Chapter 47.5 – Day -82: Liability

Chapter 47.5: Day -82 – Liability

Fenn wished he was dreaming right now.

He had spent the past week wondering how his dreams would stand up to reality’s scrutiny, and nothing could have prepared him for the difference between real and dream Butterfrees in his stomach. There were plenty of opportunities to compare, after all—every step of today’s short journey had once made a cameo in his sleep before. But now, the Butterfrees were more ferocious.

From the monotonous stroll through the woods to get to Kebia, each second filled with anxiety-inducing silence, to the awkward interaction at the front desk, to the longest elevator ride of his life. All the way to now, a century in terms of time spent in his head. Running through scenarios, outcomes, and possible mistakes over and over again.

The Quilava stared up at the final hurdle, a mere knock away. What if he went in through these massive doors and regretted it? What if, at the absolute worst moment, he stuttered one-too-many times and aggravated the Queen? What if Fenn made such a fool of himself that the Queen laughed him out of the room?

All of these years, all of this preparation, just to fail?

Warriors don’t fail. So Fenn wouldn’t either.

He had repeated that adage internally to such a degree that it was starting to sound funny. But what was even more funny was how Fenn got right to the entrance of the throne room and considered turning right around. Right before he would cement himself as a true explorer. Officiate himself. Become a proper adult.

Don’t mess this up, Fenn. This isn’t Figy Forest. Not even close.

He practically ripped his paw from his arm and lifted it to the door, trembling all the while. His heart beated in a violent rhythm. Beat one: this was the moment he had been waiting for his whole life. Beat two: everything rode on this one conversation. Beat three: grandpa would be proud of him if he pulled through. Beat four: dad would be disappointed in him if he came home empty-handed. So on and so forth.

With each beat, though, Fenn’s expression hardened. Deep breaths turned the rhythm into a constant—simple noise. If the tension was a volcano, Fenn was exploding along with it as opposed to running to safety. That was what warriors did. They did not run, nor did they hide.

Fenn wanted this. Reaching the top of this castle was the source of his excitement ever since he was a child. It propelled him forward. Turning back now would be tantamount to abandoning his past self. Grandpa would never want that.

Once the rhythm was effectively gone, Fenn stared straight ahead, resolute. Fire churned in his belly all the way up to his chest. Warm and ready.

Two raps were made, and Fenn held his breath.

Tap! Tap!

…

CreeeeeaaaAAAAAKKKK!

The door roared as though Rayquaza had soared down from the heavens to flash his fangs in Fenn’s face. Wood fighting against its hinges, sending shockwaves in Fenn’s direction. His only defense was to cover his ears with his paws and wait.

And wait he did. Several moments later, it was quiet again. Fenn, thoroughly shaken but not moved, stared directly through the open door into a yawning abyss.

He did not advance immediately.

“H-how…?” he muttered to himself. No greeting, no vocal acknowledgement, no faces. The door had opened on its own, for him, unleashing a cool breeze directly into his face. It smelled of herbs and fruity perfume.

The rhythm returned. But this time, Fenn was ready.

Vents sparking with embers, Fenn dropped to all-fours and padded into the room. His footsteps fell lightly on the carpet at the pace of his erratically shifting expectations.

For one, the throne room was expansive, yet empty. The Queen was a solitary figure in the sense that simply meeting her was a matter of talking to the right pokemon. Pokemon that Fenn never talked to himself—it was his father that arranged this. Several months ahead of time, as he had said.

That meant that Fenn had no choice but to arrive in a timely manner so as to not ruin what his father planned. Breakfast was skipped, and not by choice. The pressure on his shoulders was heavier than what Figy Forest would provide at its worst, but Fenn was just glad that there would only be one set of eyes watching him.

Sunlight poured in through the enormous stained glass windows to the sides of the Quilava, kissing Fenn’s fur with warmth. He lingered in spots for too long, slowing down at every opportunity as the empty throne came closer and closer into view.

In front of the throne was a studious, wooden desk overrun with documents piling high above even the Gardevoir sat behind it. Fenn should’ve expected this—he really should have—considering that those were the set of eyes he knew would fall upon him. They watched him closely, while the Gardevoir they belonged to propped up her head with her hands, waiting.

