The distinctive feeling of the townsfolk rising one by one — of those sinks into the Dream Realm that tingled his senses from afar vanishing, the mental plane in front of him being evenly flattened — ushered in Darkrai's descent towards their village. It had come much later than was usual: they had absolutely overslept, and he could only hope that this would at least make the contrivance with Scyther a secondary concern for them, rather than just accentuate further animosity towards the wraith.
The outcome, either way, depended on Miss Leavanny's finesse, and he could, in truth, not fault her if the pendulum did not swing his way, if she could not set the stage for him to amend this latest mistake effectively... or at all. This was all... so frustrating.
The Nightmare Weaver only told himself that he ought to have more trust — as he owed it to her, when he still was in no measure to offer anything else, fault of which they would be slaving away for his benefit, and he would be but a burden — and continued to fly through his Blightwoods of avaricious branches, protruding, twisting roots... uncharacteristically shining mushrooms, and... distant, oceanic echoes.
The forest's fog was a mirror, he would see his dark form reflected, whenever he passed by those murky clouds on the sides of the desire path.
Try... try as he might, he could not do much more than simply notice those out of place details of this dazing morning, before his reason was numbed and his mind... trailed off towards an equally... trivial matter: when he was already late, and all were already late, ought he hurry, or take his time, knowing that Arcean principle of punctuality had already been transgressed? A question for the Slowking, those of them who already had enough time to spare for it to not be a worry, ironically enough...
...
Was that a Cottonee in his forest?
It...
He halted behind a bush, and then drew closer, in the total secrecy of the shadows — already trying to calculate how it was that he would respond to this scenario, when the dynamics with Haven itself had changed so drastically — and noticed that, no, it was not a Cottonee: rather, the puff bouncing up and down throughout his woods, having the lower branches seemingly move themselves out of the way of its jumps, was a... Mareep?
There were none of those in Haven, were there? No, there were not, therefore, it was not a given that he could approach it, tell it that the weald was off-limits and still hazardous, and that it would obey that order in return, or stay to listen to him state it, rather than panic and escape into the deeper sections, maybe getting injured along the way. Espurr had bumped her head into a tree when attempting to evade him! He winced even thinking back to it!
Ought he ask Gallade, then, and return to the Mareep with haste?
...
He gave the creature another glance: it seemed clueless, clueless to the monster that could be lurking within the woods it had wandered into, and wholly unperturbed by the evident, sinister darkness which the weald exuded. If he were to stall until he had received a green-light to lead it out of the Blightwoods, it could by then penetrate into the deeper depths, and maybe become lost... and that was assuming that Gallade and the village as a whole would not bog him down in other conversation, which was not a reasonable assumption to make, at this stage...
'When he was already late, and all were already late, ought he hurry, or take his time knowing that Arcean principle of punctuality had already been transgressed?' He would give himself the luxury of answering this query in a... self-serving? Maybe he would say 'constructive'? In a constructive, productive, whatever else, manner, yes.
And, so, the Moonshadow did what it did best, but which it had not done in quite a while: finely maneuvered through the darkest sections of the forest floor, and slipped into the little creature's shade. It was silently feeding itself with the sparse patches of foliage, but he needed to overhear it say something, or see how it would react to the presence of a villager. If it showed that it recognised any one of the Pokemon from Haven, he could simply ask it to leave, and then have it return to the village, for the situation to be cleared up to it.
If not, he wasn't certain what he would do, but it would need to be quick.
The little thing remained stationary for a few seconds at the foot of a tree, before resuming its hops, this time apparently aimed at snatching a leaf from one of the drooping branches, with little result.
With how somber the bottom of the Blightwoods was anyhow, Darkrai needn't worry too much about trying to precisely follow the movements of the shade it cast, and instead rapidly established a plan of operation: three Double Team illusions would be all that he would need, and they were immediately generated, spawning from himself and dispersing into the peripheries of the area. The first would meld into the ground as a patch of obscurity, shaped like a Murkrow wildly flapping its wings overhead, it would attract the Mareep's attention — as it was already in the midst of doing — towards the other two, who were already in place: one had abandoned the shadows to levitate just deep enough behind a screen of fog so as to be visible, waving its arm, while the other was stretched out on the ground in front of the first, taking the silhouette of Gallade.
Combined, the Murkrow would, indeed, attract the Pokemon's attention towards what was obviously Gallade's shadow — and, thus, that which was obviously Gallade, standing there and calling for the Mareep — from there, Darkrai — still in the shadow of the Mareep, which it cast right in front of itself — could judge from the minute details of its expression whether its reaction to Gallade betrayed prior knowledge of him or...
The Mareep was staring right at him.
Its tail flashed red, and so sheathed the ground in front of it as well.
All parts of the forest floor around them lit up, except the black blot that was himself.
Darkrai's heart lurched and he would've followed his first instinct and sprang out of the shadow entirely, had he not felt every member of his body become paralysed.
What?
How?
It was as though it knew he was there!
He... he had never been found out so efficiently before!
He...
It was a Mareep. It was tilting its head and sniffing the ground, it didn't even seem frightened.
What was he so panicked over, again?
