Chapter 5 — Part 1: Town 9

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Smog poured down from infinity, rows and rows of smoke creating the seamless mist, bound to the very layers of reality itself. The mud covering his feet was cold, frigid as ice itself. A tangy touch to his heels, with a shiver running up his spine, until it reached his chin. The hands of emptiness wrapped their fingers around his throat, the buds palpitating.

 

There, nothing was everything, and everything was nothing, because with its howl, it was all nonexistent. The darkness pervaded from beginning to end, without being capable of recognizing where it began or where it ended. On the tip of his tongue, he knew where he was—in the oneiric world, in the primordial black of consciousness.

 

But there was no warm oblivion to swallow—he had already consumed it all, burned away his identity. Now he was just the ashes of who he became. Neither of them had any great value.

 

Between the haze the ghostly hand split the air, vacuumed the oxygen with its presence, left him empty in his lungs and soul, frozen. He breathed in deeply, gulped—he was aware of how this interaction was bound to end, but he couldn’t give up, not without trying. He reached out his hand, brushing his fingertips against the presence—

 

“…human…”

 

He murmured.

 

“Human…”

 

Light shattered the darkness.

 

“…Human!”

 

He opened his eyes.

 

And looming over him was the ralts—with his hands on his shoulders, shaking with the softness of the ship’s own wobble. “Human, wake up—! It’s late, you’ve had enough sleep, come on!” his non-digit hands clutched, squeezing a bit tighter and burying themselves in his skin. 

 

He merely stared at him. The world spun, circled like a merry-go-round. His mouth terminated in bitter twist, just like his being, and the itch in his skin had kicked in—it had shown its presence like the loathsome worm it was, wriggling between the space of his ribs and bones. He parted his mouth, and proceeded to unleash a groan. “Con… logy…” he mumbled, the green and white shapes of the blurred light taking shape in his vision.

 

“Ah, what—?” the ralts straightened slightly, crouched down right next to him. He blinked, but was soon startled faintly. “Ah, no, wait, you’re awake!” his palms left his arms, sketching a smile. “I’m glad—! You’re getting up, aren’t you? You stopped several times yesterday, but today is a new day, so I hope you’ll get up.”

 

His heart pounded in his eardrums. The next thing he was aware of was how his body felt swollen, his flesh with static all over his form, the twinge behind his knees begging and screaming with a life of its own. Just by being conscious, a familiar prickling appeared behind his eyes. He scrunched up his face, emitting another groan—an aching one, just like his old bones. He squirmed, but the pang dug deeper into his skin, with an infernal heat spreading through his nerves.

 

Conlogy tilted his head, “Human? Come on, human, don’t exaggerate! Surely you’re not that hurt! I’m not, and we did almost the same thing, so, I guess— I guess it wouldn’t make sense for you to be that in pain—” he reached out to grab his shoulder and pull, but he ceased his movement, instead his eyebrows arched. “Or… maybe you do? I thought humans would have more energy, but humans are different from each other, so— wait, let me—” with words hanging in the air, his horn proceeded to glow—white effulgence that caused Felix to hiss. At the second he winced, cringing his shoulders at the same time, “alright— no— oh, alright— alright, you’re bad— my bad— my bad for assuming,” he exhaled, even with a tinge of pity. “But—” he gripped Felix’s arm, “but! But we have to get up— well, not me, since I already did, but you! Otherwise, they’re going to take all the good missions before us— if I already heard them from here, even—!”

 

The muffled sound of something knocking on the door with a soft rhythm interrupted the words of the ralts —who turned to look in the direction of the sound— and a drowned voice came from outside: “Conlogy? Felix? Did you wake up already? We’re choosing missions and I didn’t want you to be late,” he spoke, and after a single heartbeat of silence, he continued, “Well, only if you want to take one. If not, that’s fine too, just giving you a heads up,” what followed were muffled footsteps that faded over the short distance.

 

“Ah, no— we’re coming, Mantoroh!” Conlogy shouted to the doorway, then turned his whole body to face Felix, beginning to tug. “Come on, human, didn’t you hear Mantoroh? they’re already picking them out, like I said before—!” he clenched his teeth, digging his heels into the rock. “Come on, don’t do this again— not today!”

 

His heavy eyelids drooped. His fingers wiggled, still resting on the —now so comfortable— hay bed he was lying on, “later…” he murmured, curled up, “I don’t want to today…” — actually, he wished he didn’t have to head out on those dangerous missions ever again for the remainder of his existence; one had already caused irreversible damage to his legs, and not even a mission had caused the throbbing under his bandage. He longed to never have to get out of bed, to drift off into eternal sleep. But that desire could not be shared, so he only bit his tongue, and squeezed his eyes tighter—hopefully he could travel to the dream world with more alacrity.

 

“No, get up—!” he insisted, taking slow steps backward to pull with the full weight of his body. In less than a heartbeat, though, he halted. Even that surprised Felix, who opened a single eye to look at the ralts—frozen in place. He squinted, and hummed. “Although…” he let out another hum, “actually, human— we could take a tour, if you’d like?” he tilted his head, still not releasing his arm. “I was just thinking how you still don’t know the town! Sure, because I didn’t introduce you to it yesterday— but we had a mission yesterday, so I couldn’t! But today I could show you around—” he folded his arms. “And maybe then you’ll answer my questions at night!” he huffed in frustration. “Yesterday you fell asleep— it’s not fair!” 

 

…The memory surfaced like a flash in his brain. He was able to remember how he had collapsed, with no intention of continuing to listen to the ralts’ ramblings. Conlogy had been helping him all day long, and in return, he had repaid him in that way. The anvil in his lungs twisted inside his ribs, unable to be swallowed with pure spit. His mouth dry, he sighed and drew his knees together, pressing his palms against the floor. He raised himself up, leaning his back against the wall beside his bed, and looked into the eyes —with an inner gleam that could be discerned behind the hair— of Conlogy. “…You have a point—” he stammered, and took a deep breath. “A-Alright… it— it doesn’t sound, uh… it doesn’t sound… bad?” he shrugged. It was a far better idea than grueling violence, but he felt a shiver as he remembered the sheer number of people in the square yesterday.

 

He sketched a broad smile—as radiant as his gaze. “Does it really sound good? You don’t sound sure, but— good!” he clicked his tongue. “I’m glad it sounds good to you— because it’s a good idea! I’ll introduce you to all of Arcella Town! Wait— you know it’s called that, right—?” as he rambled on, he held out his hand to offer help to the abra. “Oh, oh, this will be great! I never have a reason to explain anything to anyone, because everyone knows, obviously! But not you, so this will be great— like I said.”

