Thine presence is still needed here. Thou hast Mine word that thou shalt indeed return.

(god is typing…)

Seek out all Pokémon.

It galled Dawn to take any time off from surveying, but lots of Pokémon had senses sharp enough to pick up on the scent of blood, and just because her team could handle just about anything now didn't mean she wanted to risk having to run from wild Luxray while cramping. She wasn't exactly feeling charitable toward Arceus’s great mission, either. A few days of stubborn procrastination weren't quite what Pessele had ordered, but Rei seemed eager enough to pick up her slack.

He didn't come back with as many new Pokémon as she usually did, but his notes on Basculin’s diet and Bronzor’s communication calls were both neater and more thorough than her own; “Akari” might have had the better throwing arm, but Rei had the patience and an attention to detail that made her a little envious. It was this last quality that really made their switch worthwhile: he'd spotted an eye attached to a rock pillar on his way to the Fabled Spring.

“It could've been an Unown, but I couldn't tell for sure,” he explained. “Or what shape it would've been if it was. It was high enough up that I'd have to climb to get to it, and I had to get to the spring while the moon was out.”

“Oh, Clefairies?”

“Yes!” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming as he gestured. “Did you know they dance under the full moon? Sing, too! They have beautiful, chiming voices. Watching them twirl and hop around the flowers in the moonlight was like something out of a dream!”

It was cute, how far he'd grown from that kid scared of his own Pikachu. She might have mistaken his quiet enthusiasm for the boy who’d looked like him, now, but she didn’t think her friend had had that kind of poetic streak. It was different enough to keep her smile genuine as she teased Rei and thanked him for the tip, but a bittersweet cloud hung over her as she made for the Highlands.

Rei was kind enough to mark the spot on her map for her, so it wasn't too difficult to get there – though, as she ran past Parasect, she was grateful that Sneasler had extended her help beyond Dawn to the Survey Corps as a whole. Dawn could manage some climbing on her own, now, thanks to lessons from Sneasler and Ingo – nothing extraordinary, just a few feet, but she was loathe to drag any of the Nobles away from their duties and this was one thing she could feasibly do herself – but scaling these cliffs would have been far worse for Rei, whose left arm still struggled to grip things after a childhood Luxio attack.

The pillar he had mentioned was a bit precarious, but within her height limit. And also next to not one, but two alphas, which he hadn't seen fit to mention. Dawn bit back a sigh and got to climbing.

Any sound she made could alert the alphas below, so she moved slowly and carefully, ignoring the building ache in her muscles. If only Sneasler were there to make the climb instead. Too late now – Dawn couldn't play her flute without making noise. At least Unown never put up a fight when she caught them. And this was definitely an Unown, though she couldn't tell which one.

Dawn gingerly grabbed for a pokéball. She could catch it without falling off, right?

Yes and no – taking a hand off the wall overbalanced her, but the ball hit the Unown on the way down, so that was alright. Unfortunately, she hit the alpha Toxicroak on her way down too. It bellowed with outrage, and she only barely managed to roll off it and snatch up the dropped pokéball before it jabbed a poison-coated claw at her head.

“Frick.”

Okay, running.

She fumbled for her flute and played, spacetime going blurry for a moment before resolving into the smelly closeness of Sneasler’s basket. It jounced along the ground before smoothly ascending the cliff Dawn had run towards, and Dawn took the climb to breathe through the heart-pumping adrenaline rush. Even having raised several alphas to competitive standards herself, those red eyes and that earthshaking roar still terrified her every time.

The movement slowed. The basket jumped as Sneasler hopped over the edge, then lifted and settled to the ground. Dawn sighed and nestled further in. This was the part she'd been hoping to avoid.

Sneasler lifted the lid and glared in, one hand on her hip.

“Hi,” Dawn said sheepishly. “Thanks for the save?”

Sneasler was unimpressed.

“Look, I know it was dangerous, but I totally had it handled,” Dawn protested, trying unsuccessfully to dodge the Noble’s claws. They wrapped carefully around her middle, and she gave up, letting them deposit her on the mountain ridge. “You and Ingo taught me really well. I didn't fall at all!”

Sneasler leveled a look at her, head tipping to point at the basket. “Sler.”

“Okay, I fell a little.” Dawn winced. “But it was after I'd made it to the top!”

Sneasler grabbed her arm, lifting and rotating it to check for injuries.

“Hey–!” The long feather tickled Dawn’s nose, which, plus the cold air, was enough to prompt a sneeze. (Haha, sneeze-ler.) “I'm fine, promise! The Toxicroak totally broke my fall!”

The patdown stopped. Sneasler’s paw impacted her forehead.

Dawn laughed nervously. “Wow, you look almost like Cyllene when you do that.”

“Sneasel snease,” the Noble groaned, rummaging through her basket. She came up with a pecha berry and shoved it at Dawn. “Sneasler.”

“Alright, alright! I'll eat it!”

The berry was bruised, but sweet, fuzzy outside tickling against her cheeks when she sank her teeth in. This was one thing that hadn't changed. She remembered –

“Don’t steal that,” her mom scolded, “it’s for the poffins.”

Dawn grinned a juice-stained grin. “They won't miss one, right?”

“Sneasler?

Dawn sniffled and rubbed her arm across her eyes. “I'm okay,” she choked out. “I just…”

Sneasler brought her paw to her forehead, tilting it like she was adjusting a cap.

“No! Don't call Ingo.” She shoved the rest of the berry in her mouth like a Bidoof, hunching over it until she almost matched the man himself. “It's just a little homesickness,” she said around her mouthful.

Sneasler smacked the back of Dawn’s head, and she rolled her eyes, swallowing before she continued. “I shouldn't bother him over something like that, not when his amnesia is so much worse. He's got better things to do than deal with me.”

Sneasler folded her arms.

Dawn wilted. She turned away to check her new pokéballs: Yanmega, a couple of Skuntank, a Heracross, another handful of Goomies, and the Unown. It wasn't a very good haul, but she'd only technically come out here for the last one. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll turn these in at the mountain camp, and then we can go bug Ingo.”

Sneasler grumbled at her, but motioned towards the basket regardless.

“You sure?” Dawn checked. “I can walk –”

The Noble lifted her up and placed her in the basket. “Fine,” Dawn grumped, resigning herself to being hauled around like luggage.

Ingo was already there when they arrived, chatting with Professor Laventon – something about Petilil tea. Dawn was tempted to keep hiding in the basket (maybe he’d think Sneasler just went on a walk?) but the strange bond between Noble and Warden foiled her yet again.

“Miss Akari,” he boomed, “are you alright? Sneasler seemed to think you’d hit the grit somewhere.”

She let her head hit the basket and groaned, then dragged a smile back on before clambering out and getting to her feet. “Sneasler’s a worry seed. I had a little run-in with a Toxicroak, but it was fine.”

“Sler.”

Ingo frowned harder. “Miss Akari…”

“Okay, fine, I might’ve landed on an alpha –” Ingo stepped in and threw a hand against her forehead. She smacked it away and skipped backwards, huffing. “It didn’t even hit me, jeez! And even if it did, your Noble already gave me a pecha for it, anyway. I’m a ninth-star survey recruit; I don’t need the two of you fussing at me.”

“Actually, I believe that’s exactly why I do need to, as you put it, fuss.” Ingo’s hand cupped his chin, other fist curling around to support his elbow. “You may be an accomplished surveyor, but you are also a child. If the Survey Corps is unable, or unwilling, to prevent its hotshot from pulling too much freight, the responsibility must fall to me.”

“Now, now, Warden!” Professor Laventon clapped him on the back. Ingo flinched away. Sneasler hissed at the professor, who sputtered apologies and took a few hasty steps back as Ingo waved down his Noble. When she’d calmed, Laventon wrung his hands and continued. “Ahem, well. Let’s not get overexcited. I’m sure Akari knows her own limits, don’t you, my girl?”

Dawn looked away, anger flaring with the new cord of shame. She ought to have been relieved that Laventon was coming to her defense, but coming from the person who’d inadvertently gotten her wrapped up in all of this, she really didn’t want to hear it. “You’re not my dad,” she muttered. Any of them. None of them were there when she was almost skewered by an alpha Zoroark, or when she was frying in lava, or trudging alone and friendless through the Fieldlands; why did they care what she got up to now? “I can take care of myself.”

She’d had to.

“All the same,” Ingo returned.

His eyes burned into her, even through the curtain of hair. Dawn gripped her elbow and refused to meet them.

“Well!” Professor Laventon coughed, again breaking the awkward silence. “You’ve caught some new Pokémon, yes? May I see?”

They went over her catches, releasing a few after taking their measurements and handing their Security Corps escort the others to be kept for further research. After checking the Unown against the Unown report, it became clear that she'd caught the last form left: F.

That felt appropriate.

The corpsman gave the Unown F and the other new Pokémon to an Abra, which teleported them back to Jubilife’s pastures, but Ingo insisted that Dawn stay with him for the night. Because she could quell the lords’ frenzy, but she couldn’t be trusted to set her own bedtime, apparently. Laventon waved them off with a plea to stay safe from any Golbats on the way back, but made no move to rescue her from the enforced sleepover.

(So much for knowing her own limits!)

The three of them made their way to Ingo’s hut in silence, Sneasler separating to head for her own den after they’d reached his door, and the two sky-fallers spent an awkward dinner.

“It seems I’ve upset you,” Ingo said quietly when they’d turned in. “I’d like to clarify my earlier remarks. I know you feel as though you’re on a rail, and that any departure from notch eight is enough to throw you off track. But I am not trying to take your hands off the wheel or to order you to wait in the shed. All I am asking is that you perform proper maintenance, before you run yourself into the dirt.”

The seething resentment she’d been holding onto crested and fell like rain, the drops spattering across her hand where it curled in front of her face. She rolled over and swallowed the tears down. “I just want to go home,” she said.

The whistle of wind was her only answer.

! DESiR ^juMPy? go BaCk ^fLy htn

rEtUN ^gLD! o _sWmP HaBi?

In the darkness, a stream of letters retraced the newest’s psychic steps and followed the teleport signature back to Arceus’s chosen one.

Morning arrives, and Ingo comes to awareness on his feet. He's in the middle of adjusting something around his neck. If he doesn't think about it, it feels like a familiar track, but the movements themselves feel like a departure from the route he (used to?) know.

Blankly, he finishes tying the thing and looks down at himself.

Rather than his… normal clothes, he is wearing a suit of some kind. The black fabric feels smoother than he’s used to, and oddly light, though when he goes to rub it between his fingers he discovers that he is wearing gloves. He had worn gloves before, before they were torn to shreds climbing cliffs and constructing pokéballs, and feeling that barrier between his hands and the world again is like unloading freight he hadn’t realized he was carrying. He loses himself for a moment investigating how they impact airflow.

(Which is to say, he gets caught up in shaking them back and forth, a circle route he’s happy to ride without exit.)

But if the gloves are a welcome return, his sleeves are a strict counterpoint, too starchy to allow his hands the free travel he’s grown used to. He tips his head to inspect them more closely, and the wide brim of a hat slips heavily over his face.

That is not his cap.

He is somewhere new. Again. With no memory of how he got here, and this time without even his clothing to remind him.

The familiar pockets of his tattered coat are enough to barely stave off panic. Ingo forces himself to stop pacing and slows his breathing, compulsively brushing down the strange suit jacket as he absorbs himself in taking in the room.

There is a door. When he tries it, it is not locked.

“Perhaps this is all a mistake,” he murmurs to himself. Yes. He will find someone, and talk to them, and get all of this straightened out.

The hallway is both grand and utterly unremarkable, putting Ingo in mind of a hotel, but any thought of trying to remember what that means is driven out when it opens into a windowed seating area. There is a girl sitting on the luxurious cushions, wearing a pink dress and adorned with several bows; her dark hair cascades loosely over her back, fixed with a triangle-leafed ribbon on either side.

“Miss Akari?”

“Ingo!” She smiles to see him approach, looking far lighter than he’s seen her and younger for it. “We’re friends, aren’t we? You can knock it off with the ‘miss’ stuff! And why’d you call me Akari?”

Ingo stops, faltering at this new bend in the track. “It is your name, isn’t it?”

She shakes her head. “My name is Dawn, silly! Don’t tell me you forgot?”

“Dawn,” he repeats, heart sinking. She certainly looks like Akari, and her recognition of him would indicate such as well, but if his clothes are different, it stands to reason that she might have been changed, too. “My apologies. I appear to be struggling with my memory.”

Her face falls. “Oh, no. I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

Ingo shakes his head, arms flashing out to briefly point. “Don’t worry about me. It is the conductor’s job to guide his passenger, not the other way around.” Perhaps he ought to be more concerned about this girl who may or may not be Akari, but having someone to be strong for takes the edge off his panic. Maybe the two of them can work together to get to the bottom of this. “While we are reminding me of things, would you happen to know why I’m wearing this?”

She beams. “It’s because you’re my valet!”

“Your… valet,” he repeats.

“Well, really you’re more like an uncle.” Dawn looks down, heel tapping against the base of her seat. “You said you’d take care of me. With my mom gone and all.”

I don’t need you fussing at me, he remembers Akari saying. You’re not my dad.

She looks back at him, eyes shiny in the light. “You… will still take care of me, right? Even if you don’t remember?”

Ingo sweeps into a bow, heart hurting for this lost child. “Of course,” he reassures her. “I would like nothing more.”

She sniffs and wipes her elbow across her eyes before hopping to her feet and giving him a big grin. “In that case, let’s battle!”

“Here?”

“No, we need an arena!” Dawn grabs his hand and takes off, tugging him back down the hallway. Ingo gives her a moment before slipping loose to follow separately. “It has to be properly dramatic. Come on!”

Before his anticipation can pick up too much steam, Ingo checks for his pokéballs. One, two, three, four – almost half of his team is missing, and when he looks in the hallway’s mirror, one of those balls is different than the others, a purple-tinged glass with black sigils crawling across the surface and four horns arching out from the center. The design is vaguely reminiscent of Akari’s phone.

Ingo opens the pokéball. The creature takes form beside him, wreathed in ghostly flame, tall and thick and short and round all at once. It floats, he’s pretty sure, but the sound it makes leaves no impression on his ears. It is his partner. It must be.