There was a short moment where Darkrai felt relieved of worry, but not of confusion, as — unbeknownst to the small creature, maybe — they stood there and observed each other.
Soon, however, an acute shriek would come to cut through the Blightwoods' dreary silence and have his distress spike once more: the Mareep dared to venture closer towards him, the tip of its nose had plunged towards the peculiarly-overshadowed ground.
Then, there was a sizzling, and then came its turn to agitate: while the tip of the electric-type's snout glowed as if it had been ignited, the poor electric-type exploded into a thunderstorm, its tail and wool being engulfed in sparks that would have set the forest ablaze, had the mist not kept it perpetually humid.
Alright, back to this recurrent question: what to do?
Wait, he had quite a clear idea of what to do! It had accidentally been instructed to him
Acting with admittedly uncharacteristic precision — so fast after the incident to be resolved had taken place, at least — Darkrai's vision scoured the patches of bushes along forest floor for a Rawst Berry — soon finding the blue fruit — and then navigated the strikes of electricity to snag an adequately sized leaf, as he made his way back to the sheep. He cared little for the discharges of a first-stage evolution that would burn him here and there.
His claws were fortunately large enough to both shield and effectively smear the berry's juice down the leaf, the pulp was flung away, and he politely extended the makeshift burn bandage to the little beastie, whose outrage began to calm, replaced with curiosity.
"Do you wish to talk?" He asked of it. No reply, only an empty gaze. It did have a small burn on its snout, exactly now was not the time to understand the why of it. "That is quite alright, then... I can understand not enjoying conversation... not to imply that you are surely not talking due to just not feeling like it, of course! Your motives are a mystery to me, still?" Why did he say it in such a manner?
It was content to do nothing but continue eyeing the plant he was presenting, twitching and whimpering every so often, when the searing restarted, and its nose began to glow like an ember. He ought to maybe get a move on with his treatment.
Without the capacity to produce silk, as Leavanny would, the Nightmare Weaver had to settle with delicately plastering the thing on its snout from afar, making certain not to touch it, for fear of cutting the small Pokemon, or otherwise.
Whatever components the Rawst exudations were made up of appeared to be dealing their effect, and the Mareep was soothed.
It calmed, and inched closer once more. Its tail wagged, it seemed... mildly joyful, and perhaps even grateful.
Was this him acquiring some form of charisma? Truly, now that he thought back to it, the doctrine of not attempting to appear like a pleasant conversationalist — which he was not — but rather to prove his good nature through his acts was working out! He loathed to think this way, but, well, such cold calculations were another facet of his nature: could he maybe utilise this Mareep as a public relations stunt? The stakes for whether or not he would go on to continue living in Haven were now higher, when his protection was maybe needed, so he would certainly not have any qualms when it came to tugging at their heartstrings.
When he phrased it as a plan, the idea of presenting himself as a hero of a lone Mareep which had gotten its snout charred almost did not feel embarrassing... or odd.
Still, Darkrai had other concerns surrounding the situation, but he would not lie and say that his efficacious gestion of this matter did not leave him feeling a tad... pridefu—
It was snacking on its bandage!
Perhaps this was to be expected, when he put its desired meal right atop its maw. Still, the Moonshadow had a faint recollection of the required time Leavanny had mentioned, for the oils to be effectively absorbed — and he was nothing if not cautious! It needed more time to soak, Leavanny had told him that it was so!
With the same delicateness that he always strove to employ, Darkrai reached out for the leaf in the Mareep's mouth, and—
His finger grazed the skin of its face — but was not halted, and embedded deeper, scalding into its cheek, slicing the flesh, as if he was molding clay.
Before the poor thing could even react by yelping or crying or moving out of reach, the motion of his finger had left it with a searing gash across the face, whose repugnant, black oozing was only masked by the dark blue complexion of its skin, only for it to accentuate the amber glow of the imprinted blaze.
And it never would get the chance to yelp or cry or move out of reach: the liquid slithered down its face, disfigured its skull, and sealed its jaws together. It dripped onto its mane and then foot, burning away the struggling creature from the top down and bottom up into a darkened puddle with a crisped, steaming mass lingering at its heart.
It reeked of firewood… and that was all that he felt compelled to think, to feel, to... all that came to mind was that odour.
But why was that all he felt? How could that be all he felt? He was meant to exhibit more than a tinge of disgust at the light smell!
But, it... it had all faded to the very end of his list of concerns... emotionally! He no longer felt anything — no guilt! No guilt for what he had just done!
How was he allowing himself to be so nonchalant
Darkrai looked to the mass, then to his trembling claws. Trembling no longer due to the distress caused by what he had just done — but because there was no such distress! He felt terrible for not feeling anything, but he still did not feel anything besides that.
Somehow... somehow he was able to ignore what he had just done. He… now he was truly distraught, but not because of what he had done… still not… how was he allowing himself—
He tightened his fist and stared at his hands as he did so. Eventually, he relaxed.
This was no travesty. He was not losing himself. This was all a nightmare!
...
Right? Was it not?
It would seem to be so... it definitely was!
It ought to probably end soon, then. Perhaps what he had done to Scyther would also be revealed to have been but a dream!
It could reasonably be considered to be within the realm of reason... no?
...
Why was it not ending?
