Chapter 38 – Day 14, Part 6: Roots

Chapter 38: Day 14, Part 6 – Roots

To this day, Fenn had no idea what his title would be.

His father was The Volcano, so that was not an option. Supposedly the Typhlosion earned it himself. “It took prestige and heroics unrivaled!” was his explanation. A true warrior’s trial had to be overcome to attain a warrior’s title.

Only problem was that…Fenn failed to understand what that meant.

Clearly he had to figure it out, but how? Was it through a battle in the war that his father earned it? Did he save the lives of hundreds? Fenn couldn’t do that; the war was over!

And as expected, trying to decipher this riddle his father had given him caused Fenn’s head to spin for the umpteenth time. It never got any easier, either.

Years had gone by now, and the young Quilava still wondered if it was all fruitless. But Fenn still tried. His future depended on it.

There was a bench off the path where Fenn sat and considered his life’s path for a moment. Just a few houses down from the creek, the change of scenery was nice. Orange, brown, and reddish leaves fluttered down the path, accumulating into little clusters and fighting for dominance against the blades of grass nipping at the bench’s legs. Weeds accompanied the grass like skinny, disorderly freeloaders; Nanab in general was overdue for a proper weed whacking.

…Oh, yikes. Fenn just realized that a cluster of weeds on the other side of the trail hadn’t been trimmed once in years. With all of the daydreaming and staring off into space he often found himself doing, Fenn noticed these things from time-to-time. No one had bothered to provide any care outside of the main path itself. “Overdue” was an understatement.

In fact, Fenn recalled this bench in particular from his younger years. Compared to everything else in Nanab, it was quite new. So new that Fenn remembered the days before it was built, and how he played near the spot after his sister was born.

Oh right. Clary.

Fenn’s ear twitched, a frown gradually forming without much thought. Clary…That Cyndaquil had too much to worry about with her classes already—what was she doing in a mystery dungeon a couple weeks ago? Especially one here and not closer to her campus.

His frown deepened. What was she doing trying to be like Fenn, anyway? Why wasn’t she studying, or something? The Quilava hadn’t taken the time to think about it much, but it really bothered him how nonchalant she was about it. Or how nonchalant their parents were about it, too, for that matter. It was like nothing had transpired and all of those warnings meant nothing.

Back when they were both Cyndaquil, Fenn and Clary used to play all the time. They had their little moments, sure, but overall they got along. Then Fenn had to get serious about his training and Clary showed signs of being a gifted student. Not long after that they drifted apart and…that was it.

To this day Fenn could barely say that he knew her at all. She didn’t even live at home anymore.

Fenn leaned back into the bench, letting his lower body slide forward, sighing. If only he could go back…

(…)

(…)(…)

(…)(…)(…)

Although Fenrir’s mother had reminded him to be careful carrying his little sister, neither she nor his father seemed to mind it when the Cyndaquil took the smaller Cyndaquil with him outside to play. In a hasty voice his mother shooed him off while his father told him to go distract himself. Fenrir found their tones to be a bit worrying, which was why he was so quick to leave.

He didn’t go far. Just a few blocks down towards Yarrow’s house. He knew the path, so if his parents were concerned at least Fenrir could reassure them afterwards. Thankfully, during a sunny Spring day like this, there was nothing to worry about.

Skipping along, Fenrir glanced over his shoulder at the near-infant on his back. “A-and this is the way to Yarrow’s house,” he explained with a smile.

His sister opened her mouth real wide, trying her hardest to sound out the word. “Yaaaaabbbb- looowww,” Clary blabbered. “Yablab- blablow!”

“Yarrrrrrooooww,” Fenrir giggled. “W-we have got to work on your enunciation.”

“Enuniblah?”

“Y-yeah, enunciation.” A word his mother had repeated a few times during Fenrir’s youth. Back then he had a hard time saying it as well, which was why he used it as an example. If a kid could pronounce a big word like that, they’d be set.

So Fenrir did what his mother often did and spelled it out for his sister. “E-” Fenrir started.

“Eh-“

“-nun-“

“-nubb-“

“-ci-“

“-seee-“

“-a-“

“-ah-“

“-tion.”

“-subwaa!” And she threw up her arms in success.

Fenrir shook his head. “You’re so silly, C-Clary.” She’d get it eventually.

The Cyndaquil simply giggled, content in the idea that she triumphed over the limitations behind her toothless mouth.

Continuing along, Fenrir’s steps took on an additional bounce. Even though they were skipping along just fine before, bigger steps led to a bumpier ride, and Clary giggled like she was on a roller coaster. “Havin’ fun?” Fenrir asked in an exaggerated accent. “Y-yer ma passenger, Clary!’

More giggling followed, along with Clary’s little paws batting the back of Fenrir’s head in joy. “Gof-gote-Fewir!” she cheered. “Gof-gote!”

Flinching slightly, as even baby Clary’s paws still hurt a little, Fenrir’s pace only quickened. “H-heh, yeah. I’m a Gogoat! Meeh!” Like a proud, majestic creature Fenrir popped up on two legs and flailed his arms in front of him. “Me-e-eeh!”

And without fail, Fenrir’s careless display led to Clary tumbling off of his back and onto the dirt path. “Yaay- oof!” Her childish giggling came to a halt almost immediately. On her belly and with surprise on her face, it took several seconds before what had just happened registered with her. When it did, she hiccuped and tears began to prick at the Cyndaquil’s eyes.

The first few hiccups were all Fenrir needed to know that a dam was about to break. Many sleepless nights had already been wasted thanks to a new infant in the house. He kicked himself internally, even though he swore she didn’t hit the ground that hard.

Fenrir was at her side within an instant. “W-waitwaitwaitwait!” he cried. “I’m sorrysorrysorry!” Fearful embers were flying from the vents on his back.

Clary’s bottom lip quivered as sobs threatened to break through.

No time to think, Fenrir had to find a way to prevent an outburst before it ruined both of their evenings. But what could he do? Fenrir was not his mother with her soothing voice or his grandpa with his joyful words of wisdom.

His head shot from left to right, more embers flying from his back. He twiddled with his paws…the solution didn’t come easy. Eventually, however, one question surfaced in his mind and gave Fenrir the clarity to fix this problem.

What did his parents do to calm HIM down when Fenrir was close to crying?

Stories. They told him stories.

Stories of adventurers and exploration. His favorite.

Realization flashing across his face, Fenrir gasped. “C-Clary!” he stuttered. “The Feud Expedition!”

Clary sniffled, her attention now on Fenrir.

“Th-the Mountain was on that one!” Fenrir explained. “It was so cool a-and it’s why we have roads!”

“Row…?” Clary hiccuped, confused.

Fenrir thrust both of his paws into the dirt with a fervent display of eagerness. “This! We have roads…b-because of the Feud Expedition!”

Clary’s mouth opened wide in an ‘O’ shape. A silent gasp.

“They were all w-warriors!” he continued with such enthusiasm that the four vents on his back ignited. “They saved pokemon! A-and they were strong!” Fenrir put his paws on his hips and pointed his snout up high. “I-I’m gonna be just like them some day!”

While Fenrir’s storytelling could have used some work, it wasn’t like Clary understood what he was saying anyway. That didn’t matter, though. His enthusiasm was infectious, spreading from one Cyndaquil to another. Clary sat up and smiled brightly.

“Wa-wa!”

“Yes! Wa-wa!” Fenrir agreed. “J-just like dad!” Some day he’d be as strong as his father—capable of tackling Figy Forest all on his own. No more fear, no more crying. His parents would have no choice but to trust him from then on.

“Dadda!” Clary giggled. Her arms swung from side-to-side for another ride. While her brother’s words were lost on her, she likely wanted to have just as much fun as he was having.

And good, Clary stopped crying. Stories worked. Had Fenrir known how to stop himself from rambling they’d be back on the road by now. But just like his sister, the older Cyndaquil was an excitable kid, too.

Fenrir hopped in place. “G-grandpa Aconite, too!” he declared. “I’m gonna explore just like him!” A grin was formed. There was so much to see, so much to discover in the world. It was downright impossible to conceptualize just how far the horizons stretched; not even grandpa knew.