 

“I-I guess—” he took up the offer, finally lifting himself off the ground entirely. “Oh, and— th-thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome, I’m just helping you up! I don’t think that deserves a thank you, though I don’t know, I’d say thank you too,” he shrugged. In the blink of an eye he grabbed Felix’s hand, beginning his trek towards the door. “But that doesn’t matter— come on, let’s go!” They walked past the bookshelf, abandoning the bag. “Never mind the missions, so we don’t have to pick anything up.”

 

It didn’t sound like a smart idea, “i-if you say so…” 

 

With a slam, Conlogy opened the door and set foot outside the shack, Felix following behind. As soon as they exited the interior of the room, Mantoroh’s presence was noticeable—he was leaning against the wall beside the door, arms folded and gazing toward the center of the opening, near Zelodec’s office. Where his vision focused was on the small group gathered in front of the long hut: the four-armed monster stood tall behind a tiny table —which wobbled more than any other structure, threatening to fall into the slimy flesh— on which rested a pile of missions. In front of the counter was a queue: first was the reptile; Doshe, who grabbed a quest from the stack, reading silently and letting his tail serve as a metronome. Behind him the owl flew a few inches off the ground, one of the talons of his feet tapping the air in an idle, rhythmic motion. Finally there was…

 

His throat closed, for no particular reason—because the lack of air in the room was nothing more than his imagination.

 

Huirai waited, patient.

 

In the direction that led to the esophagus, and a few feet away from everyone, Arinton strode into the darkness—cream-colored papers in his hands, reading carelessly. 

 

Conlogy gave a quick glance toward them before settling his eyes on Felix. “I thought about getting the bag, but— well, I don’t think we’ll buy or earn anything! But don’t worry, I always carry with me,” he raised a hand to scratch his hair, “right here—” 

 

“Ah, you’re awake,” Mantoroh interrupted, turning his head towards them. “Good morning, Conlogy and Felix,” a small smile formed on his face, lifting his arm to give a faint wave. “I gather you slept well today.”

 

Conlogy nodded, “Yes— no turbulence today! Although, well,” he hummed, and clicked his tongue. “That’s not weird, because today Beatrix didn’t move— but back to the point, of course we slept well!” 

 

“I’m glad.” With a short pause, he pointed toward the line of individuals—contaminated by the heavy aura. “Almost everyone has already taken on missions, but there are still some left, so don’t worry.”

 

“Umh. W-We’re not going—”

 

“Oh, thanks— but we won’t be taking missions today!” Conlogy shook his head, interrupting the abra behind him. “Though thanks for saying—! But now…” he gripped Felix’s hand tighter, starting to run —not too quickly— towards the corridor shrouded in gloom. “We’re leaving! Bye!” 

 

The suddenness was milliseconds away from causing him to fall, but he regained his balance and allowed Conlogy to guide the pace. He turned his head to look from the corner of his eye toward the chesnaught, “g-goodbye—”

 

Mantoroh blinked, eyes wide. “Oh. Goodbye, then?” his hand, still raised, waved with a slight movement in the air. 

 

They ran past the side of the line, right behind Huirai—which lifted his hand in greeting, his eyes going first to Conlogy, then settling on the abra; which felt a shudder. “Good morning.”

 

Doshe still kept reading a paper, but waved.

 

Zelodec darted his gaze towards them, following them with his eyes as the duo trotted towards the esophagus. “Oh, hey, boys!” he tilted his head to the side, bringing a hand to his mouth to use as a megaphone, “aren’t ya’ll takin’ a mission?” 

 

Felix cringed, but Conlogy only rolled his face to look sideways—waved his free hand in the air. “No, we’re going to do something else today— a tour!”

 

“A tour— for the prankster? Careful he doesn’t pull a prank on you in the middle of the square, bwahaha!” Zelodec gave them a thumbs up. “Good luck, boys!”

 

Doshe hummed. Huirai sketched a thin grin as he watched them leave, “good luck to you both.”

 

His throat tightened, only looking away from the group.

 

“Thank you— we’ll have it!” he shouted, his voice already faded by the distance, just like the others. They left the opening, leaving the light behind—now what engulfed each step was darkness, embracing their small bodies amidst the gloom. 

 

The path was as dim as it had been yesterday, now without a light that could guide them to the end of the tunnel—only the expert footsteps of the ralts, who clutched his hand like a life preserver in the middle of the ocean; both physically and literally, was present. He had to remember how such a small creature, so eager and full of energy, was really his only ally who could understand his dire situation. 

 

“Human, I think I said something about walking alone around here yesterday, didn’t I? Or something like that,” the ralts voice was the only thing discernible in the blackness—that and the warmth in Felix’s hand. “But— well, maybe that’s better until tomorrow, human? You might fall off today, too, and that wouldn’t be good— but tomorrow you can try, don’t worry!” 

 

Soon the firmness of flesh was replaced by the slippery spittle that threatened to make him tumble. The strength of the grip on his hand increased, and progressively the pace in his walk slowed.

 

It took only a few minutes before rays of light burst into his sight—the jaws of the cetacean illuminated by the embrace of the star in the firmament, shining on the tongue, and upon the incineroar; which set foot on the dock.

 

The luminescence was interrupted—by a swift movement of opening and closing. The ground rumbled, and just like the strong pressure of the waves of the sea, something propelled them both forward. It was the vibration of vocal cords. Felix felt the twinge in his legs, threatening to collapse his body—but the ralts held firm, keeping them both on their feet. 

 

“Good luck, Arinton,” even the ripples gave way and receded in the face of such a magnificent voice. The reverberations echoed throughout the creature’s esophagus and throat, like a painful embrace in all directions. Causing his weak bones to tremble.

 

With a leap, the incineroar turned and flashed two thumbs up at Beatrix. “Talent is always lucky as victini, Beatrix, so don’t worry!” he exclaimed, departing with a turn on his heels towards the beach, thence into town.

 

After that spectacle, the light proceeded to bathe the two psychic types. Once again, Felix watched as in front of him the ralts writhed ever so slightly under the light, threatening to raise his free hand to use it as a visor—but he preferred to just hiss softly. He felt the wood beneath his feet, leaving the sticky wetness, with its —not so— putrid smell clinging to his itchy skin. 

 

Stepping out, Conlogy decided to turn around—with Beatrix’s small eyes resting on him. “Hello, Beatrix!” he dropped Felix’s hand with reason to wave both arms in front of the whale, smiling. 

 

The wood shook, “good morning, Conlogy,” the black dots barely moved to lock onto the abra. “And to your new friend. Felix, right? Sorry, I’m still not used to your name.”

 

That a cetacean was speaking to his face caused a shudder to creep through every bone in his body—which he didn’t know how many there were. He gulped, his shoulders and back firm, stiff as muscles, “y-yes, t-that’s me,” he paused, “m-madam.” 

 

Beatrix chuckled—even that mere sound was able to create ripples in the roaring sea, surrendered to the magnitude of the cetacean. “No need to be so formal with me, we’re all friends in the crew, after all. Just call me Beatrix, though you knew that already, didn’t you?” she laughed again—though her voice was booming, her tone was gentle; like a calm ocean. “Good luck to you both, dears.”

