers, evidently not deceiving him out of any malice.
"Darkrai, please help me!" There was another cry, this time clearly not the avian's mimicry, but coming from behind him. Darkrai responded to it as fast as possible, bolting a good distance into the air and then using the convenient reflections in the glass to find Espurr — finally — as she was being towed by her feet, caught by the appendages of a Drifloon.
Ignoring the initial reflex to stare at it, confused, the wraith prepared to go and get her, but one, out of place, black silhouette — moving in a way that was not synchronised with his own passage through the tunnel — caught his eye much too late: the entity thrust into the Moonshadow, sending him hurdling against a pillar of glass.
The structure exploded with an acute cry, showering him with shards of crystal that burrowed into his skin.
Darkrai, however, simply willed the knives and wounds thereof away, and then turned around, the ensuing scene striking him with a certain déjà vu: Honchkrow, maddened, trembling, drooling, with beak gaping open and tongue sticking out, with wings spread out and leg muscles tensed up, ready to lunge.
The avian unhinged its talons from the minerals and shot upwards — shedding a flurry of black feathers, all of which fed into the abyss below — before darting towards him once again but, reminded that this was all a dream, Darkrai warped out of the way, leaving Honchkrow to collide against a stalactite, shattering it into dozens of chunks that soon began their descent into the darkening chasm.
The bird pushed itself off of this newly created ledge, only to begin its frantic swaying back and forth, barely able to stay in the air. Soon, though, it got a hold of itself, only to once more be sent into a frenzy: the glint of the shards of fractured crystal — as if screaming for aid, as they plummeted into the abyss — caught its eye, and Honchkrow dove to save his treasure.
The wraith ought to have used that time to grab a hold of Espurr, but something else both distracted and reminded him to do so: where Honchkrow had shattered the pillar, there began to drip a dark liquid, first there came tears, then a full trail of sludge formed, seeping into the void below... and poisoning the beauty around it, growing pulsing veins into the hearts of surrounding gems, making them sizzle and shake and start to cave in on themselves.
This dream had become far too stressful, he had become far too exhausted, even for how light it felt, it was evident that his influence could not be fended off from butchering such a beautiful world forever.
Striking at the Drifloon, Darkrai took the squealing Espurr into his hands and pried open a portal towards a calmer area of the dream, just as the fissures beneath them spread and deepened, sending shrapnel from the erupting crystal formations flying left and right, turning the dripping of the black ooze into a veritable downpour of darkness.
The last images to shine through from what could now safely be dubbed 'that Hell' was of the Honchkrow finally abandoning his doomed quest to gather all of those shards suspended in the air, looking back up to them — enraged — and attempting to join Darkrai's portal... only to be knocked down by the torrent, drowned with an echoing shriek.
Back in the safety of the all too familiar simulacrum of the Blightwoods, Darkrai finally dared to look down to his friend... she wasn't there.
She wasn't there!
She wasn't there!
She—!
He took in a deep breath. No, there was nothing to worry about, the dream was being ripped apart, the trees and dirt were already fading. This entire escapade may have been incredibly odd, but its terminus was not: this had all evidently become too much to bear for her, she had woken up in the middle of the night... and likely caused another outburst.
He... would not dare and visit to verify.
...
It felt as though there were presences in the woods with him.
...
It was nigh time Darkrai slept.