His sights were dragged from his claws and to the side. There, in the thorny bushes, there had been another Mareep watching.
Their eyes locked onto each other, Darkrai immediately felt sick.
There it was. That sorrow he should have felt a moment ago, gnawing at his insides.
"I did not— I do not know what-" he failed to state his case, and his approach startled the creature.
It was running. It was going deeper. Deeper into the woods.
It had to be rescued, and his condolences had to be expressed.
The world around him shrank, or vanished.
The Moonshadow plunged into his dominion, after it. Vertically, merging with the obscurity along the forest floor. Horizontally, into the morass of fog and darkness that lay ahead, incised and disturbed by the frightened movements of the running Pokemon. With his advance, it increasingly felt as though the two were fusing into one, a downwards slope towards his destination, it was nauseating, everything along his route flashing by, the scenery comingling into a blurred vortex.
He was teetering on its edge, this world was barely being given the time to be born, before he left it all behind in his quest, but he could not go back, he couldn't return as there was nothing to return to, it was all vanishing behind him, too. He was going to fast for them.
He now found himself elsewhere, he had passed what came before it by, he intuited. He had landed elsewhere.
His legs extended, and planted themselves in the soft soil. He crossed his hands behind his back. Nothing seemed terrible.
There was a wooden cabin, nestled beneath a tree, its summit narrowly avoiding the lower canopy. The Blightwoods had many trees, one could have found logs of equal girth to construct it from, if patient enough. Berries could have been used to give its roof the blue colouring. Some trunks were firmer than others, and could have been used to form the supports. It was meant to be of a convenient, cozy size, he was made to know. What its builder had hoped would be thought of this cabin further lingered in the air: that it was expertly made, he was meant to think. It was true. How pleasant to have it there.
The Mareep thought so as well, and so the door opened for it, and it shuffled inside after giving him one last glance, and its tail sealed the portal again, leaving Darkrai to consider whether to bother and open it, to enter inside as well, or not to do so.
His claw motioned for the handle, but the idea of... touching anything there, once again, repulsed him first, and helped him inch towards regaining lucidity soon after.
It would certainly take time to explore whatever was inside, no? However, why was that even a concern? Did he have places to be? It didn't seem particularly likely...
Oh! Of course! 'Punctuality', he did have places to be!
He looked back to the door, and then abandoned the immediate peripheries of the house to regain the air, now eyeing the structure in its whole, from every angle at once, and concentrating on every detail at once.
It was, indeed, quite large, and so would logically take time to explore, especially if he were to notice every nook and cranny on the inside, as he was oddly doing on the outside. He did have somewhere to be, was the issue with that: to Haven! He had to—
The Nightmare Weaver gave the canopy another look. Too luscious to be his own woods. The air too fresh and light. He had wanted to proclaim that he was experiencing a nightmare, but it did not seem so... or maybe would it soon come to a close, as the original Mareep had expired? Or maybe not...
It was prudent to not open that door, then, when he now knew that this could theoretically become a terror for him... again.
He levitated backwards, slowly, for it was best to do so, and then pivoted to disappear into the undergrowth once more. Now, it was becoming evident just how unlike his own woods this weald was: trees misplaced, hills where there ought to have been plateaus and plateaus where there ought to have been hills, some branches drooped in an exaggerated manner, some protruding roots were too exposed he did not recall him. He knew all those details, he had been given time to absorb them over a century, the forest was not as it should have been.
Soon, it all fixed itself, and he had returned from that elsewhere, and was once again in his Blightwoods. Trees, plateaus, hills, foliage, all where they had a tendency to be, where they were meant to be. Thus, he was back where he was meant to be. They were not nice to look at, but the Blightwoods were his woods.
Oh, right, this was not real.
Fortunately, that this was not real meant that he need only move, keep the exit in mind, and it would eventually appear. That was how the Dream Realm usually worked, but...
... Not this time?
After a long, unidirectional expedition, he was forced to concede defeat and finally turn, from there on being forced to navigate, to find his way to the entrance, which he eventually did. The simulacrum of his forest was very precise, however, and so made it difficult to get lost.
The opening to the meadow — which itself acted as an intermediary between the forest and Haven — now laid on the other side, and Darkrai crossed into it, arm extended to be the first to feel the warm rays of the sun... but the light fled him.
...
Darkrai trode onwards, and a glance to his right and left revealed that the Blightwoods were following along: trees casting their leaves and branches to continue flanking him from either side, once he got too far, extending the long shadow of the weald over the Nightmare Weaver, the grass and flowers dying to assimilate the earth beneath him into the same sterile soil of his forest's floor. He tried harder, faster, and now entire trees were sprouting from the ground to encircle him, the Blightwoods had grown by a dozen meters in doing so.
It... yes, he was still in the nightmare, he... he needed to push forward, faster, it wasn't as though it could hold him back. His Realm, yes.
And so he did, a thrust forward threw him back into the sickening vortex, if but for a moment, before he halted on the other side, having freed himself from the gradient of decay that was following him for a trip.
Darkrai did not feel compelled to ponder what was happening, but decided that he would take a moment to breathe all the same, now that he was in the serene meadow. Soon, he would be in Haven, before the villagers, without the luxury of calm, he expected.
