Chapter 4 — Part 2: Killing 2 Birds With 22 Stones

…

 

He blinked, struggling to regain his vision—the blurry, flashing figures wouldn’t allow him to contemplate reality. But when he did, when the colors became consistent, he realized that he was no longer at the bottom of the stairs.  

 

The grass drifted through his fingers, and he brought a hand to his forehead to shield himself as he felt the strong rays of the sun descending upon him. The walls around them, towering higher than a building, told him that he was not outdoors. 

 

And next to him, nearer to what appeared to be a corridor to the left, Conlogy rested his hands on his hips. “Well, human, here we are: in the Leaky Meadow!” he exclaimed. “Although— I don’t know if you’re here, because I didn’t turn around—” he spun to face him. “Good, you actually were here!” he cleared his throat. “As I was going to say… this is your first mystery dungeon, so I should explain how it all works— well, first of all, we’re in a room—! Although you probably figured that out already…” 

 

He knew that—but that wasn’t the reason his senses were clouded. He couldn’t understand the how—why they had ended up in what seemed to be a natural formation of rooms; considering the hallway, or why they were no longer in a forest, or why there was sun if they were underground. 

 

Unable to fully process, his more instinctive self urged him to duck, to cover his head with his hands, and to beg for mercy from whomever possible to escape the situation at hand. 

 

What grounded him in reality was Conlogy’s warm touch on his shoulders, his front horn with a powerful glow as opposed to the faint steady flicker. “Easy, human!” he exclaimed, smiling. “I know you’re scared, and it may be a little confusing— though I don’t know why, I’m not going to ask if maybe dungeons didn’t exist in the human world, or rather, I’ll ask later… but I’m here, and I’m going to help you!” 

 

Felix tried to meet his eyes, those hidden behind the hair. He took a deep breath, trying to get that bitter aftertaste trapped on his tongue out. With each inhalation, his sensations tearing at his insides subsided… though not the ones ripping at his cartilage, but at that instant that was of lesser relevance. “A-Alright…” was all he managed to utter in the face of such words of encouragement. 

 

The horn ceased its glow, and he let go of the abra’s shoulders. “Good! I’m glad you’re better, human—! Than here it’s dangerous, even if it’s easy, so try to keep your cool, alright?” he positioned himself at Felix’s side. “You see, like I said, this is a mystery dungeon. Each time we enter it’s different from last time, and each dungeon has different floors— how many depends on which dungeon we’re in, but, in these there’s ferals, items, and stairs that take us to the next floor. Once we reach the top floor, it will take us out— or if we finish a mission! Although in that case our badge gets us out— ah, the badge, right! I almost forgot…” Conlogy hurriedly rummaged around inside his satchel, pulling two items out of it.

 

They were as he had stated, badges—with the main shape of an egg colored yellow and red at the bottom. Attached to its sides were two grayish arm-like protrusions flexing their biceps. They were the perfect size to fit inside a palm.

 

Conlogy displayed them, puffing out his chest as he did so. “These are our badges, unique to crew members! They are useful for us to identify ourselves to civilians, to the police— even though they already know us… and also to evacuate people, or get out of the dungeons when we finish a mission—! But not before, for some reason I don’t know what it is,” with his free hand he grabbed Felix’s, turning his arm to point his palm upwards, there depositing his badge. “Here’s yours! Don’t lose it, alright? Because they also get us out of the dungeons if we take too much damage— they’re our lifelines!”

 

Bile rose in his throat—that implied that without these they might die. Probably very easily. The very existence of ferals was reason enough for his bones to shiver gently, now aware of the danger that loomed over them. “G-Good w-we have t-them… t-then…” he gulped.

 

Conlogy nodded. “Yes, is good! Oh, and by the way, I carry the bag— It’s usually the leader who carries it, but I don’t think either of us is a leader or anything. But moving on with the explanation…” he spun on his heels, pointing toward the corner of the room; right next to the start of a second hallway that led straight ahead. To what he was gesturing was to a tiny, green-lidded, transparent flask with a brown liquid contained inside. “All dungeons have items inside them— like that one, which is an elixir! It’s used to recover elemental energy— in our case that would be our psychic energy, although we haven’t used any so it would be best to just pick up the item,” he grabbed Felix’s arm and dragged him to the spot, to easily fish out the elixir, which he stuffed into his satchel. “It’ll come in handy later for when we fight ferals— wild Pokémon, I’ll explain them now!” he cleared his throat. “They live in dungeons and don’t talk, they’re very dangerous, so when we find one we have to fight them— And we can’t do anything else, like, say, talk!”

 

There were multiple questions on the tip of his tongue, like why such pokémon even existed… but for the sake of his poor bones, he was about to refrain from mentioning any sort of doubt within himself. The very workings of the dungeons were absurd, but he decided to avoid the headache.

 

Conlogy rubbed his hands together and tucked the badge away in his satchel, “by the way, now that you’ve already picked up your badge, it’s yours now— well, not really, because it’s missing the,” he clicked his tongue. “The… the print, that’s it! Turn it over!” 

 

He glanced at him for a moment but complied, flipping the small object in his palm—on its back was a sunken indentation. “Huh— what’s, uh… this?”

 

“It’s the identifier! You press there, and well, it identifies! It identifies you— with your fingerprint, obviously, which is special— and unique! But not because it’s yours, but because everybody has a special print— what I mean is that all prints are unique!”

 

There were quicker and more efficient ways to summarize those words. “S-So… I just have to press my finger there…?”

 

Conlogy nodded, with vigor: “Yes— exactly!”

 

He drew in a deep breath, hesitating for an instant—it could be a trap. But he tempted fate, and proceeded to lay his fingertip against the indentation. A breeze-smooth texture tickled his skin, emanating a soft blueness that faded easily. 

 

“Ah, just like that— well done!” Conlogy reached out his hand toward him, palm up. “Now, give it to me—! Because, well, now that it’s flagged you don’t need to carry it around, just being close enough makes its life-saving effects work! And you’d better have your hands free, so…” 

 

He nodded, and handed him the badge—though he wavered. The notion that it might not work if it wasn’t in his possession sent a shiver down his spine, but he relented.

 

“Good! Now, on with the mission—” he rummaged once more in the container hanging from the leather strap around his body, and pulled out the paper—now crumpled into a ball, which he had to unfold. “It’s…” he cleared his throat. “We need to find and bring to our client a Scorched Bone that got lost on floor five, at the end of the dungeon,” he read aloud.

 

…The idea of a bone implied a skeleton. A corpse. He gulped, “A-A bone?” he inquired, voice quivering.

 

Conlogy hummed and nodded. “Yes. Our client is a houndour. They happen to love bones, so around here they sell some jaw training bones— our client must have lost theirs here… though I don’t know why, but those are details, I think,” he looked around. “Luckily there weren’t any enemies around here! Otherwise explaining to you in the middle of a fight would have been tough…” he clicked his tongue. “But it’s time to leave! We should go left, it’s always a good idea— I read it in a book once.” 

 

He had no objection, so they set off toward the hallway on the opposite corner. As they walked, Conlogy leading the way, Felix had one more doubt pressing against his skull—which he thought should not be ignored. “By the way… umh… what do you mean by, uh, elemental energies?” 

 

The ralts stood alert, glancing back and sideways—like someone crossing the road. “Oh, right, you told me that humans didn’t have psychic powers— but don’t you humans have types either? I’ll have to think about that later because it sounds messy… or are you normal type—? Ah, but right, the question…” he cleared his throat and clicked his tongue. “Each species of pokémon has a type, which has inside a type of energy they can use, like fire, or plants. In our case, we are psychic pokémon— psychic type. As I was talking about before, elixirs allow us to recover our energy faster.” They reached a change of direction, having to proceed downwards—they found three forks in the path; two to the right and one further down, but Conlogy preferred to continue further to the left, now trapped in a long corridor.

