Moving through untouched snow, leaving a single pair of tracks in his wake, Grovyle failed to disguise a shiver. The tattered bag shook against his svelte frame. A living body had its disadvantages. Grovyle's, in particular, was ill-suited to this paralyzed climate. Dusknoir perceived the chill in the air without any adverse effect. He could never feel the sun's warmth as Grovyle did, nor its lack.
A long time ago, before the planet's paralysis, Dusknoir would have had a different purpose, guiding wayward spirits to the other side. In a fairer world where the sun blazed bright and Dialga had not succumbed to madness, they would not be walking this road.
Grovyle stopped pace.
"What is it?"
Grovyle's reptilian eyes had no lids. The pupils fixed on his singular eye. "The air, here. It's not as stagnant as last time."
"You're imagining things."
"You can't feel it?"
"I have no such frailty."
Grovylehumphed, turning his back. "Figures. You're just a spirit yourself."
The frozen forest was a mystery to Dusknoir, beyond its inordinate levels of energy capable of rending flesh from soul. This planet was a gravesite and their future entombed. Once he inhabited the empty shell, would he succumb to the elements? Or would he simply drift, a puppet rotting on its strings? Dusknoir had never considered such a question before, nor had a reason to. In a world long since abandoned there was no point in entertaining such frivolities.
And yet.
"You're shivering." Grovyle said nothing. Dusknoir floated effortlessly beside his stubborn pace. "It won't do to overextend yourself. Your dear—"
"Quiet."
That old note of venom crawled up Grovyle's dry throat.
Dusknoir could not smile. To make up for this, he emitted a booming chuckle. "This is a fool's errand. You and I both know that."
"I've made peace with it."
"And what if, by some miracle, you didn't disappear?"
"Even if I didn't, it makes no difference. I have to try."
Dusknoir shook his head. "Ever the stubborn one."