PMD: Flowerbeds

by TheSnapDragon

A human turned Dewott named Oswald wakes up in a world full of talking pokemon with no memories of how he got there. He soon finds himself at the center of a power struggle between opposing forces that seek to use him for their own personal gain. Completely unaware of the true nature of his role in this conflict, Oswald takes it in stride. A Pokemon Mystery Dungeon fic.

52. Chapter 49

Chapter 49: Day 18, Part 2 - Sparkle in my Heart

Fenn had a tendency to pokemon watch.

It wasn't intentional, nor was it all that enjoyable for him. Back home, he actually preferred the opposite—being alone with his own thoughts. Emphasis on "alone."

In Kebia Castle, however, that was nearly impossible. Ghosts in the walls, Natu in the rafters, and new faces around every corner. So many…all the time.

More than he could count, or cared to.

Pokemon, pokemon, pokemon…

Fenn watched them pile out of a meeting room, like a tidal wave of fur and feathers. Scales and skin. Scarves around necks and bands around arms—more colors than the rainbow.

He sat off to the side, sunbathing by the window, his head leaning against the glass. Warmth tickled at his ears, nearly goading him to jump up and run into the crowds of Hypno and Talonflame and Tangela and so much more. But the Quilava didn't move. He sat and sighed, watching.

After all, there wasn't much more he could accomplish at that moment. Doing anything of consequence, such as looking for work, sounded extremely exhausting.

It was hard to deny that Fenn had gotten a little bored. Up until now, though, he didn't view it in that way. Boredom, like the kind he would feel during those nonsensical lectures from his schooling days, increased the weight of his eyelids twofold. Fenn was wide awake today, despite not getting sufficient enough sleep. He was incredibly tired and sluggish, just not in the way that sleep would fix.

The cacophony of noise from the chattering busybodies ahead of him might have been the culprit, but he doubted that. While he might have been watching, he certainly wasn't listening. There was plenty around to keep him from growing bored.

Too much, even.

Fenn wasn't a warrior anymore. He knew that well enough to repeat it five hundred times before bed—each night, for the past few days. But then…what was he? Something better? Something worse?

I need more time to think.

For what? He had plenty of that by now, hadn't he? How much more time did he need? Would boring himself for long enough give him the answer he needed?

No, it wouldn't. Fenn was already bored. Nothing productive had been achieved.

His father's voice rang in his head: "A warrior is never bored. If you're bored, you're not trying hard enough."

Fenn scowled at some Swoobat in the crowd, her tiny fangs sparkling in the sunlight as she laughed. Must have been a funny joke. Or maybe she was laughing to be polite. Or maybe she was just the kind of pokemon to laugh after every other sentence.

Good for her.

And then she was gone. Lost to the crowd and swallowed into obscurity before Fenn even had the chance to remember her face. She moved to somewhere else; either that or Fenn's focus faltered at the wrong moment.

What Fenn would have given to be her, a pokemon with wings for arms and a pretty smile to light up the room instead of some ugly flame vents. Actually- any one of the pokemon in his view would have been better than what he was right now. Just as long as they were someone new.

That would have made things much, much easier.

He found it hard to imagine that the pokemon in this hallway each had their own story to tell—where they happened to find themselves here, in this castle, having to deal with Fenn's specific circumstances. Some were bound to be blank slates…or warriors.

Fenn's scowl was gone. Unsure of where it went, he frowned glumly to fill the gap.

Hold on…what was that?

A flash of white-ish blue was wading through the crowd. Fenn blinked, and suddenly the blue was at the corner of his vision. His gaze followed it until it collided into a darker shade of blue, coated in white.

He blinked again, and he saw dreglings of a Typhlosion.

Was it boredom that caused Fenn to rise to his feet, crane his neck as high as it would go to see better? Or was it desperation?

He didn't know. Whatever it was, it made his paws move on their own. The hustle and bustle of the crowd slowed to traversable traffic, and a path formed around the shifting bodies like grass amongst the trees, leading to Fenn slipping right in.

Fenn's hindpaws skipped and danced with the talons and claws of the horde. His forepaws pushed against fur and scales, feathers and skin. It made sense—it flowed—just as long as he followed that speck of blue.

Then he swore, in a moment of pure happenstance, the toothy guffaw of that Swoobat swept past his gaze. And then the blue was gone, lost to the noise.

Noise that grew in volume by the second.

All of the sudden the crowd was the raging fire it was always meant to be. Fenn was small, no more than a leg's length for the tallest and a wall to push past for the shortest. A second spent stopping to look around himself was all it took for the Quilava to get lost.

He tried in vain, even struggling with his vocal chords to croak out a name, a plea. But nothing worked. He was pushed and bumped aside, and hit with a horrible twinge of listlessness deep within his stomach.

All of a sudden, he had no reason to be there, and forgot why he was in the first place.

Fenn had become one with the crowd. Yet somehow, he failed to slot into its grip. So he was jostled and shoved about with next to no regard for his troubles.

Alone at the center. Part of the cluster, yet riddled with disdain.

Desperately, Fenn danced with those talons and claws once again, in the opposite direction, panting all the while. Follow the sun, was what his instincts told him. Back to his window. Back to boredom.

He wasn't a warrior anymore, after all. And he wasn't ready.

It took some effort, but Fenn was finally able to stumble out past a rather perplexed looking Greninja and Chesnaught. They mumbled something he couldn't hear, and watched him as he waddled awkwardly away.

There was a lull in the crowd at the further end of the hallway, back towards the corner past the stairs. Panting still, the Quilava leaned his heavy head against the wall. Fenn was nowhere near his goal, the window. But by this point he was happy to breathe his own air for a moment.

"What am I doing…" Fenn muttered under his breath. The skin beneath his scarf itched terribly, like someone had snuck Joltiks into his fur. When he went to scratch it, he did so with both paws. He rubbed up and down vehemently, his vents popping in indignant little bursts as he groaned.

Eyes shut tight, Fenn gripped his scarf and breathed. And breathed. And breathed. It wasn't until he opened his eyes that he realized where he was.

Right beside him, no more than a few feet away, was a doorway that had been propped open. Etched on its surface in a neat orderly pattern was a collection of footprint runes reading STAFF.

Fenn had walked past this door several times since he started up Team Lavender with Oswald, and by now he had resigned himself to avert his gaze each time. There was nothing there for him. Nothing but shame.

Warriors felt ashamed, if Fenn remembered correctly. His father had explained to him once that shame was a prime indicator that a pokemon had grown. Plain indifference was the sign of immaturity, and often entailed a childish demeanor and interests.

Fenn wasn't a warrior anymore, though. So against his better judgment, he pulled the door open and slid inside.

---

The worker's barracks earned its name through hard labor and brute force. Many, many pokemon lived there, even if all it amounted to was an open space full of beds shoved into every corner. And as Fenn quickly learned, some sleeping arrangements were larger than others.

A room that massive fits pokemon of all sizes. The ceiling was twice the size of even the longest Steelix and the ground space provided was three times as wide. Yet despite all of the extra space, privacy was a commodity. If any mon dropped his spoon, the whole barracks would know, thanks to how sound echoed off the walls. Secrets were anything but if they were spoken aloud. Just one more reason for Fenn to keep quiet.

There was a tunnel dug in the far end of the room that was more functional than any door this castle was built around. That tunnel was just out of sight and hidden away far from any regular residents of the castle, to the extent that it took the better part of a week for Fenn to even notice it. The hole doubled as an entrance for the heavy lifters as well as a discrete exit in the dead of night. Fenn never had any reason to use it.

It had taken several nights for Fenn to get used to the snoring. It was like listening to stones grind against each other in an offbeat pattern several times over. As a janitor, and a smaller one at that, Fenn could sleep further away than most. But still.

Not to mention, the draft was downright stifling, and musty like the inner linings of a deep cave. Two blankets weren't enough to keep Fenn from shivering most nights. That took longer to get used to than the snoring, alongside living around actual giant like Aggron and Rhyperior.

If any mon wondered where the bigger residents of the castle were, there was a good chance they were all here, sharing the absolute mess of cots lining the floor. But even then, Fenn couldn't say for certain if Onix or Steelix slept on anything but cold hard ground.

Fenn was careful to evade the tracks of dirt as he went. His steps were rehearsed, almost as though he were in a trance. Bits of cotton and flecks of fractured metal and rock were scattered about without much regard for those with paw pads. There weren't many of those here, especially after Fenn left.

It wasn't long before Fenn found his way to his old bed. He thought back on it, and came to the realization that he had no intention of looking for it in the first place. His feet moved on their own, doing nothing more than avoiding the grime.

It was a stiff and splintered thing, that bed. Fenn wasn't entirely certain, but he wouldn't be surprised to hear that the wooden frame was older than him. It was built to last, no doubt about it.

Thankfully, the sheets and pillow (there was always only one, without fail) were fresh and new. Very new, even. They were neatly placed, organized with care and intent...

Just like the bucket and mop propped up against the frame.

"F-familiar…" Fenn started rubbing his arm.