 

He kept doubting his aptitude to perform such actions—he couldn’t even fathom being capable of such feats, such as moving items with his mind, or reading the thoughts of others. “Y-You… umh… y-you think I can do that, the psychic powers thing?” 

 

“Huh? Of course! All the psychic ‘mons can do it!” he replied, totally convinced in his words. “We’re getting pretty lucky, at this point we should have met an enemy or two… but that’s good! Less fighting is better— ah, look, another way, I think we should follow this one. Come on,” turning to, in his perspective, right, he emerged out of the corridor.

 

Soon he was out as well, with still lingering doubts plaguing his mind—

 

A gasp.

 

It issued from Conlogy, who pointed to his left. “Felix, an enemy! Watch out!”

 

He didn’t even manage to turn his head before a small pinkish beak jabbed into his temple, striking and causing a thud that sent him reeling. His nerves throbbed, he fumbled to the right, his skull rattling—just watching the brown feathered, cream-tipped blur that had swooped down on him.

 

He shrieked, his feet permitting him to face the bird, at the same time bringing his hands to his forehead—the touch burned, feeling, with his fingertips, his wounded skin. Conlogy swiftly stepped to the side, but Felix had merely taken the impact. He didn’t even recover before more twinges in his skull were surging, ruffled feathers filling his vision—the ‘mon flying in circles around him. “Agh— agh!” he raised his arms, trying to cover his head with these—transferring there the stinging sensation now spreading through his extremities.

 

His legs crumbled, dropping to the ground for distance. The attacks did not cease, the bird’s squawks ringing in his ears—until above him he beheld a gray blur at the speed of a projectile. With a loud, high-pitched squeal, the bird swooped down, being sent flying into one of the walls. Felix didn’t waste a second in barely getting up and running off in the opposite direction, not bothering to look back or ahead.

 

By the time he had assured his safety, he realized how he had fled toward Conlogy—which was pointing his right hand in the direction of the bird; the end of his limb covered in a pinkish glow; a smoky aura mingling with the air and undulating with the zephyr. “Felix, behind me!” he instructed.

 

Still feeling his head pounding, he ran and hid behind the creature smaller than him. In front of them, the brown and creamy-white bird struggled away the pebble that had nestled in its wing; now wounded. It lifted off the ground, flying with difficulty. With another squawk it plummeted toward the ralts.

 

He, in response, aimed at the rock and made a movement with his arm, an abrupt one of bending it sideways towards himself—at once, the stone was surrounded by the same pink aura of his hand, and shot out, as if possessed, towards the bird. The flash barely lasted a few moments before it faded, but it continued its trajectory until it slammed into the bird’s back, squawking once more before crashing down. It barely writhed on the ground before abruptly closing its eyes. 

 

Felix scanned the situation, dumbfounded and legs trembling—still, he was able to recognize awesomeness when he witnessed it, and he had just done so. His gaze flew from the bird to Conlogy.

 

The ralts turned to face him, a meek smile on his face. “Did you see that, human? Those are the psychic powers I was telling you about—! Haven’t you seen how cool they are—? Ah, I should explain how they work first, shouldn’t I? Since there doesn’t seem to be another enemy here— ah, and by the way,” he half-turned to point at the bird, “that’s a pidgey.” 

 

“Ah—” more names to process, but that wasn’t what was important. He nodded quickly, “p-please, I’d like you to, uh, explain…”

 

“Alright—! Ah, but let me grab something first. I think I saw a tiny apple—” he looked to the sides, the instant he laid his eyes on the bottom right corner he found what he was looking for; round and crimson. He approached, “but you see, as psychic ‘mon, we have psychic energy within us— I already explained that, but, it is created from our brains, and each one is good in two areas, on the personal side and on the species side— ah, right, I should explain the categories,” he grabbed the apple and put it in his satchel. “The three natural cornerstones are telekinesis, telepathy and teleportation, then there are the weird categories but I don’t really know how to use them so— I’d have to explain them with a diagram or something…” he cleared his throat. “But what I was getting at! What I just did was telekinesis, an ability that any psychic pokémon can do— we’ve known it since birth! And it allows us to lift an item from far away, though it costs more the heavier the thing is. Let me show you—” he aimed at the rock resting next to the pidgey—in just a few seconds, they both shone with the pink aura that had enveloped them before. With a sharp movement of his arm, the pebble flew off to the right. It only lasted a few moments before the pink aura faded, the stone shot by the inertia of the previous force until gravity resumed its trajectory, causing it to drop to the ground.

 

He had been as awestruck as he had been the first time he had witnessed it. Perhaps, if they were visible, his eyes would sparkle for the first time.

 

“Did you see? That was telekinesis! I don’t have much psychic power to move enemies… but any dummy can lift a stone— so that’s what I do!” he turned to Felix, and propped his own chest. “I figured out that instead of spending the energy to make the stone move all the way, I can hold it for just a second and let it advance on its own to the enemy!” he sketched a wide grin. “And I’ll show you how to do it too!” 

 

He doubted he might, but he wasn’t about to question his judgment. “R-Really…? Alright…” he nodded. “So… how do I, uh, lift a stone with the, umh, psychic powers?”

 

“Alright, first…” Conlogy strode to stand right beside him, “you have to look at the item you want to lift— in this case the rock,” with a wave of his pink glowing hand, the stone levitated toward them both; just a few footsteps away. “Try to focus, because you also have to stay calm… focus on the rock. Squint your eyes— though you always keep them closed— wait… how do you see? I’ve never asked an abra and I always assumed they could with psychic powers, but you don’t know how to use them so—”

 

“I-I just see like… like I have them open,” he replied, seeking to snip the rambling at the root before it could spiral downward. 

 

“Oh! Then squint and focus, even if I can’t see it.”

 

With a soft nod, he did as he was commanded—his gaze fixed on the stone resting on the earth. 

 

“Very good, well— now extend your arm toward the rock, aim at it.”

 

He lifted his limb, signaling toward his target. His joints complained slightly, but he ignored their protests.

 

“Now… uh…” he trailed off.

 

“…N-Now what?”

 

“Sorry, I’ve just— I’ve never had to explain this to anyone so it’s a little strange, but now you have to… umh…” he hummed, and clicked his tongue. “Ah yes, you have to imagine how if you were to pick up the rock with your hand. At least that’s what works for me but maybe not for you.”

 

Again he gave a nod. He frowned, trying to picture how an elongated paw grabbed the rock, lifted it into the air… but nothing happened. His arm was not engulfed by the pink halo, just like the rock itself. There were long seconds where nothing happened.

 

He felt the lump form in his throat. Perhaps his suspicion that he was incapable of doing something as impressive as psychic powers was true, or perhaps he was doing something wrong, or he had followed the instructions incorrectly…

 

He felt his breathing quicken, frowning more—as if that could accomplish what he wished to do. His arm shook, his bones shuddered, but nothing happened.

 

He contemplated giving up. Of giving in to his fate—but he was only exaggerating, or at least he wished with every ounce of his soul. He took a deep breath, took the advice of the one who stood beside him to reassure himself… there had to be an alternative way to achieve what he desired. Another way to imagine.

 

But that meant he must seek that alternative—another technique, which his empty mind was unable to reach. The weight on his ribs threatened to crush his heart, but he still squeezed his brain to the fullest.

 

He imagined the pink aura around the pebble.

 

In doing so, the pink essence shrouded the pebble, at the same time his arm suffered the same fate. He felt the temperature rise in his bones. A shivering smile threatened to creep onto his face. 

 

He felt warmth hitting his back, soft; sweet. “That’s how you do it, well done!” the ralts at his side congratulated him. “Good, now imagine as if you were lifting it, and then… throw it!”

 

He was able to visualize it—the pink wafting breeze hoisting the rock off the ground, leaving a thread of aura in its trajectory. Simultaneously, the object followed the motions he was able to picture in his mind. He wondered if he was capable of seeing so lucidly the constructs of his own brain when he was human, but that was not as important to him as the situation. With the movement of his fingers to the right, the stone flew in the same path, until it hit the wall. 