His head hurts.

Glancing away into the mirror again provides no relief. Rather than something he cannot comprehend, his partner’s reflection is perfectly clear to his eyes, but no more explicable. “You’re him!” Ingo exclaims, finger leaping to point.

Dawn looks back at him. “Ingo? Who’re you talking to?”

His eyes meet the man in white’s. The reflection shrugs, placing one finger over his smiling lips.

“Just… myself, I suppose,” Ingo tells Dawn. It isn’t quite a lie. “Why don’t you prepare the platform for us? I will arrive shortly.”

“Okay,” she frowns, “but you’d better not be late, or I’ll… be upset.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he assures her.

Her footsteps recede, leaving him and the shining Pokémon alone with the reflection. The man wears the same suit Ingo does, but in white – no; gray – with blue trim and golden buttons to match Ingo’s red and silver. He has no coat. “Who are you?” Ingo asks.

The reflection tilts his head. One hand pinches near his lips, then sweeps down, his eyebrows furrowing as his hands spread questioningly before his mouth lifts back into a cheeky smile. “Who are you?”

Ingo blinks and points to his chest. His hand raises – “I am –” – but the memories won’t come.

The reflection finishes the thought in duplicate: one hand moves up; the other moves down. “Who are you?” he signs again.

The answer should be obvious. His reflection is perky, all light colors and smiles, where Ingo is dour in a black-clad frown.

“I am [up/Ingo],” Ingo replies.

The reflection beams. “Then I am [down/m̸̨̛t͏̷̨̛͡E̶̛҉̡̛m͘͡͝͝ę̶́͠]," he agrees.

Ingo rocks backwards as the static nearly bowls him over. Any attempt to understand it only drills harder through his skull, so he lets it go, focusing on the parts he can comprehend. “Do you know what’s going on?”

Down shrugs. “I know only what you do. We are riding the same tracks – a one-car train.”

“That isn’t right,” Ingo signs, movements sharp and emphatic. That phrase – anything other than “two” is inconceivable.

(If you believe something hard enough, isn’t that a kind of truth?)

“No,” Down agrees. “It’s not.” He pulls his top hat down over his eyes, putting an end to the conversation.

Still, Ingo can’t resist. “You look ridiculous in that,” he says out loud, fully aware of the irony.

Down glances at him and smirks, but makes no reply.

A few hurried steps take Ingo into an opulent arena, reddish carpet spilling into elegant blue tile and a golden battling court. Dawn, curled up in a throne on the top balcony, trips over herself to hop down the stairs and meet him. “There you are! You ready?”

“Prepared for departure,” Ingo nods, taking his position. His partner shines on beside him, casting Down in tens of reflections across the arena’s gleaming railings, and it feels right when his reflection mirrors his starting call. “All aboard!”

Anticipating Akari’s Typhlosion, Ingo releases Gliscor to the platform, but the ball Dawn tosses to the field matches Ingo’s shiner’s. She has a full team of six of those glass balls on her belt, he realizes, and none of the iron and apricorn ones he's gotten used to. “Go, Primo!”

Gliscor jolts back as an Empoleon materializes on the field. The Emperor Pokémon lifts one wing slightly, steel-edged tips flashing in the light as it ^g_r^owl_s.

(What?)

There’s a mechanical quality to it, a stiffness when it crouches as Dawn calls for Hydro Pump, and as its beak clicks open Ingo realizes he’s been distracted too long. His finger slashes out in a wordless dodge command, but it’s too late for Gliscor to avoid impact – the water cannons it into the wall.

His strongest teammate’s been taken out in one hit.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you use that Pokémon before,” Ingo remarks, moving back to his side of the field’s center. It's difficult to summon his usual passion for battle in such strange circumstances, but clocking his opening was a fantastic play (has he been getting predictable?) and that Hydro Pump was incredible. “An excellent offensive – bravo!”

“He’s my starter.” The Empoleon stands motionless on Dawn’s center field. “We’ve been through a lot together,” she smiles, rocking on her heels. “He was what I missed most in Hisui, I think. Besides indoor plumbing. I love Antimony and all, but you have a special bond with your first.”

Ingo’s shiner (what is its name, why can’t he remember its name) sways gently in the corner of his eye.

“Anyway, if you think that was strong, you should see the rest of my team.”

“I’ll take you up on that!” And he has a ticket to ride there, too. “Tangrowth – Energy Ball!”

Empoleon bats it out of the way. “Gonna have to try harder than that!” Dawn shouts. “I‘m the Champion – no, stronger. I’m invincible!”

The what? “No one is invincible,” Ingo replies, circling the field again. “Again, strong style!”

“Steel Wing!”

“Bulldoze!”

Primo’s wing flashes silver as he knocks the grassy energy back, but he’s unbalanced; the tremor knocks him back with a heavy cracking sound. “Bravo!” Ingo shouts. “Now –”

“Drill Peck!”

Primo closes the gap and pierces Tangrowth in a flash.

Ingo frowns, adjusting his hat, and frowns harder at the reminder that he's missing his well-worn cap. This top hat feels wrong, even through the gloves. “Tangrowth, return.”

Also wrong: that attack should not have done that much damage. Supereffective, yes, but Tangrowth can take a hit; they’ve both put a good deal of effort into training its defenses.

Regardless, there’s no stopping this train now. “Machamp,” he calls, pointing her forward. “Catch him and hold, then Close Combat!”

Machamp erupts across the field and pins Primo, battering him with her two free hands. Ingo sprints for a better look. The Empoleon hardly flinches with each hit – the fighting move should be supereffective, but each strike seems to simply glance off.

“Get loose!” Dawn shouts.

“Keep him steady,” Ingo bellows in return. Primo struggles, but Machamp just flexes, Bulking Up to press him down harder. One more attack – full steam ahead. Ingo points up, then lashes at the field. “Hyper Beam,” he roars. “No brakes!”

Machamp snarls and a raging stream of pure energy pours from her mouth, strong style. Primo takes the hit point-blank, the room shaking – familiar, so familiar – until finally the beam dies down, leaving Machamp panting and vulnerable over her opponent.

“Drill Peck,” Dawn orders from behind the line. Primo, steaming gently, stabs upwards with his beak. Machamp falls.

“Bravo,” Ingo tells her, calling her back. “You did very well.”

Against a seemingly invulnerable opponent.

It would be within Ingo’s right to suspect Dawn of cheating. But how?

If he can’t prove it, it would be unsporting to deny her the win. And she did fight well.

More than that, he knows this is Akari now. Battling is how trainers show their hearts, and Dawn’s attacks walk Akari’s same careful balance, chosen for effectiveness, endurance, and utility over pure strength.

(It’s a strategy that’s cost her a number of matches with him. It’s never a bad idea to plan out one’s route, but spending too much time behind the yellow line is just another way to be forced into the siding. There’s only room for one train on the track at a time, and Ingo isn’t afraid to highball it if that’s what it takes to pull into station.

This flaw in her tactics is less of a weakness when her Pokémon can shrug off a full-steam attack at notch eight like its engine wasn’t even running.)

Nevertheless. “Congratulations,” he tells her. “It seems you were the one to reach the platform called victory.”

“Huh? Just like that?”

Ingo tips his hat, and tips his tone towards rueful with it. “As Gaeric would say, you’ve smashed me through and through.” He still has one Pokémon left, technically, but, “If Machamp’s Hyper Beam did nothing to Primo, my shiner certainly won’t fare any better under his water attacks.” Besides, he doesn’t want to find out what it will do to Down if his shiner faints.

“Gaeric… who is he again?”

Ingo frowns. “He is one of my fellow” – fellow whats? – “...my fellows.” No recognition. “You met him in the Icelands,” he tries. “Constantly flexing? Wears no shirt?”

Her eyes clear. “Oh yeah, him!” She grimaces. “No offense, but he isn’t a very strong battler. I’m glad it’s you here and not him. You’re so much more fun to play with.”

“Challenging battles are the most engaging,” Ingo agrees. “If a battle is not serious, it is not fun.”

“Mhm,” Dawn hums. “That’s why this place is the best! You can have all the battles you want, and no one has to get cut up into pieces or stare down gods.”

Oh.

Ingo rocks backwards, faced again with the enormity of what they’ve all asked of her. Surely it was too much to expect her to face off with the Nobles and come out untouched, but– if she was brought back in time– “How– How many times have you been, as you said, cut up?”

“Oh, lots,” she says, unbothered. “Drowned, exploded… I figured that was why Arceus brought me here. Because everyone else has jobs to do, and I’m the only one who can come back if I mess up.”

Sinnoh’s Rend. The urge to check her over is overwhelming, but she reacted so poorly last time. With great effort, Ingo reroutes that train before it can leave the station. Instead, he promises, “It will not happen again.” And, fiercely: “It should not have happened in the first place.”

“Of course it won’t!” She beams. “We’re safe here, remember? Everything will be okay.”

“That isn’t –”

Dawn skips around him without waiting for the rest of the thought. “We’re gonna have lots of fun,” she assures him. “Hey, have you heard of contests?”

Ingo flounders, train of thought abruptly diverted. “I– No? I don’t think so.”

She claps her hands. “We’ve gotta do that next, then! Do you want to participate, or just watch?”

Participate in what, Ingo thinks desperately, but he really isn’t expecting an answer. “Ah… let me think on it.” Snap decisions are stressful. If he joins, will he be totally out of the loop? If he doesn’t, will Dawn be disappointed?

Down waves to get his attention. “You won’t like them,” he signs. “Up on stage. Lots of staring.”

Ingo nods, keeping his reflection in the corner of his eye. “I believe I’ll sit this one out.”

“Coward.” Dawn sticks her tongue out at him, then winks. “But I’ll still make sure you get a great show. I’m a Top Coordinator, you know!”

How many titles can one girl hold? Ingo expects to feel disbelief, but on further examination, his feelings more closely resemble resignation. Perhaps he’s met a similar overachiever before?

Regardless, she leads him out through the curtains draped on the other side of the arena, the both of them passing through the base of the stairs and under the curious throne.

Galaxy Hall’s door slammed. Rei straightened from the crafting bench and hurriedly swept his half-ground bugwort into a container for later – making note of which ball he’d put it in; it would be no good to throw leaves and stems at a Pokémon instead of catching it. He’d learned that the hard way.

The craftworks’ owner raised an eyebrow at him. “Gonna leave me to clean this up, are you?”

Rei tossed his tools in his satchel. “Sorry, Anvin!”

“You’re lucky I like you, kid!”

Rei waved sheepishly at him and dashed down Main Street. “Professor! Wait up!”

Laventon jumped. “Rei, my boy! Your stealth is certainly improving. I hardly saw you!”

Rei laughed and rubbed his neck. “Beni’d be glad to hear you say that. He said I walked like a Goodra before he started teaching me.”

“Well, give him my gratitude. I’m sure it will come in handy in the field! Why, imagine: sneaking up on a snoozing Luxray. You could take its measurements without ever waking it up!”

Rei gripped his arm. “Maybe not that one. At least not yet.”

“I’m sure you could handle it,” the Professor smiled, clapping him on the shoulder as they began walking together. “So! Where are you off to, this fine morn? Heading out on a survey?”

“No? Well, maybe.” He’d been planning to take a trip to the Coastlands soon, but if the Professor was going today… “I was just wondering where you were off to.”

“Ah.” Laventon twiddled his fingers. “Well… if I’m being totally honest, I was planning on going back to the Highlands. I’m sure Akari can handle herself, and Warden Ingo and his” – he shuddered – “terrifying Noble would never let anything happen to her. At least, not on purpose. But after the… unpleasantness with Kamado…”

“Then I’m coming, too.” The professor had a wicked brain in that head of his, but it was way too easy to picture him prodding an Ursaring or following a Yanma right off a cliff. Rei set his hands on his hips and gave Laventon a big grin. “I want to make sure she’s safe just as much as you do. And if she is in trouble, you’ll want the Survey Corps’ second-best recruit on your side!”

Laventon opened his mouth to argue, but shut it with a laugh and a shake of his head. “Of course. Very well! To the Highlands for both of us, then,” he announced.

Ress marked that off on his sheet and gave them a salute. “Yes, sir! Your escort will be here shortly. Stay safe out there!”

“And you as well,” Laventon returned.

Rei took advantage of the wait to give the professor a nudge. “You’ll be thanking me for coming along once we get to the Highlands,” he teased. “Lady Sneasler and I have an agreement.”

“Oh?” He leaned forward eagerly. “Do tell!”

“Well, the Celestica flute is what summons her, right? And Akari’s the only one who has one of those. But if you don’t need the Lady to appear on top of you, anything that lets her know you’re looking for her works, so…”

The two of them discussed the strange abilities of flutes and Nobles all the way to the mountain camp, at which point Laventon pleaded for a demonstration of the wooden flute Rei had crafted.

“Don’t expect too much,” Rei warned him, fiddling with the rough-hewn instrument. “Making a musical instrument is a lot different than a pokéball. And even if it sounded okay, I really don’t know how to play it.”

Laventon waved him off. “You give yourself too little credit, my boy. Remember, you created the Origin Ball that caught rampaging Palkia itself!”

“Thanks, but…” He gave up, shaking his head as he brought the flute to his lips. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The flute let out a horrible, pitchy whistle.

Rei shook it off and tried again. This noise could more charitably be called a screech.

Laventon stopped him before he could give it a third try. “That’s… quite enough of that, I believe.”

Rei sighed and hung his head. “I’m pretty sure she only shows up to laugh at me,” he said morosely.

“Now, now,” the professor consoled him, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

Rei let that one slide. “We’ve got some time to kill before she gets here. Would you mind if I worked with Clefairy a little? She’s still new to my team, and I’d like to get to know her better.”

“Oh, no, not at all! Just pretend I’m not here.”

Clefairy alighted with a graceful cry when Rei threw her pokéball, but darted behind his leg when Bren, their escort for today, cast her a wary look. Rei coaxed the fairy-type out with an oran berry, and he and the Professor both watched as she pierced the berry’s thick skin with her protruding fang, then lapped up the juice from the inside.