His legs staked the dirt, were grazed by the grass, and he crossed his arms behind his back, his signature position, by that point. Recalling why he had stopped at all, he prepared to take in the aforementioned deep breath, and...
All along the forest line, mired just deep enough in the thick shade, were the Mareep: a wall of them, a dozen sinister tails glowing a crimson red and double that amount of eyes shining bright, but making the undergrowth no lighter.
The glimmers of their tails evaporated, once he laid his sights upon them and them upon him.
The eyes turned a bleached white. They were no longer the Mareep's.
He left.
"So, again, and please answer with 'yes' or 'no': could the exudations of Odd Incense — theoretically, potentially, and I'm not making an accusation here — knock someone out?" Gallade gave the question another try, following her around as she tended to those members of the flock who were still left in the Sanctuary, as opposed to the ones sent to the hospital. Murkrow were small, but a hundred of them quickly began to take up more space than there were beds.
Gothitelle stayed silent for a long while, partially because she had to shake the little creatures, checking for movements — ones that signaled life, as well as ones that betrayed suffering — and partially because she was doing her best to ignore him, before she was left with no excuse, and stared back up at him. She crossed her arms, pouting, about as exhausted from all this as he was, and he'd like to think that they both had legitimate reason to be so.
"Who knows?" Was her response, before she glanced back to her drawers, looking through her ingredient drawers. It certainly was... a victory for him, to get her to give any answer by this point.
Well, at least she had gotten tired of her attempts to systematically change the subject so many times, so maybe she had budged from her original position on the more... constructive version of his query. He'd give it another try. "Are you absolutely certain that there's no chance that you left it running for the night, and that getting too close to it made the Murkrow fall unconscious? Because there is an odd smell here in the Sanctuary," he added. It was true, the... freshness of it was irritating his senses.
"This is all so silly!" No, she had not budge from that position, in fact. "The burner is still cold, you can touch it if you want, but you don't need to bother with any of that: we have a suspect, a means, and the potential motive I've elaborated on since the beginning of my days at this point," she left something to boil, and then simply marched over to observe one of the Murkrow, a worried expression stretched across her face. "Stop wasting time with this and prepare to defend the village for when Darkrai decides to descend down towards it again, please!"
"I'm not- Gothi, can we try and not shift away from the questions surrounding why there was an entire flock of fainted Murkrow in your home first? I'm trying to carry out a thorough investigation here, while we have time for it. Do you think that you might have taken in... something, that could have caused this on its own? Something that wasn't vetted?" Gallade was telling the truth when he told her that he wasn't even making accusations here yet. This was all just so perplexing, he couldn't tell what exactly he had gotten wrong and at what point along this mad journey.
There were only two comforts in this situation: first was that the Murkrow did not seem like they were in any pain, which was odd, but at least served to calm his nerves on that end. If he ignored the fact that they were meant to be insomniacs, then this was just a case of someone getting knocked out. Not unheard of, and that they were twitching or convulsing in their sleep would, in normal circumstances, be called a good sign. The second was that this meant that he had a clear issue to focus on: whether or not Darkrai was behind this, or whether it was all just a fluke. Determining that had been a... difficult thing to do all throughout, yeah, but it was better to know that the situation demanded that it be answered immediately, so that he wouldn't need to juggle tending to that matter, all while wasting time trying to think up a way to replace the Murkrow in their functions, and managing the public relations of this, et cetera. None of that mattered, for now, it was minor. The Murkrow were in a precarious situation, but fine, and he'd need to concentrate on the Moonshadow's intentions. That was a more streamlined state of affairs than he usually had the right to.
"Ah," she thought for a second, Gallade knew well that Chatot and Drifblim had returned with something for her, as well as some others, so it could have been that. Her narrowing her eyes again and opening her mouth showed that she had a canned response on the ready, at least, she had one until the second after, when it seemed like the actual contents of the question had finally been registered. Gothitelle betrayed a peeved grimace and, for a short bit, averted her gaze from his, seeming a tinge flustered. "No... I do not believe so, I've not taken anything hazardous, I'm more careful than that," her answer didn't seem genuine...
... but turned out to be true. Try as he might, concentrating with the full force of his powers over emotion, Gallade could not sense any will to deceive him with that answer. "It seems like you're clear, then," he stood back up from the impromptu interrogation table, or her dining table, as it was more commonly known.
Again, she made an odd movement, as if taken aback, and rapidly blinked a few times. "I mean, of course, I'm clear," this prologue to an accusation she was surely on the verge of making came after a moment she had taken to compose herself, and it was more cautious than usual. "There is no will to deceive on my end, and for you to even be attempting to read my mind is disgraceful."
"I did so because it's — most importantly — the protocol in this situation and because you do tend to be actually sleazy in some manner, quite often," she frowned, and he realised that that was fair enough, as he was veering deeply into impoliteness there. "It's not as though I haven't told you that I still trust you, though, but I don't like you being dissimulative over petty things."
"Seldom petty..." again, she commented with a canned response — this wasn't the first time they had had this conversation. However, and after a short pause... "Actually, this is petty. I apologise for my unbecoming demeanour towards you, Gallade."