 

Conlogy clapped his hands a couple of times. “Exactly like that! You see, human? Like any good psychic ‘mon, this is simple for you… and now, my secret technique— which someone probably invented before!”

 

With a single nod, he allowed his arm to drop. In the blink of an eye the stone dropped to the floor, at the same time a strange sensation seized his limb—it was as if his energy had been drained, an internal pang —which unlike the one in his knees, did not immobilize him— causing a sense of heaviness in his bones. He wiggled his fingers, feeling the inner tingle in his flesh. “Th-Then… how do I do— that?”

 

“I’m glad you asked, because I was going to explain it to you anyways! First, raise your arm— exactly like before, then— oh, wait,” he interrupted himself, and cast his gaze to the right. “First of all, bring the rock closer to you, that should be easy!” 

 

He could safely assume it was a warm-up for what they were about to do. He nodded, and brought his heavy arm up once more—now it was his turn to approach the pebble in question. Pointing with his finger, his entire limb was encompassed by the colored halo. He took a deep breath, visualizing in front of him the rosy thread heading his way. With an exhalation, the stone lifted up, flew towards him—

 

But the speed spiraled out of control, like a bullet in the air it flew towards his stomach.

 

Felix spat saliva, as all the air in his lungs preferred the outside, his shoulders curling inwards; pulling back, while his head slumped and his body’s posture sagged. Bile threatened to leak out along with the bitter taste on his tongue, blood flowing down to his arms, which wrapped around his exposed belly.

 

Ignoring the ringing in his eardrums, he heard Conlogy’s clear voice. “Human?! Are you alright—?! Stupid question, sorry, of course you’re not—” his hands twitched, trying to grab his shoulders but unsure of how to proceed, just hovering over him. 

 

Swallowing the acidity on his tongue, he tried to mumble a response—ignoring the prickling behind his eyes, “I-I’m… a-alright…” he coughed, inhaling sharply to regain the longed for oxygen. The only one to blame for this was himself.  

 

“That must hurt— ah!” The ralts startled, his eyes widening like saucers as his hand rushed to open his leather satchel, roughly pulling out a small circular blue fruit with a flattened green stem. “Here, take this oran berry— quick, eat!” he pushed the fruit into his hands.

 

Bones quivering, his fingers wrapped around the berry, and he opened his muzzle —with the trickle of drool trickling down, dripping to the floor— to tear off a small piece with his teeth. Biting down, the juice tasted akin to water; neutral, tasteless, enhanced by the pulpy texture. He gulped.

 

…

 

In his extremities the twinge faded. The pit in his belly that tore at his inner stomach disappeared. His arm ceased to cover his wounded area, to instead resume a proper posture. “…A-Ah? W-What— W-What just happened…?”

 

Conlogy giggled, confidently. “Heheh, that was an oran berry— I don’t know if you humans had it or not, but it’s very useful!” he closed the bag and brought his hands to his hips. “It’s a berry with healing properties that’s used to heal a lot of minor wounds or illnesses— hough it’s not good for very large cuts, like, uh…” he pointed vaguely at the bandage around his chest, “your wound against Huirai, for example.”

 

Like a medicinal plant, but of vastly exaggerated effect, considering the short time needed for it to take action. Doubting about the exact workings of this berry was a waste of time, that much he knew—not only because it would confuse him even more, but also because it would only cause more turmoil in his mind. “S-Sounds useful…” he remarked at the obvious. 

 

“It is! Explorers or rescuers use it all the time in the dungeons because of its effectiveness and because it’s easy and quick to eat, though I think in the city they’ve been trying to amplify its use, or so I heard once— anyway,” he cleared his throat. “Let’s follow up with teaching you my secret technique! Hold out your hand to use telekinesis.”

 

His guts stirred, but he nodded and did as he was instructed. The rock once again was coated in a pink glowing aura.

 

“Alright, now… do the same thing as before— the throwing thing, but when you see it fly out, imagine letting it go.”

 

He activated his visualization skills yet again… see the pebble being shot to the left—that happened in reality, and a second later; while still cutting through the air with its speed, his imagination ceased. The stone continued on its course, now free of the colored zephyr that surrounded it. It stopped short as it struck the wall.

 

“Very good!” Conlogy pumped his fist upward, and once again patted Felix on the back—it was gentler than the captain’s. “Human, with that you’re ready to fight— although that’s a matter of experience, and I don’t have that much of that, but you’ll see that in no time we’ll be better! Oh, and advice: stay alert, because you never know when an enemy might come—!”

 

He was disrupted by the squawk of a bird. They both turned at the same time, to see how from the lower right corridor —the only exit other than where they had originally come from— a pidgey emerged from the mist, the same color of feathers and small black pupils, focused on them as if they were prey.

 

“—Like, for example, now!” Conlogy exclaimed. The bird flew in a dive toward them. “Dodge, human!” he leaped to the side.

 

But the heaviness in Felix’s body —and the trembling in his bones— prevented him from budging, once again the pink tip of the bird’s beak drilling with a sharp jab into his forehead. He staggered, the ringing in his skull causing the vertiginous spinning of the room. Felix shrieked, stumbling back several steps—

 

“Human, you didn’t dodge— ah! Hey, leave the human alone!” with his arm glowing pink, a rock shot out at the bird.

 

It released an even more deafening cry, both upon receiving the impact against its right wing, and also descending like a rocket onto its new prey, gaining and losing altitude at the same time.

 

Watching its lopsided flight, Felix was able to regain the colors in his vision, the twinge between his eyebrows relaxing as well as the muscles in his brow—though not the others in his body. His eyes widened like plates as he witnessed the multiple pecks to the hair the bird caused on his partner, who was trying to shove it away with his arms.

 

“H-Human— argh— attack— or help—!”

 

Felix began to hear his heart thumping in his throat. His gaze shot to the pebble near his position—he knew what he had to do, and though his nerves were frozen, his fingers were not. The aura covered them both—with a flick of his digits and the help of his imagination, he was able to send the stone flying toward the bird.

 

Which, at the last instant, ceased its frequent attacks on the ralts to dodge aside—the rock passing by and grazing one of its outstretched wings.

 

His heart sank in his chest… of course he would be powerless to even deliver an attack. Foolish of him, they were now at the mercy of the feral who sought to eliminate them—

 

The jagged orb smashed into the back of the pidgey’s neck, which crashed unconscious to the ground. With a swift glance, he gazed at the ralts—with his arm outstretched and his hand glowing pink, holding the rock in the air. That didn’t last long before he dropped it on top of the fainting bird.

 

Felix gasped, letting fall his heavy arm.

 

“…We did it, human! G-Good distraction!” Conlogy rushed toward him —avoiding stepping on the bird at his feet— to pat him on the shoulder. “This is our second enemy— and your first fight, though you didn’t defeat it, you helped in it, so thank you! We did it!” 

 

He took a sharp breath. They had done it— they had made it.

 

An exhalation of slight shudder escaped his mouth. “Y-Yes, we did it.”

 

“Say that with a little more enthusiasm, it won’t hurt you—! It’s alright if you don’t want to, though,” with another pat on the shoulder, the extra warmth left his body, and Conlogy preferred to turn on his heels toward the only available exit. “But come on, let’s keep going… hopefully we’ll find the stairs soon,” he commented idly, starting to depart.

 

Without another word to add, he followed. 

 

The walk was silent, though now they both looked to the sides—Conlogy with confidence, Felix feeling the sweat on his brow; the weight on the bones of his arms. They barely made it forward before they had to change direction to the left, thence downward, until they finally reached a new room.

 

“An oran berry— and the stairs! Great!” Conlogy pumped his fist as he set foot first into the room, dashing towards the side of the sinking concrete on the floor to fish out the fruit with his hands, which he tucked into his satchel. He turned easily to face his new destination.