 

Conlogy nodded, “thanks, Beatrix!” he cast a glance at the abra. “Say thank you too, Felix!” 

 

He was not eager to tempt fate. He swallowed, lowering the lump in his throat back down to his stomach. “T-Thank you…”

 

As they both retired, the thundering waves of gentle, faint laughter echoed up and down the shore. From wood his feet passed to the hot sand that was caught between his toes, to pass down to the, ember-like, stones that shaped the path to the blurred village in the distance. Figures, just like yesterday, were beginning to take shape in his sight—revealing clay houses, and pokémon of various types.

 

They ascended the stairs to depart from the shore, reaching the main street—to the right were four scattered houses, made of clay and relatively small in size. He could remember how those were preceding the square. So, as his memories had dictated, they finally arrived at the first crossroads. To the right was the square —as bustling as yesterday, with a crowd around multiple fairground stalls; with exhibits of goods, some familiar and some strange and otherworldly— and to the left a lonely street that led to fuzzy figures farther off in the distance.

 

“Well, Felix— here we are, again!” Conlogy spun around, stretching his arms out to the sides; as if attempting to encompass all that was left for them to find and observe. “In Arcella Town! It’s a great town, isn’t it? I wasn’t born here, but we visit it quite a bit since it has plenty of missions— and since it’s half closed, it’s not like they can hire many people from outside either— but it’s still one of the biggest towns on the Sand Continent!” he snorted, his smile tainted with a tinge of pride. “Not as big as Turbine Town, though, heh.” He tilted his head to the side, clicking his tongue, “And I think it’s smaller than Sahra, too? Though Sahra is mostly a tourist trap, so…” he blinked, and straightened his body, turning on his heels to face the square. “But that doesn’t matter, because today I’m going to show you everything important about the town— especially for sailors like us! And I’ll also answer your questions— which I’m sure you have!” 

 

Already in just those mere words there were gaps, of which he would be happy to inquire. “W-Well… a-alright, thanks, uh… where do we start—?”

 

“Wherever you like!”

 

“Alright. Umh. What’s Sahra—?”

 

“Oh, right— you don’t know what that is!” he gently struck his forehead with his palm. “Sorry, sometimes I forget you don’t know these things, human… but— I’m glad you asked! Well—” he clicked his tongue, “Sahra Town is a town that’s south of here— though it’s more southeast… or was it southwest? Wait—” he looked in all directions before continuing, “No, it was southeast! But that’s southeast of here, and it’s a tourist trap— or at least that’s what they call it, and I agree. Don’t you think the expression is weird? It’s a trap for what? What do they trap them in? But then I realized that they trap them there to sell them stuff, and then it made sense!” he trailed off, and startled. “Ah, but I’m beating around the bush!” he cleared his throat. “As I was saying, all the foreigners go there, all the time— I think it’s because it’s the only town on the continent where you can go with a Lapras Travel passport, so it’s easy, and cheap. Though Turbine is better! Well, not that much better, but bigger than Sahra at the very least. I’ve been there, it’s not that good. Can you believe when I was young, they said Sahra was the next Turbine? But they were like Fermlock, fraudsters! I tell you, fraudsters!” 

 

…He scratched the back of his neck, “a-about the tour…”

 

“Ah— right!” he slammed his palm against his own forehead again, his hand slowly drifting down to his chin. “Sorry, I’ve done it again— I go off the deep end so fast, it happens to me all the time, though it’s not like anyone stops me when I do it so it’s hard to notice until it gets to a point where even I realize I’ve gone off the deep end— just like now—” he groaned, “sorry…” he cleared his throat, and turned to face the street that headed off to the left; in the distance, houses spaced far apart from all the others. “Before I explain to you the things that are very important for a sailor, over there is Bluetain— which was named originally… uh, I think Blue Mountain—! You know, sometimes I wonder who makes up those kinds of names for places, or for cities, or districts, and it’s not like it appears in the books about humans that I have, so it’s still a mystery,” he hummed, “maybe I should look into it… But later, that I’m explaining to you now—! ” he cleared his throat, “anyway, over there is Bluetain, and it’s the district with the most important and influential people on the council of Arcella— I think it’s called the council? Or maybe the council was the one in Turbine and here it was… what was it? Community Elector? Ah, but whatever the name, they’re all the same— but they’re the ones who decide things in this town… the rich!” 

 

In short: a district of wealthy people. That was not an alien concept, but an extremely familiar notion. It left him with a bitter aftertaste. He nodded, “uhh… the council?” — he could attempt to presume it was some sort of government, but it was better to confirm his answer rather than say the wrong thing. 

 

“Ah, yes, the council. They’re like the Community Elector version— or community? Well, it has many names but, in short, they’re when people from towns get together to make decisions together, like…” he trailed off, and he clicked his tongue before shrugging. “I don’t remember what exactly now, sorry— but they choose things, basically! And Bluetain folks tend to be the most influential in making the important decisions—”

 

“S-So they’re like, uh, a government?” he decided to interrupt, seeing that they were walking straight into the void of rambling.

 

“A government?” Conlogy tilted his head. “What is that—?” his eyes widened; glare lighting up his red gaze, “wait—! Is that a human thing—!?” he grabbed his shoulders.

 

With the warmth settled in his arms, he squirmed awkwardly. It was best not to elaborate until later. “Uhhh… n-nevermind, it’s, uh, not important.”

 

The grip grew firmer, “come on, tell me!” he insisted, a tinge of eagerness as he tapped his foot on the floor.

 

“Uh,” he cringed. That wasn’t the time to explain something he was barely able to comprehend, with the lapses in his memory. “L-Later…?” he shrugged, hoping with all his soul that answer would quench Conlogy’s thirst of inquisitiveness.

 

The ralts narrowed his eyes, making eye contact—or anything resembling it, since he was looking more towards his muzzle… with a sigh, he took a step back; the heat leaving Felix’s shoulders. “Alright, alright— then let me explain the square— the square thing, at least! Come on, let’s go!” he caught the abra’s hand with his own, and pulled him forward…

 

Into the crowd. He felt a shudder—just to sink along with the tide of people and its notion was capable of tearing his throat from the inside. But he was aware that he had no capacity to protest, so he allowed Conlogy to lead him to the center of the square.

 

They passed next to several stalls—one with baked clay pots displayed on red carpets, another of multiple sacks with labels —of illegible text— on them, a stall that seemed to sell wooden and straw toys, and even a fruit stall; they seemed to be of arid climate, which was to be expected just by looking at the sky.

 

“Hey, Felix, do you like crowds? I don’t really like them— but I’m not complaining either, because I don’t think anyone likes crowds, right? So sorry for asking an obvious question,” he commented idly, still steering the course.