Fenn could not bring himself to meet her gaze for long.

High above her, pure judgement glared down at Fenn. He could momentarily find reprieve by averting his eyes down to the floor. But even still, the polished marble immaculately reflected the holy arms of Arceus out of the corner of his eye. There was no escaping it.

Then came a voice that bounced off the walls and into Fenn’s vulnerable ears.

“You must be Gaura’s son,” said the Gardevoir. Her voice scattered licks of assertiveness in the stale air. Reflexively, Fenn’s ears erected upward, his neck itched stiff, and he came to an abrupt halt on the carpet.

“Y-ye-” Fenn cleared his throat. “Yes…my name is Fenn.” Still a distance away, Fenn wondered if he should have walked forward more. His body, though, fought back with all its might. He stood on two paws.

This was the Queen of Kebia Castle, the highest command of any pokemon in the entire continent. And Fenn stuttered like a fool immediately. Arceus, why was he like this? His vents were so cold that he feared they would freeze over.

“You go by Fenrir, as well,” the Queen stated.

She wasn’t asking for confirmation, which hindered Fenn’s immediate response. That…other name was exclusively used by his father these days. Every pokemon he talked to just called him Fenn. So, he relayed that.

“W-well,” Fenn spoke up, “I prefer Fenn…sorry.”

Fenn’s stomach dropped when the Queen beckoned him closer with her hand. Just a silent, demanding gesture that overpowered Fenn’s every instinct to run.

And warriors don’t run. Warriors follow orders of a higher authority. Be that a parent, a teacher…or a monarch.

After Fenn padded forward, looking up at the Gardevoir from the other side of the desk, he started rubbing his arm raw. The fur underneath was starting to shed.

The Queen leaned forward slowly, looming over Fenn. She asked in a low voice, “No one told you what I do, did they? What I can do, even?”

Govern? Rule? Demolish armies? Fenn just shook his head, unsure of what was even being asked.

“I can read minds, Fenrir,” was what she said in an even lower voice. “Instinctively, not like any other psychic. The second you walked in here, I knew everything about you. I heard every thought, read every memory, and unearthed every single insecurity.”

Every…memory? Fenn froze, his ears falling against his head.

“Every single one,” the Queen answered as though she…read his mind. “And stop calling me queen. I hate that word. Just call me Anemone.”

How did Fenn not know about this? Why did his father never mention that the Queen read minds?

“Anemone. Call me Anemone.”

Fenn took a heavy step back. “I…I-I’m sorry…!” he blurted out. “It…i-it won’t happen again, I swear!”

To that, Anemone outright laughed. “I know. You’re very good at following orders, Fenrir.”

Why is she still calling me Fenrir? Fenn’s grip tightened. Does she not know why I don’t like it?

“Oh, I do,” she said. “Look at me.”

Those words—that command—sapped Fenn of any remaining confidence he had. Anemone knew everything about him, and quite literally read his mind like a book. His nerves were too shot to even express doubt. How should he have reacted to this?

“Y-yes, ma’am.” Unsure, Fenn did as she asked. He looked into her eyes. Dried by hours of work and monotony, Fenn could barely see his own reflection past the cloudy discontent. But he did see himself eventually, so pathetically rendered and slouched and nervous that it frightened him all over again. The effort Fenn made to smooth out his fur this morning had gone to waste.

It was in that moment that Fenn genuinely believed every word Anemone had said so far, if only because his diffidence was written on his face. She could read him all she wanted to and Fenn could do nothing about it.

Anemone started by saying, “I won’t go into detail about how difficult it has been for you. I think we both know.”

Fenn looked to the side, his cheeks burning.

“I’m not surprised that Gaura waited this long to throw you at me. His pride dictates that no room be left for error.” Anemone scoffed. “But he’s such a fucking idiot that he keeps stepping on Stunfisks every step of the way.”

When Fenn tentatively glanced back at her, Anemone was staring at him. “And you’re the biggest result of that,” she remarked.