 

Taking a step into the room, Felix’s ears twitched as he listened to the news. He sighed in relief—that meant they would not encounter any more enemies, at least not for the time being. 

 

“Come on, let’s go,” he waved his hand to indicate for him to follow, and then descended the stairs.

 

To him, it was still an almost alien contrast from the grass glistening from the spray beneath his feet to that of the gray cement that formed the steps sunk into the earth. The darkness staring back at him; the infinite abyss with no terminus, just sent shivers down his spine—the mystery factor was capable of chilling his blood. 

 

But asking questions wouldn’t bring him out of there.

 

With another step down, Conlogy disappeared into the gloom.

 

Taking a deep breath and rubbing his eyes to make sure what he was witnessing was real, Felix followed. Once again, the bright glow blinded him.

 

---

 

With a loud pant, he allowed his arm to collapse. Before them both lay unconscious on the ground a large red caterpillar with a cream-colored underside, next to its head a stone. At this point, even the joints of his fingers were prickling as they wiggled just a centimeter, and with each inhalation an anvil was formed between his ribs.

 

Conlogy wasn’t perfect, either—heavier respiration than before, with a more hunched posture and a couple of bruises that had accumulated on his arms from the attacks on the previous floor and the current one.

 

The rumbling in his stomach didn’t add to his condition—hunger was making the world go round and round.

 

“Haaah… that was a… wurmple, by the way,” the ralts said, and plopped back down, taking a seat next to the concrete staircase. “Hey, human, want to get some rest? If another enemy comes we can always run to the stairs, or fight— but we should save our energy for the next floors.” 

 

He nodded with alacrity—he hadn’t heard a better idea thus far. He allowed his ticklish —from within— legs to crumble from lack of strength, collapsing with a thud onto his rear end. A long sigh left his lungs, “I-I think I needed this… thank you…” he echoed.

 

“Yes…” Conlogy exhaled, leaning his body back slightly. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a dungeon, so I think I underestimated a bit how tiring it can be…” he clapped his hands, “but that’s alright! It wasn’t going to be easy but we’re doing our best, and I think that’s worth something.”

 

At least they weren’t dead—in that he could agree. “I-I guess.”

 

“Yes, exactly!” Conlogy nodded. A moment of quiet ensued; comfortable and calm, before the ralts pulled the lock on his satchel, allowing its interior to the outside world. “Hey, human, by the way… are you hungry? We didn’t eat on the way here, so…” he brought out a couple of apples. “I am— though I’m not sure if it’s hunger, or if my tummy hurts, but that’s why I’m going to try, do you want to try?”

 

He didn’t believe mere fruits could fill them up enough, but at least it was a smidgen of nourishment. He nodded, “y-yes, please,” he leaned forward to accept the offered food. He felt the saliva pool inside his maw and with his teeth he tore off a small piece. It was sweet, juicy—a smooth taste that descended down his throat like a divine gift. 

 

Conlogy also bit into his apple and swallowed. “Yes— it was hunger,” he tore off another piece and chewed with his mouth closed.

 

Silence settled between them both—with only the distant indecipherable noise being muffled by the walls, and that of the munching coming from the two of them.

 

“Hey,” he decided to speak, pausing his eating for a moment. “Umh. By the way… how many floors are left?” there had been a brief mention beforehand of which floor they wished to reach, but between exhaustion and combat —in which he tended to freeze half the time— he had forgotten the information.

 

“Oh,” Conlogy made a sound as he chomped—he swallowed before answering. “We only have two more floors to go, so we’re close, don’t worry! Although the last floor of a dungeon doesn’t count as a normal floor— so actually the next one is the last! We’re almost there!” he grinned, and bit into his apple.

 

One more step and the short nightmare would come to an end. He felt his chest lighten. “I-I hope nothing bad happens on the last floor…” he gulped down both the chewed piece of apple and the lump in his throat.

 

“Don’t worry about that! Whatever happens, we’ll be able to deal with it— this is an easy dungeon after all, so there shouldn’t be any problems.” 

 

“I-I hope so…”

 

They resumed eating—though another doubt twisted in his brain. They hadn’t been provided with anything resembling breakfast in the morning, and nothing akin to lunch either… but still, as he bit into more of the —bigger than expected— red apple, he felt his stomach fill as if it were a full meal. Similar to a big breakfast. It was also worrisome that, if he followed the pattern, they wouldn’t have dinner waiting for them on the ship as well.

 

He cleared his throat, “umh…” he tried to ask, but his gullet closed on the attempt—he gave up.

 

Conlogy hummed as he munched, and swallowed before tilting his head. “Yes? Do you want to ask something, human? Don’t cut yourself off— I can answer all the questions you have—! Or at least the ones I know the answer to…”

 

That was the nudge he needed, “w-well…” he stirred slightly in his earthen seat. “I-I was wondering if we’re having… umh, dinner.”

 

“Oh? Well, of course we’ll have one! Karoson always makes them, so don’t worry about it,” he giggled, “are you already thinking about dinner, human? We’re just eating!”

 

“N-No, I’m fine… though…” he gulped, “I didn’t expect the, uh, apple to be… so filling.”

 

“Huh? You’re surprised? Why would you—?” Conlogy blinked. In a single instant, his eyes grew wide, and he leaned forward to shorten the distance between them. “Wait, you humans had a different kind of apple— one that doesn’t fill!?” he blurted out, the glint in his eye mimicking the excitement in his voice.

 

Felix leaned back lightly. “Uhhhh…” — In his memory, the knowledge that apples were not meant to be filling was evident, but he was unable to remember if they ate them for breakfast, or exactly what they looked like. “I-I don’t know?” he shrugged, wishing that answer would suffice.

 

Conlogy’s shoulders slumped, “oh…” he leaned back, and sighed. “It’s a shame you don’t remember, human…” he clicked his tongue. “But I’m sure your memories will come back, at some point! Though if you do remember something… let me know, so I can ask you about it! Alright? That’s our deal!” 

 

“A-Alright,” though not seeking to promise, that didn’t sound all that complicated—though the notion of being barraged by inquiries as soon as he got a shred of his memory caused the anvil in his ribs to weigh a kilogram heavier.

 

With a final bite, he left only the core of the apple, which he tossed to the ground as he pulled himself up with his short legs. “Good! Should we continue? Let’s go!”

 

“I-I’m not done yet…” he still had a few more bites remaining.

 

“Ah— sure. No rush, human.”

 

---

 

He wobbled backward as the acorn —brown, with a cap-like gray stalk on its upper frame— with short feet rushed at him with a strong tackle. His shoulders curled inwards as his head dropped forward and his feet threatened to trip over each other. The bitter taste of bile in his throat was unleashed from his mouth, a trickle of liquid dripping to the floor.

 

“Ah— Felix, hang on!”

 

A rock flew towards the acorn, striking against his temple. With a thud it staggered to its left, its feet trying to maintain its balance as it partially backed away from the abra.

 

He tried to lunge, but with his muscles tensed and blood flowing rapidly throughout his body, it was difficult to even swing his hands protecting his freshly bruised stomach. The urge to vomit only increased, about to hit the gates of his esophagus to rise up his throat.

 

The rock was covered by a pink aura once again, which was shot towards the acorn—the new blow; apart from starting the formation of a clear bruise, also knocked it to the ground, causing its spherical body to roll on the grass.

 

And with another swift movement, the pebble finished off the enemy.

 

When Felix regained his senses, a few feet away —to his right— stood the ralts, panting with obvious heaviness; both in his limbs and in his lungs. “That… was a seedot…” he commented between wheezes. He lowered his arm, and staggered backwards.

 

He was hardly capable of keeping his knees —which were trembling— in place. The weight on his entire body was no match for the prickling in all his bones from the long journey they had made earlier. An internal tingling, a constant static on his skin.  