“Fascinating,” the Professor murmured, reaching for his pen.

The heavy thud of the Lady of the Cliffs dropping down beside him put an end to that. Laventon scrabbled back, Bren drew her sword, and even Rei reached for his pokéballs when the Noble leaned over him, but when all she did was sniff his head and shoulders, the boy relaxed some. “Um, hello,” he said, leaning away. “Did I eat something funny?”

Lady Sneasler snorted and reached for him with sharp, sword-long claws.

“S-stay back!” Bren shouted. “I'm warning you!”

The Noble’s head fell backwards, and she let out a low, humanlike groan, but she very reluctantly (could a Pokémon move sarcastically?) stepped back.

“It's okay! I think she’s just in a hurry.” Heart thumping wildly, Rei took a step closer as Sneasler thunked her basket to the ground and gestured. “Is… Are Akari and your Warden okay?”

“Sneasler!”

That– told him absolutely nothing, honestly. But it was probably better to assume “no.” Rei’s thoughts began to swirl. What if an alpha Skuntank got them? Or– or a Rhyperior? He stepped into the basket, sending up a quick prayer: Oh, Mew, let your creations be kind.

Lady Sneasler went to shrug the basket on. “Wait!” Rei interrupted as his head caught up with him. “The Professor – can he come, too?”

She rolled her eyes, but stood back, tapping her foot.

Laventon scrambled to oblige. “Oh, dear,” he murmured, staring at the basket. “It appears this will be an awfully tight fit.”

Rei grimaced. “It's either we both squeeze in, or we hope she's patient enough for a second trip.”

“Yes, well…” Laventon sighed and glanced at the Lady, who swirled her paw – go on, hurry up. “Needs must, I suppose. All aboard, as our Warden friend would say.”

A few rides weren't enough to provide good data, but this trip seemed both faster and rougher than Rei’s last. When they got to the top, he saw why: Warden Ingo’s hut was covered in something that looked almost like a distortion dome. It didn't sparkle along the bottom rim, and the bowl was more of a shimmery crystalline than the distortions’ cloudy purples, and– were those Unown drifting around inside? He looked to the Professor, but Laventon seemed just as struck as he was, scribbling something in his notebook before reaching out to touch the bubble.

“Professor!” Rei dragged him back before he could make contact. “What were you thinking?” he scolded. “Who knows what could have happened to you if you'd gone in there? For all we know, it could be full of rampaging Pokémon, like in the other distortions!” And Akari and Warden Ingo were trapped in there. Suddenly, Rei’s scarf felt far too tight. “O-o-or worse!”

Laventon set a hand on his, keeping him from pulling too hard at the fabric. “Settle down, now,” he said gently. “Those two are the greatest battlers in Hisui, and we can hardly say they're in danger if we don't know what all is on the other side. I'm sure they're right as rain.”

“Sneasler,” the Lady said next to them.

Rei jumped – he'd honestly forgotten she was here. “That's right; he's your Warden. I'm sure you're just as scared as we are…” He and Akari were friends, but Rei couldn't imagine what the emptiness on the other side of a Warden bond might feel like. He scrubbed an arm over his face and dragged a smile up, setting his hands on his hips. “Don't worry,” he promised, “we'll get them back.”

She tossed her plume over her shoulder and gave him what might have been a grin.

There were other Pokémon sitting by the dome, too – an Alakazam, a Probopass, and a heap of metal that was probably Ingo’s Magnezone, though Rei had never seen one on the ground. (Laventon was already sketching it for the ‘dex.) The Alakazam floated closer when it saw Rei looking, but stopped and hovered when Rei flinched.

Something alien brushed against his mind. Mr. Laventon pumped his hand in an enthusiastic shake. “It seems we’ll be working together!” / ?

Rei gasped and stumbled backwards, holding his head.

“Rei, my boy? Are you alright?”

“I think so…” He studied the Alakazam, still floating gently. “That was you, wasn't it?” he murmured. “You wanted… to know if we'd help?”

It nodded.

“Okay. Okay.” Rei took a deep breath. “Yeah. We’re going to help our friends.”

Laventon spat out the pen he'd been chewing on. “That Alakazam – is it speaking to you? They're fearfully intelligent, Akari says. Ask it if it knows anything that might help!”

Alakazam turned to him. That sense of something strange and different washed over Rei again. Tired, dark outside / A flare of sensation like a headache / Kamado paced in his office. “They could be gathering on our doorstep. We must be ready and prepared to evacuate if necessary.” / Pessele sorted medicinal leeks into jars. “I grabbed all I could.” /

“Fascinating,” Laventon breathed.

“I'll help!” Akari grinned. “We all will.” / A blue glow surrounded Probopass, the drowsy Magnezone, and a satchel Rei hadn't noticed, and they began to float.

Probopass peeked out from under its hat and made a noise of complaint. Everything settled to the ground again.

“Psychic,” Laventon murmured, taking down notes. “Can levitate objects as well as Pokémon. Can it lift people?”

“Professor!”

“Right, right. Not the time.” He stuck his pen back in his hat. “If I'm understanding this correctly, you're volunteering yourself, the others of Warden Ingo’s team – who you managed to teleport out of the dome before it formed? – and… presumably Akari’s team, as well, to help us look for our missing friends?”

Another nod.

“Is Magnezone alright?” Rei asked.

It buzzed at him. Ress stifled a yawn. “Sorry, it was a long shift.” He ruffled Rei’s hair. “Thanks again for replacing me on such short notice.” /, Alakazam answered.

Magnezone made a series of beeps and clanking noises, which Alakazam nodded through before bonking it with a pokéball. Another ball returned Probopass, and that blue glow lifted three balls into Rei’s satchel, Alakazam returning itself to the last one as soon as they were safely stowed.

“Well! It seems you've acquired a few more team members,” Laventon joked.

Five was already a handful, in Rei’s opinion, but he'd battled Warden Ingo before and gotten absolutely decimated, and the idea of working with the man’s Pokémon was a bit of a headrush. Hopefully they wouldn't be too difficult. “Don't think you're getting away unscathed, Professor. If I'm taking Warden Ingo’s team, then you'll have to hang on to Akari’s.”

“What, me?” He accepted Akari’s satchel, loosening it far enough to wrap around his waist. It looked awfully silly over the labcoat, but Rei kept his mouth shut. “I can barely handle Oshawott and Rowlett back at the lab, and those are specially bred and raised to be comfortable with humans! I've been meaning to ask if Akari would be willing to take them on as well, but…”

“If I don't get to doubt myself, you don't, either,” Rei told him. “Besides, Antimony should still remember you, and Akari’s been working with the others for months now. I'm sure they'll listen to you once they know we're trying to get her back.”

Laventon shook his head. “You're right. I suppose I'm being a silly sausage.” He looked over his shoulder at Lady Sneasler. “I, ah.” He visibly swallowed fear, drawing on an attempt at a smile. “Will you be coming with us?”

She pulled a face. After thinking for a moment, she plucked a leaf from a nearby berry tree and pushed it through the dome, letting it go to settle gently on the other side. “Sne?” Then she flicked her claws, sending a glob of poison at the dome. The liquid hissed against the outside of the bubble and evaporated before it could hit the ground below. “Sler,” she grumbled darkly.

The two humans looked at each other. “So… it's safe for us, but not for you?” Rei tried.

“Sneasler.”

“Psychic energy,” Laventon murmured, flicking through his notes. “And you're… poison-fighting type. Ooh, bad match.” He shuffled the sheaf together, sounding cheerier now. “Well, never fear! We'll be back with our wayward Warden and our other young friend in no time at all. Rei, my boy, are you ready to sally forth?”

“Ready as I'll ever be, Professor…”

The two of them stepped into the dome, the barrier passing over them like a sheet of water. When Rei turned to see the outside, it was visible, but hazy; he saw only the barest shape of Lady Sneasler’s tall form as she watched them go.

“Oh, my,” Laventon gasped. “Is this a road? It's so smooth!”

Indeed, the road was paved with one single, seemingly endless black stone. Rei chipped off a piece and put it in his satchel for further testing. “Should we follow it?” he asked.

“I hardly see why not.”

Houses sprung up alongside the road, starting opulent and only growing larger and more exquisite as they walked until they became a towering forest of glass and steel. People swirled around the buildings’ roots in faceless crowds; many were shadowy, mere shapes in silhouette, and the rest wore strange one-piece outfits with shifting face paint and yellow hats covered in bells. The whispers were everywhere: such strange clothes, not even a Pokétch, do you think they're dangerous? Laventon tried to ask one for directions, but it tore its arm away with a chilling glare. “We don't help outsiders,” it hissed before melting back into the crowd.

The professor hunched into his coat. “Not terribly friendly, are they,” he muttered.

Rei shrank under yet another stare, drawing up closer to the Professor’s side. “Do you think this is how Akari felt, when she first got here?”

The Professor glanced down at him in surprise. His face shuttered. “I really haven't done enough for the poor girl,” he murmured, “have I?”

Rei opened his mouth to protest, but couldn’t find the words. His hand dug into his scarf instead. “I'm not sure I did, either,” he mumbled. “Maybe… maybe we can do better. Once we get her back.”

Laventon hummed quietly in his throat and changed the subject. “I don’t believe I’ve seen anything like that before. Do you think they could be in there?”

Rei followed the professor’s finger to a mountain of crystal. With its planes and spires twinkling in the light, it was reminiscent of a castle, if one designed by a very confused architect – the columns looked almost like the pillars at the Temple of Sinnoh, and he was sure those towers and windows had been taken from Galaxy Hall, but other parts looked more like the houses in this strange dream-city, and he couldn't place the giant glass dome gleaming in the middle at all. Rei swallowed. “If I was Akari and I got kidnapped in the night by a bunch of flying letters, that'd probably be where I would be.”

“Right-o,” the Professor solemnly agreed. “Onwards we march.”

The theater does indeed have a stage. Ingo tries to take a seat near the back, but Dawn insists he move to the front row. “You have to be able to see; you’re the guest of honor!”

The seats… shuffle themselves. Ingo finds himself front and center, despite never having stood, and hunches down as far in the seat as he can go. “Miss Dawn, please,” he tries. “I’d rather not block anyone else’s view.”

She puffs her cheeks out. “It’s just Dawn!”

He sighs, but nods in acknowledgement.

“Anyway, I don’t see what you’re worried about. It’s not like there’s anyone else here.” An odd look flits across her face, but she shakes it off, giving him a grin. “They’ll show up once the contest starts. You just enjoy the show, okay? I can’t wait for you to watch us win!”

She darts off, pink bows streaming behind her, before he can decide whether to call after her or wish her luck.

In the time it takes his shiner to settle on the seat next to him, the theater fills. Shadowy figures filter through the rows and sit in chairs they never stood in front of. None of them try to cross in front of Ingo. In a flash of memory, he remembers; crowds are unsettled by his ghost-type partner, a fact he and– someone often took advantage of to maintain their personal space. The Pokémon at his side bobs and waves its glimmering arms as if in response, and a passing shadow-figure gives it a wide berth as it circles around.

Ingo turns to watch the shadow take its seat behind him and comes face to face with a canyon. Every chair in the column he heads has evaporated, leaving him at the front of a train of one.

The shadow tips its head at him.

Ingo politely returns the nod and turns around, knuckles white around his armrest.

The lights go down. The show begins.

Four people take the stage, but their introductions crack and warp through the sound system. Only Dawn’s name comes through loud and clear, met with clapping and cheering from no apparent source; she beams and waves to the audience, twirling in a white, ruffled dress she should have had no time to change into. Her red scarf, more crimson than her dress’s cheri-colored accents, flutters behind her when she bows, its ragged tail fading to a dusty indigo blue.

Her competitors make their appeals: a hazy blond sends out a Buizel in a flash of stars and lines; an Absol sits at its trainer’s feet, eerie sparks dancing in its eyes. When Dawn opens her glass pokéball, a cloud of white smoke billows out, pierced by a glint of psychic power: Miracle Eye. The smoke disperses around Dawn’s Alakazam, which throws its spoon like a dart, trailing rainbow energy as it bounces, seemingly at random, across the stage. The Pokémon teleports from view. When it reappears midair, Alakazam plucks the spoon from flight, floating in the center of a softly shimmering pentagram.

The star drawing bursts into glittery snow. Dawn and her Alakazam bow and retreat to the wings for the next round.

Which, apparently, is battling. Ingo leans forward in his seat, but the fights are disappointing, and all the stranger for it. Buizel’s win against Absol is stilted, mechanical: a car with no power, simply trundling down rails to the next round. The Teddiursa facing off against Dawn is hardly better, but the girl doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong. If Ingo hadn’t just fought Primo, he wouldn’t raise an eyebrow at how Alakazam shrugs off the little bear’s attacks, but he can’t help but notice how empty the competitors are. Alakazam moves more fluidly as the battle timer ticks down, looking to Dawn and shifting on its feet between attacks, but neither Teddiursa nor its trainer seem fazed when it’s announced that they won’t be moving on. The blue-ribboned girl recalls her Pokémon, curtsies to the audience, and quietly disappears from the stage, and the blond with the Buizel dashes in to take her place.

“You kept me waiting, Dawn!” The boy beams, his smile the only thing visible through the blurry haze of his face. “Let’s see how much tougher you and I have gotten, right here and now!”

Dawn flinches back. “B-bear?” she gasps.

“Come on, you know that’s not it!”

She shakes, hands coming up to grip her head. “No– It’s not! You don’t do contests. You weren’t here!”

“Huh?” The kid tilts his head, and his features… shift. Blond darkens to black, his orange-striped shirt – why is that pattern so familiar on white? – flickering to a blue vest, then the Galaxy uniform, red scarf fading white when it becomes a blue coat. “Who else would I be?” he asks, voice layered three times over.

The Buizel shimmers like a soap bubble, growing pinker, larger, and Ingo is seconds from crossing the yellow line and vaulting up there himself when Dawn throws her shoulders back. “Dipper,” she grits out, “Psycho Cut!”