Just like his first day. Fenn distinctly remembered Aster talking the Quilava's ear off as he led him to here—right here. The Banette thrusted the mop into Fenn's paws and told him to get to work as though it were that simple.

Turned out it was. In the time it took for Calluna to listen to Fenn's plight and introduce him to Aster, Fenn had a job that he could do somewhat well.

It was that easy. Hard to adjust, sure, but nothing compared to slaving away in Figy Forest. That mop may as well have been made for him, and Aster knew it.

Speaking of Aster…

An inky black blob leaked through the bed's sheets, growing from a mere drop into a viscous puddle. Shapeless at first, the blackness poked out gradually, rising into view. It formed from nothing in particular into a head with a body, and from that arose two appraising eyes coupled with a zipper grin pulled back in a sneer.

Fenn fought the urge to step back, his ears drooping low.

Now there was a Banette lounging atop the bed's covers assessing Fenn, analyzing him like a piece of meat to auction at the market. In that tone of his that sounded like he was pinching disapprovingly at Fenn's cheeks with every word, the Banette said, "Well, well, well. Look who it is."

"H-hi Aster…" Fenn uttered.

"The layabout has come back, has he?" Aster glowered at Fenn, the zipper barely managing to keep his ghoulish grin contained. "I knew it."

Fenn wasn't sure why Aster kept calling him that: a layabout. Always in that same contemptuous tone, too. Even before Fenn changed jobs he did his work like he was told, but Aster would still call him that. Why?

It's because he knows it bothers you, Fenn thought regretfully. He can see it.

The worst part was that there was hardly any truth to the label when he was actually cleaning the floors. It wasn't like Fenn could get any better with stubby legs like his. But now the label held some merit. What exactly had Fenn been doing today? Not working, that was for sure.

His fur bristled.

"I'm…not here to work," Fenn stated.

Still grinning, Aster said, "Could've fooled me. I've been following you for a while now, Fenn. Don't tell me you just wandered in. Because you didn't."

Fenn frowned. Didn't this ghost have anything better to do than stalk a pokemon that didn't even work for him anymore? The skin under his scarf itched uncomfortably. Fenn yearned to rake his claws through his fur to make it stop.

"W-well…I've been wandering around a lot lately…" Fenn muttered.

Aster tsked. "It took us a while to find a replacement for you, you know. Lots of help to go around…none of them want to work an honest job. Tch! A real shame."

"O-oh…I'm sorry."

"We did find someone, though," the Banette said, flicking his wispy headpiece about. "I don't think they'll last long…or get much done. Little minx's mouth is bigger than her arms."

Fenn eyed the mop, then his own arms. Unmistakably, this mop was the same one he used to clean with. The very same one. He still recalled how he would coil his paw around the little dark brown spot near the base. Even if it was somewhat impractical, he would always gravitate to it.

All of those hours spent daydreaming, his paw pressed into the wood with furious longing…

Aster had more to say, albeit in an uncharacteristically dull tone: "They're starting today. Or they were. Seems they haven't shown up yet." He looked off, his posture turning limp. His tone had also become weaker, sounding somewhat distraught.

Fenn gripped his arm tighter. "Th-that's not good."

"Yeah, well, not having anyone to do the labor is even worse."

"What are you g-going to do?" Fenn wondered.

And then Aster looked Fenn dead in the eyes. He never once stopped smiling, even when he sounded bored. "Don't know. But hey, if you want, I can let you have it."

Huh? Wouldn't that mean stealing it from someone who already got the position? Fenn blinked at Aster, stunned.

"N-no…I…I couldn't do that," Fenn murmured. "That would be an awful thing to do to someone."

Aster just shrugged. "It's yours to take. We wouldn't even have to interview you."

Was there supposed to be an interview the first time? Aster must have forgotten about that.

Fenn turned his gaze back to the mop. A draft tickled his fur right then, making him shiver. He said, "I-I already have a job, though…"

With that, Aster floated into the air, seated instead of lounging. "Not telling you to quit it, buddy. Just saying the position is open." Suddenly, he was right in front of Fenn's face, hugging the handle of the mop with both arms. "But if you have a feeling it won't work out, this is your last chance for an easy switch~"

Fenn swallowed down something hard. This time, he couldn't refrain from backing up. "Um…"

One blink of Fenn's eyes was all it took for Aster to appear back on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other. "You want it?" he asked. "All you gotta do is pick up that mop and head to the meeting room down the hall. We need it cleaned for a class tomorrow morning."

The tone of Aster's voice was starting to sound familiar. Demanding, domineering, terse—like Aster normally was. It made Fenn's ears droop again.

"W-what about the new employee…?" Fenn wondered anxiously. He would hate it if they held some sort of grudge because Fenn happened to show up on their first day.

But Aster was already half-way sunken into the bed. "Their fault for being late," he said. That sneer of his was growing ever wider the further he sank. "See you around, Fenn."

A few seconds passed and the inky blackness that was Aster faded into the milky white of the bedsheets. Not a lick of taint was left over, leaving it just as pristine as when Fenn first arrived.

Another draft brushed against Fenn's fur. This time, Fenn didn't shiver. His flame vents were spurting out embers in tiny diminishing sparks. Contemplative heat fell to the floor, entertaining the thought of setting the mop head ablaze.

Gingerly, Fenn put his paw on the mop. He ran the wood over his paw pads, caressing an old friend in an uneasy greeting. Memories linked to past stories he had read resurfaced, interlaced with routine motions. Forward and back, push and pull. Every inch of this mop reminded him of adventures with Captain BlueUrsaring and experiments gone wrong in The Alchemister's Apprentice. Little Romo and The Labyrinth of Dreaming Drowzee.

It had been a while since Fenn had actually sat down and read a book. It was all he had to fill the time in between shifts—the one thing he had to look forward to.

Fenn loosened his grip and watched as the mop toppled over. It hit the ground with the light clang of wood on stone. There, it would remain. Just the thought of picking it up again made Fenn shiver. And this time he knew for a fact that had nothing to do with the draft blowing in.

Turning his gaze to the bed, exhaustion clawed at him nostalgically. His paws guided him, pushed him, until he was falling.

Fenn plopped down onto the bed and sank into its embrace. Just as stiff as he remembered it, but it was clean and smelled of soft detergent. The fruity scent filled his nostrils effectively distracting him from the lumpy fabric under his back.

Here again…

He sighed. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier with each slow blink at the high ceiling above him, watching the offwhite fight a losing battle with decades of water damage and cracking foundation.

And he laid there. With his paws clasped over his chest and his lips dry.

And he waited…

And waited…

…

…What should I do?

This had nothing to do with the mop. Fenn had already decided that he would never wield it again.

But it was tempting, wasn't it? He was good at it. It earned him a living. Not a good one, but still a living.

What would Oswald think if Fenn gave up on their team? What if Fenn denounced Team Lavender and broke it off?

He pictured breaking the news to Oswald. Imagining the Dewott's face, twisted in shock and hurt…

Not to mention Cosmo. Oh, Cosmo. The thought of splitting the three of them up, and all the heartbreak it would bring, had him on the verge of tears.

But Fenn had cried enough already. No more of that- he shut out any further thoughts of ending the team.

Besides, wouldn't that go against the conclusion Fenn already came to? It was Oswald, Cosmo, and Finch that brought Fenn back here, after being on the brink of giving up. He just…couldn't bring himself to admit that to them. They didn't deserve that kind of pressure being put on them.

None of this was right. None of it. Why was this so hard?

Not picking up that mop was distinctly easier than Fenn expected, though. That wasn't a problem, he didn't need to think about that. What mattered was what Fenn would do next.

If only he knew what that was…

Fenn curled up onto his side and hugged himself tight.

What should I do…

He heard some laughing and friendly banter not too far away. Some older, more burly mons were discussing where they would eat lunch today. One of them brought up their kids—lamenting over how fast they were growing. The other offered some relatable reassurance with a joke. They both laughed, then left.

In the midst of all of that, Fenn lost his train of thought. Nothing new there, but a spark of annoyance flared back to life anyway.

He rolled onto his back. Enough time passed for his mind to wander back to Captain Blursaring and Little Romo and all of the other books he read. There were a lot of them, and they always seemed to get his mind off of things when he read more. The library tended to be much quieter, as well.

It would all be so much easier if he could go back to when things were simple. Back when he accepted that he had no future. Back when he was a liability.

According to Anemone, though, he still was one.

But he also wasn't a warrior, so…

Fenn had lost track of where each of those started and ended. There were too many contradictions. Too many conflicting factors.

Simplicity. That was what he needed.

At least Fenn knew one thing: he wasn't a janitor either. Those days were behind him.

As much as he wanted to lay there for a longer while, Fenn slid off of the bed and walked out of the worker's barracks, leaving the mop and bucket behind. Despite everything, Fenn cast one final look behind him. But as soon as he did, there was a nagging at the back of his mind telling him that he wasn't supposed to do that.

What he saw was the mop propped up against the bed, just as it was when Fenn first arrived.

---

Fenn was nearing the end of Return to Two.

And it aggravated him a little. He had been reading it off and on for over a week now.