For Fenrir, it would be different. Not only would he live up to his father’s expectations, becoming a warrior to surpass all that came before him, but he would ALSO travel further than his grandpa ever thought possible! Fenrir would be famous and get his own title!

The dirt beneath his feet sizzled—hot with the joy of determination. He scooped up Clary with strength previously unseen and dropped her onto his back. “Come on!” he told her with flames blazing sporadically. “I-I wanna start now!”

Clary didn’t even mind the flames directly behind her. Perhaps she didn’t even notice, as she was too busy goading on her big brother. “Eggs-plooooowww!” Flames occasionally spewed out of Clary’s own vents, wildfire mixing with even wilder fire.

A smoke trail followed the Cyndaquils on their way to adventure.

(…)(…)(…)

(…)(…)

(…)

Fenn spent some time staring off into space on the park bench. For the most part, he wanted to relive some moments from his childhood that he had forgotten. Simpler times, easier times. In reality, however, moving on meant deciding on where to go next. And despite claiming to be ready in his head, lethargy glued his paws to the ground.

The choice itself was not difficult. He had already traversed the east side, now it was time to head back the way he came through the west. What made Fenn freeze with fear was the fact that he would be forced to acknowledge…the cemetery.

Nanab had one of those, though it was tucked away in a sorrowful little corner, out of sight. Being a town for retirees, pokemon passing away was a common occurrence. Visiting the grounds was even more common; veterans and guests from the outside arrived with flowers every day.

Fenn was simply one of many. With a single dandelion in paw, Fenn tentatively approached the black metal archway. Graves littered the grounds beyond—a world that everyone in town appreciated and resented just the same.

I shouldn’t be here…Fenn thought. His ears drooped while his free paw was used to rub the other. Walking any further was like trying to push past a wall of bricks.

Meticulously engraved in the archway were a few words…

“Nanab Town Cemetery”

“May we rest, may we shine”

(…)

(…)(…)

(…)(…)(…)

When Fenrir and Yarrow were trapped in the dungeon there was a moment where they elected to hide. An alcove in the gnarled branches was just tight enough to grant them passage while also blocking off any would-be monsters. Back then, they waited and waited until help arrived—an excruciatingly long haze in Fenrir’s memory that still caused him to shiver just thinking about it. Thorns poked into his fur and branches like fingers compressed him, constricting him. He could barely breathe. His vision had shortened and blurred, eventually becoming so suffocating that all he could do was shut his eyes.

So, when he saw his mother crying one day it was like he was trapped in the dungeon all over again. His heart beat like a drum in his ears, flashes of that same dread filling his mind.

Something wasn’t right. His parents out of nowhere brought him to this…place—this scary garden of stone flowers jutting out of the ground. He wanted to go home, but neither of his parents allowed it.

In a stern voice his father had told him to follow. Nothing more—no explanation or reason. Fenrir assumed that this was just another trip; at some point there would be a lesson to be learned.

But there never was.

After his head started to hurt he dashed for his mother. He had to help her like a warrior would, right? Even if Fenrir was scared, that was what warriors did.

And then his father grabbed him. Pulled him back and reminded him to be quiet. Again, no explanation.

There were other pokemon there. Some he recognized and some he didn’t. Occasionally they shot him a glance, only to look away. Each one was quiet, and sad. Fenrir could see it on their faces.

All the while, Fenrir watched from a distance. He had no choice; every time the Cyndaquil expressed a desire to get closer the Typhlosion over his shoulder snapped at him, gradually becoming fiercer and fiercer in tone. The two of them were alone, looking in.

Eventually, he overheard one of the adults mention Grandpa Aconite by name. That alone lit a spark in Fenrir’s vents. If his grandpa was here then things would be alright.

The last time Fenrir saw his grandpa the Camerupt was sick and bedridden. The elder and his grandson talked a little and played a little game, but eventually Fenrir had to leave. He was assured that his grandpa would be better soon.

Fenrir hoped he was better now. Was that what this was about? Some kind of announcement, or…?

The focus changed. A large, wooden object was brought in by a quartet of massive pokemon. Every pair of eyes in the garden watched the object, and when it was set down one of the pokemon began to speak. Grandpa Aconite was mentioned again…and again…and again.

His heartbeat made it difficult to comprehend what was being said. Regardless, it was doubtful that Fenrir’s reaction would have been much different if he could comprehend what was happening. The pounding in his ears, his mother crying, a lack of understanding of what was going on and where his grandpa was…

A dandelion was placed on top of the object.

Tears started to fall. This was a nightmare comparable to being stuck in Figy Forest again. No, worse. Even after that harrowing experience in the mystery dungeon, Fenrir still had his grandpa to give him comfort. But now…

Fenrir wanted to just…understand.

Again, his father snapped at him. Harsher this time than any before. The Typhlosion’s furious scowl made Fenrir want to cry harder.

But he couldn’t. He had to stop, suck it up, and be quiet.

His father had told him this: “Warriors don’t cry.”

(…)(…)(…)

(…)(…)

(…)

Fenn couldn’t do it. The brick wall proved to be too firm, and the Quilava walked out of the cemetery with a dandelion still tightly gripped in his paw. Even still, the wind attempted to pull him back—invisible hands grasping at his neck so as to stop him in his tracks. Embers popping from his forehead betrayed him, floating downwind past the cemetery archway.

At first, he sucked in air through his teeth, plodding down the trail on two feet. Fenn clutched his arm as though it would fall off, but there was no rush. There really shouldn’t have been. With how heavy his own fur stuck to his skin, though, Fenn struggled to prevent his vents from popping right off of his flesh. The further he went, the harder it became to ignore.

There eventually came a point where the gritting of his own teeth became unbearable, where his own flames abandoned him. A fire type’s flames were often characterized as hundreds of tiny versions of the flame’s wielder in many of the stories Fenn had read. Now more than ever he wanted to spit in the face of every writer that established that concept.

No matter how much Fenn wanted to…he…

I…can’t…

That was the final straw. Flame vents at full ignition, Fenn hit the ground running as fast as he possibly could, refusing to look back. A dandelion fluttered to the ground in his wake.

It didn’t matter where he went; as long as the distance between him and the cemetery was significant, that was fine with him.

I can’t do this…

I can’t…

I’m just…a coward…

Far from the path he strayed, off to anywhere but here. All of this was just…too much. Fenn wasn’t the least bit ready. And that was why he left town in the first place, wasn’t it?

…No, not left—ran. Ran from his future. Ran from himself.

Outside of Nanab there was no such thing as “Fenn, The Warrior”. As cruel as Anemone was…she was right about that.

But just the same, “Fenn, The Warrior” had no place in Nanab either. That was why the real Fenn had to run.

So…where was he? If not here or there where was “Fenn, The Warrior?”

Well, all Fenn knew for certain was where he was now. The fur standing on his back wouldn’t allow him to forget. Skidding to a halt, Fenn’s snout craned upward.

Orderly, imposing, malignant—the trees of Figy Forest formed a wall all too familiar to the Quilava. An infinite blackness peeked through the cracks of layered trees, compounded by spindly branches frozen in hateful agony. Fenn could have sworn he saw one of the branches bend in a way that beckoned him closer.

Two weeks prior Fenn had plunged into the depths in search of his sister. Even by then these trees were just as much family as the flowers outside of the town. Unlike the flowers, however, all this place elicited was seething resentment.

Fenn had attempted to burn this forest to the ground on multiple occasions. Both inside and out. Nothing worked. No amount of fire could burn what lived on through pure spite.

As a young Cyndaquil, Fenn was almost certain that his father could pull it off. He had hoped the Typhlosion would some day.

His frown deepened, the grass beneath his toes catching aflame from the sheer heat.

Fenn’s father would never bother. It was doubtful that he ever tried.

Warriors don’t burn down forests.

(…)

(…)(…)

(…)(…)(…)

“I want you to think, Fenrir: what makes a flame burn bright? What makes them burn for longer? Are some flames born stronger than others? …No. Water will extinguish any flame, no matter how powerful. What matters is that you hold the strength to burn so bright that even mighty typhoons cannot stop you. And do you know what you need in order to do that?”

“U-um…I don’t know…”

“You need fuel. Lots of it.”