Buizel fences it back with Iron Tail, Swift stars bursting from each collision, but Alakazam turns it back by slashing the stars apart in a burst of glitter. With Dipper’s back turned, Buizel darts forward, clad in the shadowy energy of a Pursuit; Dipper teleports, leaving Buizel to smash face-first into a Reflect, which it tears apart with a shimmering Razor Wind. A Water Sport tosses the Reflect pieces into the air, throwing rainbows around the theater, and Buizel leaps between them with Agility to throw a mighty Whirlpool down on Dipper from the peak.

Water covers the Alakazam, trapped and invisible in the center of the funnel. Ingo watches with bated breath as lights begin to dance within – a Recover? Buizel shoots more Swift stars, surfing one along the current, but their rotation slows, then comes to a halt. Gradually at first, then picking up steam, the stars reverse in their paths, the whole Whirlpool awash in Psychic power strong enough to make it swirl the other way, before bursting entirely in another explosion of shining droplets, all of which arrow down on Buizel and smash it into the stage.

Dipper, floating peacefully in the center, takes a bow as Buizel faints and the sound system names Dawn the winner.

Lights come up. Like waking from a dream, the room is empty again, just Ingo and his shiner in the seats and Dawn, kneeling in the center of the stage.

He does vault up there, now. “Are you alright?!”

She recalls Dipper and pulls herself to her feet. “I’m fine,” she says, dusting off yet another dress. This one features pink ruffles under a black halter top. “I won, didn’t I?”

Ingo frowns. “That is not what I asked. Dawn, who –”

“It doesn’t matter,” she insists. “Everything is fine. It’s perfect!”

The lantern rocks in the air, calling mournfully. Ingo wonders if it also sees the tension straining in her eyes.

“In fact… I’ve been picking everything we do today, haven’t I? Why don’t you choose next? Then you can see for yourself.”

Ingo runs a thumb along the (wrong) brim of his (wrong) hat, weighing how likely he is to get anywhere if he continues to push down this track. (His resigned conclusion is, not very.) “Is there somewhere we can see the outside?” he asks instead. “I would like to know more about where we are.”

“Does it matter?”

Yes?! “It does,” Ingo grimly replies, adding “To me” when this fails to move her.

She shrugs. “Then there probably is. You’ll find it if you look – that’s how it works for me.”

Ingo hesitates, glancing around the room for exits. “Just pick one,” for whatever reason, does not feel like actionable advice, and Dawn’s assurance that wherever he chooses to go will work feels less like a relief and more like a knife of expectation. Sensing his distress, his shiner warbles its eerie cry and takes off, luring the both of them onward.

These halls are familiar. He remembers nothing like these materials from the Pearl camp, but the labyrinthine tunnels could have been pulled from his dreams, had he been able to recall any of them after waking up. Brushed metal reflects him and Down in dizzying configurations, lit by his Lure’s flames as they pass. Like on the battlefield, the flash of white in his periphery is a comfort. With his twin at his side, Ingo takes the lead, navigating down and through to a familiar door and pushing it open.

Inside is… a conference room, he thinks it’s called. A glass-topped table in the center, surrounded by a ring of– he can’t remember the word. Panels. As if Dawn’s phone were a window.

Ingo runs a hand along one. No reaction, but no fingerprint streaks: the trials and trade-offs of wearing gloves.

He turns back to Dawn, peering at the table and dusted with blue and green light. “I believe these should be able to show us things, but I can’t recall how,” he admits, burying another pang of frustration. “Would you be able to guide me down the track?”

“I dunno, Ingo. None of my stuff has been this technical.” She pokes the tabletop with a finger. It blinks at her, but is otherwise still. “Maybe it’s voice-activated?” To the room at large, she asks, “Hey, computer?”

Computer. That’s what it’s called. Ingo spins to face the wall of monitors again. “Computer,” he requests, “show us where we are, please.”

The smallest screen in the top right corner flashes on, showing his and Dawn’s surprised faces. It’s a display of the room. “Well, I guess we know it works now!” Dawn laughs.

“Indeed.” It is fairly amusing, but it’s also not what he wants. Ingo points at the largest monitor. “The outside, Computer. If you would.”

The monitor fizzles for a moment, dots dancing across the screen – Ingo feels a flash of fond humor, though he doesn’t remember why – until finally the picture resolves, showing a mishmash of crystal architecture. Parts of the depot, like the dome, seem unbearably familiar. But the abrupt shifts in shape and style lend it a haphazard, dreamlike quality that renders what should be comforting strange.

“Hang on,” Dawn says. “Those dots over there. Are they moving?”

Difficult to tell, from this far away. “Zoom in and enhance the picture,” Ingo orders, and the figures sharpen. A Honchkrow circles the top of a waterfall, which apparently runs under this strange building’s base, and calls down below. The red cap of a Probopass floats just high enough to enter the frame – that’s Ingo’s Probopass, checking safety before it attacks outside visibility range. Earth Power sends a stalagmite bursting up through the stream, and two vines lash out to wrap tight around it. A young man in a Galaxy uniform climbs up first, offering a hand to the professor following him before they recall the Pokémon and move on down the river.

“Bravo!” Ingo cheers them on. “An excellent use of teamwork and strategy. It appears your friends at the Galaxy Team have come to escort us back to our proper platform!” If they have Probopass, they likely have his Alakazam and Magnezone, too. It will be a relief to be recoupled to his full team again.

But Dawn seems more upset than eager. “That was… Capone,” she whispers, hand falling to the glass pokéballs on her belt.

“Won’t it be nice to be reunited?” Ingo asks.

She shakes her head, tearing up. “They can’t take us back.” She stomps her foot, some hidden mechanism under the floor grinding as she shouts. “I don’t want to leave!”

On screen, Rei and Professor Laventon stumble as the river’s current doubles in force. “Dawn, stop!” Ingo barks. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s running them off the rails!”

“Maybe I want them off the rails!”

“Surely we can discuss our destination when they arrive!” Ingo throws an arm out. “Be reasonable, Dawn! If you continue down this track, your friends may be sent to their terminus!”

Her face goes pale. She slaps a hand over her mouth and falls back against the wall, shoulders shaking.

The rushing river dies down. Rei peers down the tunnel as Laventon wrings out his lab coat, but the two seem about as perplexed as Ingo is. After judging that the water isn’t about to return, the two Galaxy folk carry on.

“Fine.” Dawn swallows hard and gets to her feet, glaring at the monitor. “They want to get to me? They can fight for it like any other challenger.”

“What?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I’m the Champion.”

On screen, Rei finds a door set in the wall and opens it, blown back by a wash of humidity from what appears to be a lush, looming jungle.

“Welcome to the Elite Four, bitches,” Dawn says with some satisfaction. “If you think you’ve got what it takes, let’s see it.”

A young man is perching on one of the sturdier branches: scrawny and lean, with cargo pants and bright green hair that blends into the leaves around him. He and Laventon have a brief exchange, but it doesn’t seem to have gone well; the green-haired man hops to the ground, grinning, and tosses his arms wide, sending a Dustox fluttering onto the field. Rei responds with his Staraptor, but the boy’s knees are shaky, and in the time it takes for him to call his first move, Dustox has already set up a Double Team. Ingo’s too busy wincing to chastise Dawn for her language.

Rei’s battling has gotten much better since Ingo met him at the Training Grounds, but despite Ingo’s best efforts, he lacks both confidence and experience. Professor Laventon is unlikely to do any better against an Elite Four. What they need is someone who can conduct them – a consummate battler who can guide them down the correct tracks.

Ingo finds a darkened monitor and stares into Chandelure’s reflection. “Help them,” he signs to Down, hands choppy and all the sharper for the constrained movements he uses to get the words past Dawn. “Please.”

Down hesitates. Ingo pours every ounce of desperate worry into the hand he circles over his chest. “Please,” he says again.

Down’s expression firms. “I’ll get them tickets for the express train,” he promises.

“Thank you.”

Chandelure floats out of the room. Ingo takes a seat next to Dawn and watches Staraptor take a Toxic glob to the face, trying to ignore the sense that they’re all headed for a trainwreck.

The fragment Ingo has been calling “Down” makes its (their? His) way out of the conference room, the Pokémon floating out the door, the man hopping from shine to shine. Leaving Ingo is like watching a train wreck. He is made of the conviction that, whoever he is, he and Ingo should not be apart.

That’s all the more reason to go: it was fun to pretend for a little while, but he isn’t Ingo’s real brother. Ingo will be happier to return to his proper station than he would be kept on the wrong train.

The man steps out of the reflection and into the hall, carrying Ingo’s shiner like the trainman’s lantern it’s named for and running through combat strategy. The Elite Four… Ghost, psychic, dark, and fighting. Maybe? But the man onscreen had been using a Dustox, hmm. Well, bug has several type weaknesses. Surely an Elite Four would have excellent counters to those weaknesses planned, but as far as types go, it isn’t the worst for a fresh fish to butt up against. That assumes Rei’s team is any good though. With how many Pokémon he and Laventon are carrying between them, they could shuffle cars in a pinch; however, with a full Elite Four between them and Dawn at the end, it may be better to conserve their power.

No, Rei should start with his team. Dawn’s and Ingo’s teams will be pulling most of the freight. Better for the deadheads to run out of steam first. If Rei is any good as a conductor, he’ll make them last.

This is when the reflection breaks through the trees to see Rei send out a Mr. Mime against the Elite Four’s Drapion.

Wrong track. Psychic might be supereffective against poison, but Drapion’s second type isn’t bug, it’s dark, and completely immune. But a switch would only leave Rei’s next car to take the hit, so: “Use Hypnosis!” he orders.

Rei startles. “Ingo?! Um, okay – Strong style!”

Mr. Mime waves its hands in a distracting pattern, and the Drapion’s eyes snap shut.

There. “Now: switch out! Mr. Mime can’t handle this fight.”

“Huh?” Rei’s eyebrows furrow. “Oh, right, poison is strong against fairy. But this is my only psychic-type!”

“Wouldn’t matter anyway! It’s immune!”

“So what do I do?!”

Professor Laventon flips hurriedly through his notes. “Do you happen to have a ground-type on you, by chance?”

Rei swivels towards him. “A Torterra, but…”

Ingo’s reflection cuts him off. “If it remains asleep, it can’t attack you!”

“Asleep?” Rei murmurs, inching around the field to get a closer look. The Elite Four watches placidly. “But it should only be drowsy.”

“Just trust me!”

Rei firms his expression and nods. “Alright. Tappy, come back!” The Mr. Mime comes off the field, replaced with a Torterra. Drapion remains still. “Headlong Rush!”

Torterra crashes into the ogre scorpion, tossing up clods of dirt and grass. Drapion vanishes back into its weird glass ball.

Rather than pulling another ball from his belt, the Elite Four tosses the same one back again, but a Vespiquen bursts from it, this time. That isn’t a great match.

“Attack Order,” the Elite commands.

“Oh, Mew,” Rei stammers as Combee burst from Vespiquen’s abdomen. “Uh, Iron Head?”

The first bee pings off of Torterra’s newly-hardened skull, but the others simply circle around, arrowing for the gaps in its shell. Torterra stomps its feet as they burrow in.

The shaking ground has no effect on the bees, however. “Stone Edge?” Rei calls hesitantly. “On the Vespiquen!”

But the hive queen easily dodges the jutting pillars as they burst through the ground, another round of Combee already on its way. Torterra bellows in pained, ineffectual rage.

“That’s enough,” Rei says, calling it back. He finally sounds serious. “It’s a flying-type, right?”

“Correct,” Laventon confirms.

“Great. Pikachu, Volt Tackle!”

It’s not a bad play. The Combee can’t make it through Pikachu’s zappy aura, and the electric move is strong enough to take Vespiquen out. But the defense drop shows his inexperience. “That move was short-sighted,” Ingo’s reflection comments as the Elite Four readies his next Pokémon. “He still has two cars left. You weren’t looking very far down the tracks.”

“Then I’ll just have to believe in my team,” Rei answers.

People only say that when they don’t have a plan. “Or you could win,” Ingo’s reflection says flatly.

“Double Team,” the Elite Four breaks in. His Yanmega begins to weave across the field.

Rei follows it as best he can from afar. “Keep up!” he orders his Pikachu. “Quick Attack!”

The two ‘mon dart back and forth over the pitch, a silver blur and a yellow flash just behind and falling further. Quick Attack isn’t good for long-term use.

Rei catches on before the gap widens too far. “It wants to play, huh? Then Play Rough!”

“U-Turn,” the Elite Four calmly counters. Pikachu lunges for the ogre darner, but Yanmega strafes out of the way, giving the mouse a chomp before switching with the last ‘mon left: a Heracross.

“Megahorn.”

Rei recalls Pikachu before it can fly too far and hovers a hand between his last two balls. “Clefairy,” he decides. “Flamethrower it!”

Wait. “You had a fire move the whole time?”

“I forgot!” Rei defends.

“Block it with Stone Edge,” the Elite Four orders. Heracross stomps a foot and rock pillars leap from the ground, shielding the bug from the searing flame before it sends them rushing into Clefairy. The little fairy-type slips between most of the rocks, but one dodge sends it slamming into a stone wall.

“It’s fighting type. Fairy moves are just as effective, and will also get STAB,” Ingo’s reflection advises.

“STAB?” Rei shakes his head. “Right, the same type thing. Clefairy, Moonblast!”

Clefairy looks up from where it’s running frantically between monoliths and chirps in agreement. One finger pointed to the sky, it hums an eerie tune, and a faint light begins to shine. “Pi piii,” it chimes, and the ball of light becomes a torrent. When everyone has blinked the dots away, Heracross is on the ground, eyes spirals.

“Yes!” Rei cheers. “I did it! We –”

A sword of frost-honed air whistles through Clefairy’s defenses. It faints, and Yanmega rears up, roaring a victory cry.

“This doesn’t look good,” Ingo’s reflection warns, hopefully needlessly. “If it starts Double Teaming again, it’s the end of the line.”

Rei rubs a thumb over his last ball. “Then we’d better not give him the chance. Tappy: Thunderbolt, strong style!”

“Double Team!” the Elite Four orders.

Mr. Mime gestures a thundercloud, fingers waving as it grows bigger and bigger. Yanmega builds up speed, vibrating fast enough to leave copies, and Laventon bites his nails as Mr. Mime looks from one to the next. “Oh, do pick the right one,” he pleads.