 

Felix gulped—at least they could agree on something. “I, uh… I don’t like crowds either,” he replied.

 

“So does everyone else!” he pointed out, “but if no one likes crowds, why doesn’t anyone do anything to fix it? Or maybe you can’t, and someone already tried—” he hummed, “I should look for information about that… but—” he ceased his pacing, and let go of Felix’s hand before turning on his heels to face him. “But we’re here!” — they stood in the upper right corner of the rectangular-shaped square, which was underpopulated, with a smaller number of stalls clogging the path and littering the ground. “This is the favorite market place area for any sailor—! Or independent explorers, or independent rescuers— or anyone who works with dungeons, because we’re not the only ones, did you know—? Wait, of course you don’t know—”

 

The bustle proceeded from behind them—in front of Felix, the uninhabited corner contained only a handful of things that could catch his attention. The first of these; the standout like gold in a pile of garbage, was a chest-reddish and purple like a hellish brick, made up of two shapes: the first cube, of size of his trunk, and the second protruding above it, like a smaller version. The circumference of both was shrouded in shiny gold, outlining their shape. And lastly, in its center, a golden valve —similar to the rudder of a ship, a real one— sealed its interior. 

 

“That’s the Deposit Box! Yes, that’s what it’s called,” Conlogy began to speak, walking over to stand beside the chest, resting his elbow against its flank. “This replaced many years ago the banks and the Kangaskhan Storage—! Well, not everywhere— in the smaller towns those are still there, but I’m going off the deep end…” he cleared his throat. “I don’t know how they work, but with just an identification of your footprint they are able to create for you a storage— an almost infinite store of items! And since then, all the explorers, or rescuers, or us! we keep our stuff here. Like gold, or mission items— well, anything! And it’s unlimited, and it’s shared wherever you go! It’s amazing— and I have no idea how it works!” 

 

The second thing to note, less relevant, was the stall furthest into the corner. Unlike the others; with its shawl overhead protecting heads from the sun and the cloth mats where they displayed their wares, this store was different in that it featured a counter with dried green paint. The building behind the attendant pokémon was similar to a small hut, also of an emerald hue—the roof possessed the shape of the head of the; apparently, owner, and fabrics of changing colors billowed in the gentle breeze. The pokémon behind the counter was a chameleon-like bipedal reptile, ignoring, of course, its yellow lips that connected with a ring pattern around its sockets. The red zigzag pattern on its belly was a contrast to the rest of its more earthy colors.

 

Conlogy took a step forward, pointing his fingerless hand toward the chameleon. “That’s a kecleon— of the kecleon family! Well, that makes it sound like all kecleon are a family— but they’re not, there’s actually a group that calls itself The Family, and they operate the stores worldwide—! Ah, sorry, I’m going off the deep end again, aren’t I?” he cleared his throat. “But, I meant, that’s the Kecleon Shop, and they sell— well, they sell everything: orbs, wands, food— but we care about exploration items! They even sell MTs!”

 

“…M-MTs?”

 

“Ah— right, you don’t know,” he cleared his throat once more. “They’re like some disks, then you eat them… and learn how to make a move! Of course, only if your species can normally learn it, not all MTs are compatible with everyone, you know? If not, that would be great—”

 

For an instant he felt the world revolve. Of all the incomprehensible things he had heard, so far, that was the most implausible. He was unable to fathom how devouring something could bestow knowledge. But he is, above all, strategic

 

“But it doesn’t matter, let me explain the next thing— the next important shop, I mean!” he pointed toward the next thing…

 

Next to the stall, another notable one stood—the pokémon behind the counter —similar to three stacked gold bars, light wood to enhance the resemblance— gave an egyptian flair and aesthetic; a sarcophagus, with piercing red eyes that glowed in the shadows —Felix felt his blood curdle just by looking in its direction— from which also exuded hands as pitch-black as the abyss. Blue and yellow in pattern like its silhouette loomed up the building behind it. 

 

“That’s Glorious Gold! I’ve always liked that name, it’s got a— it’s got something about it! Like… Glorrrious Gold, Glorious Gold,” he slurred the words, they rolled on his tongue longer than they should have, as if he were playing with them. He blurted out a giggle, “ah— sorry,” he cleared his throat. “In Glorious Gold you go to trade gold bars.”

 

His jaw dropped. “G-Gold bars?” he knew that’s where the real wealth lay. 

 

Conlogy nodded, “yes, gold bars—! Not coins, because that would be poké, or gold, we call it both ways— but… but yes, that’s where cofagrigus— yes, he’s called that, that’s the species— but that’s where cofagrigus accepts the gold! All cofagrigus love gold… I think, I haven’t met all cofagrigus but all the ones in the shops love it,” he shrugged, “so I guess it’s true? But there must be one that doesn’t like it… right?” 

 

“…P-Probably.”

 

“Yeah, I’d know you’d understand what I mean, Felix! Now, on to the next shop—” he pointed.

 

As the last stall, an anthropomorphic bird of lively plumage —red and green— with the top of its head warped into a beak —although its mouth was in its patch of white feathers underneath— and a mask-like pattern on its face stood behind another counter. As with the other two, its store featured its owner’s colors; though in its case the building was missing, as it was only a stall, with a roof held up by four poles rooted in the ground. 

 

“That’s Hawlucha’s Dojo— and it’s called that because the species that runs it is, well, a hawlucha, as you can see! Though you don’t know what a hawlucha is so I guess it’s not so obvious to you, human—” he blinked, and cleared his throat. “Anyway…I think they train you to learn moves? They’re like MTs but more hard, and for specific moves— oh, it’s also useful for remembering, in case you’ve forgotten or are a bit rusty with a move. I’ve never actually been there, but other rescuers use it— and I guess sailors in the crew as well?” he hummed, bringing a hand to his chin. “Although I don’t remember anyone forgetting a move in, well— never?”

 

“Maybe, uh…” it was obvious he couldn’t state that one with certainty due to the fact that he wasn’t in their lives all hours of the day, but the comment died on his tongue.

 

Conlogy shrugged, “oh, well, yet another mystery that’s not in the books— but that would be it— of the corner for explorers— or rescuers, or sailors, that’s us!” he hummed, folding his arms. “Though I don’t remember if there are more groups— jobs, I don’t know, that go to the dungeons regularly, or well, at least once in a while…”

 

Now that he pondered, the system now appeared even more irrational—if there were explorers and rescuers —which he didn’t know what they did, but could assume due to the context in which they were mentioned— then certainly there was no reason to wait for the crew, when more local manpower was available. He merely nodded.

 

“Do you have any more questions—? Because now we should get going— good thing it’s easier to get out of the crowd from here, though we should take the turn off to the bar street—” he paused for a moment, and hummed, “or was it…? No, wait— I think that was the street of the thatched houses— no,” he shook his head, “sorry, I was right at the start, up ahead is the bar street— I call it that because it’s full of bars, though I don’t know what it’s called— I’m not sure if it has a name.”