The Typhlosion gestured to the entrance of the mystery dungeon in front of him. Flames on his shoulders burning as bright as the sun, Fenrir’s father looked down at his son with an expectant smile.

Fenrir twiddled his paws, the flames on his back only ignited out of obligation. Had this not been the first day of his training, the Cyndaquil would have been at school, or having fun with Yarrow.

At first, Fenrir was jumping up and down at the idea of starting his training; he had been waiting to start for months now. But the closer and closer they got to Figy Forest the larger the lump in his throat became, until finally he gulped.

The entrance to the mystery dungeon was pitch black, just like back then. A reigning constant in the fire type’s life. This time, according to his father, he would be going in alone.

“F-fuel,” Fenrir muttered, nodding. “Fires get bigger with f-fuel.”

“Yes,” his father said. “But fuel won’t just appear out of thin air.” He raised his arms while clenching his fists. “If fire type pokemon like us never eat, our flames will grow weaker. A fire can live on its own without proper sustenance-” the Typhlosion shook his head, “-but it will never grow.”

Wait, did that mean that food didn’t count as fuel? So for a fire to grow…it needed a certain type of fuel. “What will make a fire grow, d-dad?” Fenrir wondered.

As a response, the Typhlosion pointed ahead. His gaze was firmly locked on the gap in the trees. “In order for a fire to grow,” he explained, “it needs to survive storms that weaker fires cannot. It needs to train.”

Fenrir slowly glanced inot the infinite blackness that he had avoided for so long. Not much had been said about these mysterious places. No one in his life had attempted to provide more than ominous warnings up to this point. Even after plunging deep into one himself at a young age, not much was explained. His father certainly didn’t want him going back in.

But now he did? What changed?

His flames wavered, his body shivering. “I-I don’t…I don’t wanna go in there…d-dad.”

“You have to.” His father’s voice lowered an octave, almost becoming gentler, but was no less stern. “This is the only way to grow your flame, Fenrir.”

The only way…? Somehow that frightened him more. He barely escaped last time…now his future as a warrior depended on it?

Fenrir took a shaky step back. “I-I’m…I’m s-scared.”

With a sigh, Fenrir’s father leaned down to better be on his son’s level. “Listen, Fenrir,” he grumbled in a half whisper, “I had to overcome the same struggles as you. It was how I became The Volcano.” The Typhlosion put a paw on Fenrir’s shoulder. “You are my son. And as my son I know you can overcome anything.”

The words of encouragement Fenrir received placated him somewhat, but glancing over his father’s shoulder was all it took to reignite his fears. That neverending, all encompassing blackness seeping from the maw of Figy Forest clouded his vision. Once again recollections of monsters chittering and gnashing their teeth in the dark while coiling, gnarled branches trapped him filled his mind.

He had promised Yarrow…never again.

More than anything he wanted to run away. He wanted to beg his father to find another way to train him, help him grow. Fenrir had to ask, “I-i-is this really the only way?” His bottom lip quivered.

What confused him the most was his father’s reaction to that question: he laughed. It was a loud, boisterous laugh, too. “Fenrir, we don’t always get to choose how we grow. A warrior adapts and fights no matter the circumstances. You-” the Typhlosion pointed a finger at the Cyndaquil’s chest, “-are a warrior. Aren’t you?”

That…was right. Fenrir was to be a warrior. His father was one, so he was one, too. By that logic, he would have to overcome the same obstacles. Even if he was deathly afraid…this was what he had to do.

There was no other way. Yarrow…would understand…wouldn’t he?

With a gulp, Fenrir nodded his head. “I-I am. I’m…a warrior.”

His father smiled wide. “Atta boy.”

(…)(…)(…)

(…)(…)

(…)

The days before Fenn entered Figy Forest for the second time were less of a blur than anything that happened after. He could still recall the warmth radiating from his grandfather’s shoulders and the comfort of his mother’s arms. Yes, it was simpler back then, but it also made sense.

Once Fenn started his training and walked between the trees situated right in front of him now, things changed. The repeated absence of both his grandpa and his mother frightened him to no end. It was briefly more complicated—all of the rigorous training and lack of free time confused him. Then he just…got used to it.

That was when it all became a blur. To this day Fenn wasn’t even sure how it happened. It just…did. He managed.

Fenn improved. He began to understand.

It all made sense again.

…But it wasn’t that easy, now was it?

A sigh escaped him.

As the infinite blackness stared back at him, holding out its proverbial paw for Fenn to take, Fenn blew a low-effort Flamethrower back into the void. The flames crackled, spreading from branch to branch. He watched it flare to concerning heights, not once turning away.

Heat could be felt. And yet, that heat wasn’t real. Once Fenn looked away, it would be gone. The bark burned black would be healed within an instant.

Figy Forest was not his friend. It never was. Just because it helped to keep him distracted did not mean that it comforted or cared for him.

Fenn wished that he realized that sooner.

(…)

(…)(…)

(…)(…)(…)

It had been a long week. In between the daily dungeon runs and his studies gradually becoming more demanding Fenrir had not found the time to meet up with his friend. One day passed with a “no, I’m too tired today,” and another soared by with a “sorry, I’m too busy.” The frequency of these excuses seemed to only increase as the days faded away into Fenrir’s subconscious.

Concurrently , while his free time seemed to only grow sparser, the Cyndaquil’s senses grew sharper. His stamina improved; all of a sudden he found himself fighting for longer, his flames burning brighter. Actual, tangible progress!

He could hardly believe it—Fenrir was becoming the warrior he always dreamed of! He was shaking at the prospect of telling Yarrow!

Leaves crunched under his paws as the giddy Cyndaquil skipped down the path, hopping from leaf to leaf. This was a game Yarrow and Fenrir used to play when they were exceptionally bored on days like this. Clary joined in sometimes, when she was old enough, though that wasn’t too significant in the grand scheme of things. The game was never meant to last that long, anyway.

That was the thing, though: it normally wouldn’t. Considering how long Fenrir had been hopping on leaves, the game had long since circled back around to being boring again. Where was Yarrow?

Another few moments passed—enough to almost convince Fenrir to forget about this meeting he had planned and go home. But right on cue he caught sight of some notable orange feathers.

Fenrir’s vents burst alight. “Yarrow!” he beamed. “D-did you forget? I’ve been w-waiting here for like an hour.”

The Torchic’s pace hadn’t risen above a sluggish dawdle, accentuated by the downright disappointed frown on his beak. There was a split second where Fenrir balked, taken aback by how peeved Yarrow seemed.

“Hi,” Yarrow grumbled. “No, I didn’t forget.”

Irked by his friend’s tone, Fenrir’s excitement died down along with his flames. “Th-then why are you…late?” Fenrir wondered.

Yarrow stared at him, brows furrowed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was this important? I didn’t realize.”

Fenrir blinked. The scorn in Yarrow’s voice was getting worse; what did Fenrir do to warrant that? “W-what do you mean?” he sputtered. “I planned this out like a week ago!”

“Pfft!” Yarrow rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you did. Bet you never thought to ask what I thought of that, huh?”

Flames spurted out of Fenrir’s back all over again. Incredulous, Fenrir asked, “W-why are you being so grumpy? I didn’t do anything!” He threw up his paws in exasperation.

That response only seemed to make Yarrow more frustrated and upset. “Grumpy!?” he retorted. “Who’re you calling grumpy!?”

“You!” Fenrir shot back. “I-I just wanted a break and you get all g-grumpy at me about it!”

Yarrow stomped his talon onto an unsuspecting leaf below him; the force behind it caught Fenrir by surprise. “Here!?” Yarrow squawked. “Not even at the playground or my house!? Just on the edge of a sidewalk!?”

Flinching, Fenrir glanced between Yarrow glaring at him and the scenery behind him. They were, in fact, arguing off to the side of the path leading out of town. Fenrir had previously chosen it because he could go straight there after training for that day. Was it so wrong to favor convenience like this?

Fenrir let his paws fall to his side. “Wha- w-we’re too old for the playground, remember!?”

“That wasn’t what I-” Yarrow groaned. “-ugh! Nevermind! There’s nothing to do here!”

“Th-there’s plenty we can do!”

“Like what?”

“L-like…um…” Fenrir’s flames died out completely as he stopped to think.