Tappy’s finger lashes out. “Mime,” it says. Thunder booms as light lances Yanmega from above.

The copies fade. The Elite Four recalls his final Pokémon to its ball. “Guess it’s back to training camp for me,” he laughs. “Go on to the next room. Three more trainers are waiting for you, and they’re all stronger than me.”

“Well, that hardly sounds encouraging,” Laventon mumbles as the green-haired man vanishes into the trees.

“We can worry about that in a second,” Rei says, setting Mr. Mime back in his satchel. “What are you doing here, Ingo? What happened? And where’s Akari?”

“I am [not-Ingo,]” the reflection corrects, hand swooshing down to form his namesign. “Ingo and D-A-W-N are further down this line. You’ll have to go through the Elite Four’s stops to get to them.”

Rei blinks uncomprehendingly. “Hang on. Are we talking about the same girl? Dark hair, same uniform I’m wearing –”

“A-K-A-R-I is the name Hisui gave her. D-A-W-N means home.”

This doesn’t seem to have cleared much up. That’s fine. Dawn isn’t his problem; he’s here to take care of Ingo.

“If we’re asking questions,” Laventon says, “could you explain how we understand that, ah, flapping you’re doing?”

“Flapping?” Some people have trouble telling apart his stimming from his signing, and somatic echolalia doesn’t help, but he isn’t stimming right now.

Laventon waggles his hands in approximation. “Oh,” the reflection says. “You’re referring to sign language.”

“Is that what it’s called?”

The reflection shrugs. “Nothing in this place is real,” he answers. “Ingo understands me, so it’s simply easier if you can, too.”

“So, just to be clear,” Rei interjects, “You aren’t Ingo?”

“No. I am [not-Ingo,]” the reflection says, again. “We look the same because we are identical.”

“You mean, twins?” Laventon asks.

“He must be glad he found you here,” Rei says. “I think he missed you a lot.”

The reflection looks away. “This distortion is made of psychic power from Pokémon called Unown,” he tells them. “That’s why everything is so strange. They’re trying to help D-A-W-N go home, but the best they can do is pretend.”

“So why hasn’t she left yet?” Rei asks.

“Doesn’t want to.”

“But she knows it’s fake, right?”

“Somewhere,” the reflection agrees. “But she doesn’t want to.”

“I believe I understand,” the Professor says quietly. “We must fight our way to her and convince her to wake up. Is that it?”

The reflection nods. “The Unown give her whatever she wants. Ingo, too.” They gave him his brother, after all. “But what D-A-W-N says goes. As long as she wants to stay, they will.”

Rei swallows. “Are they safe?”

“Completely.” The sign he uses swirls his hands away from his chest: Finished. Done. His smile takes a sardonic edge. “There’s nowhere safer.”

“Help me understand,” Ingo begs Dawn. “Why do you loathe the thought of returning to Hisui so much?”

She scoffs. “Why wouldn’t I? I never wanted to go there in the first place!”

“But haven’t you built a life there? Your Pokédex, your work with the Galaxy Team?”

“You mean the people who ripped my stars off my chest and threw me to the Luxray?” She looks down, playing with the ends of her hair. “You may have found a place, Ingo, but I didn’t have a clan leader pulling for me. They only let me in in the first place because I was useful, and they made sure I knew that as soon as they could say I’d messed up.”

The trees thin out, becoming rocky crags, a stream trickling up from nowhere to run in the center of the dusty valley between. The terrain is reminiscent of the Heartwood, albeit after a harsh drought – Perry Laventon half wonders if he’d find Psyduck waddling atop the switchbacks. But there are no quacks here, no mellifluous mimimimiis to break the silence, only the slight squelch of their footsteps as they forge onwards.

“Do you think we can make it through the rest of these fights?” Rei asks. “That Aaron guy was tough, and he said everyone else would be even harder!”

“It will likely be very difficult,” Perry admits, twiddling his fingers.

The boy’s shoulders slump. “Which isn’t to say I doubt you!” Perry hastily clarifies. “I have every confidence in you, my boy.” After all, he knows how hard Rei works. Every moment he isn’t out in the field or crafting new supplies, the boy is taking lessons, practicing his stealth with Beni – and isn’t it astounding, how much praise their standoffish resident ninja has for the child after keeping to himself for so long? – or battling at the training grounds with Ingo. He’s no Akari, of course, but that girl’s skill with Pokémon is, quite literally, otherworldly. Excepting her from the list, Rei stands at the top of the Galaxy Team’s battlers, ranking alongside Zisu and Ress despite his young age. “Perhaps, rather than saying there are three more fights ahead of us, we ought to say there are only three more fights. All you have to do is give them the same what-for you showed the last chap, and then we’re jolly well home free!”

Rei fidgets. “Um, well,” he mutters, “I was actually thinking, uh. Maybe you could take the next one?”

Perry stumbles and almost falls into the stream. “Me?” he squawks.

“It’s just… That last fight was really hard,” Rei says, helping him up. “Practically my whole team’s down, and I think I’d do better with a break?”

And he trusts Perry to take his place? The professor swallows, Akari’s satchel tight and uncomfortable around his waist. “My boy, I’m not sure that’s a very good plan,” he says gently, detangling himself from Rei’s hands. Perry may have sat in at the training grounds from time to time, sketching the combatants and diving out of the way now and then from an errant attack, but spectating a battle does not a battler make. He can hardly stand next to a Pokémon without shaking – in what universe would he be able to go toe to toe with one of these opponents?

Rei tugs his hat down and looks away. “Right,” he says weakly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t give up so easily. I’ll keep going.”

“Nope.” Emmet brings them to a sudden stop in the middle of the stream. “This is the last train to Dawn and Ingo’s stop, so there won’t be any refunds for your tickets if you are booted off at the station called defeat.”

The two Galaxy folk look at each other. Perry is rueful but unsurprised to see Rei has no more clue what the man is saying than he does.

“Do you know what the biggest obstruction for trainers on the route to victory is?” The man’s coat, a white mirror of Ingo’s, flaps gently in some unfelt breeze. (He casts no reflection on the surface of the brook, some portion of Perry’s brain notices. How strange.) “Exhaustion. There is only so long a train can rush down the tracks before running out of fuel, and in a battle, if you misread one thing, the rest will be totally different. Additionally,” Ingo’s twin blares, signing wide and deliberate over Rei’s attempt to interrupt, “beating the Elite Four is only half of this fight. It is not solely a matter of winning and losing.” He jabs a finger at Perry. “It is a matter of showing that you are willing to make the effort.”

Oh. That is the question, isn’t it. The one that’s been plaguing Perry’s mind since they first met the strange inhabitants of this place.

He’s let so much happen to the girl he brought to Jubilife. He’d thought it was enough to secure her work and a place to stay, but did he fight for her? No. He’d raged for her when she was banished, followed her to the Fieldlands to voice his disapproval and support, but when Cyllene told him not to stick his neck out he was all too happy to go back to his books and spare her only the slightest thought. Too wrapped up in his bloody Pokédex project to see the girl who’d made it possible for who she was.

(Her name is Dawn. He won’t forget.)

But intention and ability are two very different things, and unfortunately for all of them at the moment, Perry is no Hero of Many Battles. If he tries now, he’ll only make everything worse. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

That sits, stony-faced, for a second before their guide adjusts his cap, smile softening. “You are not alone, Professor. I am Emmet. I am a Subway Boss. This train won’t go off the rails while I am conducting it, because Ingo is depending on a win to bring him back to his proper station. And I like winning more than anything else.”

Perry sets a ginger hand over Dawn’s satchel, somewhat heartened despite his confusion. “That’s all very well and good, but I’ve never fought a Pokémon battle before,” he admits. “Frankly, it’s terrifying! What if they don’t listen to me? Or– or turn around and attack us instead?”

“They aren’t stupid,” Emmet says. “They’re loyal to their trainer, not you. But if we’re going to get her back, they’ll have to hitch themselves to your engine. Dawn has trained them well. They’ll understand.”

“Ohhh, I do hope you’re right,” Perry mutters, but he resumes walking with a little more confidence.

The valley widens out, taking the form of a perfect battlefield, and at its end waits an older woman wearing a coat somewhat like Perry’s own. “Well, well,” she calls, “aren’t you an odd-looking group! Are you challenging me all at once, then?”

Perry swallows, casting a glance back at Rei before stepping forward to the line. “J-just me, I’m afraid,” he replies, wiping sweat out from under his hat. “I don’t suppose I could ask you to go easy on me?”

“Ahaha! If you wanted an easy match, dear, you shouldn’t have challenged an Elite Four.”

He winces. “To be fair, this isn’t the battle I would have chosen to be my first.” Maybe against one of the Construction Corps’ Bidoof. Or not – those things have vicious-looking teeth.

She brings a hand to her scarf, fingers sinking into the plush fabric. “I’m Bertha. I have a preference for ground-type Pokémon. Would you show me what you’ve learned?”

“For Dawn’s sake,” he answers, “I believe I will!”

Bertha tosses her odd pokéball, reminiscent of a distortion dome – that’s it, he’ll call them distortion balls – and a Whiscash splashes down in the center of the brook. (With a force like that, one would expect an equal amount of mud to go flying, but Bertha doesn’t bother to step back. It seems whatever force is maintaining this illusion – which is to say, the Unown? – didn’t bother to represent such small details.)

“What glorious whiskers,” Perry marvels. This is one of the Pokémon he has less information on; Akari– ahem. Dawn has confided that she dislikes capturing Pokémon from Lord Basculegion’s back, and Whiscash especially tend to become enraged at her attempts. “Is it true that Whiscash will eat anything? I’ve heard that it’s nocturnal, but our fieldwork has shown them to be active throughout the day as well.”

“Ahaha! Trying to distract me, are you, dear? Go on; choose your first Pokémon.”

“I don’t think she’ll have anything interesting to say, Professor,” Rei says. “But we should really investigate that later. Do you think they’re active during the day here because Hisui has a colder climate?”

“A fascinating hypothesis, my boy!”

“You should pay attention to the battle,” Emmet interrupts. “It is rude to keep your opponent waiting at the platform.”

Perry flushes and scratches his head. “Ah, right. My apologies, madam!”

Bertha remains unmoved.

The balls inside of Dawn’s satchel all look the same. Perry paws through them, hoping to land on some hidden sign that one contains the Pokémon that will win him the match, but nothing stands out. Forget winning battles; how in Sword’s name does she know how to start them?

“Does Dawn’s team have a grass-type?” Emmet asks. “That is the type Whiscash is most weak to. I have a feeling the rest of this good lady’s team is weak to it, as well.”

How in the blazes should Perry know? Dawn tells him about the new Pokémon she catches on each survey trip out, not which ones she carries with her on her team, and to make matters worse that team changes depending on the conditions she thinks she’s likely to encounter or which research tasks she’s working on. …though, now that he thinks of it, he does remember a rather intriguing specimen she’d been carrying. Largely because she’d laughed about getting to rub it in Warden Melli’s face. (Raticates, he’s going to have to thank the man next time he sees him, isn’t he?)

“Would you be so kind as to tell me which one of you is Croissant?” he asks the collection of pokéballs.

One nudges his fingers – he fights to restrain a shudder – and he flings it field-ward, his side occupied at last by a Voltorb with a sparkling black upper shell.

“Unevolved,” Emmet hums, shaking his hands as if to flick off water. “That’s disappointing.”

“Don’t count it out yet,” Rei loyally defends. “Dawn doesn’t like evolving her Pokémon until she’s done researching them, so it’s probably super high leveled!”

Croissant tips back to look at the boy and gives him a cheery wink.

Perry flips through his notes, looking for a grass-type move. “Would you, ah. Oh, this is so intimidating. Rei, my boy, I have no idea how you do it!”

“Just pick one, before she does it for you,” Emmet barks.

“Oh, bugger,” Laventon swears, swiping the papers into a messy pile. “Energy Ball!”

“Voltorb!” Croissant cheers, spitting out an undulating green orb.

“Sandstorm,” Bertha orders. Whiscash wriggles, and a wind kicks up, dust and grit tumbling off the cliffs to swirl across the field.

Perry deflates. “Again, please,” he requests. If the first one didn’t do it, perhaps this one ought to be stronger. “Strong style?”

This blob audibly smacks into the Whiscash’s hide, though there’s no reactive movement to indicate the absorption of the force. Now that he’s noticed, it’s really quite eerie how little the Whiscash has moved overall.

Bertha recalls it, to Perry’s quiet bloom of triumph, and switches out for– oh dear. A Gliscor. As part of Warden Ingo’s team, Gliscor is one of the Pokémon Perry has had the pleasure of examining in depth, and nothing he has learned about the fang scorpion has made him want to oppose one in battle. Doubly so when Bertha calls for Ice Fang. Perry hastily orders another Energy Ball, but Voltorb can’t roll out of the way before Gliscor’s fangs pierce its wooden shell, frost crackling around the punctures and panic-sparks flowing over those leathery wings to no effect.

“It’s down, Professor,” Rei tells him, subdued. “You need to take it off the field and send in something else.”

“Ah, right.” Perry scrambles to do just that. “I don’t suppose you have any recommendations, dear boy?”

“Ice,” Emmet answers immediately. “Ice ice ice.”

“Hey, yeah,” Rei realizes. “Ground and flying are both weak to ice types, aren’t they? Maybe I should pick one up for my next match against Warden Ingo.”

If it’s ice he needs, there can only be one Pokémon for it. He fumbles another ball out. “Froslass!”

The chill of the grave blows through their bones. The alpha Froslass looms over Perry, rage-red eyes burning cold, and drops its jaw to breathe a cry that shivers his very soul. Perry cowers in fear.

“It is alright,” Emmet says.

“It is bloody well not alright!” Perry gasps. “You see? This is why I didn’t want to –”

“I was not talking to you.” He steps forward, the odd lantern dangling from his wrist. “It is alright,” he soothes Froslass again. “Your conductor is not hurt. We are looking for her. Will you help us?”

Froslass looks at him oddly, floating close to look at the lantern. It croons, then glares at Perry again.

“Yes, he is not very good at this,” Emmet says dryly. “That is why we need your help.”