When he was a teenager he could blitz through books like nobody's business. Back when routine was his life—the escape was what mattered most. A book every few days. Sometimes two. Occasionally just one if the book piqued his interest enough and he had the day off.

Lately, finishing a book within a week was Fenn's goal, and he couldn't even accomplish that! His reading speed filled him with so much anger that he couldn't focus on the story itself. Stray embers popped from his forehead threatening to set the book ablaze on multiple occasions, slowing him ever further.

Which was even more aggravating because Return to Two was a solid novel; it ticked all of the boxes Fenn adored when it came to adventure stories. There was great action that didn't drag on his patience within those pages—and characters that were believable and fun to read, too.

He plainly enjoyed it. Nothing about the book itself so much as bothered him. Except for maybe the ending. Gosh, that ending.

The twist that Hydreigon was dead the whole time and that his journey to find the Devolve Orb was nothing more than a jaunt through purgatory did not shock Fenn as much as he had hoped. In fact, as far as the story goes the twist was his least favorite aspect of it.

While not pointless, he just didn't like how the revelation changed the characters in retrospect. Hydreigon's partner had gone through an entire arc involving their long-lost egg, going through so much tragedy and heartbreak. But did it matter if none of it was even real?

Fenn let out a sigh as the words on those final pages jumped right off the paper and onto the floor with no fanfare to speak of. Even his flame vents, normally so warm with anticipation for a proper end, itched with unburnt ashes at its edges. One paw held up his squished cheek while the other scratched at that patch of red skin like a scab.

His mother once relayed to him that his flame vents were like any other gross hole on his body. As he aged, they would clog and track more gunk, no matter how much he used them. Viewing the source of his fire as just another belly button was patently disgusting and a bit embarrassing. But also weirdly humbling, in a way.

He wasn't even in his twenties and already he was seeing the signs of a future full of expensive grooming tools that only a couple of merchants in Kebia sold. Cool, metal scraping picks he'd have to awkwardly position in front of a mirror just so his vents wouldn't sputter. The thought of someone walking in on him and witnessing the act made the tip of his ears grow red.

…Wait, where was he? Dang it, Fenn lost his spot.

Fighting the urge to groan aloud, Fenn dragged his wary paws over his face. Pulling the fur on his forehead down, tugging at his eyelids, before running his furry fingers on top of and across his lips. His gaze fell upon the tall window across from him, as flashes of sunlight bid the Quilava a bitter farewell around the corner. That must have been why he felt a chill all of a sudden.

Not long after Fenn first arrived at the castle and started working there, he had discovered that the library harbored hot spots for those that read in the same way that they napped. At certain points in the day, the sun shone down upon a few select chairs—first come, first serve. Fenn needed to follow its path, and compete for a spot before the library filled with patrons in the afternoon.

By now, Fenn had charted key locations for reading: such as the beanbag chair near the nonfiction section in the morning. As well as a high chair and its corresponding table by a wall next to the fiction section near noon. There was also a table set aside for younger mons to study a couple hours into the afternoon near the youth section (which was where Fenn chose to sit and read today), and so on.

Pride had once swelled within him at paying this close attention and being rewarded. Although, the library seemed quite empty today. So it hardly mattered at the moment.

…He should really finish the story. There were only a few pages left.

Hydreigon had to choose: either stay in purgatory and live out his existence as he wanted with the knowledge that it wasn't real, or continue on to the afterlife and whatever that entailed. Admittedly Fenn was less interested in the choice itself as much as how happy Hydreigon would be in the end. He went through this whole journey—the last thing Fenn wanted was for it to be for nothing.

Fenn skimmed through those final pages-

-and hated it.

He slammed the book shut. Then he opened it and slammed it closed again, and again. And again. Harder and harder each time. His flame vents burst to life for the first time in several days.

He growled through gritted teeth as he abused the hardback cover like an axe to a tree. It took every ounce of his willpower to not shoot out Flamethrowers inexplicably.

What even was that? What was the author thinking?

Stupid Hydreigon! Stupid book!

Gradually, Fenn's energy ran thin. He sputtered out a sigh as he dropped his chin onto the book in front of him. From there, Fenn remained. His limbs felt sluggish hanging off of the chair, his fire slowly dying with his willingness to move any longer. Somewhere in the library, hidden behind the monolithic bookshelves and wooden support beams, a clock ticked away. It echoed morosely off the walls.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Time was passing. And Fenn, despite his best efforts, was one week older compared to when he started this book.

One week closer to picking at his flame vents in the mirror with a metal pick.

He didn't have the spirit to keep his fire stoked for long. Not now, especially. Had this been a week prior, when Fenn had traveled across the continent just for a hat, he would have torn every page from Return to Two and lit them ablaze. But it wasn't, and thankfully, the book wasn't hurt; he still had to return it.

Fenn was older now, he could understand that. His future was a dark pit of uncertainty, with no room for throwing childish tantrums. Ultimately, he needed a light. Return to Two, or any of the books here, did not hold that light within their pages.

Lighting any book on fire would not help him either.

On numb toes, Fenn slid off of his chair, nearly stumbling had it not been for the table to keep him steady. He took the book under his arm and sauntered towards the front desk. It might have just been the additional weight of the past few days, but the book felt especially heavy now that it was finished. Wouldn't it usually be the other way around, and finishing the book would make it lighter?

No one was seated behind the wooden check-out desk. Fenn was thankful for that, given he hoped that would be the case. Now more than ever his attempts to converse with others would be mired by awkward nonresponses.

There was a bin off to the side near the entrance—with a slot in the wall above it that allowed patrons to drop off their books after the library's closing hours. Notably, there were only a few books stacked on top of each other in the bin. Either the book drop had been cleaned out recently or less pokemon were reading these days.

Fenn could believe both scenarios, especially considering how little time he had to clear his mind lately.

This must have been what it was like to "grow up" as his father had told him once. The Typhlosion had said, "When you start working you're gonna have to stop reading those frilly stories of your's. Growing up is all about supporting yourself and your family. Now put the book down."

The book slid into the bin with a thud. It landed atop a few other books, toppling them, all of their spines pointed haphazardly in different directions. Fenn looked down at the small pile, his father's words echoing but slowly fading in his mind.

Put the book down and leave, Fenn. Go do…something else.

Except he didn't. Not right away. After all, a warrior would put the book down and walk away to go do something more substantial—but Fenn was no longer a warrior.

No more excuses. He needed to get used to this.

He reached into the bin and straightened out the stack of books to look more presentable and easier to manage. All of the spines were thusly positioned outward in the same manner, straightened out. The librarian wouldn't have to mess with them as much before restocking them.

Once again, he looked down at his work, a peculiar sense of pride similar to that of learning of the library's hotspots washing over him. He lingered on that feeling, indulging in it, before jumping in surprise at a sudden noise.

A collection of pattering claws against wood sounded out directly above the Quilava, urging him to take a small step back. That was what he heard first. What he saw first were six studious eyes, shaggy yellow fur, and two mandibles—one holding a clipboard and the other holding what looked to be some young adult novel. At least three of the eyes were focused on Fenn, while the other three were guiding the Galvantula's mandible down into the book drop. The book was placed atop the stack neatly, growing the tower by one.

"Oh, hello Fenn!" said the Galvantuala, checking something off on her clipboard. "It's been a minute, hasn't it?"

Fenn instinctively lowered his ears. The textile thumping, clicking, and hissing of pokemon like this never failed to make Fenn wince, no matter how many times he conversed with them. Still, Fenn knew this pokemon, albeit not particularly well. But still more than most others.

Smiling timidly, Fenn said, "H-hi Zinnia." He clutched his arm, not quite rubbing it yet. "Um…yeah, I-I've been busy lately."

Zinnia climbed down the wall and over to behind the desk. She hissed melodically—a sound Fenn had come to associate as her trademark giggle. "Not as much time to read?" She worked as she talked.

Fenn nodded solemnly, promptly forgetting about leaving through the entrance. He stood on the other side of the desk. Just like before, Fenn could tell that Zinnia's full attention was not entirely on him. Two of her eyes were focused on marking off some labels on various books she had on a cart nearby.

It was almost a rhythm: mark off the label on the spine, open the front cover, mark off the card on the first page, then slap a discarded stamp on that same page with the other mandible. Once the book was marked for discard, she would slide it off to the side and grab another book to continue the cycle. All while giving Fenn her (mostly) undivided attention.

Zinnia hissed in a teasing pattern. "Aw, that's too bad," she said. "Saw you finished one, though. Return to Two?"

That was when Fenn started rubbing his arm.

"Y-yeah," Fenn muttered. "Finally…got around to finishing it."

Zinnia paused her book marking to point a mandible at Fenn with a coy look in her eyes. "That's a good one. Hydreigon-" she thumped her leg against the counter a couple times, "-real cool. One of my favorite characters."

Had they been discussing any other book, Fenn would have expressed his agreement. He loved Hydreigon—what a great character! So funny and likable, too; the story would not have been as great without him at the helm. Fenn just wished those final few pages didn't exist.