“See!” Yarrow pointed with a wing before clicking his beak bitterly. “If you weren’t so weird and awkward you’d know how to have fun!”

Fenrir froze up as if he’d been jolted by a thunderbolt. Those words cut deep, right to his core. Because yes, Fenrir had spent the past year or so constantly afraid of those two words: weird and awkward. All of the other kids in his class glared at him with eyes full of disdain, no doubt uttering those words behind his back. None of them were warriors; so they obviously didn’t know what Fenrir had to go through. They didn’t understand!

Yarrow did, though. Yarrow stuck around. Even after he learned that Fenrir broke his promise. No matter what, having Yarrow as a friend reassured Fenrir that he wasn’t weird or awkward. The other kids…they were just jealous! Not everyone could be the son of Gaura, The Volcano, so it was understandable.

But now… Yarrow was calling him weird?

“W-who are you calling weird!?” Fenrir shot back, the fur on the back of his neck bristling.

“You!” Yarrow raised his voice. “You’re the one who spends more time with his dad than his friends! That’s weird!”

Fenrir raised his voice in turn. “Sh-shut up! When I become a w-warrior you won’t be allowed to call me weird!”

Yarrow chirped, “That’s stupid! Really, really stupid!” He shook his head. “You’re gonna be SO AWKWARD when you’re grown up, you know that?”

That was the last straw. Fenrir had had a sneaking suspicion up to this point, but now he was certain. Sure, Yarrow didn’t seem to care that Fenrir had broken his promise to never go into another mystery dungeon; they grew up to understand that it was a stupid idea anyway. But now it was clear that Yarrow just didn’t want Fenrir to be better than him and had hid his true feelings up to this point.

“You’re just j-jealous,” Fenrir said, pointing his paw at the Torchic. “Y-you’ll never be a warrior like me so you’re JEALOUS!”

The Torchic was briefly taken aback, his expression shifting to reflect the impact of Fenrir’s accusation. However, just as quickly, Yarrow’s scowl returned at full-force. “Well…if you’re so cool then I guess you don’t need me to be your friend, then!”

Without missing a beat, Fenrir fired back. “I don’t! I don’t need you!” In fact, not having to rely on Yarrow would only make him stronger. He won’t have to wait around all day for someone that shows up late. That meant more time to train.

Yarrow huffed. “It’s a good thing I’m moving away in a few days!” he fumed. “You’ll never have to see me again!”

“Good!” Fire shot out of Fenrir’s back like Blastoise cannons.

A slight moment passed where Yarrow hesitated. In that moment, something akin to guilt flashed across his face, but Fenrir was too angry to notice. The words got caught in Yarrow’s throat, eventually forming into “Fine! Later, weirdo!”

Smoke puffed out of Fenrir’s nostrils as he watched his only friend stomp off. His only friend…and Yarrow still called him weird. How dare he!

Yarrow didn’t understand. None of them did. Fenrir was going to prove just how little he needed any of them by becoming stronger. Maybe before he wanted more friends…but now he knew that they would just get in the way.

A warrior was strong enough by himself. Relying on someone like Yarrow would just make him weak.

(…)(…)(…)

(…)(…)

(…)

Yarrow really did move out a few days later. Fenn was too distracted at the time to notice, but during multiple instances prior Yarrow had tried to tell Fenn, and Fenn wouldn’t listen.

That boost of bravado Fenn received following their argument…didn’t even last that long. By the time Fenn realized just how much he depended on the Torchic to keep him grounded…it was too late.

A childhood friend…gone, just like that. Maybe if he hadn’t been so stupid as to push Yarrow away their last interaction wouldn’t have been so tainted.

Maybe it was Fenn’s overreliance on Yarrow that turned him away. He took the Torchic for granted, always assuming that Yarrow would be there. Even now Fenn could recall the weeks that followed. To fight away the tears of a weakling, Fenn trained harder than he ever thought possible.

Because really, after that Fenn had no choice. All of the training would have been for nothing otherwise.

The flames were gone now. Figy Forest was just as it was before. A mere blink of the eyes was all it took for the dungeon to shake off Fenn’s attempt at its life, an unsurprising display of impatience.

It knew—it had to—that there was no point in wearing the same guise that it had for years around the Quilava. The eternal blackness beyond those trees held no eyes, and never once glanced back, but an underlying understanding persisted, even still. Fenn could not fundamentally despise something that instilled no hatred within him.

His vents were cold, his gaze expressionless, and his paws were limp at his side. Just the same, the forest leaves grew still. Even the wind had nothing to say.

Countless hours had been wasted, molding Fenn’s body into the visage of an idea. He, at one youthful point in his life, had viewed these trees with fear. Now even that was just an idea, a cornerstone to this moment. Nothing had changed.

Fenn had returned to his hometown to tell his father something important. A reminder—an admittance. Something that Fenn had difficulty rectifying even while he stared down his old friend. That same old friend lacked any advice or…anything at all. Same as the flowers outside of town and the memories that came with them.

Nothing had changed. But if that were true…then Fenn had to ask why he was here.

As Fenn turned and left, leaving behind the dungeon of his youth yet again, the wind picked up. Brown and orange leaves blew by and caught in his fur; he paid them no mind. Time to go.

…Something was different this time, though. Fenn’s ears perked up. Quickly, his head whipped around to glance back at the dungeon.

But nothing was different.

He…could’ve sworn he heard…something. A…voice, even? And yet nothing had changed. Was he hearing things?

Strange. Paying it no mind other than a brief consideration, Fenn continued on. From here, it was more or less a straight shot home. Over the hill, left at the post office, through the patch of lilies a few houses down. This path was often less direct than just sticking to the road. Took longer, too. But it was a path that Fenn preferred each time purely out of habit.

It was only after emerging from the patch of lilies and facing the house on the other side did he remember why.

The house on the other side of the road was a house for rent.

Nanab Town was home to many rental houses that tourists and wealthy pokemon on vacation could stay in for a short amount of time. Fenn’s mother had once told him that Nanab really only remained relevant because of it; a lucrative business such as rental houses increased the town’s long-term profitability. If any random pokemon were to be asked which houses were the expensive vacation homes and which were not, they would undoubtedly make the correct guess every time.

The pokemon of Nanab rarely saw the fruits of this profitability. Sparse and largely incongruent as they were, these rental houses did little to influence much of anything within the local circle. Most could easily forget that they were even there.

The rental house directly ahead of Fenn was really only notable for its commitment to a central theme of bird shaped engravings in the wood and knick-knacks placed on the windowsill. These were added to specifically make the house appear more homely—only distinct to those that didn’t realize just how similar it was to the carbon copy right down the road. Or the one on the other street around the corner. Or the one closest to the town hall.

It was also notable—to Fenn—for…one other reason…

(…)

(…)(…)

(…)(…)(…)

Bzzz…

Bzzz…

BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZ!

Fenrir’s stomach dropped. Despite his best efforts, the Cyndaquil was just too clumsy and slow. Flashes of a searing pain coursing through his body following a nightmare-inducing assault of spikes and mandibles filled his mind. Pain, fear, frostbite inducing chill—all overtaking his tiny body to the point of rooting him in place.

BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZ!

He remembered the speed in which they encroached upon him, the viciousness behind their incessant gnashing and stabbing. At the time, all of those years ago, he had no way of fighting back; running was the only option. But now he had no choice.

BZZZZZ! BZZZZZ!

Fenrir fought back with volleys of red hot flame as the gangly, contorted pointy demons surrounded him, boxing him in. The buzzing became so prevalent that he felt his breath leaving him through sheer overstimulation alone.

Flames scorched through—yet hardly a dent was made in their wake. They pricked and stabbed at him in retaliation.

BZZZZZZZZ!

Sunlight was collapsing.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

His body grew weaker. His arms were becoming numb.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

No more.

FWOOSH!

All of a sudden, an inferno as large as Fenrir himself cleaved a path through the ferals, intense enough to melt straight through. Sunlight beamed on all sides, blinding Fenrir and the beasts within an instant.

A sourness arose in immensity by the second, unclear in its origin or location. Fenrir, drunk with adrenaline, did the first thing that came to mind: kill .