“Oh, sure,” Perry mutters, “let’s all take the piss out of poor Professor Laventon.”

“Please, Waif?” Rei stammers.

Froslass drifts to the center of the field. Everyone lets out a breath.

At least it’s no hardship to recall an ice move it knows. “Right then,” Perry says, straightening his lab coat, “Icicle Crash!”

Waif ignores the order. One hand lifts, heavy clouds swirling about its head.

“Fire Fang,” Bertha orders. Gliscor flies unaffected through the air currents, clouds bursting harmlessly apart on its wings, and chomps down on the ghost.

Smoke wafts up around the bite. Froslass screams defiantly and gathers another cloud. The stinging sandstorm continues to rage, but the grit turns hard as hail where it passes through the swirl of freezing energy, and ice crystals arrow down through Gliscor like spears until the fang scorpion is forced to let its prey go, unable to stay upright.

Away into its ball it goes, replaced with a thud by a Hippotatomochi– No, he’s just hungry. Hipocrypha? Hippoundoom? Whatever its name is, it roars and barrels toward the ghost.

“Crunch,” Bertha commands.

Waif spins away from its ginormous teeth, but it lashes for her with surprising speed, almost perfectly camouflaged by the whirling sand. She struggles, scoring it with a weak hail of icicles, but the dark energy and sheer force of that powerful jaw tear through her like tea seeping through a doctoral thesis.

Perry doesn’t need the urging to recall her to her ball, this time. “That’s grass and ice, both out,” he says grimly.

“She only has three Pokémon left, counting this one,” Emmet observes. “And many ground-types are rock-types as well, which have more weaknesses.”

And the satchel has four pokéballs left, three out of which are the Honchkrow they used to get here, the Typhlosion Dawn first partnered with, and a Luxray. “I’ll take your word for it,” Perry replies, some dryness of his own sneaking in.

Oh, but Luxray has wonderful coverage moves. Terrifying creatures, but this one has been with Dawn since she caught it for her initiation test, and even Perry has given it a pat or two. “Emri,” he calls, “Ice Fang on the Hypocritamus!”

“Earthquake,” Bertha counters.

Emri pounces onto the field and latches frost-rimed teeth into its opponent’s leathery side, grimly holding on even as the ground shakes. When the dust settles – and it does settle, the sandstorm finally subsiding – both it and the great beast are down.

(Hippowdon, that’s it.)

Three Pokémon left, one of which is weak to rock, one of which is weak to ground and rock, and one that’s a mystery. “Mystery ball it is, then,” Perry decides, and throws it.

The Pokémon which bursts out is– “Lady Sneasler?!” he gasps.

“No, it’s bigger,” Rei says. “I think this is the one Dawn named Gorb?”

“Gesundheit,” Emmet replies.

The Sneasler ignores them, stepping into the very corner of the field to lean close to Emmet and sniff him. They both make a face.

“Golem,” Bertha says, “use –”

But Gorb is already across the field, delivering a brutal series of blows that knocks the Golem out. Bertha throws her next ball out without pause. “Earthquake,” she orders her Rhyperior.

The little part of Perry that’s been panicking since he stepped up to the line faints, leaving him swaying on his feet. “Whatever you just did? Do it again, please,” he faintly orders.

“Sneasler,” Gorb growls, long, furry limbs taking a sturdy stance as the ground begins to shake. The tremors buffet it, but with each new roll of the earth Gorb hits Rhyperior again, draining just enough vitality to keep the free climber on its feet through the shuddering quakes.

Rhyperior falls. Gorb holds a fist aloft in triumph.

“Well,” Bertha huffs, “I must say, for a first battle, that was quite impressive. Your Pokémon believed in you and did their best to earn you the win.”

Gorb smirks and tosses its plume over its shoulder. It turns to strut off the field, but stumbles just as it reaches the line. On reflex, Perry jerks forward, giving the Pokémon the support it needs to remain upright, before the claws dangling in front of his face register and he freezes in terror.

Gorb snorts. It holds up a paw, flourishing the giant knives it wields as if to give Perry a last look at the weapons that will cut his life short.

“Professor, it’s okay!” Rei bobs in the corner of Perry’s vision. “I know this one. He wants a high five!”

“A high five?” Perry repeats.

“Yeah, look.” Rei holds out a hand of his own, and Gorb taps its palm to it, snickering. “It’s easy, see? Just a silly thing Akari– uh, I mean, Dawn taught him.”

“I see,” Perry says weakly. But he taps his palm against the Sneasler’s regardless. Gorb stares deeply at him, then nods and puts itself back in its ball.

“So,” Emmet prompts, “what did you think about your first battle?”

“Utterly terrifying,” Perry reports.

“It is pretty scary,” Rei quietly agrees. “But… I think that’s why I like them, honestly. Seeing my team fight so hard for me makes me feel like I can trust them to keep me safe. And they trust me to keep them safe, too. Battling together helps us understand each other.”

There was some sense of camaraderie, wasn’t there? Even Froslass – though she ignored his commands, he could feel her determination, the defiant way she threw herself forward despite Gliscor’s burns to fight for the human who had tamed her. And when she fell, his heart hurt for the tragedy.

“I believe I understand what you mean,” he murmurs. “Perhaps… perhaps, when Dawn comes back, I’ll ask the two of you to give me some tips.”

Rei beams. “I’m sure she’d love to!”

Emmet, for his part, is tapping his foot impatiently. “Don’t spin your wheels idly, now. We still have two more stops left, and I doubt they will be any easier.”

Perry groans, but obediently begins to walk again. Rei nudges him with an elbow. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I’ve got the next one.”

“Thank goodness.”

It hurts, hearing Dawn speak so callously of the land Ingo has adopted as his own, but pressing her would hardly do any good. And, too, he can understand her pain: Hisui’s people have been kind to him, but the harsh conditions have not, and though they’re faint, the snippets of memory he’s recovered still ache for wherever his first home had been. How much worse is it for Dawn, who remembers so much more of where she’d come from?

Ingo blows out a deep breath, ushering the itchy feelings onto a departing train. This is a conversation, not a battle… or if it is, he’s lost his first Pokémon, not the match. It’s time to change tracks. “Forget about going back, then. Not entirely,” he hastily clarifies, “but for now, let us set the matter of where our tickets will take us aside. Surely you must have noticed that this place is… off.”

Dawn refuses to look at him. “Okay, so it’s a little weird sometimes,” she mutters. “So? Dreams are like that.”

“Perhaps. But this is no dream.”

“I know, okay?!” She raises her head, now, eyes red-rimmed and sullen. “I’m Akari, not Dawn. I haven’t worn this” – she plucks at her top – “in ages, contests won’t be invented for like a hundred years, and you’re a Warden, not my valet. Do you think I can’t tell that my starter is acting like a robot?!”

She shoves her phone to the center of the conference table, the golden horns on the back of the case scraping against the glass.

The screen is dark and unresponsive. The glare from the computers blocks out any would-be reflection.

“When I first woke up here, I thought, finally. I was back home.” She scrapes a shoulder against her cheek, wiping away a furious tear. “I’d had a conversation with Arceus and, I dunno, maybe she changed her mind or something. Decided to take me back. I was so glad to see Primo again, I practically ran into him. But he barely even noticed me.” The tracks down her face shine blue in the light. “If I just pretend hard enough, everything is fine, right? So how come it still hurts?”

It’s his duty to comfort passengers. But Dawn knows he rarely enjoys physical contact for his own sake, and in these circumstances, any attempt to offer would likely be unwelcome. This isn’t the sort of upset which can be placated. All they can do is see this route through to its terminus.

Ingo allows his eyes to fall closed. “What is left, after winning, and winning, and winning?” he asks rhetorically. “The joy of battle comes from the bonds we make with others. The friends we’ve coupled ourselves to, who power the engine which takes us to victory, and our rivals, whose determination to succeed pushes us to ever greater heights.”

(A flash of a smile. A solid presence at his side.)

“No one is real here,” Dawn says thickly. “It doesn’t matter if I win, because it’s not a real fight.”

“Precisely.” If a battle is not serious, it is not fun. Ingo stares Dawn down, searching for the white flicker of Truth inside her. “Can you say, honestly, that you’re happy here?” he asks. “This is not really your home, but merely a dream of a memory of it. If you were to stay here, could any room in this castle fill the gap in your heart?”

She hiccups, tears and snot dripping down her face. “No,” she sobs. “I just feel further away than ever.”

Now Ingo offers the hug, shrugging his arms wide in silent invitation, and she rushes in, burying her head in his shoulder. Some part of him is still thinking about the mucus she’s smearing on his coat, but the torn and tattered thing can hardly get more dirty at this point. (His brother would hate this – he’d always been very protective of his white coat.) It’s hardly important. Ingo only pats her back, murmuring “There, there.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she sobs. “I can’t stay, but I don’t want to go back, either. No one cares about me there.”

“Have you counted me out already, then?” He smiles for her, strange and uncomfortable as the expression feels. “I may not really be your valet, but I did mean it when I promised to take care of you. A conductor always looks after his passengers.”

She shakes her head. “Lady Sneasler needs you. You can’t always be in Jubilife.”

“Your friends, then.”

Her face begins to close off. Ingo nudges her, pointing her attention to the camera: Antimony the Typhlosion is facing off against a Rapidash, commanded by a man with a large red afro. Rei shouts a command, and Antimony slams a foot down just as the Rapidash comes down from a Bounce, sending off a large tremor that takes the fire horse out. Laventon cheers.

“They’re facing down the Elite Four for you, just as you said,” Ingo tells her. “They may not be very good at it, but they do care for you. And I’m sure they’re not the only ones.”

Her lip wobbles. “Cyllene,” she says. “She cares, even if she sucks at it.”

Ingo ignores his twinge of discomfort at her choice of words. She’s surely earned the right to it at this point. “Lady Irida speaks highly of you,” he says instead. “The both of you have much in common. I’m sure you’d get along quite well, now that you can meet without the rift looming over us.”

“Adaman is nice. And I still don’t like Beni, but he’s pretty funny. When he isn’t trying to kill me.” She scrubs at her face. “You’re right,” she says, and her voice already sounds stronger. “We should go back.”

“For now,” Ingo agrees. “Just until we figure out a way for you to really go home.”

She swallows down another rush of tears, giving him a big grin. “Right!”

Muscle recall has him catching her by the collar before she can run out the door. “Safety checks,” he reminds her on reflex, and they both blink at each other.

He shakes off the deja vu. “Where are you off to now?”

“I wanna meet them at the end,” she explains, “so I can congratulate them in person.”

Ingo casts a suspicious look at her.

“I’m not gonna fight them!” she defends herself. “We already know I’d win. But I’m the Champion, and they’re fighting through the Elite Four. It wouldn’t feel right if I wasn’t there.”

He lets her go, fondly reminded of a different girl. (Just as determined. Just as impossibly strong.) “Very well, then,” he agrees, adjusting his cap and pointing out the door. “All aboard for the Champion’s throne!”

“Phew,” Flint pants, “I didn’t think for a second that I’d lose! That was fantastic! You and your Pokémon are inspiring.”

Rei trades looks with Laventon. If Ingo’s Pokémon hadn’t taken charge in the last half, Rei would have had no chance of getting past Flint’s Lopunny’s Mirror Coat strategy, and that Magmortar had been a powerhouse. “Thanks, but it was really down to them.”

“Don’t bother trying to make conversation with him,” Emmet advises. “These illusions have only one track, with no clearance for switches.”

“Burnt down to cinders,” Flint reports breathlessly, heedless of the interjection. “Keep going…”

Emmet gestures at him – see? The Elite Four doesn’t even blink when Emmet marches past him. “Come on. The next car should be somewhere through here.”

The three of them file in through a door set in the rock. Like Aaron and Bertha, Flint’s evaporated when Rei looks back over his shoulder.

The door shuts and vanishes into the wall like it was never there.

It’s cool inside, but less so than Rei would expect; there’s no panting cool-down period, only the absence of heat, without even sweat left on his skin to mark the abrupt chill. The second thing he notices are the books. Wall-to-ceiling stacks of novels and tomes – more paper than Rei’s seen in his life, and he’s been in Tao Hua’s office when he was doing accounts. None of them are legible, but that doesn’t stop him or the Professor from oohing and ahhing at the shelves.

A throat clears. Rei jumps and whirls to see a man in an armchair, with a dark suit and long hair like Melli’s. “And who might you be?” the man asks, voice elegant and smooth.

“A scholar who is very interested in your book collection, good sir!” Laventon replies. “Why, this one appears to be a copy of The Sea’s Legend! Absolutely fascinating.” He reaches out to trail a hand down its spine. “I don’t suppose I could –”

“Professor!” Rei hisses, yanking Laventon up short before he can offend the nobleman.

The professor’s hand droops sadly away from the shelf. “Surely a peek couldn’t hurt?” he tries.

Rei glares him down. The nobleman raises a hand to his chin – stifling a laugh, Rei thinks, with a flush of embarrassment. He bows. “My apologies, sir. While your collection is impressive, we’re actually here to battle some people called the Elite Four. Are you… Do you know where we can find the last one?”

The man sighs, finally allowing his book to fall closed around the finger he’s using to mark his place. “I do,” he admits, “but he isn’t accepting battles at the moment. I’m on break, you see.”

“What?” Rei blinks, sputtering. “But– we have to–”

“I don’t suppose we could persuade you otherwise?” Laventon attempts, without much hope. “It’s very important.”

The man’s eyes flick to Emmet, whose lantern pulses, rocking on his arm as if something bumped into it. The two stare at each other.

“I see,” the man says at last. “I’m afraid I won’t change my mind – I’ve just begun a new book, and I could hardly give you a good battle if I’m distracted by wondering what will happen next. But,” he continues, interrupting Rei and Laventon’s protests, “I believe I can come up with a compromise that will satisfy both of us.”

Shimmering planks unfold out of nowhere, a rail spiraling down from above to curl around the impossible staircase. The man adjusts his glasses. “Will this do?”

Emmet tests both the planks and the rail, more out of rote than with any unease. “I believe it will. Thank you.” His arms flash out into Ingo’s odd pose. “All aboard!”