The Galvantula's six eyes spread out once more to divy up her concurrent tasks, and at the same time she chittered, "What did you think of the ending?"

Fenn winced, gripping his arm tightly. There was the question he was hoping he could avoid, but like always the conversation never went the way he wanted it to. The thing was, he would've loved to talk about anything related to Return to Two except for the ending. Then he'd have, seemingly out of nowhere, something to talk about. A conversational leg up. But now…

There was a fireball churning in his stomach, burning at his insides. Fenn just wanted to say it was fine. Get it over with. Move on. Explaining what he didn't enjoy about the ending sounded tiring. Even if it was still fresh in his mind.

After all, what if Zinnia got upset and berated him for it? She presumably finished the book and held a differing opinion, which could only lead to a bitter altercation. What if he clammed up and didn't get his thoughts across properly? What would she think of him then?

What if that fireball burns me alive? I can feel it growing and growing…

…This had to stop. Fenn's fist tightened.

Fenn opened his mouth, fully ready to say that it was "fine." Only for the sound to die in his throat. He shook his head, entirely by impulse, before looking down at the desk.

"I-I…didn't like it," he breathed, bracing himself.

Zinnia's eyes were so spread out amongst her tasks that she wasn't even looking at Fenn anymore. She let out a soft hiss, saying, "That so? Makes sense. I had a feeling that was the case."

All of a sudden the fireball in Fenn's stomach was just a lingering sensation. He looked up at her and murmured, "Um…I guess, y-yeah."

If Zinnia had a tongue, she would have clicked it. The sharp hiss she emitted sounded close enough. "Let me tell you," she said, "that ending is way too divisive. Everymon I talk to either hates it or loves it."

Hates it? So…Fenn wasn't alone when it came to his thoughts on the ending? Fenn's grip relaxed, and his arm fell to its side.

"Really?" he asked.

Zinnia nodded. "I mean, I liked it. But it's such a sharp turn that it's bound to set some pokemon off. You can't just do that to your main character right at the end and expect everymon to think it's subversive."

Wha- that was exactly what Fenn thought!

"Y-yeah!" he exclaimed, placing his paws on the desk and leaning in. "It felt like a…a…betrayal a-after everything he went through!"

"That's a good way to put it," Zinnia said. "Reminds me of when authors kill off the fan favorite to get a reaction out of people. I hate that." She rolled all six of her eyes.

For the second time today, Fenn's flame vents burst to life. He gasped without thinking.

"M-me too! So dumb…w-what are they trying to prove?"

Zinnia closed a book with a heavy thump. "That's what happens when you try too hard to get awards if you ask me," she stated.

Fenn's flames gradually died down to a cinder as he tilted his head at her. "Awards?"

Another thump and a slide, then Zinnia let out a short hiss. "Return to Two earned a bunch of awards from the National BookDottlers Association back in the day. I remember—it was a bit of a controversial pick. It was too mainstream for some critics and too pretentious for others. Only in regards to the ending, though; some thought it was included just to impress the judges."

Fenn blanched. Controversial…pretentious...all words Fenn could see himself using to describe that ending. Hearing these descriptors come from someone else's mouth was…reassuring. Like a weight had been lifted directly off his shoulders. For a bit Fenn thought he had done nothing more than complete another story and come away from it unsatisfied.

He let out a small, weak chuckle.

"N-now that you mention it," Fenn said, "it sure felt like that was the case…"

Thump.

Slide.

"But hey, I liked it," Zinnia remarked. "I like it when books get all experimental."

Fenn's ear flicked. Experimental…

Thinking back to his classmates from his teenage years and how they would talk about the stories they would read, rarely did they ever use words like "controversial" or "experimental." Every time there was a class discussion Fenn could depend on his classmates to dish out the reliable "it was good" response. No matter how hard the teacher tried, that was the extent of it. Every single one of them, it seemed, only cared about getting a good grade and moving on.

Aggravating as it was, Fenn was no better. There was just no way for the Quilava to properly articulate himself in that kind of environment. He mirrored his classmate's thoughts to keep himself from standing out. And besides, he was too far into his own mind at the time to try.

But now? There was at least one other pokemon in this castle that knew their stuff—a simple fact that lit Fenn ablaze all over again. A pokemon that used big words and looked deeper beneath the surface, here this whole time.

That was just unfair. He had been cheated through pure circumstance.

Before Fenn could think on it more, Zinnia changed the subject, "But anyway, you said you've been busy? Did something change?"

Fenn jolted to attention, his ears perking up. And then an instant later they fell again. He remembered that the last time he talked to this Galvantula was before he met Oswald. There was no context.

"I-I got a new job as a guild worker," Fenn said, his tone weak.

All of Zinnia's six eyes grew wide. "Ohhh, yep-" she wiggled a mandible at him cheekily, "-that'll do it. But hey, that's great! Guild work is exciting. I bet it pays way better than your last job, too."

Comparing the two, not particularly. If anything he was making less after his team decided to avoid dungeoneering work. Or rather, Oswald decided that he wanted nothing to do with them. Almost immediately after, Fenn's income looked disturbingly similar to his days as a janitor.

Fenn had heard the tales—the ones about the top percenters. Those that became proficient enough when it came to adventuring that riches fell right into their laps. Elite teams—the big names pokemon remembered. When Fenn and Oswald started their team, Fenn couldn't get the idea out of his mind: one day, he'd be just like them.

Then two weeks passed and Fenn hardly even thought about it anymore. He supposed that if anyone would become rich in this castle, it wouldn't be him. His dreams would just have to be less glamorous from now on.

How glamorous they could be was still up in the air.

Fenn shrugged. "I-it's…okay."

Thump.

Slide.

"You'll earn more eventually," Zinnia mused. One of her eyes flicked up to look directly into his, slinging an invisible thread between them. "I always thought you had a bright future ahead of you, Fenn."

He gave her a perplexed look. That didn't sound right. "...What do you mean?" he asked.

Zinnia thumped the desk with her foreleg in a rhythmic pattern. Tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. "Like a volcano ready to blow," she said. "But not in a bad way. You're dormant now, just biding your time, reading some good books. But when something lights your fuze…" She hissed with the cadence of a whistle. "Enigma is never gonna be the same."

Her wording made Fenn wince at first. That word…volcano. It just had to be that word. Why did it have to be that word? But as she explained it, Fenn gradually settled into a gentle coolness. Not warmth—far from it. Coolness. The kind that flows through fur and sways branches in a breeze. Not the icey, foreboding cold that arose in winter.

He wondered right then if there was anything wrong with letting his flame vents gather ash for a while. Was it really reasonable to spend his entire life letting off heat through those vents? What if he needed a break? What if he let the coolness inside for once?

Aside from a benign utterance of the word "huh…" Fenn was rendered completely speechless.

Thump.

Slide.

"Just don't stop reading," Zinnia said, "it stimulates the brain. What do you plan on getting to next?"

Fenn blinked, snapping out of the small trance. He muttered, "I-I don't know." After all he could be stuck trudging through his thoughts for another week, and Fenn didn't want to horde books he wouldn't read. That last one he finished already sat unread for much too long.

It was odd, though. Normally he liked to have a book lined up. He had a backlog once, but…he left the note back at home.

Considering the state of the house the last time he saw it, there was a chance the list went up in flames. A surge of loss hit Fenn at the thought.

The next THUMP of a book cover closing was louder than any from before. Zinnia darted her full gaze to Fenn, each eye shimmering with excitement. She muttered something about this "being the best part of the job" while her fur crackled with latent electricity.

"Sounds like you need some recs," the Galvantula suggested.

Not wanting to seem rude, Fenn said, "I-I guess so. Did you…?"

Both of Zinnia's mandibles rose in success. "Yes! I'm glad you asked!"

What happened next was a blur. Zinnia was a blur. One second she was behind the desk, the next she was a yellow smear still fading from Fenn's retinas. Her legs skittered as quickly as the furious march of a Falinks that had just ingested five Quick Seeds. Fenn attempted to follow the sound, his eyes trailing up the wall to the ceiling. By the time he reached that, however, Zinnia's mandibles had grasped a bookshelf on the other side of the library.

When his eyes finally stopped at the bookshelf, the Galvantula dropped from the ceiling and landed right beside him.

Fenn yelped. The fur on the back of his neck rose to tickle at the purple scarf constricting it. He could handily add the speed of pokemon like Zinnia to the list of aspects that made him shiver.

Zinnia hissed in laughter. "Sorry! I was just looking at these earlier and knew that they would be perfect for you."

Atop one of her mandibles was a stack of three books, somehow remaining upright despite the clear imbalance of weight. One had a purple cover, another was black, and the one on bottom was sunset orange. One-by-one she read them out.

"Fennekraft!" Zinnia declared, holding up the purple book. There was a stylistic depiction of several fox-like pokemon intertwined and wispy in a sort of ouroboros on the front, the title written out in laminated, flowing text. "It's about a coven of Delphox and their daughters weaving up dark spells to protect their lands from warlords. You should check out the worldbuilding in this one, it's awesome!" She chuckled. "It even has your name in it!"