Fire, fire, more fire. Burn it all down until they stop moving. Scream and cry, but not for help; a war cry, that was what it was.

Warriors would not run, even when their throats burned and the ground beneath their feet seemed to be swallowing them whole. When in danger, a warrior’s vents erupt like cannons, the flames themselves becoming the very battalion they control.

A warrior never gives up.

BZZZZZZ! SLASH!

Fenrir squealed in pain. Despite the power behind his attacks, the sheer numbers of the swarm was enough to penetrate his defenses. He tumbled, flailing limbs that were much too stretched out and limp to be usable anymore. And at the same time, the drunken cloudiness of his mind faded—leaving behind a clarity almost too shocking to be believed.

The ferals didn’t stop.

Tears fell like rain while desperate embers flew without direction. The pain only grew.

Would a warrior run now? Would they…would they fight to the death…?

Would…Fenrir…

A stinger punctured his flank, a scythe slashed at his cheek.

No.

Panic won.

Fenrir wanted to live.

FWOOSH!

Frantically, he used the last of his strength to blast away the ferals surrounding him. His very body caught aflame, becoming a wheel that acted as a makeshift, temporary shield.

Something wasn’t right. His body had a different gait to it, a different strength. But he pushed those thoughts aside, instead focusing on running as fast as he could.

His legs hardly worked, yet they were somehow functional enough to just barely evade the monsters.

Fenrir panted heavily. His heart beat fast, his entire body ached.

Through it all, he never stopped-

Not until he passed through an open path in the trees, after which it all faded to white.

— — —

Failure was a bitter cocktail. And the hangover was worse.

Warmth gradually flooded back to Fenrir’s fur as the evening sun slowly bid him a tentative farewell over the horizon. Stifling pressure was replaced with a refreshing stillness, accompanied by the chittering of distant bugs and the chirping of birds. The grass was sparse, yet welcome enough to function as a temporary resting spot; Arceus knows Fenrir needed it.

Relief was overtaken by guilt, however—as simply escaping to safety was no solace. Flecks of blood painted the blades of grass surrounding the fire type, and a prevalent bile lingered on his tongue. He had felt this before.

Poison. And the painful kind, too. Fenrir lacked the strength to move, not that he would so much as try if he could. The real world wasn’t any more forgiving than the dungeon.

How was it that after all of this time Figy Forest still gave him trouble? Was he cut out for this at all?

How could he even show his face back at home? With all of these injuries…? He could see the look of disappointment on his father’s face and the worry on his mother’s already.

If he wasn’t fading out of consciousness Fenrir would have sighed in defeat. He hated making his mother worry. He hated that he had to lay there and wait for the pain to end. He hated how hard this all was. He hated that this happened…again.

And as the soreness in his muscles grew too unbearable to endure, where even the sun abandoned him, Fenrir cursed his own hubris for making him this way. Progress was simply too slow.

…But then there was a voice. One Fenrir had never heard before. The gentle and tender tone of it brought Fenrir out of his poison-addled stupor for only a second. And yet, that was enough.

“Oh geez! What happened to you? Are you oka-“

White faded to black-

— — —

-before fading back to white again.

Musty and sweet smells hit his nose, and Fenrir blinked the exhaustion out of his eyes. Dust particles danced in the air like Volbeats, past his snout and from one blade of sunlight to another; the window shutters could only fight back so much. In fact, one blade pierced his eye, causing him to squint. That had to have been what woke him up.

While the mustiness of this abode that Fenrir found himself in could be owed to the dust, the sweetness was harder to pinpoint. It smelled like an herbal concoction of some sort, and not at all like anything he had ever experienced before. However, as unique as it was, the smell became irrelevant when compared to what accompanied it.

Eyes shifted from the blinds of the window and all of a sudden Fenrir was face-to-face with a birdcage upon a nightstand, a tiny, wooden Starly peering at him through the bars. If he were dreaming then it no doubt would have been alive and chirping at him. Instead, its lifeless eyes gazed at him impassively.

On that same nightstand were two Unfezant—male and female—on either side, functioning as bookends for the high quality furniture. Both were wooden and meticulously carved, as well. Higher up, on the wall, was a shelf adorned with what looked to be more carved bird pokemon. Nearby was a wooden clock, ticking away quietly. Instead of two doors to conceal it, two wooden wings were splayed out on either side. A nest with two eggs poking out was glued to the top of it.

There was a bookshelf. His eyes did not linger on any of the titles he could make out and he couldn’t retain any of them if he tried. Regardless, it was well kept yet caked in dust—only there for show.

All in all, Fenrir had fewer questions than he thought he would. Though once he encountered the chain of thought starting with “how much time had passed?” a quiet panic began to set in, and only then did the aching in his limbs become apparent.

He needed to move. Unfortunately, his own body fought him for every action, intrusive thoughts screaming at him to not even bother. Why should he? What was the point of even moving if he couldn’t hold his own during basic training?

Well, he still tried. The gritting of his teeth failed to prevent him from groaning in pain, but at least he wasn’t completely inoperable.

“Oh, you’re awake- nononono, lay back down, lay back down!”

…And so Fenrir did. His body flopped back down onto the plush sheets like a sack of apricorns. Heated as he was at the sudden command, letting his jelly arms relax was a welcome reprieve. And now he got to see who had spoken.

The voice Fenrir had heard before he passed out unquestionably belonged to this…Audino. It had the same smoothness to it, as though the pokemon in question was constantly singing. With their cream colored fur and frills that reminded him of those fancy doilies at the thrift shop. Those sparkling blue eyes gazed at him warmly, if a bit concernedly, as well. Concern that immediately shot to Fenrir’s stomach.

Fenrir felt as though he had to apologize, and he hadn’t even said anything. But the soft paw gently putting pressure on his back alleviated all of that quickly. As he relaxed back onto the pillow, Fenrir found himself staring for far longer than he intended. His eyes kept darting to the shimmering bits of metal hooked to the Audino’s ears, marveling at how the scant sunlight made them shine.

“Sorry there, buddy,” the Audino said. “You’re still in a bad state; give it a bit longer.”

Fenrir groaned dejectedly. “W…w-where am I…?” he asked.

The Audino chuckled, curling one of his feelers in his paw. “The pumpkin patch. We’ve got apple bobbing right out-” he shook his head, “-sorry, bad joke. You’re in my current house.”

“…Current?”

“The last one I had fell into the ocean…and since my shovel was broken I just bought a new one.” The Audino sighed to himself, though the smile on his face never faded. “This is not working, I need some better jokes.”

While Fenrir was pretty confused—just in general—he still laughed a little at the Audino’s attempt at humor. His jokes weren’t…good, but Fenrir found himself smiling anyway. Strange to think that he was putting himself down just a moment prior.

It seemed that was just what the normal type wanted, as his smile grew slightly bigger after Fenrir laughed. “Sorry, I’m…working on a bit, you know,” he said. “Helps to lower the nerves of the patient if you make them laugh and- anyway, this is my house.”

Which led to Fenrir’s next question. “Wh-who…how…” Or… a question, at least. Eventually. His thoughts were a bit frazzled.

The Audino noticed and held up his paw. “Here, I’ll take the lead,” he suggested, before stepping away to pull over a chair to sit on. “You relax.”

Now that they were more or less at eye level, the Audino properly set the stage. “You can call me Clemat. I’m a traveling physician just trying to make the world that little bit better.” As he talked he reached over and picked up a tray of various snacks, tools, and steaming remedies—the source of that smell. “You don’t have to introduce yourself to me if you don’t want to; I’m just here to help.”

“Not…i-introduce myself?” Fenrir gazed at Clemat quizzically. Some semblance of seriousness was lacking from that smile of Clemat’s, yet there was no sign that he was lying, either. What an odd fellow.

Clemat shrugged. “One of my professors used to talk about how some patients don’t like to get familiar.” He picked up a saucer with a ceramic cup atop of it before setting the tray back on the bed. “Makes them more comfortable. Here.”

With one paw, Clemat aided Fenrir by guiding his neck upright. With the other, the cup was brought to the fire type’s mouth. “Drink this,” Clemat whispered. “Slow sips, slow sips.”