 

“I didn’t expect this floor…” he inhaled deeply, “to be so hard— my whole body hurts…” he breathed sharply, and tried to straighten his back, rolling his shoulders over backwards. “But we made it…” he shuffled his feet to the top of the concrete stairs—the last one. “We made it! This is the… final stair…” 

 

Barely able to lift the soles of his feet; they were possessed by the tons of an anvil, he strode toward his destination. After painful combats against rats called rattatas, or sunkerns and oddish… they had succeeded. They had not died on the way. It seemed implausible, when he considered it.

 

“Come on… let’s go get that bone…” he panted, and descended the stairs—being engulfed by the darkness of the abyss.

 

…

 

It still made his blood run cold. With faltering steps, he also allowed his body to be swallowed up by the gloom.

 

The blinding glare enfolded his gaze like an embrace of the sun itself. When the white vanished, what remained were the blurred figures in his vision, which only faded after multiple blinks. He rubbed his eyes —groaning as he had to raise his arms— and prepared to contemplate the corridors, the natural rock walls that rose up beyond where his sight was able to reach.

 

But instead, they were in a unique room.

 

With no way out.

 

“And… here we are! The end of the dungeon!” he exclaimed, exhaling through his teeth. With a lazy motion, he brought his arm up to point straight ahead.

 

Before the implications could settle in his mind, his gaze fell upon what was indicated.

 

A bone. Clear bite marks graced it, the white marble replaced with brittle charcoal covering its surface. There, lying in the green dampness, was the reason they had fought and struggled so hard.

 

But that was not the important thing.

 

His heart skipped a beat.

 

There was no way out.

 

Breath caught in his throat—clogged by a spider’s web of saliva, paralyzed. He felt his legs quiver, his knees threatening to collapse. He turned frantically, looking backward as well as forward, but was unable to find what he sought. 

 

Oblivious to the obvious problem, Conlogy bent down to cup the bone in his hands. “It’s dry!” he sighed and let out a giggle. “I was afraid it was spitty, that’s a relief…” he stood up, pocketing the item, and spun on his heels. “Uh…” he blinked—his horn ceasing its blinking to glow a gentle radiance. “…Are you afraid? Why?” he cocked his head to one side.

 

His breathing hitched. He clutched the base of his throat, noting how difficult it was to swallow. “W-What— W-What d-do y-you mean w-why—? There’s— There’s n-no exit—!” perhaps they were fated to perish, no matter what—his panic was mirrored by the crack in his voice, walking toward the walls to try and tear; as if the walls were nothing more than paper and he might find a passageway through which to flee.

 

“Oh—” he clicked his tongue, and the gleaming halted. “Easy, human,” he held up his hands to show his palms, “we’re at the end— we just have to wait, alright? Don’t panic—”

 

Wait, until the end of their fleeting lives? — The pressure got worse, “W-What do you mean, w-wait? W-We need to— We need to get o-out of h-here—” 

 

He was cut off by the blinding light that made its presence known in his sight. White inundated everything, like a blizzard in the winter. His bones felt lighter than a feather in outer space, like sailing among the seas of emptiness; no floor, no ceiling, no limits to the imagination. Gravity had died, and with it, his senses to recognize the world around him. It was…

 

…Familiar.

 

The bitterness settled on his tongue, but before he could dwell on his own emotion, the sun’s rays pierced his eyelids—constructing the world once again. His back ached with the tickle of the damp green brushing against his skin, and above him, the lime leaves swayed in the calm breeze. The wind roared, ignorant of his name, bringing cold to his exposed flesh, but still; watching the pinpricks of sky visible from beneath the treetops, he knew he was no longer in that impossible meadow.

 

With his elbows he lifted his body, watching as beside him loomed his partner—Conlogy, who sketched a broad grin. “See— there was nothing to worry about!” From his open satchel protruded the end of the Scorched Bone, and he drew his hands to his hips. “But we did it— we did it, we really did it! We just have the final step left— interacting with the client! That may be a bit harder, though. But don’t worry, human, because my social skills with strangers are not to be underestimated— sort of, but I think I’ll do better than you… no offense, of course, I wasn’t looking to say anything bad, sorry—”

 

“I-Its alright—” it felt natural. Dumbfounded, he gazed around him. The spray was gently hitting his backside, the backs of his legs and behind his knees. The scent of grass tangled with the particles of oxygen in the air, and the breeze soothed his senses. Staring toward the horizon, a few steps farther away, was the stairway that had led them to the subway place —still lit by the sun— in the first place. They had returned to the beginning.

 

Conlogy’s hand appeared at his side—offering assistance to rise. “Watch out, human, you might get some dust in your mouth,” he let out a small giggle, waiting with the soft glow in his horn. “But come on, get up— we’ve gotta get back.”

 

He took his paw; which propelled him forward and allowed him to stand, and they commenced walking without a word—his legs moving by pure instinct. Still with twinges behind his knees, he tried to keep up, but his mind was elsewhere…

 

He couldn’t cease to think about the familiar sensation—his bones told him he had experienced that before, a sense of deja vu that had latched onto his brain like a raven onto a corpse. As the shadow grew larger in his psyche, the sharper his skull pushed the memory that he was now an amnesiac. 

 

Identity lost in the nothingness. Family, friends—all hidden behind the sea of oblivion in which he sailed aimlessly. He couldn’t even claim to be himself at that moment… or even to be what could be called the real Felix.

 

He wasn’t even sure if Felix really existed to begin with.

 

He felt the scorching on the soles of his feet. Dirt seeped between his toes. The heat of the sun hammered him with a more important thought.

 

“…Do we have to walk all the way back?”

 

“Obviously! How do you think we were going to return, human? I don’t think either of us can teleport— I don’t have the energy for it, and in your case I think that while it’s easier for your species, it’s not like you’re used to it, so…” he hummed, “maybe when we’re at sea, we could train— I have a couple of meditation books, I’m sure they’ll help us get stronger! Though I haven’t done it before, I tend to focus on reading about humans—” he cleared his throat, turning his head as he looked around. “I think we didn’t come this way before…” he muttered, then shrugged. “Oh, never mind, I’m sure we will arrive in Arcella Town anyway.”

 

A thousand stabs in the stomach would hurt less.

 

---

 

The instant he rested his backside on the ground, his knees and his entire upper body ached from the affliction of static beneath his skin. The rush of air from his maw felt as if he exhaled all the remaining energy in his lungs, and with a sharp inhalation, he tried to regain it—unsuccessfully.

 

He glanced toward Conlogy—which; with his inexplicable infinite stamina, was still able to stand, with the sole affliction of being bathed in sweat and gasping for breath. Slightly hunched over.

 

In front of him, a black-furred canine —the lower part of its jaw and its belly amber like flames— with rib-like bones covering its back stood grinning—contrasting with the skull that protected its forehead like a helmet. “So you found my bone?! Thank you— I’ve been coming here every day at this hour until you arrived!” it— she wagged her short tail from side to side.

 

“Uh— yes, we found it…” Conlogy’s voice was devoid of the natural dampness in the utterance, dry as his breath—his horn flickering more than usual. He rummaged through his bag, offering in his palm the Scorched Bone in his grip, “this is yours,” his smile carried a primordial weariness, that only those who had lived through the experience could manage to bear.

 

With a tentative step forward, the dog brought her muzzle closer and sniffed. As she did so, her gaze brightened with the light of the sun itself, sinking her teeth into its surface—about to bite Conlogy’s white hand in the process. 

 

The ralts stepped back with alacrity. His reaction was more tame than the abra’s, which startled, his shoulders raised and tense at the notion of seeing an actual live attack—even though nothing had actually happened.

 

“My bhonth’!” she exclaimed, her mouth ajar from the grip of her maw—bag dangling from her chest, grazing the ground with its hide. “Thankhs’!” she lifted one of her front paws, with difficulty but dexterity catching a sack inside—which she set down on the ground. “Thereh yah have yourh payth,” she blurted. Her footsteps scarred with charcoal the pebble on which she stood as she walked away, nibbling at her bone with her wagging tail. 