She handed Fennekraft to Fenn, to which he awkwardly held it aloft. He gave the cover another cursory lookover. The glossy lettering shimmered faintly in the low afternoon light of the library.

It sure sounded interesting; fantasy stories tended to be Fenn's favorite, if he stuck with them. In this case, Fenn found the idea of a family of pokemon—even if they were a powerful family—being responsible for fighting a war to be quite enthralling. Lots of chances for tragedy and heartbreak there.

Zinnia held up the black book. She said, "This one is Lustrous Larceny. Ever read any heist novels, Fenn? How about one where the thieves steal from legends?"

Fenn was in the midst of flipping through the first few pages of Fennecraft when Zinnia plopped the black book right in front of his face. He stumbled briefly, taking a moment to straighten them out in his paws. From there, he examined the highly detailed cover artwork of Lustrous Larceny. A polished decahedron lay suspended in a moonlight chamber while various appendages reached out in an attempt to grab it, or more than likely steal it.

"It's a ton of fun," Zinnia added. "The main cast has some great banter. Don't really like how much of a flirt the main character is, but ehhh you can ignore it."

Admittedly Fenn was well on board before he heard that last detail. Arceus, he hated having to read about jerks like that. Especially when they get the girl in the end anyway.

The concept behind the story was so exhilarating, though! Fenn picked up Return to Two based on the concept, and it ended up delivering on its promises. So it could be the same case here.

Finally, Zinnia brandished the last book. This one, with its washed out orange spine and impressionistic cover art, stuck out amongst the three. Time had not been kind to its untrimmed edges.

As if knowing how much of an antique it was, Zinnia handed it to Fenn gingerly. "Now this one is a classic," she remarked. "Seventh Sunset. I remember this one coming out pretty quickly after the war ended. The author wanted to make a point about how pokemon would react to their actions after the fact. So the book is about a veteran pondering how his actions changed the world around him."

She tapped the ground thoughtfully. "It's very harrowing. But Fenn, let me tell you. I could not put that thing down once I started it. It just-" her mandibles clicked, "-grips you and won't let go. After Return to Two, this one's a breath of fresh air."

Fenn wanted to start reading it right then and there. How harrowing, he had to wonder? What laid beyond those yellowed, leathery pages? He dared to crack it open, and his ears flicked from the sheer stiffness that time had inflicted onto those pages. Hundreds of mons must have run their paws over this novel. Every stain and dog ear a story.

Older books, with their drawn-out, meandering prose, rarely kept Fenn's attention for long. His patience would run thin before he could get two chapters in, waiting for the author to just get to the point. But even knowing that, he couldn't help himself.

In fact, he could barely contain his twitching fingers and sparking flame vents at all. He poured over the cover art of all three books, dropping to all fours and laying them side-by-side on the ground. His mind raced, his arms tingling. Which would he read first? Fennecraft? No, what about Lustrous Larceny? Wait, no, he had to find out what happens in Seventh Sunset!

"Had a feeling you'd like these."

Once more, Fenn jumped at the sound of Zinnia's amused voice, breaking his concentration. He looked up at her and giggled, "I-I like all of them. I can't…h-how do I decide…?"

Zinnia said, "You can check out all three, if you want. Give each of them a shot."

That was a great idea! He could try them all out and decide what to read based on which one he liked the most. Or read all three one after another.

And then…he could read more! He could read all day! There was a whole library full of books here—gosh!

Somewhere deep inside Fenn, there was a rekindled crackling. The stoking of a campfire long since left to cinder. All the while, an ache in his stomach tugged at him persistently. The fireball had returned.

It threatened to swallow him whole.

But he didn't care.

Fenn smiled, his gaze shifting from the books to Zinnia and back. His shaking paws snatched up one of the books like a lever trap as he reared up onto his hindlegs. It didn't matter which one—he couldn't keep himself still any longer.

"This one…" Fenn said quietly, finding Fennecraft nestled in his arms. "I'm really excited to read all three, b-but…"

He knew that if he browsed the selection now, while his heart was outpacing his brain, he would have attempted to take a whole shelf's worth with him. It was taking every fiber of his being to not grab all three. Alas, his arms were too short, and unlike Zinnia he only had two working eyes. Unfortunate.

So that was why he made a promise: in the upcoming days, he would complete this book and return to read the next one. Nothing would stop him.

Zinnia was quick, albeit tender, in how she scooped up each remaining book into her mandibles. She gave him a low, comforting hiss. "I'll put them on hold for you," she said. "They'll be waiting for you here when you have the time."

Fenn nodded. "H-hopefully that will happen soon."

Watching those books leave his grasp so soon after gaining them filled the Quilava's heart with sadness. He embraced Fennecraft tighter in his arms. This conversation was enough evidence to reaffirm his passion for stories, and he wanted to ride that high into the night.

All the while, he couldn't stop shaking. The lining of his skin threatened to burst at any moment.

Like a volcano…ready to blow.

---

After leaving the library, directly following any dwindling excitement, Fenn realized that he forgot something.

It was the afternoon by this point. The sun was high out of view, eclipsed by the tall ceiling. Most pokemon were either already settled in or had gone off for work—with any remaining stragglers casually walking past. Younger kids in the castle were making it their mission to enjoy this day off the best they could in the meantime. Roaming the hallways playing their little games, earning enough sideways glances to singe the pads of their paws.

In a playful pursuit, two Shinx darted around Fenn, barely evading him without a hint of remorse or apology. Their infectious giggles echoed through the air, seemingly oblivious to any notion of etiquette.

The thought of berating them for their carelessness never crossed the Quilava's mind, though it did bring him to a halt. With the festival only half a week prior, were they not flushed of any energy? Fenn certainly was, and he didn't even partake in the festivities. They could have been resting and reading, like Fenn had been.

Yet here he was, meandering about, a book tucked under his arm, wondering why none of the kids liked to read these days. Maybe Fenn really was getting old.

That was not what he forgot about, though. It came to him slowly as he watched the two Shinx disappear around the corner. There was a crackling and heat building in a pit within his stomach. Again.

He looked down at the book under his arm with incredulity. Another new book? So soon after finishing the last one, with regrets over Hydreigon's fate still lingering? He looked out the window at the big, fluffy clouds shifting into different shapes in the sky. One second he saw a tree, the next he saw the deadly visage of a Garchomp's face. He looked down the hall to see nothing new at all. There were more pokemon coming and going as always, yes, but the circumstances were the same.

Fenn forgot why he was here.

I'm distracting myself, aren't I? Fenn asked himself.

First it was the hallway by the window, then the worker's barracks, then the library. After all of that, it was well into the afternoon, and here Fenn was.

He didn't know why.

There was work to be done. But what work?

There were people to meet. But who?

There was something to work towards. A goal. Fenn's future. But…

It was in that moment that Fenn remembered what Zinnia said, about him being a volcano on the precipice of exploding, changing the land forever. It was just a matter of time…

No one ever asks a volcano how or when it wants to erupt. It just does. Spontaneously and without warning.

Fenn would erupt some day. Eventually and without warning.

Please give me a hint…let me know what to look for…

Just a sign. That was all he wanted.

Fenn huffed out some hot air and looked up warily. Sunlight was poking at his feet, reaching out from an opening in the wall. To his left, green grass and brown dirt sat in weight in little clumps of overturned activity: the courtyard.

His legs moving on their own, Fenn crept to the edge of the opening, peering out to feel the clean, cool air. The grounds were awash with the movement of training mons, jumping and dashing about with reckless abandon. The occasional blast of elemental energy soared far and high if they did not hit their target, before dissipating into a muted mist.

It annoyed Fenn how the sight contented him. Everything in front of him made sense in its own brand of chaos. Practice or not, combat often had a winner or loser. Either a pokemon came out alive, or died trying. It was simple.

In truth, Fenn didn't actively avoid the courtyard. Not at first, at least. His janitorial duties did not involve any outside maintenance. That was for the groundskeepers.

But over time he found himself stopping to gaze out at the grass when he would come by. He would stand and watch for a while every now and then. It was only when watching began to hurt that he stopped entirely.

Perhaps it was acceptance. Perhaps it was envy. He was too upset with himself to ask many questions.

And yet here he stood months later, asking question after question, watching.

He changed, but he was also just the same.

The one thing he never did, however, was join in on the training. Aside from the fact that he really, truly did not need it, there was no one to practice with. Fenn was alone with his mop and books, capable yet restrained. There was no time to hone skills he evidently did not need.

His father had once said, much to Fenn's chagrin: "A warrior must train. Train constantly, every day. Train until your muscles hurt and your bones ache. How does a warrior know when he has trained enough? You just will. A warrior is always conscious of his skills."

Fenn's father never gave a straight answer no matter how tired or self-assured Fenn became. It didn't matter, though. Fenn learned of the answer eventually—the training never ended. His journey as a warrior was long and lasted until the flames finally died. And even then Fenn wasn't convinced that the fighting stopped in the afterlife. It certainly didn't for Hydreigon.