Fenrir, in no spot to object, complied. The tangy, water-like mixture hit his tongue and tickled at his taste buds. Immediately, warmth filled his cheeks. Smooth and sweet, Fenrir gravitated to the taste like a newborn baby in need of succor.

“Like it?”

If his repeated, thirsty sips weren’t any indication, Fenrir nodded just in case. The vents on his back were practically jumping for joy at the provided warmth.

“Good, good…” Clemat slowly pulled the cup from Fenrir’s lips, much to his chagrin. The fire type’s pouting widened the smile on the Audino’s face. “Let’s put that down for now; you can have more later.”

A spark lingered in Fenrir’s mouth. Gosh, that was sweet. “What…w-what was that…?” the quil wondered aloud.

Clemat set the cup down. “Pomeg and Pecha, mainly,” he explained. “With some added Sitrus— should help with the healing process.” The chair creaked a little as he sat. “A growing Quilava like you needs his nutrients.”

Fenrir’s heart sank. “Qu-Quilava…? I’m…I’m not…”

No…no, not like this. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Was that why his limbs felt so…off? Oh Arceus no…

He wanted to cry. Evolution was supposed to be a celebration of strength—of growth. When he was ready his father was supposed to guide him through it; just like how he said he would for years!

It was Fenrir’s next step towards becoming a warrior. And now he couldn’t even have that.

Fenrir ignored the soreness of his muscles and curled in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut. No crying…no crying…no crying…

Clemat shifted in his seat, the atmosphere of the room growing more somber as his voice took on a different tone. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he said quietly. He caressed Fenrir’s fur with a paw. “It’s alright, you’re okay.”

“N-no, I’m not…” Fenrir shook with quiet sobs. “I don’t wanna be a Qu-Quilava yet!” He sniffled. “I-I…I can’t- I…”

“Shh…shh…” Clemat continued to stroke the new Quilava’s fur, soft as can be. “Breathe…breathe…”

Breathe…breathe…

Something about Clemat’s voice brought the Quilava back from the brink. It was as though it were pulling at him, guiding him out of this whirlpool of emotions. Breathe…breathe…in…out…in…out…

The beating of Fenrir’s heart slowed. His breath grew more steady by the second. Soon enough, his muscles relaxed, as well, and he splayed out his limbs in front of him. Fenrir could see now that they were just as long as he feared.

Melancholy pricked at him, but the sorrow was dulled, at least. He let out a shaky sigh.

Clemat leaned back in his chair. “Evolution is a big deal, I know,” the Audino remarked. “It’s all part of growing up. Don’t worry if it’s not perfect.”

That part Fenrir knew. It was just…frustrating. Annoying. So…so…disappointing.

“The important part is that you’re safe now,” Clemat continued. “No more poison, and those wounds of yours will be healed in a few days.”

Fenrir had to know, “H-how bad was it…?”

Shaking his head, Clemat reached over to the tray and retrieved a small hand mirror. “Not good, but well within my capabilities.” He positioned the mirror so Fenrir could see his back end. “The worst was this puncture on your hind leg; you might have to walk with a bit of a limp for a day or two. But you’ll be fine.”

The bandages around his legs said otherwise. Seeing the dark red bleed through the clinical white made Fenrir’s stomach churn. Thankfully, the mirror didn’t linger on it for long.

Clemat turned the mirror slightly, slowly. And Fenrir watched as his entire frame came into view. Up until…it stopped at his face. No longer was there this long snout sticking out between his eyes. Now, a short and angular muzzle took its place.

These pointy ears poked out of his noggin, flicking to and fro as he watched them. Orange-ish red spots split his forehead, too. They radiated with a subtle glow.

Most of all, though, Fenrir peered at his own eyes. Bright red and still sparkling with the aftermath of fresh tears. He blinked– that startled him. The Quilava in the glass did the same. Moved his paw the same. His look, familiar.

For a short moment, Fenrir wondered if he was suddenly staring face-to-face with a younger version of his mother; the subtle worrisome gaze reminded him of her. A latent desire to speak quieter, tread more carefully, arose.

Fenrir had evolved. But that wasn’t right. He was expecting to look a bit more…fierce. Even the small scrapes and bits of missing fur didn’t alleviate that.

“…Huh…” was all that he could say.

Clemat put the mirror down, leaving an even friendlier face to replace the one Fenrir was just staring at. “Congratulations,” the Audino said, smiling. “I know that you might be disappointed now…but I promise things will only get easier from here.”

Well, Fenrir wasn’t celebrating. Thoughts about his father being unhappy with him resurfaced in his mind. How that Typhlosion might make things more difficult from here on out…

The Quilava’s eyes became cloudy. He wasn’t sure what was worse: the shame over evolving too early or the shame over still not feeling ready on top of all of that.

Since Fenrir was floating about in his own mind, he didn’t notice Clemat standing up. Hardly any noise was made in the process. “Take your time, friend,” the physician muttered. “Stay as long as you like—I don’t mind.”

Fenrir’s head rose, following Clemat’s movements. His eyes went wide, too. “W-wha- a-are you sure…?” he stuttered. “I-I wouldn’t want to…”

As the Audino stretched, preparing to walk into the other room, he stood in the center of the carpet. The afternoon sun shined in, highlighting his bright blue eyes and the metal hooked onto his ears. Once again Fenrir couldn’t look away. A new sensation—warmth in both his forehead and lower back—flared to life.

Clemat waved him off. “You’re my patient and I say you deserve to rest. Drink some more of that tea, get some sleep. Whenever you feel ready, you’re free to go.” He approached the open door on the other side of the room and rested his paw on the knob. “If you need me, call for me.”

And with that, the door was shut. Fenrir was left alone with his thoughts once again.

But this time…he had more to consider.

His vents were still warm.

— — —

Knock knock knock!

The door opened. On the other side, an Audino stood with a small stack of papers in his paw. His face, glowing in the light that the sun brought, lit up at the sight of the pokemon on his porch. “Oh, it’s you!” Clemat said cheerfully. “How are you? Feeling better?”

The pokemon in question, Fenrir, smiled sheepishly. “Y-yes,” he replied. “Um…still getting used to…b-being a Quilava.” The awkward way he sat down with one hindpaw lifted higher than the other and how he unconsciously held one arm with the other was a solid indication of that. Only a couple days had passed; things didn’t feel quite right yet. And that wasn’t even taking his limp into consideration.

Clemat chuckled. “Sounds about right. You know how Magikarp jumps straight into being a big, angry Gyarados?”

Fenrir cocked his head. “W-what?”

Paws on his hips and grinning wide, Clemat paused for dramatic effect.

“…

…You know…”

Then he slumped in defeat. “I forgot the joke.”

Joke or not, Fenrir cracked a smile. Whatever it was, he was certain he would have laughed had it been told.

“Anyway,” Clemat remarked, changing the subject, “come on in, I’ll make you some more of that tea!”

Fenrir dropped to all fours and followed Clemat inside. Last time he was here the living area didn’t stick out to him much, though this time around Fenrir found himself padding slower and really taking it all in.

“Give me a moment to get set up,” Clemat said. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“O-okay.” That was pretty obvious.

Clemat’s abode reminded Fenrir of one of those fancy “dollhouses” he had seen at the thrift shop a few times—a human antique modeled after what their homes supposedly looked like. Aggressively showy furniture and decorations alongside an anxiety-inducing, orderly layout. Too many right angles, an excessive amount of paraphernalia, and what looked like four detached, wooden panels plastered to the ceiling. Fenrir could recall this ominous black box in the center of the dollhouse, too, which was thankfully absent here.

As tiny as it was, that black box reminded Fenrir of the portals in Figy Forest. The idea that humans just kept one of those in their safe spaces sent a shiver up his spine. He was glad they weren’t around anymore.

Anyway, Clemat obviously didn’t care much for the design. The window curtains had been removed and placed on the floor, a wooden table was situated in the center of the living room and drowned in stacks of medical supplies, and the large pseudo-bed by the wall was covered in stacks of parchment. The kitchen area was also sectioned off to another room, for some reason. Fenrir understood the need to do that in larger homes, but in a place meant for one or two pokemon it felt unnecessary.

As Fenrir aimlessly stood on the fluffy, washed-out carpet, Clemat called from the kitchen area, “What kind of berries did you want?”