 

“Ah— Eh— Thanks!” Conlogy waved his hand, but soon his gaze centered on the sack lying in front of him. He reached down, bending his back to, with ease, fish it out between his small, digitless hands. With a single movement, the bag elicited a clinking sound—that of metal. He opened the sack, his red eyes shining like the dawn. “Gold—!” he let out a hasty giggle, “these are my first pokés of the season—! Since that time I did a mission, I think it was last season? Although it’s hard to say which season was the last, I mean, considering it’s always hot here— but whatever, gold! Felix, gold!”

 

In his mind the flash of shining —and it’s worth— made its presence known, and his own eyes widened. “G-Gold…?” the question of whether they were rich now hung in the air, unspoken—but the doubt about what a poké was was pushed to the front of his brain.

 

He closed the sack and pushed it near the abra’s face, wearing a wide grin on his face. “Huma—!” he looked sideways; at the crowd shopping in the market, and lapsed into silence. He coughed, clearing his throat, “I mean, we’re in public— Felix! This is a poké— or also called gold, depends on who you ask, but most call it poké!” he jiggled the sack, once again causing it to clink. “Well, technically this isn’t a poké— it’s a sack, and the gold is inside, but you know what I mean!”

 

That only responded to one of his questions. “S-So… is that a lot of money… or…?” resting his palms on the ground at his sides. He managed to use the strength of his limbs to pull himself up— the twinge in his knees brought him back to the ground with ease.

 

“Well— I don’t know, I haven’t checked yet, but I will now,” he opened the sack and almost stuck part of his face inside just from the closeness. “One, two, three, four… one hundred, two hundred…” he muttered, in between clicking his tongue as he counted, “six hundred!” He pulled his body away from the leather by a few inches, and squinted his eyes. “Umh… is that maybe more than five apples—? Or looks like it, sort of, though I count about seven, or at the very least, more than five, I think—” he shrugged, tucking the sack inside his bag.

 

…

 

He squinted his eyes.

He had to wonder what kind of answer that was—he could assume that Conlogy was not an expert in mathematics, as to find such a mundane task so difficult. “How much, uh, does an apple cost?” He was sure he was still capable of addition and subtraction.

 

“Oh, it costs like, uhh…” he clicked his tongue, “about thirty… thirty-five poké, each! Out of apples, of course,” he replied. “Sorry, math isn’t my thing, but I think that’s pretty obvious—” he giggled a bit, though it was slow and nervous—he clicked his tongue.

 

He sighed—he could understand, he was no connoisseur for the art of addition and subtraction either, but he was competent; or perhaps he was incompetent at even remembering something so basic. He took a deep breath, wringing neurons from his brain. The formula was simple: if they had six hundred coins, three apples was one hundred and five; which left him to multiply by six and subtract the result, leaving seventeen apples.  

 

In perspective, it was not a large sum of money.

 

They had marched for hours, fought, and been bathed in sweat to get one bone—which was worth about seventeen measly apples, which would probably be barely a kilogram.

 

“Uhhh… it would be… seventeen apples.”

 

“Ohh, you did the math! You’re not as fast as the captain, or Mantoroh, but you’re pretty good, Felix, better than me at least—! and some other crew members. I’ve seen some try to calculate something, and they have a hard time— and rightly so! Calculating things is complicated, it would be simpler if it were less like a weird pattern, and hard,” he rambled. “But, I mean,” he cleared his throat, “we should start heading back to the ship! That we don’t wanna miss dinner, don’t you think?” he spun on his heels, facing the direction toward the beach.

 

He wasn’t yet ready to get up. He needed at least two more hours to rest his own bones.

 

The ralts had already set off, “so, how do you think we did today? I think we did pretty good! We deserve that dinner— huh?” That’s when he noticed the lack of his partner advancing behind him. He turned, seeing the abra still resting his butt against the pebble. “Oh, come on, Felix, not again!” he hastened to offer him his hand. “Come on, we can rest on the ship, you know? and we’ll have dinner waiting for us there, too! Are you sure you don’t want to rest, and eat, too?”

 

Beats of silence passed.

 

Conlogy huffed, grabbing Felix’s forearm and starting to pull. “Oh, please! I’m not leaving you here— come on!” his limbs struggled with all his might, but to no avail.

 

His depleted spirit wasn’t going to budge—if necessary, he was willing to rot in his seat, for the sole purpose of resting his heavy muscles. There was no circumstance —except imminent danger— nor external might that could make him change his mind.

 

Though it soon dawned upon him that, if he refused to move, Conlogy could leave without him—he would be alone, in an unfamiliar town, lost and unable to return to the ship on his own. The notion of being unable to navigate, helpless and hungry was even worse than the thought of walking a few more yards.

 

He could ask for directions.

 

…

 

Reluctantly he lifted himself off the ground, his legs akin to quivering jelly. A-Alright… I hope dinner is delicious, a-at least…” he sighed, his lungs losing oxygen with every exhale, as if his soul was threatening to abandon his body through his mouth.

 

“Well, hu— Felix! I knew hunger would get the better of you!” he released a giggle, “but who isn’t overcome by hunger? I do! But I’d have dragged you off if you hadn’t moved, but that wouldn’t be good for either of us, so I’m glad you got up,” he dropped his arm, turning to resume his walk. “By the way, it’s getting late— so I’m sure we’ll be there just as dinner’s ready! Sure, if Karoson’s early, because sometimes he’s later than everyone else… although those times Mantoroh cooks,” he remarked, looking toward the horizon—the sun about to set, creating the amber sky of clouds inked by the same color.

 

…

 

He contemplated the orange for a moment.

 

Something tore in his chest. He shook his head, focusing his mind on the heaviness in his bones. But was it any surprise that it was so late in the day—they had indeed taken their time in making a single mission.

 

Without a word, he began to follow the ralts.

 

Unlike when the sun hovered high in the firmament, the streets were more depopulated now—the tiny ‘mon no longer scurried about trying to catch each other, the bustle had diminished to just discordant voices in the distance. People were preparing to rest, to lie down in their beds and drift into a placid slumber. In the distance the waves; more treacherous than ever, filled the hollow silence with their roar as they crashed. The sea reflected amber, as did the pale sand that was bathed by the sun.

 

His mind, instead, rewound through all the events that had transpired in the day—in his brain flashed; like a flare of memories, images of the dungeon, of the road, of enemies, of psychic powers—he felt the throbbing beneath his skin, the burning on his forehead where the bird had stuck the tip of its beak. His guts stirred. The pulsing beneath his bandage mimicked his heart as he remembered how he froze in the face of danger, the pangs weighed heavier as he remembered the way back, and—

 

“Thankhs’!”

 

The canine’s mirthful tone resonated in his mind, like an echo reverberated on and on in the cave that was his skull. Just from remembering, he felt something twist in his chest—it was warm, light, comfortable as a hug that wrapped its sweet touch around his ribs.

 

“Ah, human— I haven’t seen you smile until now— at least not like this! Did you remember something funny?” he puffed his chest out as he walked. “Or maybe you’re proud!” he giggled. “I get it, I am too!”

 

He hadn’t noticed. “E-Eh, I smile for, uh… nothing in particular…” 

 

Soon his feet settled on the sand—its rough texture creeping in between his toes, his soles sinking slightly with each step he made, the yellow molding to the shape of the end of his limbs. By this time, the touch was no longer like standing on embers, but rather a soft warmth, welcomed into his flesh. 

 

The close-jawed whale was a stark contrast to the natural landscape.

 

“Welcome back, Karoson,” Beatrix spoke—her maw was displayed to the world once more, the white of her lower jaw smacking against the dock on which she leaned, her voice rumbling across the shoreline. “You look… are you alright? Come on in, come on, get some rest.”