 

“I-If you haven’t heard it before, uh, maybe it doesn’t.”

 

“That makes sense! So, any questions?” 

 

“Uh…” yes, “n-no. A-Alright on my part.”

 

Conlogy nodded, “alright!” he swiftly fished his hand—now with a heat that made him sweat, and began to set off once more, this time avoiding the more crowded road, preferring to start off to the left; to the west. “Come on, then!”

 

Emerging from the square, they stepped out near a crossroads of a road that veered off to the right; to their right rising up modestly sized clay houses. Conlogy led him further ahead, until they came to a different intersection that branched off to the left—the road they took.

 

As opposed to what he could reasonably surmise to be the main street, the one they were stepping on at this instant was narrower, permeated by a pungent odor—some liquid stained his feet, and when he lowered his eyes, brown mingled with disgusting yellow stared back at him. He grimaced, waving his foot in the air, trying to shake off the stench—but to no avail. To his right were larger buildings, made of polished stone and dirty wooden floors. He watched as, from one of the pubs, an earthy blue amphibious biped with orange gills on its cheeks wobbled out, face flushed and movements slowed. To the left the view was more common—just more adobe homes. 

 

“Over here there are inns and bars— just like I said before!” he remarked, and clicked his tongue, glancing to his right. “Sancyel would like to come here— though maybe he’s already come here to drink here, though I’ve actually seen him mostly drinking on the ship…” he rambled, and fell silent before turning his head to face Felix—glowing red eyes beneath his hair. “By the way, human! Do humans drink alcohol? Have you? Do you like it—? Wait, at what age can humans drink alcohol— or— or maybe they can drink at all ages—?” 

 

He blinked. A mere question ravaged him into the seas of oblivion—more than that, it cast him down to the darkest regions of his psyche, drowned in the inky noir of primordial blackness, hot to the boil, revolting as bile rising in his throat. His identity, his own self and ego, was so utterly stranded and moribund in the ocean —which was his own memories— that he was unable to remember his age. He could be a child, an adult, or someone much older—he could be a newborn, with deep memories and knowledge injected into his being by someone external.

 

His blood ran cold, for even such a fundamental and basic aspect of his existence was shrouded in gloom. His heart sank, barely able to keep walking without stumbling over his own feet. His throat tightened up, a prickling sensation behind his itchy eyes, to the point of wanting to gouge them out with his bare hands. 

 

Conlogy arched his eyebrows upward, his gaze glowing with a radically different hue—his horns flickered with a sparkling glare, shrouded in the white of his own light. The next second his eyes widened, averting his gaze to the side. “Ah— Ah—! Was that an insensitive question? I didn’t think it was going to affect you so much—” he released his hand to face him fully, “I’m so sorry—”

 

The ache beneath his bandages gnarled in his chest. He was unable to swallow it. His shoulders sagged, “n-no i-it’s alright—” he rushed to blurt out, and took a deep breath, trying to run from the clutches of fate that had wrapped around the flesh of his neck. “I-I just… It’s just that I— I-I can’t…  r-remember— I can’t, uh, remember… how old I am…” to admit it was to reveal it to the light, to exhibit before reality how he no longer possessed identity. 

 

“Oh. Oh—” his eyes shot wide, his mouth hanging open for a few moments, his eyebrows continuing to arch. “I think— I think I understand, human, I’m sorry— it was insensitive of me, but—” he continued his gait, more slowly, leading them toward a four-way intersection. “But if you ask me, I’d say you’re an adult— you sound like one! Although you act more— Uh.” he gestured with his hands, as if trying to catch an invisible ember between his fingers, “you act, well— sensitive, yes, sensitive! You interrupt yourself a lot when you talk, but that’s alright! You’re still an adult— I think! So sure you can drink alcohol—! Or maybe you humans don’t have to wait until you’re adults to drink?”

 

He had the reply on the tip of his tongue, “Ch-children don’t, uh… no, they can’t,” the words tasted bitter—flaming. The very mention of the poison, the liquid drug, caused him to salivate. It was…

 

Familiar.

 

He blinked.

 

“Anyway—” they arrived upon the intersection, but did not change direction and continued straight ahead—that way, they reached a district of distinctive houses; once of clay, now of thatch, with the wooden pillars cracked and dust creeping up at their corners. Sand was accumulating on the road, with pebbles missing from the floor. It was concealed, hidden in the heart of the village. “Here is the, uh, low-income zone! I don’t know what it’s called either! But here are the people who don’t have too much money, so their houses are smaller— although it’s not as bad as the worst neighborhood in Turbine, now that’s really scary at night! Maybe you’ll see it someday, when we go to Turbine— but on second thought, that’s not such a great idea, is it? Surely you wouldn’t like the slums of Turbine…” he trailed off, and shook his head. “But at least they have a home— here and there, even if in Turbine some live underground— but it’s better than having nothing! It’s good to look at it with optimism!” he sketched a smile… though Felix could tell it was of a different hue.

 

He experienced a shiver. He could surmise but… he’d rather not think about it, so he didn’t even bother to ask.

 

His attention drifted to his right, as they left the hay and dry grass homes behind, this time passing in front of a large building—polished oak, cream-colored paint over its surface and multiple doors of varying sizes. From a gigantic gate emerged a wooden carriage wheeled by two horses —with fire exuding from their loins, resembling a beautiful mane, now amber— that chatted.

 

He blinked at the sight of it—it was slightly… disturbing. He swallowed before turning his gaze to the one grasping his hand, “uh… w-what’s that?” he inquired, raising the tip of his limb to point towards the long building.

 

“That? Oh—” he glanced to his right, watching Felix out of the corner of his eye. “That’s the merchants’ guild in this town! Or, well, the biggest one, because I think another one tried to come and settle here? But they didn’t do very well, they usually don’t do well— So this is the official merchants’ guild of Arcella! They’re the ones who fix the price of things, and also the ones who trade with other towns—” he lowered his voice, “although, between us… they don’t like them much around here— the locals. I think it’s because they bring in a lot of stuff from outside? Or at least that’s what I heard once, but it doesn’t make much sense— because bringing things from outside is good! Not every town has everything they need, so I don’t understand why people don’t like it,” he shrugged, “maybe they made something that people didn’t like? I don’t know— oh, look, the Arkenist chapel!” he pointed to the front.

 

What returned Felix’s gaze was his reflection in the white marble. Sandstone pavement all around and grass. With flowers forming a fence, there was a tall building with a structure more akin to gothic, though pale and immaculate in color, vertical architecture. At its top shone a golden symbol, resembling a ying-yang —he was unable to visualize it in his mind, only a blur of black and white— but with more ragged edges. They reached a wide street—where crowds existed in the place like its own organism, bustling and wide, where fairground stalls abounded along the way, offering heaps of goods.