His vents burst alight in that moment, and his fire grew to a steady blaze atop his head. As much as he tried to push it down, to make it go away, it refused to relent. Fenn looked as fierce and deadly as his father wanted him to, with a disgruntled glare to boot.

Fenn, with a sigh, set his book down beside a pillar and stepped out onto the grass. He walked close near the edges, always staying an arm's distance from the wall and out of the way.

Like most days that Fenn would pass by, the courtyard was so busy and chaotic that it made him wonder how anyone could reasonably focus out here. It was not designed for this purpose; there was a dedicated training room for that. Fenn had to clean it a few times.

There were some planks of wood around and a few targets set up for the lucky few that claimed them, but otherwise the courtyard was just grass and dirt.

Fenn walked past what he could assume was a father Gogoat and his daughter Skiddo rolling a ball back and forth to each other. The Gogoat pushed the ball forward with his horns with some encouraging words, and the Skiddo batted it back with her own horns, putting extra emphasis on her form and flare.

Similarly, a Boltund and a Manetric raced each other from one end of the courtyard to another, tossing a plastic disc between themselves. Sparks were flying, and plenty of laughs were had between each toss.

Fenn's fire began to simmer slightly once he realized how common that was. What initially seemed like training grounds now looked like a park for families and friends. Some pokemon were even lounging about and enjoying lunch. Did he never notice these outliers before?

Were they even outliers to begin with?

Some were still training, obviously. Like a Pikachu launching Electro Ball after Electro Ball into the air, or a Blaziken taking on two other mons at once in the corner. But the more Fenn watched the more he noticed pokemon that weren't training at all.

Fenn was a smoldering campfire in the middle of a forest of flowing trees-

He groaned aloud, batting at the flames atop his head.

No more fire!

The grass beneath his feet glowed a bright orange as he stomp, stomp, stomped to an empty space near the wall. Fenn faced the wall, glaring at it. He envisioned the meticulously built brick foundation melting from the sheer heat, and the castle itself collapsing through his action alone. Then he unleashed a torrent of fire—a steady stream so hot that it prickled against his lips.

Licks of flame bounced from the wall, curling in little pirouettes that washed into the dirt, marinated there, and dug dry trenches. He persisted for several moments, not halting even as smoke billowed from the ashes.

"That's it," rang his father's voice. "Keep going. Burn, burn, burn until there's nothing left!"

"GACK!" Fenn coughed, orange and reds turning to blacks and grays immediately. He doubled over with all four of his legs shaking under a weight that wasn't there previously. With every heave his lungs screamed at him, asking him why, and begging him not to do it again.

It was an intimately familiar sensation—the burning in his chest. He read about the organ that produces the flames in fire types sometime ago. How they function like a second set of lungs, but also coexist and fuel each other. Fire needs a source of oxygen to maintain its strength. What greater source than the lungs in his own body?

Unfortunately, the lungs were in direct conflict with the organ. Oxygen cannot enter the body when fire blocks its path. And Fenn couldn't simply hold his breath. He needed that oxygen for his fire. But he also needed it for his lungs.

Cut both off and he becomes a sitting Ducklett.

"A warrior learns to find a balance between them. An even greater warrior makes a choice."

Fenn's breathing slowed. Through the tears in his eyes he glanced up at the black, scorched spot on the wall. Some bits of the brick chipped off to crumble in the dirt as ashes. The brick itself remained, though. Fenn underestimated just how sturdy the castle's walls were.

Of course. If a measly Quilava like him could blast a hole through the wall then this place would have collapsed decades ago.

A warrior surely would have done it already.

Internally, Fenn hissed at himself, Shut up, dad.

"Nice Flamethrower, mon," said a voice from behind.

Fenn's vents sputtered in surprise as he turned his head over his shoulder. He blinked, and the blurry visage of a Blaziken came into view. Fenn let out a short cough.

"U-uh…thanks…" he muttered.

The Blaziken nodded, his claws on his hips. "I mean it. That spit was so damn hot that I felt it from the other side of the courtyard." He clicked his tongue against the back of his beak, eliciting a sharp clack sound. This Blaziken's voice had a very strange, almost slack-jawed cadence to it. He sounded laid back, but the words escaped his mouth in an impatient rhythm: a mouth's conflict with itself.

He sounded…familiar.

Fenn tilted his head at the Blaziken, and in doing so felt the weight shift in a more comfortably manageable manner. His flame vents were satiated, leaving Fenn in a state of clarity he hadn't experienced all day.

"I think, um…" Fenn chuckled awkwardly, "I-I was a bit pent up…"

"You and me both," Blaziken said, stretching out his neck and forcing out a few tense pops. "I come here all the time to let off some steam. Great for getting a workout, you know?"

The polite thing to do would have been to nod and agree with the sentiment.

Instead, Fenn looked down at the Blaziken's talons.

He watched with abject confusion as the Blaziken stomped his foot to go along with the stretch, gripping the ground beneath him briefly, before doing the same thing a second time with the other talon.

Fenn's eyes shot up. This was all too familiar to be a coincidence.

He breathed out, "Y-Yarrow?"

The Blaziken's eyes grew wide. "Uh, yeah," he said. "How'd you…"

Fenn did not need to read the Blaziken's mind to know that the realization had kicked in. The embers popping like fireworks from his shoulders were all he needed.

"No way…Fenrir!?"

Fenn's flame vents burst to life once again.

How?

What?

When?

And most importantly: why? Why now, especially?

"I-it's…" Fenn stuttered, finding it particularly hard to get the words out. "...I go by Fenn, n-now."

Yarrow balked, his beak agape. Then, abruptly, it shut—the corners curling up into a delighted smile. "You're kidding…" he uttered. "Fenn, really? What made you change it?"

Of all questions to ask, that was the last one Fenn cared to answer. He was…shocked? Excited? Bewildered? Maybe even angry? Fenn should have been the one to be asking questions, not Yarrow. So he did.

"Yarrow…w-what are you doing here?" Fenn questioned. "Didn't you…?" He stared at the ground, too flustered to finish the thought.

Luckily, Yarrow picked up on Fenn's reluctance. Even as a Torchic he was always good at that, sometimes to a fault. The Blaziken rubbed his neck as he said, "Mon, I'm sorry. I'd pull up a chair if I could, but…here."

Yarrow deftly dropped into a squat, bringing the two fire types to an equal eye level. His legs held up his weight well enough to keep him there indefinitely, not so much as a hint of fatigue showing on his face. The muscles under his feathers flexed naturally and comfortably.

"There." Yarrow sighed. "That better?"

One more question Fenn didn't care to answer.

"Y-you're a Blaziken…!" Fenn breathed.

Yarrow ran his claws over his thighs like the braggart he was, the chance to do so making his eyes light up. "Yeah! Evolution hits ya quick when you push yourself to the gym every morning."

No kidding. Yarrow didn't just look healthy, his whole visage was downright picturesque. His feathers had a sheen to them that would make an Oricorio blush. Even after spending time outside in the wind, not a single feather seemed out of place. If the Blaziken in front of Fenn was a model they put on those tacky romance novels he wouldn't question it. Yarrow had the abs for it, that was for sure.

…Fenn was staring. How could he not when those same abs were bending so smoothly right in front of his face? He forced himself to look away, hoping the pink on his cheeks wasn't showing through the shadows.

"You…look good," Fenn uttered.

"You do, too!" Yarrow replied. "A little short, though, heh."

"Y-yeah, I guess so."

Fenn wanted to scream, Can you tell me what you're doing here already!?

"But yeah," Yarrow continued helpfully, "it's what I'm good at. You should have seen me earlier!"

"Earlier…where?" Fenn asked, slowly turning his head back to face Yarrow.

Yarrow beamed. "Here! Er, there!" He pointed over his shoulder. "I fought two guys at once. Did you see me?"

Fenn nodded. It was hard to miss it. All the more justification for Fenn's bewilderment.

"Y-Yarrow-"

But Yarrow held up a claw. "I know. I'm dragging my talons. One sec, let me collect myself." Yarrow took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his gaze changed to become more serious—focused. "So…been a while, huh?"

Fenn wasn't sure how to respond to that. The last time they saw each other they had an argument. A pretty bad one, too. Yarrow called Fenn weird—which still stung to this day—and Yarrow left their home town without a proper goodbye. The time since hadn't been "a while," it had been the better part of a decade.

As far as Fenn could remember, Yarrow's dad ended up with a job opportunity on some other continent and took his son with him. What continent or for what job was never disclosed to Fenn. But even if he knew where Yarrow lived, it didn't feel right to send any letters. Their friendship had ended. That was it.

Since then, both pokemon had come to the same conclusion of moving to Kebia Castle, each ending up at the same place at the same time…

Fenn just stared blankly.

Yarrow seemed taken aback, as if he expected a good natured reaction. Instead, he received nothing, and that made him stumble briefly. He said, "...A long while. We…didn't end off all that well, did we?"

To that, Fenn quickly said, "Y-you called me weird," and immediately regretted it. He was already a lot shorter and younger looking than Yarrow. One way to seem outright childish was to admit to holding a grudge over something the other pokemon said when they weren't even a teenager yet. It was as though a younger, stupider Fenn resurfaced from the depths of his mind to finally deliver his vengeance.