 

On the pier, another being stood—the magmortar. But that wasn’t what mattered, nor was it the bag with a leather strap across his body… but his black eye, the bruises that ornamented his figure all over, almost like swollen moles—large and bulging. “No, thanks. I have to cook.”

 

“…Alright, but remember what the captain told you, alright?”

 

Karoson nodded.

 

He breathed out through his teeth at the scene—just the image alone caused a dull tingle under his skin, like static scratching at his insides. The lump that formed in his throat was unable to be swallowed.

 

Conlogy; in front of him, gasped and rushed with alacrity towards the magmortar. “Karoson—?! A-Are you alright—?! Stupid question, sorry, but— what happened?!” standing beside him, the ralts eyebrows arched upward, frowning.

 

He took a few seconds to turn around, but when he did, he merely sighed and glanced down, making eye contact. “I’m fine,” he didn’t utter another word, rolling his head toward Beatrix. “Can I pass?”

 

“…Sure,” with a herculean movement that rippled the seas around her, the cetacean’s massive maw revealed to the world, allowing the orange rays of sunlight to enter.

 

“W-What do you mean, you’re alright?! But if those wounds look—” he frowned; complicated to see beneath his hair, and lowered his head. His shoulders slumped with a gentle shudder. “…Whatever,” he looked away to the ground, “…I’m glad you’re alright.”

 

Karoson nodded, his figure backlit by marble teeth and the huge tongue that folded in front of him like a meaty path to the pulpy interior. “Me too,” he stepped inside the jaws, entering and losing himself in the shadows as he moved forward—only leaving the trail of fire, distant in the distance. 

 

A bead of sweat trickled down from his palms. Though doubts assailed him, his vision focused on Conlogy. As much as he wanted to intervene, his feet had suddenly weighed hundreds of tons.

 

Silence settled between the two, cut by the deafening sigh of the cetacean. “Well… sorry about that, but welcome.”

 

Though the abra didn’t speak, Conlogy did take a deep breath before raising his head—waving his hand. “Y…Yes! Hello, Beatrix.”

 

“Hello, Conlogy,” her small eyes barely shifted, no sclera around the tiny pure irises colored like tar. “Felix, right? Thank you for joining Conlogy, he’s a chatty boy but… well, I’m glad you could join him. Come on in,” the huge door blocking their way opened, resting her colossal tongue on the wood of the dock.

 

“I’m not chatty—” the ralts clicked his tongue, “or at least I think so, though I tend to ramble on, yes— but I don’t think that’s being chatty, that would be like, well, talking a lot, about a lot of things, not what I do!” — the only retort he received was a soft chuckle coming from the whale. He huffed, giving a soft stomp. “Hey, don’t laugh, I’m telling the truth— or at least I’m sure I am, I think!” he turned to look at the abra. “Felix! I’m not chatty, right?”

 

He made eye contact for a brief moment.

 

He gulped and shook his head, “I-I don’t think so…” he shrank in on himself a bit, putting his feet up to position himself next to Conlogy—now fully aware of Beatrix’s height, which loomed over them.

 

“See, Beatrix, I knew I didn’t talk much! I once knew a guy who talked a lot, actually it was a little too much— but I can understand, sometimes you want to say a lot of things but they’re all like, well— ehh…” he pointed to his temple, “they’re here, you know! And you want to say them, but there’s no time left,” he began to step over the tongue, giving way inside the maw—still chattering. “So you forget what you were saying! So you have to say it fast— so you don’t forget it, like I said.”

 

“M-Makes sense…” Karoson had already outrun them enough to not leave a trace of light in his path—just the two of them, amidst the gloom that enveloped them. As they set foot on the gelatinous, wet ground, Felix heard from behind them the deafening thud of the jaw snapping shut—causing the earth to shudder with roaring tremors. What kept him from hitting the ground was Conlogy’s hand, which grasped his.

 

“Human, I think I’m going to have to take your hand again— I hope you don’t mind! It’s not that I think you can’t walk or anything— I don’t mean it that way! Actually I just think you might fall, and that wouldn’t be good, you know, but tomorrow you can go on your own— if you want to, of course,” he commented, his wet dull thudding footsteps echoing in the esophagus.

 

Considering his feet were threatening to slip as if he were treading on ice, perhaps the notion that tomorrow he could safely walk was overly optimistic—but he didn’t wish to inconvenience Conlogy any more than necessary. “Tomorrow, uh… tomorrow I can, umh, walk on my own…” he shrugged, “I-I think?”

 

“I’ll take that as a yes— though you don’t sound sure!” 

 

After that the silence subsided, but… that image remained like a worm, twisting in his gray matter, burrowing viciously into his neurons—that of bruises covering a warm-colored body, of prominent bags under his eyes. Recalling that was capable of freezing his blood. He longed for answers to what he had seen, “uh…” but his throat closed—he found himself unable.

 

In the blackness Conlogy’s face was imperceptible, but he still heard the air as he turned his head to glance at him out of the corner of his eye. “I think I said this before— I think, because it was like a few hours ago— but I said not to cut yourself off! Feel free to ask, human, I’m here to answer questions, yours— sort of.”

 

“…N-No, nothing,” he knew what the good strategy was.

 

It was none of his business.

 

It never was.

 

He could tell himself that to the mirror a thousand times, but the twinge in his heart wasn’t going to abandon him—it was his devoted partner.

 

…

 

Light in the distance snapped him out of his thoughts; it came from the ancient lamps. Near one of them loomed Doshe, the tip of his tail grazing the glass—with the twitch of the end of his limb, his skin was enveloped in a mantle of yellow sparks, which accumulated in mere milliseconds to be dispatched as a tiny bolt of lightning. Upon contact with the artifact, the light flickered before glowing brighter—with its soft warmth.

 

…That was something else the monsters were now capable of: generating electricity.

 

Soon they abandoned the gloom, entering the opening. At the sight of the ring he felt a shiver run down his spine. Sitting at the bar were Sancyel and Huirai; talking to each other about something he couldn’t hear. His eyes went to his hut—he was only a few steps away from the sweet rest he yearned for. So heavy were his limbs that even a bed of hay rang out like a paradise on earth.

 

One of the shack doors was open—from it billowed smoke, which was tinged with the appetizing scent of fruits and flames; the sizzling came from within. He leaned his body as far as possible to observe the hut—he noticed a long table… and a glass partition that served as a divider for a kitchen. There was where the magmortar stood; still covered in bruises.

 

His stomach growled—as did Conlogy’s, which he heard right next to him. This one sniffed, the sound of his nose wrinkling completely hearable to anyone present within a few feet. “Smells like dinner— hooray, we made it in time! Although, well, obviously we did, after all…” he lapsed into silence, his shoulders slumping.

 

His heart twisted. He opened his mouth to try to find the words, but—

 

Conlogy thumped his chest—a thud coming from his skin. “But he’ll be fine, Karoson is always fine—! Or so I hope…” he cleared his throat, spinning on his heels to face Felix—bearing an attempt of a smile. “But, Felix— while we’re waiting for dinner, we should rest! I’ve seen you tired all day— you almost didn’t get up in the town, and you complained all the way back… So it’s finally time to go to bed— or at the very least sit down!”

 

The feeling in his chest grew lighter—like a feather. He could even feel the corners of his mouth begin to lift, slowly but steadily—

 

“But!” He raised a hand upward.

 

His expression ceased to form.

 

“But, before we do that— we have to go to the captain— oh, well, to his office! Surely he’s in his office!” he turned on his heels, facing the largest shack in the whole opening—where he had signed the contract to join. “Oh, well, it’s not his office— I mean it is, but he sleeps there too, so would it be an office and a bedroom? Or maybe it’s neither, and it’s a third thing…” he hummed.

 

“Uh…” he blinked—gulping his groan of disappointment. “W-Why…?”