Despite his best efforts, Fenn’s voice came out no louder than a whisper. “W…w-what do you mean by that?”

For this whole conversation, Anemone had worn a tired frown. Never once did her expression evolve past quiet resignation over her place in the world. That question brought out a smile in her, though. A slight one, but still. It was slightly off putting.

“Like me, you’re cursed,” Anemone said, pointing to herself. “Cruelty just seems to follow you everywhere, doesn’t it? Can’t even talk right. Just like me—I don’t think right.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Fenn’s persistent stutter was just one ember in a campfire of problems. Cruelty was not a stranger, Fenn understood that. He was visited by that ghost on multiple occasions. But wasn’t that why he was here? To get away from all of that? To fix it, even?

If Fenn became an explorer, wouldn’t that heal the wounds the past nineteen years have left?

“No, it wouldn’t,” Anemone added, answering all of Fenn’s questions with three words.

“But…w-would it not make it better?” Fenn had to know. In fact he had to know with absolute certainty. Cursed or not, this was what Fenn wanted above all else.

Anemone shrugged. “Maybe. Could also just end up like your dad and never be satisfied with the legacy you left. I could see that.”

Fenn could not stop the flames bursting from his vents if he tried. Fists tightened at his side, feet firmly on the ground, Fenn shouted, “I am not my dad!”

But he didn’t get the reaction he wanted. Anemone just sat there, staring at him, unamused.

“Really?” Her expression tightened into a glare. “That so? Why don’t you go tell him that yourself, then?” She flicked her wrist towards the door. “Tell him why you’re really here, okay? Then come back to me and we’ll have a proper talk. How does that sound?”

The room grew quiet, the only sound present being the crackling of Fenn’s dwindling flames and his heavy breathing. That of which was also dwindling. His fists loosened into open paws, his eyes fell to the floor. Within just a few seconds, Fenn had gone from a fearsome warrior to…just a Quilava.

“I…I-I can’t…” Fenn whimpered. “It’s not…n-no…”

But warriors don’t run, right? Right? I can’t just go back home now…

Anemone shook her head. “Thought as much.” She pointed towards the doors. “Just go home, Fenrir. If you can’t even look your own parents in the eyes and say no, then you can’t be an explorer. Right now, you’re just a liability this way.”

Those words stung more painfully than Beedrills. Every inch of Fenn’s body was struck with a cascade of debilitating exhaustion in an instant. Before he knew it, Fenn was rubbing his arm again.

He watched as drops of liquid splashed to the floor seemingly from nowhere. It took him a moment to realize that he was the source. They were tears—his tears.

Fenn was crying.

That was when he knew it was over.

“…O-okay…”

Tears turned to shoulder-shaking sobs as Fenn dragged himself out of the throne room. It was a miracle he didn’t fall to the ground and choke on his tongue right there in front of the leader of the entire continent. He probably would have preferred that over the alternative.

Fenn lived in fear of what his father would say to him when he returned.

But what if he didn’t? Fenn considered the possibility when he found himself back at the elevator in the blink of an eye. Time may as well have been irrelevant because he was stuck in a loop of cruelty yet again.

So why not just run away? Go off to who knows where and accept himself as a failure. It would be so easy.

Warrior’s don’t run, though. Did he not just establish that? Had he not been internalizing that for years? Fenn was a warrior, he had to stay and fight!

No matter what the fight entailed…

Fenn was still sobbing by the time the elevator was riding back down to the bottom floor. He was propped up against the back wall, too devastated to stand upright. When the elevator would stop, he would have to figure out what to do next, and where to go.

Before that came, though, an inky black figure phased through the moving wall. With it, came two glowing yellow eyes, fixated on Fenn alone. The Mismagius spoke softly, easing Fenn’s agony if only a slight bit. He was in no state to ignore her.

“Oh my,” she said, “you poor thing. Was Anemone in a bad mood?”

She smiled pleasantly, almost knowingly. “Don’t worry, dear. Fenn, I believe it was? I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

Fenn’s ears perked up. Perhaps he didn’t need to get to go home…yet.