"Apology accepted. Let's try and not start skirmishes while in the middle of... all this."
"And know that you're forgiven as well," she returned to a seething, hushed tone. "Because I'm aware that this was all a convoluted way to evade a most dreadful conclusion for you: you invited a monster into our village walls, the monster did a monstrous deed, and now you know not what to do."
"I don't know how true that is," he sighed. "And none of this woke you up, not even for a second?"
That wasn't meant to be an accusation, either, but she seemed to have perceived it as one. Again, her vacant eyes betrayed that she had become lost in thought for a split second, though she quickly answered with newfound determination. "Not at all, I am a deep sleeper, I think that's even mentioned in the document on me in the library archives. You ought to have read those!" Her fists seemed to clench, as she stared at him and braced for his answer.
"I did read those, thank you very much," Gallade felt pressured to... tell the truth, of course, that was the truth. He had read those, obviously, of course!
... he would ask Mothim for some relevant files later, and catch up then.
"There's a five page file on everyone who's ever lived here, I have not seen you linger in the library for more than a few minutes at a time."
"Official guidance is that we need not linger there, actually. It's a discomforting, dark place."
"Do not try and shift the topic away from this negligence of duty of yours."
"I'm going to assume that that's the end of the talk you two wanted, and I kept quiet throughout it as you asked, but I'm going to go ahead now and tell you can't take this anymore, chief," both Scyther and Leavanny had done a good enough job staying silent while they had talked, Gallade had to admit, but now was the time for this conversation to spiral out of control, apparently. "I already went through this once, when I lunged into the nightmare myself, and I cursed myself for it and... and... he tried to put me through it again! I did not ask to be interrogate by being shoved back into an abyss in my nightmares, and I want you to tell him that! Are the Moonshadow's terrors something we're just scoffing at now? I went through it! He tried to put me through it on purpose! He used images of the toddlers against me! Are we just excusing that?"
"Scyther, being frank with you," she moved to answer before he could. "I can't even come up with a slight that Darkrai could commit and that Gallade wouldn't pardon, if given the opportunity to. Sadly enough, everyone here's been waiting around and leaving me to dry when it comes to trying to knock some sense into him."
"Could we please not talk about 'knocking' some sense into the village chief?" Leavanny delicately protested. "No matter your position here, I think we can all agree that dividing ourselves in such a way is dangerous."
Scyther nodded, as he had even seemed perturbed by the notion, and Gothitelle apologised to him once more, seeming genuinely remorseful.
Leavanny continued, turning to the bug again. "I'm sorry if this doesn't answer your immediate concerns, but if you believed yourself to be in imminent danger, you should have woken me up- all of us up. What if you had just passed in the night and we never found out until it was too late? Please do not put yourself at risk, dear."
The warden was content to let her speak, even if it did feel dishonest to let the conversation deviate in such a way from a comment he couldn't answer. Still, some things made it so that he still had his doubts about accusing the Moonshadow...
"I didn't want to risk it!" Scyther got up from where Leavanny was tending to him, and took Gallade by the shoulders, shaking him until he was pushed back. "But, look, here's what I thought at the time, and I think it worked out, I'm still here, alive: Darkrai needed to keep his cover, and that meant not risking making a ruckus, which meant not going to the village while everyone was probably asleep! It was my best bet, and it worked out for me, don't you think! I was safe, so long as you stayed asleep, and so long as the others stay asleep!"
And that was one of the doubts Gallade couldn't quite shake off: if Darkrai wanted to, he really, simply, very simply, could've just arrived in Haven at night, when most of them were deep in slumber... and that would be it, they'd be goners. So, why not just do so? Just be done with them, if they showed themselves to be so wary? Did he have another plan in mind? Gallade doubted it. "Sound idea, but that doesn't line up well: him being here would have given everyone else nightmares as well. He could not have been the one to attack the birds."
"Gallade, you're so utterly clueless. It's mind-boggling!"
"Come on now, I think that's a pretty inflammatory statement to make. The situation is already tense, could we all take a moment to calm down?"
"But he is clueless, yeah! ... Could you explain why?"
"Bah, fine," Gothitelle sighed. "No, that would not have happened, dear Gallade, that did not happen and never would have had reason to happen, because he's been lying about his abilities from the very start. You ought to have seen well enough how he was faking the severity of his injuries when he first came here! He's no actor! Yet he's kept on acting, and the villagers have kept on letting themselves be fooled!"
...
It was true.
Why was Gallade taking Darkrai at his word? His admittedly convenient explanation for everything, at face value? There were many more paths to the story of Haven than he had considered, many more than what he had wanted to consider, were there not? Maybe this — all of the things Darkrai had ever done to them — was not an accident after all... maybe the reason he hadn't ended them all yet was because he simply couldn't? Because he simply was not that powerful, because his ability was not only not that wide-reaching, but not an accidental one at all?
But was he weaker than Gallade thought? It certainly did not feel like it, and he had been willing to believe for a while now that those were the only options: either Darkrai was as powerful as he seemed, but it all was accidental, and he did not wish them harm, and that was why they were alive still at all, or Darkrai wished them harm, but was not capable of wiping them out in a single night, and thus had to use his cunning. This... didn't feel correct, Gallade had fought the Moonshadow twice, and twice had felt as though Darkrai was holding back, not faking preeminence.