What did Clemat say he put in last time? Fenrir recalled Pecha because that was his favorite, but the rest was a blur. He took a moment to try and remember, cycling through potential scenarios where he asked for the wrong thing. Either that or offended Clemat by not remembering. The thought of doing so made him lock up.

Silence hung in the air long enough for Clemat to poke his head around the corner. “Still there?” he asked.

Fenrir jumped, rubbing his arm anxiously. “U-uh…yeah!” he muttered. “Anything’s fine.” Except it wasn’t. Now the chances that Clemat would be offended by Fenrir’s taste doubled! He rubbed his arm faster.

Clemat shrugged amiably. “I’m not going to put you under again, relax. Take a seat, I’ll be done quickly.”

A few minutes passed. Fenrir awkwardly stepped around Clemat’s supplies and reading material before cautiously laying down on the very edge of the pseudo-bed’s cushions. His eyes were locked on the dead space between the kitchen and Clemat the entire time.

Eventually, the Audino appeared from around the corner with a steaming cup and saucer in his paw. He smiled at his guest. “Maybe next time you can give me a bit of a heads up,” Clemat quipped.

Flinching, Fenrir’s words came out all sputtery. “N-next time?”

“Sure!” Clemat held out the cup for Fenrir to take. “If you get hurt again, that is.”

“Um…”

“No, I don’t expect you to get yourself hurt that badly again,” Clemat interjected, as though he were reading Fenrir’s mind.

“Right…” With that, Fenrir gazed down at the brown-ish liquid in his paws. Not pink like last time…but Fenrir still took a sip.

Bleh. He scrunched up his face and stuck out his tongue, only to regret it a half-second later when he saw the dissatisfaction on Clemat’s face.

“Don’t like it, huh?” Clemat wondered, casually sitting back in a nearby chair.

Fenrir shook his head. Despondent as he was to admit, it just wasn’t something he liked. Too bitter.

Clemat shrugged. “We’ll keep working on it. Oh!” The metal hooked to his floppy ears jangled about as he clapped his paws together. “My bad, I forgot to ask. What brings you here, buddy?”

The liquid inside of Fenrir’s cup swayed a little as the Quilava bit his lip. Once again, he took several moments to come up with an answer. “W-well…”

Meanwhile, Clemat’s eyes grew wide from another recollection. “Ah, darn!” He smacked his forehead. “Did I give you the wrong medicine? Is that why you’re here? Argh, and I call myself a doctor?”

Fenrir nearly dropped the cup in response. “N-no!” he cried. “I’m fine, it’s just…” How was he supposed to say this…?

“…Did you need to tell me something, then?” Clemat watched Fenrir for a moment, clearly still a bit tense. “Are your parents upset with me?”

Again, Fenrir frantically responded, “N-no! They’re…fine.” For the most part.

The reaction Fenrir received once he returned home was to be expected. His father was disappointed to have missed out on seeing his son evolve, and his mother hugged him right as soon as he walked through the door, pleading with him to be more careful. Surprisingly, his parents already knew that he had stayed the night elsewhere; they weren’t that worried. Clemat went out of his way to knock on the doors of some of the neighbors to ask where Fenrir lived. Then, he let Fenrir’s parents know that he was okay. Both had good things to say about the Audino.

It really wasn’t as bad as Fenrir was expecting. His father was even proud to have a Quilava for a son now. “One more step towards being a warrior,” the Typhlosion had laughed. And it was back to the grind the next day.

But…Fenrir didn’t want to get back to the grind. His mind kept drifting back to the little house down the block with the Pidgeys in the window and the friendly doctor wearing those pretty earrings. So much so that it became difficult to think about anything else.

Getting right back to training wasn’t appealing anymore after nearly dying alone.

He looked down at the floor. “I-it’s just that…”

Clemat waited patiently.

Fenrir glanced up, timid. “I um…f-forgot to tell you my name.”

“Your name?” Clemat raised an eyebrow. “You mean-“

“No!” Fenrir cut him off quickly, flame vents sparking slightly. There was no doubt in his mind that Clemat already heard it from Fenrir’s parents. “Not…that one.” Not anymore.

With his new body, Fenrir could run for longer and spew greater flames. Ferals that had previously been difficult to slay would now be a cakewalk, and he was unquestionably stronger, more agile. Even still, his chest grew tighter when he envisioned how Clemat would react to what he was about to say. More than anything, Fenrir didn’t want to mess it up.

A smile popped onto Clemat’s face and he scratched his chin. “Ah, okay,” he said, before casually sinking into his chair. “Well, like I said, you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’m all ears.” His metal earrings jangled about as he swayed his head.

The Quilava laughed at that a tiny bit; it helped to calm his nerves. “Heh, y-yeah…um…”

Big breaths…heart beating fast…he didn’t lay awake all night dreading this to back out now, did he? He had to do it…otherwise he’d never forgive himself.

It took him squeezing his eyes shut and blurting it out to go through with it. “M-my name…is…Fenn…”

“Fenn,” Clemat repeated, before nodding. “It’s a nice name. Fits you, I think.”

Grandpa thought the same…

It was just as much a relief as he thought it would be. Finally, Fenn could relax his shoulders. Hearing that name again was like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

That kind of warmth made Fenn grin without thinking. For the first time since evolving, Fenn was comfortable. Happy, even. He met Clemat’s smile with his own.

“I-I think so, too.”

— — —

“Back again?” Clemat put his paws on his hips. “Don’t tell me you got yourself hurt.”

Fenn winced as he held up a bleeding paw. The blood was mostly dry at this point, though he still needed to clean and dress it. What better pokemon to go to for that than the local physician?

Clemat clicked his tongue. “Alright, alright. Come on in.” Though before leading Fenn inside, Clemat shot one more cordial glance over his shoulder. “And you still didn’t give me a heads up!”

Fenn made an effort to hide his blush.

— — —

“So, what happened this time?”

“H-head hurts…”

Clemat narrowed his eyes, though it was in a knowing sort of way. He wasn’t actually suspicious…Fenn hoped.

“I have some remedies for that.” The Audino motioned for Fenn to follow. “And I actually made sure to clean up this time!”

Embers danced from Fenn’s vents as he trotted after Clemat.

— — —

“You burned yourself?” The incredulity on Clemat’s face was palpable. “Fenn, you need to be more careful.”

Fenn’s ears drooped and he hung his head. If he didn’t say anything Clemat would just forget about it. Right?

Sure enough, Clemat shook his head and stood aside. “Yeah, I would be ashamed, too. Have you ever heard the story about the Eevee who tried to make evolution stone stew?”

Fenn hid his giddiness. It worked! And he would totally laugh at this joke.

— — —

Fenn continued to regularly visit Clemat’s clinic over the course of a week or two. It definitely felt longer than that, though. To this day Fenn was shocked by how little time he spent with Clemat in total.

And there was always some kind of injury—big or small—that preceded their talks. It got to a point where Fenn was worried that Clemat would turn the teenager away, but he never did. No matter how perturbed Clemat was by how often the Quilava showed up on his doorstep, an injury was an injury. They both knew that.

It became routine. To the point where Fenn began to wonder how it would happen again during his training as he made his way to school. Of course, it also became standard practice for Fenn to go out of his way, in the opposite direction, just so he could pass by Clemat’s house in the morning. Even if he never got to see the Audino, it heightened his mood for the day.

One morning, he even got to say hi. His ears perked up once he caught sight of a familiar shade of pink on the front porch. Perhaps a bit too eagerly, Fenn skipped closer.

“M-Mr. Clemat!” Fenn beamed.

“Hm?” Clemat looked up from his daydreams, quickly shifting from being nonplussed to flashing a warm smile. “Oh, Fenn! What are you doing out here so early?”

There was an easy answer to that question, though Fenn stopped himself before he could answer it. In between two of Clemat’s fingers was a small, slender, white object. That alone was perplexing, even without the lingering cloud of smoke rising into the air from the tip of the white object. Fenn tilted his head.

“J-just…just heading to school- um…” Was it rude to ask?

Clemat shot Fenn an odd look. “Something the matter- oh!” It was then that he noticed what had Fenn so confused. He held up his paw in the air, a thin trail of smoke following the white stick thingy. “This your first time seeing a Paper Puffer?” he said.