It just slipped out, and that made Fenn want to slap himself.

Meanwhile, Yarrow nodded sadly. "I sure did," he admitted. "Wish I didn't."

One second Fenn was the son of his dad: back straight, flames billowing in the wind, eyes directed and fierce. Then the next he was Fenn again: ears drooping, eyes looking away, one paw rubbing the other arm, fire extinguished. Not a warrior.

"It's…f-fine," Fenn whispered. "That was th-then and…this is now." His ears flicked as he met Yarrow's eyes. "Where have you been?"

And so, they talked for a little bit. Yarrow explained that his father was called back to his old guild over in Blueline right before Yarrow left. There was a logistical emergency over the guild's ownership and Yarrow's father, having been the guild's previous financial manager, returned to his old job. What surprised both Fenn and Yarrow was that it was never the plan to stay there.

"So…w-why didn't you come back?" Fenn asked.

Yarrow shrugged. "Too much of a hassle to move, I guess? We didn't have a whole lot keeping us locked to Kebia after mom died anyway." No one but Fenn, and that ship sailed at just the right, or wrong, time.

As a result, Yarrow was enrolled into a university in Blueline, similar to the one Clary, Fenn's sister, was going to. Fenn didn't say this and be rude, but Yarrow hardly seemed the type for extra curricular education. And he was right.

"I got through primary school," Yarrow said, "I just couldn't keep up when they started mixing numbers and letters in math."

Fenn replied with, "N-neither could I," which was somewhat of a half truth. He could handle the more advanced school work just fine—the problem was that he was too distracted to retain much of it. Math wasn't his strong suit regardless.

Yarrow was similar in that he was more invested in the school's sports programs. So much so that he became a bit of a local celebrity. It was a matter of time, though, that his unwillingness to study would catch up to him.

"I'm a dumbass, what can I say?"

He dropped out in the end, much to his father's disappointment. All of that made sense to Fenn.

However, one detail lingered above all else.

"But…y-you're here now."

Having since sat up against the wall beside Fenn, Yarrow tapped his knee as he thought through his next words. "Yeah, I mean—in retrospect, Blueline's Pyro Ball teams kinda suck. They can't find a good defense for crap."

Fenn frowned. "That doesn't answer my question."

Yarrow laughed. "I know. I'm just saying."

"I-if you're so good at Pyro Ball…"

"I'm not here for Pyro Ball," Yarrow responded resolutely.

"Then why?" Fenn wondered.

Deep down, Fenn has selfishly hoped Yarrow's reason was simply that he wanted to find Fenn again. They lived right next to the castle, it wouldn't have been terribly hard to find each other. But that hope was dashed just as soon as it arrived. If Yarrow wanted to find Fenn, he would have looked for him.

The truth chilled Fenn's fur. Yet the reality warmed it.

Yarrow said, casually, "A lot of reasons. Nostalgia, money, old friends, better opportunities…" He waved his claw in front of him in an arc, gesturing to the castle and the wider world beyond it. "All in one place, here."

A lot had been said about how centralized Kebia Castle was. It was one of the most crowded locations in the entire world. The continent itself circled around the castle's spires, with smaller settlements and towns branching out towards various corners of the land. Other continents were larger, but more spread out.

If Yarrow was going to return to Enigma, he would end up in Kebia no matter what his goal was. That is, unless he aimed to become an arena fighter, which was possible, and apparently even planned at one point.

"It was like," Yarrow continued, "I could become a solid fighter in Rabuta, yeah. Or I could join a team in Kebia and do all sorts of stuff. I have more options here."

As it turned out, not only had both Fenn and Yarrow ended up in Kebia Castle at the same time, they were both working the same job. Yarrow's team was named Team Loosestrife, and their niche conscribed them as hired muscle. Bouncers and guards. It wasn't what he was expecting or even wanted at first, but he did it well, based on what he said.

"You're on a team, too?" Yarrow asked.

"Y-yeah," Fenn said. "Team…Lavender."

"Lavender. Nice. I like that, it fits you. When did you start?"

"A-about two weeks ago." But Fenn wanted to say he started sooner than that, even if it was a lie. Despite the two of them being the same age, Fenn wanted to have one thing over Yarrow, if he couldn't be better built. Or hotter.

Yarrow gave Fenn a light punch in the arm. "You've been at it for less time than me? Get outta here!"

That made Fenn wonder as he rubbed his shoulder… "H-how long have you been on your team?"

"About a month and a half."

That was around the time frame that Fenn stopped coming to the courtyard. When he truly decided that he had no place here, and that he would some day go home a failure. To think that if Fenn continued to visit the courtyard for another week or two, they might have met sooner.

It made Fenn nauseous.

Because Fenn was able to join Oswald's team when he first made it; no one stopped him. So with that in mind, had he found Yarrow sooner then he could have joined another team sooner.

He could have had friends sooner.

"Oh…" Fenn whispered.

Yarrow clicked his tongue. "But damn, you were here all along." His voice suddenly became a bit distant. "You know, I tried visiting your house to see if you were there. But no one was home. I just accepted that you moved on."

But I haven't! Fenn shouted internally, fighting the urge to scream it right in Yarrow's face. I'm still here! I never left!

"Y-you didn't leave a message or…anything?" was what Fenn ended up asking in a voice that wavered more than he intended.

"We left off on bad terms, dude," said Yarrow. "I didn't want to push it."

Fenn looked down at his fidgeting paws. He still couldn't believe it. Yarrow was here. For several weeks. And Fenn hadn't known. That was spectacular in its own right, but Fenn was having a harder time comprehending how they were treating each other.

It was like nothing ever went wrong. They picked up right where they left off—but now they were older. They were still friends.

For years, Fenn had lamented over how he never got to tell Yarrow that he was sorry. Over and over again, he went through scenarios in his head, fully expecting Yarrow to either spit in his face or cry tears of regret.

Neither of those happened. Not even close. In the end, it didn't really matter. They could move on.

Everything was fine.

"Hey," Yarrow spoke up, "you wanna meet up sometime? Maybe get lunch?"

They had a lot to catch up on, that was for sure. But wow, Fenn was being asked to go hang out with someone. His ears perked up.

"S-sure," he said, embers popping out of his flame vents and falling into the dirt.

"I can get you some discounts if we go during my shift! But I'll pay, I know you haven't been working for as long as me, heh."

Was it really this easy to move on? He hoped so.

Fenn smiled.

---

"Hey! No Quick Attacks in the halls!"

A loud voice bellowed behind Fenn as he ran, but his ears may as well have stopped working.

His legs worked overtime, dashing up steps and down hallways with reckless abandon. Windows and carpets and stunned onlookers sped past his vision. Out of sight, and not just from the Quilava's gaze.

He had to find him.

Up the stairs Fenn went—to the second floor. As he ran, he remembered the last time he was at the courtyard before today.

Oswald's face was streaming with tears after that Wartortle beat him up. His paw touched Fenn's, their bodies against each other, spreading the warmth between them. It was…confusing how Oswald acted back then, and just as much so with how Fenn reacted to it. The Dewott insisted on doing it all himself, he broke down when he lost, then shrugged it off when he calmed down. Despite how confident he could be, Oswald was a bit of a wimp.

But that wasn't his fault! It was more than okay, even! He was lost and confused. Just like Fenn.

They wanted everything to go right. They wanted closure. They wanted to be okay.

Floor two…

Oswald was so quick to joke about his failure like it didn't matter. All of those bruises and scratches were funny, to him, and not at all disheartening. He moved on and acted like that feud of his was nothing worth discussing. Fenn complied and decided to forget about it.

But why? Did Oswald not care? Just like…how he didn't care about who he would end up with romatically…? How could he be so nonchalant about these things?

Fenn ran faster, his body awash with heat.

And why did he become warmer, seemingly out of nowhere, when he envisioned Oswald touching him? His fingers through his fur, his soft embrace. Why did he want that Dewott to laugh and for his scraggly, white whiskers to rise with his goofy grin?

There was that tingle again. The same tingle that arose when Oswald would rub Fenn's ears. It returned just to tease Fenn, to ride from his toes to his arms. Tickling the back of his neck, making his fur bristle.

Then there was that prickling in his cheeks when Oswald would dole out compliments. Simply remembering his words, the soft, cushiony squish of his voice comforted Fenn like a pillow. Fenn's pillow.

His pillow…

My pillow…

The stairs were a blur.

Fenn didn't fall asleep on top of Oswald by accident. It was by impulse. It was just supposed to be for a quick second then…Fenn…couldn't let go…and….

No, that was an excuse. Fenn wanted to…to know what it was like. He wanted to be close. To feel.

He wanted more than those subtle touches. Those little pokes and giggles. He wanted to hold Oswald's paw. He wanted to hold Oswald. He…

He…

He wanted to love him.

Fenn loved him.

Now more than ever, even.

His fire had become an inferno. A smear of orange and red against the sunlight.