A third path existed, maybe: a cosmic entity with powers far beyond the norm was toying with them for no reason other than it all being amusing to it, or for reasons they could not grasp. He did seem highly willing to aid them with these strange occurrences... which were happening just as he appeared, when he began to seek out their trust. It would tie in everything, starting with him having saved Espurr, the Dream Eater, and most impressionable of the vital members of the village.
It could point to a grander scheme than Gallade had information to understand. Did this presuppose malice? Well, something had happened to the Murkrow... but they weren't suffering. Everyone else who had been almost snatched up by the void was safe, now...
He could be evil, much stronger than they anticipated, but willing to spare them, so long as they played along. A riveting conclusion.
The abyssal portal, the Murkrow, what happened to Scyther...
Another nuance crossed Gallade's mind, one he ought to have thought of much sooner, one which perhaps explained everything: the conundrum was that, while Darkrai seemingly possessed a power great enough to cause them this latest set of worries, what he did not possess were reasons or the temperament to do so... yet, that didn't matter, did it? They knew his powers to be defective, so had he per chance dissimulated the extent of his... malfunctioning? Darkrai was being half-earnest, trying to help them, but would not accept that he truly was the cause of yet more problems.
So he could be a hazard, but they'd need to cooperate, if they wanted to not succumb to his hazardousness. Again, not a comfortable situation.
Infuriating. The more he thought about it, the closer he came to accepting that there really were only two possible conclusions: that they could never be sure that Darkrai wished them ill, and they could never be certain that they were in any way strong enough to do anything about it, if he did. Four possibilities. He was willing to claim that it likely wasn't the second one, and all of the others lead to one outcome: the Nightmare Weaver would need to be accommodated for.
Gallade had allowed himself to become trapped.
"This was a clear attempt to set me up!" Meanwhile, Gothitelle had been thinking aloud at a skeptical Leavanny and less skeptical Scyther. "He attacked the birds because they were our security system, evidently. But in doing so, he made an egregious mistake: Honchkrow was knocked out, as well. Darkrai obviously didn't know that his flock had split from him, and that he thus wouldn't have any reason to follow them along to my home, unless he was lured."
"Makes sense to me," Scyther crossed his arms.
"Dear, don't take this too harshly, but this speculative finger-pointing feels a bit cruel, when the accused Pokemon isn't here to defend himself," Leavanny responded. "Anyhow, I'd say that, Scyther, you're doing fairly now, you'll obviously have to get some more rest tonight to make up for this sleepless night. Otherwise," she got up, bowing. "I'll have to get going now, I had the kids do some chores for me, which maybe isn't prudent at this time, and I also need to check up on the other half of the flock in the hospital."
"Imprudent is letting them frequent Darkrai, I'd say," Gothitelle whined.
"He's done nothing to them!"
"Anyhow, we do have time, logically," Gallade assured them on a point none had been worried about up until now... "Darkrai can sense that the Murkrow are fainted, and knows that his presence would trap them in an endless nightmare, were he to come here," ... and just like that, their disinterest let him make his ruling on the question of whether the Moonshadow was telling the truth or not. The official truth of his ability, at least. "Therefore, we shouldn't be seeing him for a while, so that's more time for us to carry out our own investigation of events in peace," he sighed, his hands already grazing the drapes of the exit. "I'll have Mothim get us a few documents, paper, et cetera, and we can start devising an in-depth plan, charts, et cetera."
What a moment of respite that was, to finally be given time to think through his situation.
His hand finished its motion, moving the drapes out of the way, and he knew not what else he had expected, other than Darkrai waiting on the other side.
"Greetings, townsfolk."
Coasting off of the gust of wind she had herself created, Mothim made her way down the empty roads leading back to the library. Her wings fluttering rapidly, she was on a mission... but that everyone was over there, congregating to commiserate over the fate of the Murkrow, and her alone, with no one, in the eerie silence of the morning streets, was like a physical weight of anxiety, slowing her down. That, and the need to calm her nerves by checking behind herself, to her left, to her right, all of the shades and shadows and dark patches leading down into obscured alleyways every few moments was not making her go any faster.
Truly, she'd need to hurry. Still, she felt a tinge dumb: she had seen no signs of a threat, she knew with certainty where the only potentially threatening Pokemon would be — Darkrai would obviously look to meet Gallade first, and his presence in Haven could be sensed, if the birds started twitching or yelping — and she wasn't even sure whether he was one, a threat, that meant.
Darkrai would be over there, with them, they wouldn't let him out of sight, right? There was no chance that anything could happen to her, if that was a given. He might not even visit Haven today at all, that was a possibility that Gallade seemed worried about. It made sense, if he didn't want to harm the birds further. Plus... it wasn't like he had seemed guilty to her, at any point, either! She was cautious, but she would like for him to return, somehow, and for her to get to hear him out on what was happening one last time... she was cautious, yes, but he really did seem only courteous... and his explanations had made sense to her up until this point, too! She imagined that she would be pretty shy and even embarrassed to approach them, as well, if she had his problems, and had done what he had done...
...