“A what?” Fenn padded closer. Clemat was right, he had no idea what a “Paper Puffer” was, hence why his eyes were trained on it so intently.

“It’s a human thing,” Clemat explained. “They’re pretty rare; only found in dungeons. Managed to get my hands on a box recently.”

Only in dungeons? A human thing? Fenn gulped. “W-what do they…do?” he wondered, still staring at it.

Even Clemat wasn’t exactly sure, based on his response. “Well, they help me relax,” he chuckled.

…Why would humans use rolled up paper to relax? Fenn looked between Clemat and the Paper Puffer like he was being tricked. “H-how?”

Clemat shrugged. “Wanna try it?”

As he held out the tube closer to Fenn, Fenn leaned backwards and away from it. This was something the humans made—he had to be careful. Who knows what they were capable of.

Tentatively, Fenn took Paper Puffer with his paw and-

Clemat motioned towards his mouth.

-put it between his lips.

Fenn waited with the paper tube sticking out of his mouth.

…

Nothing happened.

He looked to Clemat for guidance.

Clemat motioned as though he wanted Fenn to keep going. “Try breathing in,” he told him.

Breathing in, okay. Fenn sucked on the paper-

Something hit the back of Fenn’s throat.

“ACK!“

He coughed violently. Smoking billowed out of his nostrils, and the black flame that escaped his mouth caught the paper on fire. It fell to the ground, disintegrating instantly.

Clemat balked and blurted out, “Oh shit!” While Fenn continued to cough, the Audino patted him on the back. “You okay, buddy?”

Still coughing, Fenn nodded through tears. “Y-yeah…ow…” That did not taste good.

“Mon,” Clemat sighed, “those are expensive…”

Why would someone pay so much for that? That was awful!

Clemat helped Fenn to stand upright, his paw rubbing the Quilava’s back soothingly the whole time. “Well, that’s fine. Let’s get you a cup of water.”

Again, Fenn nodded. Maybe he would be late for school at this rate…but he didn’t mention that part out loud.

The door creaked open, followed by a chuckle from Clemat. “They’re best when you share them with someone else that enjoys it, from what I heard. Maybe when you find a girl your age you two can enjoy it together.”

“…” Fenn looked down at his toes. Some of the tears in his eyes still needed to be blinked away. “Y-yeah…” he murmured. “A girl…”

— — —

“NonononoNO!”

A bucket went flying. Dust was kicked up. The voice of his mother called out to him in distress.

“Fenn!”

But he didn’t listen.

“P-p-please don’t be real please don’t be gone! Pleeeeeease!”

Fenn dashed down the street as fast as his legs could carry him. Vents blazing with an insatiable inferno, the Quilava was a blur to any of his neighbors looking on.

His voice cracked. “It’s not FAIR!” His muscles ached. “IT’S NOT FAIR!” His vision became blurry.

Once he reached Clemat’s house, Fenn practically leaped up the stairs before banging on the front door. “C-CLEMAT!” he shouted. “MR. CLEMAT, DON’T LEAVE! PLEASE!”

Clemat was asking questions before the door was even open. “Fenn?” the Audino faltered. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

Fenn prostrated himself at Clemat’s feet. The words coming out of his mouth were nearly incomprehensible behind the stammering and sobbing. “I-I-I- p-pl-pleee-pleeease d-d-don’t…”

“…Don’t what?” Uncertainty coated his words; that amount of concern wasn’t normal with Clemat.

It came out as barely more than a sorrowful whisper. “Don’t go…”

And there it was. Judging by the long sigh that escaped Clemat, he knew what this was about now. “Oh Fenn…”

“P-please…”

Clemat leaned down, lowering his voice. “I should’ve seen this coming…Come on, get inside,” he said. Causing a scene for the whole street to gawk at wouldn’t help.

Fenn continued to sniffle and babble about begging Clemat to stay. He didn’t care how he looked or what anyone thought—or if he even got to be a warrior anymore—it wasn’t fair. If Clemat left town and never came back Fenn wasn’t sure what he would do with himself. The thought broke his heart.

It took Clemat dragging Fenn by his arms to get them to a place where they could talk in peace. By that point Clemat was frazzled and out of breath. He leaned down in front of the Quilava, both paws on his shoulders. “Fenn, look at me,” he demanded as softly as possible.

Fenn was just barely able to make out Clemat’s sparkling sapphires for eyes through the tears. Again, he begged, “D-don’t go, p-please…”

Frowning, Clemat was momentarily at a loss for words. His mouth opened and closed a few times as though he were weighing the potential options. Eventually, he muttered, “Fenn, I’m a traveling physician. I told you this before. I planned on leaving before we even met.”

But that wasn’t fair! Yes, Fenn knew that Clemat wouldn’t stick around forever. He had always known it. But there had to be a way to make him stay!

“W-why?” Fenn asked. “W-why c-can’t you…stay?”

“Because…” Clemat furrowed his brow, his gaze set on the floor. “Because this place isn’t for me. No place is, really.” He chuckled sardonically a tiny bit. “Maybe someplace is- it’s complicated.”

Then…If Clemat couldn’t stay here…

It would be just like his grandpa always said it would. Adventure and excitement beyond the horizon. The next words came out of Fenn’s mouth without any thought. “I-I’ll come with you-“

“No,” Clemat reprimanded sternly. “Don’t even think about it.”

Fenn flinched. The anger in Clemat’s expression made him want to vomit. The sinking in his stomach was overwhelming, painful even. All around him, the world began to crumble, and his weight collapsed underneath him. All he could think to do was lay there and cry.

“B-but…”

Clemat’s expression softened with each passing heartbeat. Within seconds he was that kind, wonderful doctor Fenn always knew him as. Warmth in his smile, warmth in his eyes, and warmth in his presence. Fenn wanted so badly to hug and share that warmth.

“…Fenn, listen to me,” Clemat started somberly. “You’re still young. Younger than me. So don’t…cling onto this. It’s not good for you.”

But that wasn’t…fair. Why did it have to end at all- why did Clemat have to leave Fenn? Why did they always have to leave?

It hurt. It hurt so bad. Was this just going to be his life now? Every pokemon he loves vanishes when he needs them most?

Fenn just stared into Clemat’s eyes, hoping that he would relent. Hoping that, somehow, things could be different.

But Clemat shook his head in return.

“Fenn, you have…so much more time than you think. So much more. I’m sorry that I can’t be there from now on…but somebody will be.” He squeezed Fenn’s shoulder, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Somebody always will…okay?”

“I…I…”

Fenn gripped his arm tightly. What did that mean, though? If someone wasn’t there that he could see…was he just supposed to wait for them? Was he supposed to go back to his life before, of isolation and constant training? Always pushing himself? Perpetually alone?

What was Fenn supposed to do-

“Look at me.”

Fenn was dragged out of his mind by Clemat’s voice. His breath was heavy, his body still shivering with quiet sobs. But he did what he was told, ignoring the beating of his heart to focus on Clemat. And only Clemat.

Slowly, the words crept out of the Audino’s mouth and into the back of Fenn’s mind. There, they remained as a final reminder. A final message:

“Everything will be alright.”

Everything…will be alright.

Everything…

…alright…

Everything…

Everything…

(…)(…)(…)

(…)(…)

(…)

The last time Fenn saw Clemat, the Audino disappeared over the horizon off to some distant land. He never said where exactly, but by this point it didn’t matter. To Fenn, only Clemat’s final words to him did.

Was everything really alright?

In the back of his mind, throughout this whole trip, Fenn had asked himself that same question over and over again. And now, as he stood in front of that very same house from half a decade ago, he asked himself once more.

The answer was that he didn’t know. Except that that wasn’t really an answer, was it? From the day he lost his grandpa to the day that Team Lavender was formed, Fenn had been waiting for a real answer.

But instead of getting that answer…he was left with another question.

What is a warrior? And by extension, why does Fenn need to be one?

Over time, these questions had turned from menial and pointless to encompassing…everything. Continuing from here without the answers seemed impossible.

He turned his head, glancing down the street. The house he had lived in for 19 years of his life was in view.

Small and steady flames burst from his vents. It was time to go home.