The staircase climbs higher and higher. The nobleman gets smaller with every step Rei takes, but Rei watches him settle back into his armchair and turn pages until the room is too far below to see.

What began as a run soon slows, Dawn trotting to keep up with Ingo’s long legs through corridors whose fluorescent lights flicker uncertainly. Every so often a soundless rumble shakes the walls and floors, seemingly without provocation, and though Ingo never breaks stride Dawn falters, every instinct she picked up in Hisui insisting that something large and angry is on the move just beside them. Worse are the doors, identical and stretching down either side of the maze-like hallways, each one labeled Staff Only and each of them locked.

“Strange,” Ingo muses, “I feel as though I ought to know these tracks. Yet they are as unfamiliar to me as everything else has been since waking up here.”

Arrgh, this is stupid! And they’re not getting anywhere.

Everything else here listens to her. Maybe these dumb doors just haven’t gotten the memo. Dawn stops and glares at the nearest No Entry sign. “I am going to rejoin my friends, and then we’re all going back to Hisui together.”

She tugs on the handle – still locked.

Alright, no more Mr. Nice Dawn. “You can either let me in, or I’m going to bust you down,” she informs it. “In three… two… o–”

The door gives way under her. She almost stumbles, but manages to catch herself on the frame. “Ha! Nailed it.”

Inside is a thin catwalk, edges dropping off into nothingness.

Ingo frowns disapprovingly. “This can’t possibly meet safety standards.”

“We’ll be fine.” Dawn pushes past him, eyes fixed firmly on the elevator platform waiting at the end. She’s got good balance, and she’s been feeding the god of time poffins since 13 years old. Arceus herself chose her to save the world. A simple fall isn’t going to kill her. “We’ll probably just show up back here if we fall off. That’s what happens if I jump too far off a cliff or whatever.”

“I’d ask how you know that,” Ingo mutters, “but I doubt the answer would be reassuring.”

“Probably not!”

They huddle in the center of the platform, Dawn straight and tall, Ingo hunched low over his center of balance and glowering at the lack of railings. There’s the impression of a whirr – the pitch is wrong, she thinks, some note out of place, but at least whatever’s making this not-dream had tried, which is more than she can say for the scenery.

There isn’t any.

The elevator ascends, slower than a Blissey’s health draining, and the dark void lightens to gray, spirals into a crisp, empty white. They come to a stop on… nothing.

Wait. Not quite nothing. Something shimmers far below, a staircase of glass unfurling out of the emptiness. And on it–

“Rei!”

He looks up. “Akari?!”

“Dawn!” Professor Laventon corrects, puffing behind him.

“Why are you upside down?!” she shouts down at them.

“We’re not?” Rei calls back, bemused. “You are!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“I’m not sure ‘up’ and ‘down’ exist here,” the white version of Ingo muses.

“I’m sorry?” Professor Laventon blinks.

Rei gapes. “Emmet?! What does that mean?” The smile he gets in return, sharp and strange and on Ingo’s face, is more than a little unsettling. “You can’t just say stuff like that and then not explain it!”

“I don’t think it matters, honestly!” Dawn calls down, to a predictable lack of effect on the budding argument.

A hundred research debates lodge in her chest, radiating warmth. Dorks. And more to the point, her dorks. Gods. She wants to go home more than anything else, but for the first time, she thinks, I’ll miss this. Dawn reaches for a ball and clicks it open, releasing her Alakazam. “Dipper, get us down there!”

She leaps, not waiting for the familiar tingle of Psychic to surround her, and hears more than sees Ingo sigh and walk off the edge after her. The others mimic them in reverse, Ingo’s Alakazam sending them up in purple-tinged haloes, the five of them falling towards each other in the absence of gravity.

Like a mirror, some invisible surface stops them before their reflections can meet.

Rei sputters in soundless alarm. Laventon frets, hand coming up to bite at his nails, and Dawn tears at her hair. “Not now!”

Ingo’s fist slams against the plane. It doesn’t even shake.

His twin in white meets him on the other side, sinking to the ground in time with him. Identical tears fall on either side of the mirror. “Emmet,” Ingo chokes out. “I can’t– I’ve come too far to lose you again!”

Black shapes squiggle out of the nothingness in both skies. The Unown spin like generator rings, black arms revolving round a galactic collapse, and a silent boom rings through Dawn’s skeleton as the Temple of Sinnoh explodes.

Time stops. Splits. The Temple of Sinnoh is whole – on the time travelers’ side. On the Survey Corps’ side, Spear Pillar is a burst of shattered ruins, crumbled pillars shooting off like spokes into the cloud of Unown. But on Dawn and Ingo’s side, footsteps ring out against marble.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that,” the new arrival says, flicking long, blonde hair over one eye.

“Cynthia?” Dawn gasps, just as Ingo mutters, “Volo?”

“Why are you here?” Dawn demands. She shakes her head. “No – why are you doing this?!”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” The blonde gestures at the unbroken pillars, framed by the destruction frozen underfoot, and the Unown coo and chime around them. “We made a whole world for you, Dawn. Why would you want to leave?”

Dawn bristles. “I never asked for this,” she snaps. “I said I wanted to go home! And this isn’t it!”

“Not quite,” the blonde agrees. “It’s a new, better world.” They tilt their head. “Are you unsatisfied? Our power is limited, but for Arceus’s Chosen, we can do more.” Figures rise out of the stone around them: a boy with wild hair and a striped shirt, another with a broad, flat cap; a woman with an apron and hair like Dawn’s.

“No!” The figures collapse at Dawn’s shriek, dust billowing around her feet as her chest heaves. Tears leave burning lines down her cheeks, but her glare burns hotter as fury overruns horror. “I’m done with mind games and fakes,” she declares. “I want to leave.”

“...I’m afraid we can’t let you do that.” Clouds of Unown cast shadows over the blonde’s robes, white and green becoming gray and blue becoming black and gold. “Your challenge might have made it past the Elite Four, but the run doesn’t count unless you’ve beaten the Champion.”

One of the temple statues cracks. Like a Beautifly emerging from a Silcoon, a ghostly corona shakes off the last of the rock and comes to settle at the blonde’s feet.

The Champion throws an arm out, smile too-wide over cheekbones that can’t decide their configuration. Their Spiritomb’s eerie bellow rings through Dawn’s bone marrow. “If you want to make this world disappear, then show me the power that Arceus saw in you!”

Dawn glares, hair fluttering in a nonexistent piano riff as she calls forth her starter. “Go, Primo!”

She’s the best trainer in Sinnoh, twice over. She’s beaten Cynthia and Volo before, and these squiggles don’t even put up a fight. She’s invincible. She can’t lose.

“Silver Wind!”

“Slice through it with Metal Claw!”

The Spiritomb groans. A gust of scale-laden wind forces Primo back, but the Empoleon swipes out with shining wings and breaks the current, rushing forward.

Dawn grins. “Hydro Pump!”

Water shines in Primo’s beak – until a Dark Pulse slices his unprotected stomach, driving him back and leaving purple gashes glowing faintly across the patterns of lacy white.

“A direct hit,” Ingo gravely commentates. “It seems your ‘invincibility’ trick has worn off, Miss Dawn.”

She grits her teeth, dragging a smile over her face. “If a battle isn’t serious, it’s not fun, right? I’ll just have to win anyway!”

“Sorry,” the Champion breaks in, “but that won’t –”

They’re interrupted by the unmistakable crash of a Hydro Pump meeting its target. Most of the pressurized water passes through Spiritomb’s whirling disk, but the keystone beneath goes flying into one of the statues.

“What was that?” Dawn taunts. “Couldn’t hear you!”

“Ngh. Spiritomb, Dark Pulse! Keep it off you!”

Swaying dizzily, the ghost shrieks and emits a series of rings, but Dawn stands firm. “Get through!” she orders Primo. “Then Brine!”

Empoleon are ungainly on land, their stocky bodies much more suited to cutting through the water than jumping over shockwaves. Primo just manages to clear the first ring, but he can’t recover before the next one hits. Dawn winces. Primo, however, walks directly into the damage. One ring hits. Three more, when he throws himself on his belly and coasts through, but the last one he breaks with another Metal Claw before calling down a torrent of brackish water.

Spiritomb shrieks as the salt seeps into the cracks in its keystone. Like papier-mâché, it melts into a muddy slurry and lies still.

“How was that?!” Dawn demands.

A green foot presses into the slurry. Roserade throws its leafy cape over its shoulder and crosses its arms in challenge.

“I’m afraid that’s not much of a lead,” the Champion smirks back, tossing their hair. “Roserade, tie it up!”

The Bouquet Pokémon twirls and throws its arms wide with a vicious trill, sending blobs of energy undulating across the field. “Not yet!” Dawn shouts, so Primo coats his wings again, smacking the Energy Balls off pillars and into the tile. The Empoleon is tired, though, and there are only so many balls he can knock back before the super-effective pummeling leaves him in the dust.

Dawn hisses through her teeth and recalls him, muttering “Nice job, boy” to the (glass) ball. (Fake ball, fake Pokémon. Does it matter what she says to him? …no. She’s come too far to start treating her friends as tools now.)

What’s a good match for Roserade? She can’t remember. The type matchups, sure; she’s done so much research now – she’s never ragging on c̕҉̢͞u̕͡͡L̷͡s͜͜ą́̀̕͠ for his “easy” job again. But she has her Sinnohan team, not her Hisuian one.

Who is on her Sinnohan team?

She can’t remember.

She’s a horrible trainer and a horrible friend. She’s going to lose this battle –

“Breathe, Dawn.” Ingo’s voice cracks through her panic, forceful but so kind, always so kind. “You've got this. Your tactics… reading… You have great skills. I believe you have what it takes to reach victory!”

He has a Machamp, a Tangrowth, and a Gliscor. She has a Gliscor. “Thanks, Uncle Ingo,” she says, distracted. Something like a Gliscor?

A Crobat.

The glass ball whizzes onto the field. “Go, Edward!” she calls around a grin. “Air Slash!”

Borrowing from Spiritomb’s playbook, Edward flutters around the temple pillars, slashing out razor-sharp gusts of air. Roserade leaps before the first can hit it and hops from pillar to pillar, feet leaving a column just as air cuts into the marble.

“Don’t let it play with you,” the Champion orders, and it plants itself on a pillar, taking gashes to the cape and shoulder as it closes its eyes.

Edward’s wings lock up at the shock of psychic energy. Satisfaction plays around the Champion’s lip as it approaches the ground, shellshocked, but the bat shakes it off and struggles into the sky again before it can crash.

“Ha,” Dawn crows. “Inner Focus, bitch!” Ignoring Ingo’s half-stifled snort, she flings her hand out as Roserade begins to glow again. “Fly!”

Edward climbs high, out of reach, and prepares for a divebomb. The Champion only smiles. “Synthesis,” they order.

"Frick," Dawn says.

Roserade’s gashes glow green and close up. Twirling just as Edward approaches, it throws a bouquet into the bat’s face, releasing a clap of psychic power.

Dawn recalls her Crobat before it can hit the ground. “Aerial Ace,” she shouts, and her Staraptor throws itself into a barrel roll before it’s so much as materialized from its beam of light.

The Champion clucks their tongue as Roserade disintegrates. Even as it falls, the Lucario statue to their right roars, shards of stone flying off as it clashes its arms together.

“Stone Edge,” the Champion orders.

“Close Combat, Justine!”

Pillars of jagged stone burst from the ground. Justine threads the needle, barely scraping through as two slabs close in on her – feathers flutter in her wake. Lucario tries to shield behind a rapidly-forming ridge, but the Staraptor’s powerful talons crunch through, sending more shards of rock grazing against her chest and legs but pummeling Lucario with her claws and wings. “Finish it with Quick Attack,” Dawn orders her, and Justine rams into the Aura Pokémon’s chin with enough speed to snap its head back.

“That lead didn’t last long, did it?” she taunts the Champion, who huffs, smile sharp over their face.

“Let’s see how you’ll handle this!”

The Togekiss rising behind them casts gleaming white wings over their back, feathers practically merging into the white of the Champion’s robe as it bursts over their head and barrels forward, trilling at ear-piercing pitch.

Dawn stumbles back. Ingo catches her before she can fall, which she tosses him a distracted nod of thanks for before assessing that Justine isn’t the best match for this fight.

The recall beam hits Staraptor just before the Togekiss does. It pulls sharply out of its dive, momentum abruptly gone as it hovers in the air. Dawn shakes off the now-regular feeling of reality leaking at its seams and sends out her Luxray, calling, “Arthur, Discharge!”

The wash of electricity is weak, compared to moves like Thunder, but Togekiss is fast – Dawn’s more than willing to trade power for accuracy. Togekiss’s Aura Spheres drop like meteors into the tile, but Arthur prowls through the meteor storm with a feline predator’s grace, Discharging all the while. When the Jubilee Pokémon’s wings finally lock up, Dawn calls for a Thunder Fang, and Arthur leaps to catch the bird in crackling jaws.

Togekiss turns into mud between its fangs and drips down its front, coagulating in dirt-gray stripes like tear tracks down its fur. Arthur doesn’t react, even when the statue closest to it bends closer to roar in its face.

Dawn recalls it, almost fumbling the pokéball and hastily returning it to her belt. Garchomp. Not a good match for Arthur, anyway.

This is it. She’s reached their ace – well, Cynthia’s, anyway. She isn’t sure where Garchomp places on Volo’s team, not without free rematches and an electronic Pokédex telling her his team’s levels, but if this is some kind of mix of both of them taken from her memories then it’s got to be pretty powerful, and she’s running low on teammates.

Luckily, she’s got her own secret weapon. …if it made it here. But everyone else on her team did, right?

Dawn selects a ball and throws it onto the field. “Go!” she calls. “Dialga!”

Time stops as the dragon bursts from its ball.

Rings of grayscale pulse over the world. The battle damage in the temple’s marble deepens, scabs over– decays into papier-mâché slurry– erases like it was never there.

Garchomp screeches and lowers into a headlong tackle, kicking up tiles in its wake that reverse course/vanish/fly straight and true/crumble into dust.