The nightmare that he had used to wake her up this morning was of Lampent being taken form her, and Lampent almost had been taken from her, beneath the stadium, when Espurr had deconstructed it to pieces... well, maybe there wasn't a true chance of him dying there, but it had made her worry! A lot! And then Darkrai had been the one to get him out of there, as well, that ought to count for something, no?
Maybe that was the entire point of his ruse, but... Lampent seemed to like him quite a bit, and seemed generally trusting. Maybe she would trust his judgement as well, then? Trust that Darkrai should be given the benefit of the doubt, if not that he should be assumed entirely innocent by this point. Lampent was definitely the Pokemon clever enough to navigate this all. He wouldn't support her blindly putting her faith in him, though. Still, truth be told, she too felt like she was more lenient in her judgement than the rest. There was the void pit, and the Murkrow now... but the Moonshadow seemed willing to help with both, so maybe he was to blame, but, he, again, hadn't done any of it on purpose? The birds apparently weren't having nightmares, so, maybe they could be healed?
As she glanced around a wall before allowing herself to turn a corner, it began to dawn on the bug, and she abandoned the comfort of the stone to rise out into the open street: it meant she was free, no? They were free! If there was no proof of a prowling monster anywhere in their village, there was nothing to be afraid of! If Darkrai couldn't be accused of willingly causing them any evil, then there was no one left to willingly cause them evil.
She wanted to believe! If only for how liberating it would be, were everything he said true! The possibilities were endless: the night opened itself up to her and Lampent, maybe they would be allowed to enjoy it, a little bit after dusk, maybe the others would finally come and visit their library, if they were no longer worried by its darker depths, may—
Oh, right, the mission first, the notes, the documents, the archives, the dossiers! And she could daydream after!
Eager to put to the test this liberty she had only now realised had been granted to her - maybe it had been granted, she would exercise great caution - Mothim left behind the protection of the walls of the town surrounding her, and instead flew even higher into the air, rising above the buildings, letting herself be embraced only by the expansive sky stretching in every direction, testing the great blue... before alacrity and apprehension got the best of her, and she meekly hovered back down, now arriving in front of the door of the Haven Library.
She stuck a String Shot to the entry and — with one, elegant, motion, which she had practiced since the beginning of her days — both pulled the gateway open and then tugged to seal it again, with herself inside, detaching the substance at the very last moment, narrowly escaping it being clamped down upon by the portal.
...
It felt more chill than usual. When she concentrated on the tips of her wings, the bite of the cold disappeared.
And darker. A murky, thick gloom pervading the place, spilling further into the library.
It was always cold and dark and gloomy and... yeah, she had tried her best to keep it from being so, mayhaps it would have encouraged others to visit. It had never worked, but, this morning, the library was a tinge colder, she knew the place all too well, she could tell. It was because Lampent had yet to find time or reason to pass his warming Will-O-Wisps throughout the place, maybe, and it was because she was so used to being there with him that it seemed more dim. It wasn't as though either of them had mentioned a book they were to read together, so there had been no reason for him to linger in there, looking for it...
Some rays of sunshine managed to creep their way into the establishment through the gaps in the wooden door, serving to warm her a little, but also to reveal the sort of strange, limpid glow covering those facets of the library it touched, even the cloths and parchments, like dew in the morning...
The morning.
Time.
Oh, right, goodness, not wasting time! The... the things!
And onwards Mothim drove, into the deeper confines of the library, braving the first, darkened row of books and papers, and then the next, and the next, all the while thinking to herself that she didn't quite remember so many of them being scattered along the floor, rather than neatly ordered in their places by boo. Usually, he didn't have much else to do but that, mayhaps that wasn't the case any longer, what with everything happening around them. It sure was untidy, though.
Getting back to her usual routine with boo was something she very much looked forward to, as well, once this entire debacle was wrapped up. It was important that the affair with the Moonshadow come to a productive close, of course, and if it finished on an ideal note, they could maybe even have Darkrai be the one to tell them a story, as he seemed to have many of them memorised, all fairly novel and interesting, on top of that. It would be interesting to know more of what he knows, very obviously. He was menacing, yes, but the solution to that would be to acclimate to him — once upon a time, she would often accidentally burn the tips of her wings or hands, whenever she was around Lampent.
This time she would be fully focused on the task, not wishing to make Gallade wait any longer... and she was impatient to resolve this all, she had so many ideas for what to do after, now!
...
Speaking of, she had arrived at the end of her road, and now stood in front of the heavily daunting wall of drawers filled with information, only some of which she needed. But what did she need? A compendium of historical accounts and chronicles of village history, Gallade had requested, ones that would be relevant to the situation, the judgement of what qualified being left up to her. She would also have to take the ones she didn't judge relevant to the situation, as Gothitelle would want to consult them all anyway, as she wouldn't trust Mothim's judgement.
That initial story of Darkrai first revealing himself to the village? She snatched it up from the table. Check. Lampent had already had it taken out of storage for their own talk with the Nightmare Weaver. The chronicles of Gallade's misadventures as a Ralts into the Blightwoods? That also had everything one needed to know about Bisharp's... also misadventurous expedition. Check. Next, she hovered up to the medical files, mainly the drawer with the scrolls on dark-types' nightmare sicknesses. Check, she'd have to take the whole thing, it was maybe the most important one. It felt gross to even touch those. Oh, and legislative records, as well, Gallade could need them to try and win arguments. Also, Gothitelle needed her own file, to prove that she was a heavy sleeper, apparently. A busy Combee, Mothim was being.