 

They halted for a moment, gazing at the side of the unscathed chapel. “Wow…” he couldn’t control the murmur that slipped out of his half-open mouth.

 

Conlogy giggled beside him, “are you impressed? That’s the Arkenist chapel, on Main Street! Do you want me to explain it—?” before he could retort, he slapped his forehead with his palm. “Stupid question, sorry— of course you want to, you don’t know—” he cleared his throat, “well you see, Arkenism is the most popular religion on this continent— well, not really, it depends on the town, but here it’s quite popular; only behind Vidism— Although Vidism is more popular in Turbine…” he fell silent for a moment, and shook his head. “But anyway!” he clicked his tongue, “it’s the religion that worships Arceus and Giratina— though, well, you don’t know who they are, do you? Or did the humans worship the same gods—? Oh, wait, you don’t remember— right, sorry—” once again he cleared his throat, “but they’re the gods of Arkenism! Or just legendary pokémon, depends on who you ask— although I believe in Arceus! Everyone believes in Arceus, I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t believe in Arceus—! Well, except you, but that’s because you don’t know them.”

 

“S-So, do people believe in, uh, many gods?”

 

“Of course! The vast majority. Is that rare in humans—? Wait, you don’t believe in gods, maybe—?!” his gaze brightened, continuing to walk; taking direction upwards, to his right. “No, wait—! That’s not possible, after all, there are multiple proofs that—!” 

 

“Uh,” he coughed, and cleared his throat—seeking not to fall into a pit of rambling, “S-Some believe. O-Others don’t. I think.”

 

“Some don’t believe—? That’s weird, here all the pokémon believe in a god— why humans don’t?”

 

“Uh,” he shrugged, “I-I don’t know?”

 

“Ah— right, amnesia, sorry.” He pointed ahead—the street in front of them stretched forward to the horizon, where the houses scattered until they disappeared, and only a blur of brown rose like a building in miles. “Ah, by the way, over there the road continues all the way out of town. If I remember right, which I don’t know if I do, that way leads up to— wait, I think a mine? Ah, yes, a mine! Which I don’t remember what they mine— or what it’s called, but if you give me a moment I might remember!”

 

“N-No, it’s alright—”

 

Conlogy nodded, “alright! But over there you can also go to uh… Stone— ah, right, Stone Tree Mountain! But it’s a pretty hard dungeon! I couldn’t go there— so neither could you, human! I think— I mean, we fought together, and I don’t think you’d do well in that place, it’s too hard!” 

 

His bones rattled—the crushing notion that the dungeon they’d gone to was easy broke his psyche into parts. The very thought that there would be worse places formed a lump in his throat.

 

Conlogy turned left on the road, passing a few shops—wooden structures. “But I know that someday we’ll be able to go to those places— and it won’t be that hard! And we’ll be able to handle that dungeon, I’m sure—!” he startled, “ah, sorry— I went off the deep end again…” 

 

Felix cast his gaze to his right—the field of barren land grew as far as the skyline, as far as his sight could reach, and even beyond. They had reached one of the edges of the village, though to his left the building continued. Ahead lay a neighborhood of thatched houses and mud floors.

 

The dull, clattering sound against pebble made his ear twitch.

 

Conlogy halted his gait, gazing at the scene in front of him.

 

A bag thudded to the ground, its lock cracked and twisted the wrong way. Items scattered across the floor, lying at the feet of an elongated, slender-bodied ferret, tan in color with brown stripes running through its form. Its chin grazed the ground, its tail curled into its belly—and its blue-sclera eyes stared upward….

 

To the chameleon-like reptilian with orange scales —like the amber that flowed from the tip of its tail— that loomed in front of it. The horn-like protrusion on the back of its head pointed tilted upward, and its long, hooked-tipped snout was contorted in vexation. “What? what?!” it— he spread his arms out to the sides, puffing out his chest—sparks of flame flaring from his nostrils. “You’re gonna go running for a cop, is that it? Are ya that scared, that much?”

 

The ferret began to quiver, taking a step backward.

 

Only causing the lizard to stomp forward, grimacing and scowling. “Don’t make me laugh, wet skin, I don’t wanna see your kind around here!” he exhaled smoke from his snouts, baring his clenched teeth. “Or do you think just because— just because we have low resources, because we’re a small town, you can come and take our stuff, our land? You and your kind?” 

 

No one spared a single glance toward the two of them, passing to their flanks and dodging the situation with even a commendable grace.

 

Felix’s muscles were stiff as the stones he stepped on. The stinging beneath his skin was nothing compared to the tearing in his throat, in his chest—something so visceral he was incapable of describing it. But it was like an appalled beast, paralyzed as he was.

 

“I-I— N-No, it’s just that—” the ferret tried to retreat, looking back and sideways—crying for help only in its… his pained gaze, in his —nonexistent— eyebrows arched upward. 

 

“I don’t want you to talk to me! Don’t talk at all! You’re just a wet skin…” he deployed his claws, raising his arms and hunching his body—as an animal prepared to pounce, “I’m gonna show you how we treat thieves like you in this town…”

 

Felix peeled his gaze away, fixed on the ralts. “H-Hey, C-Conlogy…” he rasped, his throat constricted. “T-This isn’t…?” — the situation had raised his bile, sour and bitter like no other.

 

He had a frown on his brow, beneath his hair. “Yes, it’s a— it’s…” he whispered, leaning his body to the side. “It’s… common, quite common— the locals here don’t like, well, outsiders…”

 

“I-I’m not a thief, I came here for—” the ferret shivered—his poor bones unable to handle the situation, his front paws trying to shove —in vain— the items into his bag. 

 

The red-scaled ‘mon raised his hand, claws arched inward—glinting against the light. “Shut up! Learn— learn your place!” 

 

“Felix— we have to do something!” Conlogy whispered beside him, but—

 

The cut echoed. So did the shriek that followed.

 

Felix jerked his head away sharply. Something stirred in his stomach—it was his guts. No, it was something worse, something that drained him of air, that ravaged his fragile ego. When he allowed himself to look, at least he confirmed that the jab hadn’t left a mark—it had only knocked the ferret backward.

 

“Ah—! Now we really have to do something—!” he grabbed Felix’s hand; which at his side was more akin to a frozen pebble, and dragged him toward the scene—encountering high resistance in his grip. “Hey— Hey, stop!” 

 

They both turned their heads as they were interrupted. 

 

…For a moment, something changed in the ferret’s expression. But he was unable to ascertain what.

 

The lizard, however, only deepened his scowl and growled, showing his gums. “Ah, who are you?! Mind your own business, wet skins!” he stomped towards Conlogy—towering over him with his superior height, looking down with disdain. “Or do you wanna fight? Is that it?” he pressed his knuckles against the palm of his other hand. “Is that it, eh, you come not only to steal our land and our resources, but to beat up the people who live here, wet skin? Because if you wanna fight…!” he uttered a guttural growl, stepping back to gain space. “I can give you one, right here, right now!” he roared.