Fenn could hardly find the energy in him to blame himself. How could he? Oswald was funny, nice, cute, compassionate…

Sure, he tended to keep things to himself more than he should and even lie sometimes, but…so did Fenn! Fenn wasn't a warrior!

And…right. Fenn never told Oswald about any of that, did he? He kept it to himself because he wanted to solve it on his own. He didn't want to burden Oswald with his problems.

Neither of them did…

It didn't matter now. None of it mattered. Fenn needed to find Oswald and tell him the truth.

But what about my future? Fenn reminded himself. The answer was the same.

It didn't matter right now. Oswald did. Fenn wanted him. He wanted things to go back to the way they were. No more of this stupid, stupid quiet nonsense!

I don't care! I want to laugh with him again! I want to do stuff with him!

And then it all suddenly came to a stop.

Fenn's momentum halted, his inertia reversing and sending him back onto his rear, the book he was carrying tossed to the side with its pages splayed out. The world spun, twisting and twirling until giving way to a clear sight.

He had reached the top of the stairs, that much was obvious, but he had run into something.

In a heap nearby, complimented by various groans and moans, was a puddle of shifting light blue, speckled with purple.

Purple on top of the blue, purple on the floor, purple by Fenn's feet, purple clutched in paws, purple alight and burning to ashes.

Purple everywhere.

Scented purple. Lavender.

There was lavender scattered everywhere.

"Ugh…" the Dewott groaned. "Ow…watch where you're-"

It was Oswald, rubbing the back of his head and raising to his feet. But he stopped when he met Fenn's eyes.

And then his own eyes grew wide. Fenn was the last pokemon he expected to see, and, evidently, also his destination.

"Fenn!"

Oswald scrambled, picking up as many flowers as he could in a haphazard bundle. Fenn hardly did much more aside from watch with awe.

"Just…one sec!" Oswald panted. "Shit, this is already going bad- oh whatever."

Oswald sprang to his feet with disheveled fur and a grin of pure radiance. In both of his paws, held out in disorderly clumps of petals and stems, was a bouquet of lavender.

"I don't even- shit, okay. Fenn, I'm so, so sorry! For everything! I don't know if you'll ever forgive me, but please know that I never meant-"

But he never got to finish.

Fenn lunged and had his arms wrapped around Oswald within an instant.

The warmth was overwhelming. Hotter than any campfire and just as comforting. From his toes to his ears, over his head and down his back. He held Oswald, laid his head on the Dewott's shoulder. It rested there comfortably, complete. As it should be.

He smelled of salt on an ocean breeze, accented by a hint of musky sweetness. A scent belonging only to Oswald and his frazzled fur.

This was right. This was good.

Tears streamed down Fenn's cheeks and fell into Oswald's fur.

"I-i-it's okay," Fenn sobbed. "Thank you, O-Oswald…for everything. I-I…I forgive you. I always will."

Oswald hugged him back, stunned at the suddenness for just a moment, before leaning in just as closely.

"Fenn, I…" Oswald started, then stopped when he became choked up. "I…I never meant to…"

"I know," Fenn uttered with a small nod. "I'm…I-I'm sorry for being so d-distant and being s-stupid and-"

"No, no." Oswald cut him off. "No, it's my fault. I…suck at being there for you and…I kept things from you when I shouldn't."

They pulled back. Fenn got a good look at just how red and tearful Oswald's eyes were. Oh, how they sparkled. Reflected back was Fenn, close enough to see, no doubt just the same.

But those eyes were also full of so much kindness and determination. Beautiful meadows of green stretched far, beckoning Fenn to run and run and run as fast as his legs would carry him. He couldn't look away.

"But I'm going to change that," Oswald said, steadfast. "I'm going to tell you everything."

Fenn sniffled. "E-everything? Oswald, you-"

Oswald shook his head. "I have to. I need to."

His paws slid down Fenn's arms, sliding over the smooth fur, before landing in Fenn's own paws. They gripped tightly, snuggly.

"You deserve better. So let me be better."

With his jaw ajar, Fenn stared, a shiver coursing up his spine. This was really happening, wasn't it?

Slowly, his gaping turned into a joyous smile. Fenn nodded and said softly, "Okay."

The glee smacked Oswald across the face like a wet towel, catching him by surprise. Fenn had never seen him so flabbergasted.

It made his heart flutter like a Butterfree.

"I know just the place," Oswald said. "But uh…hold on, one sec."

Oswald stepped back, then cupped a paw over his mouth. He called out, "Oleander!"

What happened next was beyond any of Fenn's expectations. In direct response to Oswald's call, a large Dusknoir rose from a black whispy puddle on the floor. A singular, piercing red eye traced over the two of them with intense indifference.

"Yes?" the Dusknoir boomed, his voice slick with viscous ooze.

When Fenn glared at the ghost, embers popping out aggressively at their rude intrusion, Oswald gripped Fenn's paw tighter, as if telling him to not be scared. Confused as he was, Fenn decided to trust Oswald, and squeezed his paw.

Oswald cleared his throat. "I need to leave the castle," he said faster than Fenn could even process it. "It'll just be for an hour then I'll come right back, I promise!"

They were going to leave the castle? Fenn shot Oswald a surprised look.

The Dusknoir, Oleander, hummed deeply. "No, I do not believe that will be happening."

"Ugh! Come on!" Oswald groaned through gritted teeth, throwing the bouquet of lavender onto the ground.

"Rules are rules."

Oswald pointed a finger. "Fuck your stupid rules! You know I have nowhere to run to! Just let me leave for a bit, come on!"

But Oleander was quick to shut that down, as well. "It would not matter if you were off to see a once-in-a-lifetime presentation by Neo, The Fencer—such a pity. You—Oswald, the Dewott—are not allowed to leave."

So Oswald was telling the truth about this? He couldn't leave the castle for any reason. Not even for a little bit.

A pit fell deep into Fenn's stomach. The fireball, once more, had returned. Fenn had left Oswald a couple days back to go get a smoothie. A smoothie!If only he took Oswald seriously and wasn't so focused on himself…

No, this was unfair. It didn't matter now. Oswald wanted to leave, so Fenn would make that happen.

Fenn damn near exploded, his flame vents projecting fire twice their usual size.

"He said he wants to leave the c-castle!" Fenn growled.

Oleander was unphased. "Hmm, you would do well to keep yourselves in check," he said, "lest the punishment become worse."

Punishment!? FOR WHAT!?

Just as Fenn took a step forward, however, he felt Oswald's paw grip him tighter. Still fuming, he turned, only to freeze.

All of that determination in Oswald's eyes was gone. In its place was…concern?

"Fenn," he whispered. "Stop. It's…we'll go somewhere else, forget about it. It's not what I wanted, but…"

Fenn panted heavily. As the tense seconds passed, so too did the fire until none was left.

Just those words…"stop." "Forget about it." Has Oswald ever acted like this before?

There was another voice that rang out just then. An older, feminine cadence that directed all three heads to its source.

"Now, now. I believe we can make an exception, can't we?"

Rising from the floor much like Oleander was a large brimmed hat, followed by a thin mouth belonging to none other than Calluna. Fenn would recognize it from anywhere.

Oleander straightened up immediately, his previously imposing and bulky exterior seeming to shrink. "M-Ms. Calluna…!" he stammered. "I did not realize-"

"That is quite alright, Oleander," she said. "I do not expect you to expect me."

She faced Oswald, her satisfaction readily apparent. "Now, I am feeling quite generous today. You said it won't be long?"

Oswald hesitantly nodded. "...Yeah. I'll come right back."

"Where to?"

"Fairy Fields."

Fairy Fields? Why there? Was this…?

Fenn wasn't sure what Oswald had planned, but he was committed to his choice, that much was obvious. Fenn was more than willing to follow Oswald to the ends of Pamtre if he pleased.

"Ah, that isn't far at all!" said Calluna. "Oleander, chaperone them, please."

Oleander was quick to bow his head, his eye glued to the floor in front of him. "As you wish, ma'am."

And that was it. In less than a minute's time, the problem was solved. Fenn could hardly believe it.

Calluna gave Oswald a peculiar look. Her eyes glazed over the whole of the Dewott, as if gauging his value. "I would keep tally if I were you, Oswald. I certainly am~"

Before Fenn could ask what this tally was, Oswald replied with, "Thanks…Calluna. I'll keep that in mind."

Both ghosts slid back into the floor just then. But not before Calluna gave Fenn—not Oswald—a wink. He was certain it even made the fireball in his stomach perplexed.

What did any of this mean? Fenn wasn't sure. One thing he was certain of, though, was the paw he was holding.

Fenn turned to Oswald with a questioning look. "O-Oswald…" he muttered.

"Come on," Oswald beckoned, pointing to the stairs with one paw and holding on to Fenn with the other. "I have someplace to take you."

---

Author's Note - 8/1/2024

One more to go...

I think I'll save any lingering thoughts for after the next chapter. Once again, expect that one to take a bit.

Thanks again to my wonderful betas: Bonehead, Dust_Scout, and Timelocke. And thank you for reading.

Have a good one.