And, obviously, most important for last, then came the notes on the Nightmare Weaver's talk with them both-!
Her sticky string shot latched onto nothing.
Mothim left behind the rest of the collected package and zoomed over to what should have been its drawer. It really was empty!
Where had he even stored the scroll with the register of the encounter? She ought to have asked, truly... however, the mess of other scrolls and books on the ground — the disorder getting worse, the more she advanced — signalled that that might not have been of any help, either. Curses, if only she had a Will-O-Wisp of her own... though it wasn't as though that could be made to track down a document for her. Nor would she trust herself to direct a fireball towards said piece of paper, actually!
The entire section on Darkrai did seem to be gone, she noticed upon glancing down at the separate shelves knowledge on him had a right to. Some wayward scrolls remained, but it was the most extensively disordered... or it wasn't gone, and had instead been absorbed into the mess of paper along the floor...
Mothim no longer did feel a tinge dumb. She'd trust her judgement, and...
Smoke rose from beneath one of the papers on the floor, and then a little flame freed itself, its radiance revealing that the translucent coating from the entryway had followed her deeper into the establishment.
It came to levitate at the level of her head. It was a Will-O-Wisp.
Shining a bright magenta... yes...
Her compound eyes followed every detail of its subtle movements... every undulating flare of the round flame...
It was so warm, so beautiful, captivating...
Boo's most beautiful yet... she couldn't keep herself from being distracted... from... following.
No... no, she was made to know that this wasn't a distraction. It would lead her to what she was looking for.
Mothim passed from the main chamber and into the shadowed corridors, deeper, her eyes fixated on the orb of light in front of her, she passed by row after row of books, deeper, row after row of those shelves still left empty, at the end of the library, but it did not end, it only went deeper. Much deeper than it ought to, what remained of her sense told her. The shelves in front of her were being made twisted, only to straighten, once she passed them by...
She was focused, so much so that she somehow could hope to ignore the shuffling.
Spiral shuffling, snaking its way up and then down the height of the library, a small length behind her. Disturbing the entire room as it did so, slithering down the shelves and pulling droves of books with it. She accelerated her pace, it matched hers.
It was the sound of her own wings flapping faster than usual, that was all, she was just anxious... maybe nothing more than a stack of wayward paper—
The kraken behind her followed its circular motion, it descended from the uppermost shelf to the lowest, its plunge making her flutter faster, bracing for the moment it would lunge at her instead, striking her in the back, crushing her.
Wayward paper, which had slowly and surely been tilting and slipping throughout the night, and for which the current as she had hastily opened the door was the final nudge needed... no doubt, no doubt.
This presence she could only feel rose again, and then swiftly descended, and again and again like a wave, taking with it entire structures now, brutally pushing the endless shelves behind her out of the way, crushing those that succumbed under its weight. She could hear it, she could hear it.
It wasn't making the entire building shake, no. It wasn't breathing over her shoulder, she couldn't sense its warm, humid breath she was just imagining that... just her being silly, yes, she... her bowls were turning, her vision becoming blurry and... and...
It was nauseating, she was on the verge of drowning, she would drown if she didn't keep pace, if she fell behind. If...
But she didn't fall behind. She was at the heart of the central room, now, had been there for a moment. It opened to the second and third levels, its windows were one of the rare sources of light in the place. Again, the light revealed the subtle, rainbow glow which embraced the place. At least it was nice, after that... odd scare.
The bout of fright had served to free her, at least, and she dared to turn around, back to the abyss from which she had just emerged, seeing that she hadn't been paranoid, not at all: it hadn't been anything so anodyne, there was well a shape behind her, hovering just deep enough in the darkened section to be almost indiscernible.
"You know that you aren't supposed to be slithering in shadows like a little serpent, boo," Mothim's fear dissipated, once she somehow was made to know that it would be him. "I won't tell Gallade, but do remember that you yourself said that his advice made sense!" She shook her head and reminded.
No response, he shifted to a row on her left, meaning that he was also phasing through objects, as there wasn't a gap in the shelves for him to pass through there.
"He told you that doing it brought you too close to the ground or books, and those are made of wood and paper! You could set them on fire! The same goes for phasing through the library! Fire hazard, and is just much scarier for bystanders, with Darkrai around now!"
No response, but he needn't give any, when she knew well how overall careful and wise her boo was.
"Anyhow, please do be helpful and pick some stuff up for me," she gave a comprehensive look a the items on the floor, it had felt as though she had abandoned her collection of items along the way, but, no, it was all still there, below her. "Gallade wants to read through a good bit of stuff, which is a rare occasion for us to make these archives useful. So let's get to it," ... but he was not where he was supposed to be.
The shelves ended, the surrounding walls disappeared and a foggy void took over, and there was only wooden floor and ceiling, one shaking, the other caving in, and... from the deep darkness in front of her: it was just Lampent!