 

Felix felt his palms sweaty. As if his heart would burst out of his ribs, beat out and stain everything red, gushing like a rose among his organs. They had to run—nothing good would come of the situation. “W-We should—” he whispered behind the ralts, controlling with all his might the trembling in his voice, “w-we should l-leave—”

 

“No! Why should we?!” he swiveled his head to look out of the corner of his eye at Felix, and then, preferred to face the lizard—taking a step forward and puffing out his chest. “After all, what you’re doing isn’t right—! And no, I don’t want a fight, that would be bad too, and really, I just want you to stop bullying that linoone— but if you’re not going to stop, then…!” from his hands a pink aura began to glow, steaming at the end of his limbs-covering his pale skin. “Then we’re really going to have to settle this, somehow! It’s my duty as a member of the crew—!” 

 

With another throaty growl, the reptile narrowed his eyes, like slits of a predator, and bared his teeth; similar to a rabid dog. “Then—!” he blinked, “wait—” he folded his arms, exhaling loudly. “You? You, a crew member?!” he sketched a grin—too wide, excessively sharp. “Don’t make me laugh.”

 

“I am—!” he grabbed his partner’s arm, yanking him forward. “Well, not just me, because Felix is too! We’re both crew members, and it’s our duty— well, not really, but it’s a good thing to stop bullies like you!” 

 

The stillness could be sliced with a knife, with the tiniest needle of all. He felt the air cold, icy like his sweaty palms. There was no way the situation could end well. Now it might get worse, and it would because—

 

He snorted through his nostrils, and stepped back. “The houndour wet-skins of the cops came out to play, then… You’re lucky you got them eating out of your hand, or else…” the words hung in the air, and he took another step back, creating distance from everyone present—he cast a glance toward the linoone… it was fiery as his tail. Fulminant. Like razor-sharp needles. “You’d better watch your back, because you’re not welcome here—” he spat at his feet, “and you never will be.” He turned, to head off into the horizon—losing himself in the crowd.

 

Felix inhaled sharply—his lungs empty throughout the conversation, and let out a sigh he wasn’t aware he was holding trapped in his diaphragm. He brought a hand to his chest, clutching where the skin overlying his heart was. They were alive—he could cheer and celebrate that they had not perished, that the situation had not ended as acrimoniously as he had expected.

 

Conlogy sighed at his side, his shoulders slumping, looking in the direction in which the lizard had fled, slow-footed and unhurried.

 

Now; that his muscles slackened with each inhalation, what was left inside him was a viscous, black coldness which writhed inside him, in his gut, threatening to be expelled—vomited out like bile stuck in his throat, with its tanginess on the roof of his mouth. It was frigid, it was gut-wrenching, it was heavy—a swelling in his ribs. 

 

It was the acridness of inaction.

 

He witnessed something—and didn’t move a muscle.

 

…But he was aware that the very thing in his power was only to ruin the situation—it was a miracle the lizard hadn’t escalated the violence toward them. Three people beaten is worse than one, from a pragmatic perspective. What eased the weight was that thought. But the lump in his throat did not leave him—it was an intimate friend.

 

The ralts turned on his heels to address the ferret; the linoone from what he could gather, and crouched down in front of him—picking up the items out of the broken bag with his hands, stuffing them inside. “This is yours, right? Here—” he looked up at his face, and grimaced. “Are you alright—?” his wince intensified, “ah, of course not— sorry, stupid question, but— but already the situation is over, although I know that doesn’t fix how you feel, but, uh,” he stumbled in his speech. “What I mean is… don’t worry, you’re safe now!” he sketched his best attempt of a grin.

 

The linoone accepted the bag with his two front paws, raising his upper body a few inches above the ground—that made his elongated form more obvious. “T-Thank you very much…” his voice quivered, his vocal cords vibrating with a mere sound from his throat. He scratched the front of his neck with one of his paws, and his other moved awkwardly to place the leather strap around his slender torso. “I was just— I was just shopping around here, when— when—” he sniffed, his hind legs shivering. He tried to shut his bag, but instead a clay jar hit the floor. “Ah—” he startled, bending down to retrieve it —at the same time as Conlogy— and lowered his head, “I’m so sorry— I didn’t mean to cause you trouble and I just—”

 

The ralts caught the container, and handed it to him with a small smile on his face. “Oh, no, no, no, don’t worry!” he shook his head vigorously, “we were just doing a tour— a tour isn’t as important as helping someone in trouble— I think! And we weren’t really doing anything besides the tour, so no, you didn’t cause us any trouble, really.”

 

“R-Really?” the ferret scooped up the object, and arched his eyebrows upward. 

 

Conlogy nodded, “Really! Actually really!”

 

It was strategic to remain silent, as raising his voice would only make the situation worse… but his heart pushed a comment from his throat, “emh— yeah, uh…” he regretted it the second the linoone’s eyes fell upon him, “umh… The— The important thing is that, uh, you’re alright— really.”

 

The eyes lingered on him for a moment—uncomfortable blue pupils fixed on him… soon he looked away, lowering his head, and sighed. “If you really mean it— but it still makes me feel bad that I interrupted you on— on your tour. But—” he bowed, clutching his bag carefully. “Oh, thank you so much!” he turned his head away, tearing his gaze from the ralts. “Oh, everything has been so horrible this season— I was sent here to work and— and—” he sniffed, “this is how everyone treats me… have I done something wrong…?” his shoulders shook—he clawed at the leather, crinkling it… “I can’t take it anymore…”

 

Conlogy watched with a sorrowful stare and arched eyebrows—he could see it clearly even hidden behind his hair. Felix’s own chest ached, heart pounding almost in his hand from the intensity.

 

He bit his —what might be considered— lower lip, and let out a sigh. “I’m so…” he inhaled, a new hue in his tone, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

 

Conlogy showed his palms and shook his hands, denying with his head. “No— no, don’t worry about us! You can keep talking— I know it’s important, and we’re going to listen—!” he turned his head to the abra, “right, Felix?”

 

As if that might help. “Y-Yes, of course—” it hit him like a thunderbolt, then; a way they could indeed make a difference. But it was an absurdity, a mere short notion—cheap comfort. He gulped, for he knew that at least Conlogy would be able to do it right, “h-hey-” he leaned toward the ralts, whispering. “D-Don’t you think— uh… don’t you think that, uh, we should… a-accompany him home?” 

 

He tilted his head, and blinked. “Ah?” he hummed, “walk him home?” he didn’t mimic the volume of his voice, “why would we do that—? Oh—” he slapped his forehead with his open palm, and his hand slowly descended to his chin. “To get him back home and safe, of course— you’re right, Felix— that thug might come to bother him later when we leave!”