 

“Why does he live in his office? Well, because it’s more comfortable and more efficient, I think—”

 

“N-No—” he interrupted, “I-I mean… why do we have to, umh, go there?”

 

“Oh. Right, I didn’t explain that part— follow me and I’ll explain on the way,” he started to advance—the abra following close behind. “But as I was saying, when we finish a mission— which I haven’t done in a while— we have to go to the captain, he’ll mark the mission complete and take his share of the money, and with that we’d be ready to have dinner and then go to sleep— or talk, because we’ll talk about your world all night!” he giggled.

 

His eyes opened wide. In his mind, another flash—the one from yesterday’s conversation.

 

Oh.

 

It struck him like a bolt of lightning—to realize that they had worked so hard, for a pittance that would be further reduced because of the tax.

 

They found themselves both in front of the door. Conlogy reached for the knob, but before he turned it he froze. “Ah— human, come to think of it— don’t you want to go rest? I can do this part by myself, like yesterday—”

 

“N-No,” the notion of having the fruit of their labor taken from them, and not even being there to behold it… left a bittersweet aftertaste on his tongue. “I’ll go with you.”

 

“Oh— alright?” he tilted his head to one side, and clicked his tongue. “Alright!” he turned the knob, and pushed the door.

 

The place was just as and how he recalled it, with the desk in the center of the room at floor level—this time with more papers piled up on its surface, mountains of pages that reached even to Zelodec’s shoulders—he was sitting on the comfortable cloth cushion in front of them.

 

He didn’t remember the place being so spacious.

 

Zelodec looked up when he heard the door swing open, and when he saw them, he smiled. Two of his arms stretched out to the sides, like the gesture of a welcoming embrace. “Hey, boys! Heya!” he leaned forward, his lower arms dropping off the paper, instead folding across and resting on the oak wood. “How did it go?” with a snort of his nose, he stifled his laughter. “I’m sure the trip was quite funny, considering ya’re a prankster, and Conlogy, bwahaha! Did ya guys talk about humans, maybe? It must have been fun, next time invite me, haha!” with one of his lower hands he slapped his crossed knee, resuming a calmer —though still vigorous— smile. “But hey, how’s it going? Did ya boys did well? Starting the first mission of the week well is starting off on the right foot.”

 

“Well, we did well! Well, what can be considered good, I think we did do well— ah, but I’m going off the deep end here—”

 

“Don’t worry about that, ramble on as much as ya like, boy! When have I ever complained about listening to ya talk?”

 

“I know— but I’m rambling anyway because I wanted to say—” he blinked, startled, “ah, right— I wanted to show you this!” he opened his bag, hastily pulling out the mission paper and the leather sack; now in his grip. Shaking it jingled, “our reward— my first in seasons— and Felix’s first!” he deposited both items on the desk. “Isn’t it impressive, isn’t it?” he flashed a broad grin.

 

“Of course it is! It’s good that ya bring in gold once in a while— but maybe we should pay ye, with how well ye clean up, boy!” he poured the gold onto the desk, scattering the yellow on top of the papers without a hitch—with his other hand he carried the mission to a pile of papers. “But let’s see, lemme count how much there is…” his finger commenced to create a small pile, physically setting one aside from the other, “let’s see… one hundred… two hundred… three hundred… five hundred… six hundred just right!” he finished building up the pile. His other hand tapped his fingers on the edge of the desk, creating a rhythmic thud. “Forty percent then…” he hummed, “that would be…” his head rose a few inches. “Ah, right, two hundred and forty!” he divided the coins with his palm. “There, there goes the tax!” he stuffed the larger remainder of gold back into the sack, and handed it to Conlogy. “There ya go, good job, boys!”

 

That was only ten apples. Hours of work for a measly ten apples. He felt his heart plummet in his chest.

 

“Thanks, Captain! Felix did very well too!”

 

“He did well? Ha, a prankster AND a good fighter with guts!” he chuckled. “We sure hit the jackpot with you, boy!” his grin widened.

 

He cringed—knowing that none of the three things mentioned were true was bitter. “T-Thank you…” he didn’t dare to correct him.

 

“There’s no need to thank me! Thanks aren’t necessary when only truths are said, boy,” he turned his gaze toward Conlogy. “Then what are ye doing now? I recommend ya go get some rest, ye rookies need yer time to rest yer feet! Soon enough Karoson will have dinner ready, and I wouldn’t mind hearing details of how ya boys did!”

 

“Really, Captain?”

 

“Truly really, feel free to ramble on while eatin’!”

 

Conlogy let out a giggle. “Thanks, Captain! Now we’ll be off to rest— though we’re going to have dinner later!” he stowed the sack inside his bag, and turned to open the door, pulling it open—standing on tiptoe to reach the knob. 

 

“Rest well, ’cause part of training is sleeping until ya snore!”

 

“A-Ah— G-Goodbye—”

 

When Conlogy departed from the room, Felix followed him—he had no reason to stay any longer. He was the one who closed the door, watching Zelodec’s smile linger as he returned to the papers on his desk.

 

Without wasting any time they started walking.

 

“Come on, Doshe, just one fight!” — he heard from afar, coming from Arinton; who was sitting at the bar.

 

“I’m tired today… Maybe tomorrow?” 

 

“Tomorrow then! I’ll show you who’s the best of the crew!”

 

“That would be dad!” — another small voice chimed in.

 

He focused forward —and raised his hand along with Conlogy to wave to Mantoroh, who walked past them and into the hut they had come from; with a mountain of papers in his arms— when he heard the bubbling giggle coming from the ralts. “That was our first mission— we got our first reward, Felix! Felix, Felix, we did it— and really, without things to add, even if it was hard and we’re tired!” he exclaimed, still leading the way to their shared hut.

 

“W-Well yes… we made it…” when he uttered it out loud it sounded unrealistic—he was certain they were going to perish on their first mission, but he found himself alive; with a reward that, though pitiful, existed. He dared not mention his fears, however, because he did not wish to ruin their mood or the conversation.

 

“Yes—! And you what’s the best thing, even better than gold or that we made it?!” he remarked, as he removed the leather strap that crossed his chest to deposit it behind the books in a bookcase—to pick up a tome instead, hastening to sit on his own hay bed. “The best thing is that now we’re going to talk about the human world— because that was the deal, even if you don’t remember much! And this time you’re not so tired— I mean, walking, as if not to answer— at least while we’re waiting for dinner, which should be soon!”

 

Unlike Conlogy, Felix had thrown himself toward the bed —ignoring the dull twinge that formed in his forehead at being so abrupt in his movement— to curl up on the dry grass, it crunching under the weight of his body. The brittle points made space in his heavy skin, his bones beginning their silent scream, his nerves sending all the signals to his brain… but even though they were similar to the painful throbbing, they were placid to feel. 

 

He groaned, sinking his face into the sagging material on which he lay.

 

“But now you can’t escape—!” he opened his book, quickly beginning to flip pages. “You answered anatomy questions yesterday, so you should still remember that— though if you don’t let me know so I can look up questions you might know, though you might not know anything— but getting to the point!” he cleared his throat.

 

He closed his eyes, accommodating his position. His sigh sounded muffled. His entire consciousness weighed like an anvil of hundreds of tons, now dancing in the infinity of the gloom that reigned in his sight. 

 

“Let’s start with the questions! So— how many bones does the human body have? Or do they have no bones at all?” he shook his head, “but no, impossible, no, no, no, no, no! That means Fermlock would be right— and I refuse! Human, please debunk Fermlock and tell me that humans have five hundred bones in total! Or maybe you don’t know the number but… at least you know a general, right? Oh, and speaking of generals! How many muscles do humans have? Do they have nerves? Oh, surely they do! I know you only have a head and a brain, and I can’t quite believe it yet, but come on, tell me more—”

 

The noise became detached, as distant as the waves of the sea. His eyelids were heavy.

 

He fell.