Dialga turns to meet it in stop-motion, a bellow bursting from it before it opens its mouth, and the Unown thrash wildly

until

B ^r

and, like a television shutting off, everything

Static-silence laps at the world before sound washes back in. “ – the power of an Almighty Sinnoh,” Professor Laventon is saying, in and over Rei’s gasps of “ – incredible!” and “ – was that how it was when – ?” Dawn throws them a grin, but she’s distracted – the battle isn’t over til you get the prize money, and after Volo’s little Aftermath trick with Giratina, twice, she isn’t keen to let her guard down.

Sure enough – “Please stay behind the yellow line until the train has come to a complete stop,” Ingo warns them. A lone Gastrodon – West Sea – stands, squelchingly, under a distortion-ripple sky.

“Do you really have to fight it?” Rei whispers. “I mean, it’s just standing there.”

“Menacingly?” Dawn asks.

“I mean, kinda.”

Ingo tips his head. “The wind is beginning to pick up,” he observes grimly. “I’d estimate we have only a few minutes before the distortion pulls away from this platform, whether we’ve boarded the correct train or not.”

“You haven’t reached your station yet!” Emmet signs, hands sharp and insistent. “Aim for victory! Don’t give up!”

“Don’t give up!” Rei echoes. Soon they have a little chant going, Rei and Laventon shouting, Emmet clapping along with their words. At a nudge from the professor, Ingo joins in: stomp, stomp, clap. Stomp, stomp, clap.

Connections threaten to spark – cheering stands? A champion cup? Dawn hastily shakes off the memory. “Thanks, but that makes it really hard to think!”

The chant sheepishly staggers to a halt, leaving only the distortion noises. Arceus. That’s worse.

Okay. She doesn’t have anything super-effective against Gastrodon. It’s another ground-type, so Arthur is still out, and Justine is weak. That leaves– “Dipper.”

The Alakazam lights from its ball… and immediately meets a wave of mud. Crap. With mud covering her eyes, there’s no guarantee Dipper’s next attack will hit, and with time counting down by the second, Dawn can’t afford a stall battle. The pressure is crushing.

Even going up against Cyrus wasn’t this bad. If the world ended, no one would be around to know she’d failed, but if she goes down here, she’s taking everyone with her.

Distortion whistles in Dawn’s ears. She claps her hands over them, but it’s inside her head. She can’t think! She’s going to lose, and she’s going to be trapped forever in a bubble out of time, and even if her mom or Cynthia or whoever thinks to look for her in Hisui they’ll never find her because she’s going to be lost –

A gentle ping resounds, echoing softly behind her eyes. Like a drop of rain hitting a pond, her worries dissipate. Each ripple floating over the pond’s still surface carries them further away.

Calm Mind.

Without Dawn’s orders – acting only on its own – the fake copy of her Alakazam raises a ruthless spoon and Psychics the Gastrodon into oblivion.

A chime in broken pieces echoes through the distortion bubble. The wind picks up, faster now, eddies of white whipping over the purple sky.

“That’s it, right?” Rei demands.

“You did it, my girl!” Laventon cheers.

Dawn pays neither of them mind, dropping to her Alakazam’s side and staring deep into her eyes. “It’s really you, isn’t it?” she asks. “The others weren’t real, but you’re really here somehow.”

Dipper nods.

Dawn shudders, terrified and elated all at once. “You know I’m safe, right?” she begs her Pokémon. “You can tell them I’m safe! Tell them where to find me!”

Dipper nods again, more firmly this time, sincerity and love brimming in her brown eyes. Dawn goes to throw her arms around her and falls right through.

Emmet, too, is beginning to turn transparent. “Don’t go,” Ingo pleads. “You can’t leave yet, Emmet! There’s so much I need to ask you. So much I don’t remember!”

They’re a matching pair: one white, one black, in pristine subway coats and ties; one reaching forward, one stepping away. “Emmet and Ingo… your combination is the best,” the one in white says, the fire from his lantern tracing a sorrowful smile. “But I am not Emmet. And ghost and psychic are not the same.”

“They’re very different types,” Ingo agrees absently, frown sad but thoughtful as he raises a hand to his chin.

“Verrrrrry different,” his reflection chimes.

“Psychic-type…” Ingo paces, the spotless hem of his coat flaring out as he strides in tight arcs. “The Elite Four,” he mutters. “What is her name, what is her name… Dawn!” he shouts, abruptly whirling on her. “Who are the members of the Sinnoh Battle Frontier?!”

“Palmer,” she answers immediately. “Dahlia, Darach… No, wait. He’s the one who usually fights, but he’s just the valet. Technically, the Castle Queen is –”

“Of course,” Ingo whispers. He draws in a deep breath –

– and bellows loud enough to shake the earth.

In modern Unova, a young woman will bolt upright in her sumptuous bed, sheer curtains billowing with the force of the psychic shout which wakes her.

“Well,” Caitlin will breathe, when her pulse calms and the ribbons in her hair stop fluttering. “This promises to be a very long day.”

A smile will break like dawn over her face as she brings her hands to her heart. “I’m sure everyone will be very pleased to know he’s alright.”

In Sinnoh, a young man’s quiet porchside meditation will be interrupted when an Alakazam drops out of the sky and knocks him over. “Oof,” Lucas will groan. “Dipper? You’re not exactly the star I expected to see falling tonight.”

A teal-blue aura will pick him up and set him on his feet, and he’ll laugh, giving the Alakazam a tentative rub between the ears. “Thanks, girl,” he’ll murmur, petting a little more firmly when she leans into his hand. “You know I’ve always got a place for you, but I thought you were staying with…” Dawn’s team. Lucas will swallow, shaking his head. He still can’t bring himself to say her name. “Did something happen?”

Sadness at the leaving, but joy! Joy! Second-trainer/gateway-of-my-mind She-who-shines-bright/one-who-is-called-Dawn shines still!, she will reply, and show him a memory. “Tell them that I’m safe,” the Dawn from then-now-then will order, scared but so so strong. Alive and loved and loving, shining bright-through-dream.

Lucas will gape at her. “You… found her?” He’ll rub at his eyes, abruptly awake. “This isn’t a prank or something, is it? You really found her?”

Confirm! Thumbs-up. Smile! Happy! Confirm! She’ll give him a psychic shove. Go! Serious Kadabra-human!

“Right!” Lucas will dart inside the villa and grab his hat and bag, heedless for once of the doors slamming behind him.

“Ngh… Lucas?” Barry will ask, looking up blearily from brushing his Floatzel. “Careful, I think you’re turning into me.”

“You can fine me later,” Lucas will grin, bouncing on his toes in front of the doorway. “Or Dawn can, when she gets back!”

Barry will scramble to shake Lucas by the shoulders – knocking over Floatzel, who will yawn and return to its ball. “You wouldn’t lie to me, right? You really found her?!”

Lucas will laugh and call for Dipper. “Race you to the Professor,” he’ll smirk, vanishing in the glow of a Teleport.

Barry will swear, a huge grin taking over his face. His Staraptor will startle awake with a squawk as its perch, Lucas’s Infernape, vanishes out from under it, and Barry will compound its balance issues by throwing himself over its back. “C’mon, after them!” he’ll demand, thumping a fist into its feathers as he points straight ahead. “We gotta get to Sandgem Town!”

Staraptor will give him a dour look and tilt, leaving Barry laughing sheepishly and struggling to stay astride. “Or… we could be smart, hit the League, and tell them to get to the Professor’s ASAP?”

Staraptor will caw approvingly and take off like a rocket. Barry will scream.

The Resort Area’s gossip for months afterwards will involve a boy who crossed the Veilstone Strait upside-down and hanging, one-legged, from a bird.

The distortion sphere vanished in a soap-bubble pop, leaving Dawn, Ingo, Laventon, and Rei in the Highlands, painted gold in the light of the setting sun. Unown streamed in every direction across the sky, looking for all the world like a flock of Starlies dislodged from a tree, and Dawn frowned up at them, hand going to a satchel that wasn’t there. “I hope no one expects me to track those down again,” she muttered.

Professor Laventon stifled a snort. “No, my dear, I think we’ve all had more than enough of those odd creatures.”

He shimmied awkwardly out of the satchel and held it out to Dawn, who took it gratefully, touching each pokéball on her belt to reassure herself everyone was still there. Rei went to return Ingo’s ‘mon to him as well, but drew up short. The Warden was sitting in the grass, hunched over and shaking.

“Um… Warden?”

Rei set a hand on his shoulder. Ingo violently wrenched away from the touch, just as Lady Sneasler barreled over the ridge on all fours. When she saw who was there, her hackles settled, but she still forced her way between Ingo and the others and stood there, growling lowly.

“Oh, gods,” Dawn muttered. “This is all my fault. Ingo? Ingo, I’m really sorry. I didn’t –”

“Enough,” he interrupted. She flinched back as his voice cracked, and he sighed, using Lady Sneasler as a handrest to drag himself to his feet. “I am not upset,” he said, adjusting his hat. It was tattered again, or, perhaps, had been tattered the whole time they were trapped. “Or,” he clarified, “I am not upset at you. You have also been gravely affected by this incident, which, as we have discussed, happened through no fault of your own. As such, I cannot accept your apologies.”

She nodded, drawing in on herself. “But… you’re still upset.”

He moved to step towards her. Lady Sneasler blocked his path, sniffing worriedly at his face, and he chuckled tiredly and patted her shoulder. “Thank you, but I am alright,” he told the Noble. “I will see to you in a moment.”

Sneasler huffed and licked a long stripe up his forehead, knocking his hat off and ruffling his hair. “Thank you, sir,” he said flatly.

“Sneas,” she chirped. She swiveled to glare at the other humans, pointing her claws at her eyes, then their little clump – “Sneas? Ler.” – then scampered off to give them all a little space.

Dawn bent for his hat and held it out to him, eyebrows arching, worried, as her hand remained outstretched.

Ingo sighed again, eyes falling closed and mouth turning up at the corners. “I fully intend to make good on the promises I made to you within that… phantom station,” he told her, taking the hat and settling it back on his head. “However, I require some time to process. I have learned I have a brother and lost him again in the same night, and now that I have remembered the shape of my precious partner, I find there are more cars waiting insistently to be hitched.”

He accepted his pokéballs back from Rei, too, tracing bare fingers over the wooden surface. “Did I have other Pokémon, before coming here?” he wondered. “What sort of Pokémon did my brother – did Emmet use? I cannot recall.”

Dawn nodded, mouth set firm and determined. “We’ll find out,” she swore, then scuffed her foot. “I mean, um.”

“I would be grateful for your assistance,” Ingo agreed. “But not tonight.” He released his Alakazam, then hesitated, looking between it, Dawn, and the others. “It’s getting late,” he said, bringing a hand to his chin, “and the Highlands are no place to travel in the dark. What do you say you borrow my Alakazam here for a nightowl back to Jubilife?”

Rei and Laventon looked at each other nervously, but Dawn clapped her hands together before they could politely decline. “That’d be great,” she enthused. “We’ll have him on a round ticket back to you in no time, Uncle Ingo!”

Ingo sputtered, but Alakazam had already pointed his spoons together and disappeared the group. Rei and Laventon were the only ones to watch Ingo drag his hat over his suddenly-hot cheeks – Dawn was too busy burying her own blush in her hands.

Rei went to nudge her, but Laventon caught him by the collar and dragged him back, shaking his head. “Poor girl’s had a long day,” he whispered. Rei kicked a pebble, but nodded in agreement.

“Can I give you a hug, before you go?” Dawn was asking Ingo’s Alakazam, who nodded and drew her close. “Thanks,” she whispered into its shoulder. “I just didn’t get one before, so…”

It patted her head, and she laughed, scrubbing an arm over her eyes. “I’m okay,” she told it. “We got back safe, Dipper’ll tell everyone I’m fine, and I’ve got my team here to cuddle in the meantime.”

“How are you planning to cuddle a Voltorb?” Rei asked warily.

“I dunno, but we’ll find out,” Dawn grinned. She patted Alakazam on the shoulder. “See? I’m fine. Go keep Ingo company, okay?”

Alakazam vanished, and the spell keeping Jubilife Village silent popped like the distortion bubble. Whispers broke out around the villagers, who muttered to themselves or hurried into houses, and Dawn’s shoulders were falling before Beni stalked towards them with a dark look on his face.

All Laventon wanted to do was run away himself, but in a burst of courage he threw his arms over Dawn’s shoulder. “Just a spot of research,” he loudly declared. “Professor business, you know! Dawn didn’t want to go on this late, but I insisted.”

“I thought her name was Akari,” Commander Cyllene said from the Galaxy steps.

Rei stepped up on Dawn’s other side, hands on his hips. “It was,” he replied, “but she’s going by Dawn now.”

“Hm. I see.”

“Captain,” Beni whinged, “she brought a Pokémon into town, without even checking through the gate! And not any Pokémon, either, but a grown psychic!”

“I saw,” Cyllene replied. “As I recall, you have two fully-grown psychics yourself, Galaxy Team Beni. Clearly, there was no harm done; the Pokémon left immediately. And, if I may say so, the Pokémon in question demonstrates that Ninth-Star Survey Recruit Akari – excuse me, Dawn – shows great discernment in matters of taste.”

The Abra bobbing at her side tilted its head at him. Beni paled.

A thin smile tugged at a corner of Cyllene’s face. “Will that be all, chef?” she asked calmly.

Beni grumbled, but obediently turned away.

“Oh, sensei!” Rei fumbled. “Are we still on for stealth training tomorrow?”

The old man heaved a sigh and trudged back to his restaurant, shaking his head. Rei grinned. “That means yes,” he whispered to the others.

Laventon shook his head, grinning. “I don’t know how the two of you get along, my boy.”

A harsh sound from Dawn drowned out Rei’s reply. Everyone started towards her, alarmed by the resurgence of her sobbing, and she threw her arms around them all, dragging them into an uncomfortable group hug.

“Explain yourself at once!” Cyllene bit out, pulling herself free.

“Nothing,” Dawn laughed, eyes shining in the evening light. “I’m just glad to be back.”

Laventon bundled her close, Rei snickered wetly, and Cyllene hmphed, but kept a watch over them all. “We’re glad to have you here, too.”