 

The linoone shivered. “Oh— Oh no, that’s right— I don’t know what I’d do if—”

 

He faced the ferret, cracking a broad grin. “Don’t worry— we can walk you home, as Felix said!” he looked toward the abra, and whispered, “Great idea, Felix!” his gaze shifted to the linoone, and he cleared his throat. “So we can go with you—! Of course, if you want to, sure, and not for anything bad— we just care about your well-being, sir…” his trailed off in the middle of the last word.

 

“J-Just call me linoone, but— uh, sir is fine,” he interjected, and began fiddling with the claws of his paws. “I, umh… what happens is—” he looked away, “I… I wasn’t going to my house, but to…” he gulped, squinting. “I was actually heading to the Tiny Forest— well, before all… this…” he gestured with his hands. “But I was going there to get an item. A-An important one, from a friend, who got lost there. But…” with a long exhale he sagged, his shoulders slumped. “But I’m not very strong, at least not strong enough to go to a dungeon on my own— I was going to try to go by myself, because I don’t have the money to pay someone independent either, but—” with a gentle shake of his head, he placed Conlogy’s small hand between his paws, gripping firmly. “But you are crew members, aren’t you? I know I’m poor and have no money, but— please, I’ll repay you with any other favors! I beg you!”

 

…None of them carried a satchel—not a single badge in their possession. If they happened to go to a dungeon, there was nothing that could save their lives. Perhaps Conlogy could help the poor ferret in front of them, but the abra was aware that he would merely be a hindrance to their mission. His legs trembled—now they had realized the danger that tried to lurk about them both, and the sensation in his bones infected his heart with a black poison, with—

 

“Well of course, sir— and you don’t have to pay any favors!” he nodded vigorously, “we’ll be more than pleased— at least I will be, but I’m sure Felix will too, to be able to help someone in distress, like, well, you! Although it’s more like your friend who’s in distress because he lost the item— but you get my point, right? And it doesn’t matter that you don’t have any money, because even if we don’t make a profit from this, and there’s nothing to gain, but… but, sometimes there are things more important than the stuff— sometimes, like in this case!” he gripped the linoone’s paw firmly. “Trust us, sir!” 

 

There went his decision in the matter—already made by the; at this point, undeclared leader of the duo. He sighed, though in part, something fluttered within him, warm and sweet, light as a feather. The antidote to the poison that had taken root in his soul. At least Conlogy could help.

 

A smile formed on the linoone’s expression—neither too small nor too wide, but somewhere in the middle. He crinkled his eyes, “thank you so much— oh, thank you, you’re good, too much—!” he released the ralts’ hand, and sniffed. “I’ll find a way to repay you, I promise, I really will—” 

 

Conlogy shook his head, “A reward would be nice and I’d like it, and I’m sure Felix would too— but if you don’t have, you don’t need to give, sir! Don’t stress yourself thinking about how to repay us! But instead, tell us what item your friend lost— so that we can all look for it together!”

 

“Oh- my friend…” he gripped the leather strap around his body, “my friend lost his Charme-Claw, it was his father’s, and— and well, I wanted to get it back for him,” he sighed, “he’s been so distressed…”

 

An article of personal value. A needle jabbed into his brain—in pondering how he might have had one, something of incalculable wealth… that, without his memories, was now worth less than nothing. It was a sour notion.

 

“Oh. Oh— That’s a pretty rare item! It’s only natural that your friend misses it so much—!” he slammed the side of his clenched fist into his palm pointing upwards, “though, sure, I’m sure he misses it more for the personal value— but other than that, it’s pretty rare, so it matters too!” 

 

“Y-Yeah, he told me it was like a heirloom— from his father’s side…”

 

…Wait.

 

Felix blinked. He wondered why; if the linoone was so frail, he hadn’t gone to his friend to ask for assistance in the mission to retrieve his lost object. But perhaps he just desired to give him a pleasant surprise.

 

“Ah— more important still, then!” Conlogy nodded a couple of times, and turned on his heels. “Then let’s go! To—!” he ceased for a moment, swiveling his head several times to read the symbols on the signs, which he could assume described directions. “So if here is north— ah—” he pointed toward the direction from which they had come. “Over there is the main street of Machapel— Then this way!” he began to march, turning in a direction at a fork to the, now right, once left.

 

Felix followed, and behind him, he heard the soft footsteps of the ferret.

 

“E-Eh— w-whats… uh… what’s Ma— Machapel?” the abra asked, walking close to the ralts. 

 

The linoone tilted his head. “Y-You don’t know what Machapel is…? Huh—”

 

Conlogy coughed—loudly, “ah, uh, don’t worry— my partner, uh, he’s uh, this is his first time in Arcella, so, uh, he doesn’t know! Yeah!” he nodded with alacrity.

 

“Oh, that explains why he looks so lost… sorry to assume—”

 

“D-Don’t worry… but, uh, about Machapel—”

 

“Ah, right!” Conlogy cleared his throat. “Machapel is the main district of Arcella Town! Do you remember the street where the chapel was? Well, right there! That’s why it’s the widest street, and now we’re still in Machapel, though on a shorter street—” he cut himself off, and clicked his tongue. “No, wait— we should soon be on Pechoro,” he muttered, “and from there up to the main street…”

 

Another unexplained name. “Uhm…” his throat closed—he relented.

 

Conlogy half spun around to look at him out of the corner of his eye, “ah, what’s the matter, hu— I mean, Felix—?” his eyes widened. “Ah, right— you don’t know what Pechoro is!” he cleared his throat, and pointed straight ahead. “That way is Pechoro! It’s another district of very influential people in the council— do you see there, in the distance?” to where he pointed; on the horizon loomed huge houses of maroon and other polished stone, immaculate two-story structures each, even protected by fences. “You see? They’re wealthy people.”

 

“Th-That’s where my boss lives…” the linoone mentioned.

 

“Oh, your boss?” Conlogy leaned to the side to focus his gaze on the ferret. “What do you work as, sir?” 

 

He cringed slightly, and scratched the front area of his neck, averting his gaze. “Oh— uh, from…” he blinked rapidly, “I work in the berries. Around this season they always take people…”

 

Conlogy hummed, turning to the left, passing by modestly sized clay houses, “that’s to the south, right? Oh— we could see your place of work on the way to the dungeon!”

 

The linoone grimaced, scratching his neck again. “I… I’d rather not, if it’s impossible— they pay well, but…”

 

“Oh— I’m sorry to hear that—”

 

To Felix, that was a tale older than any life he might have known, either in this identity or the previous one—people working from that which was incapable of filling his being. How bitter. And at the same time…

 

“Oh no, don’t worry— really,” the ferret shook his palms, “it’s still good pay, and— well, it pays what it has to pay, really.”

 

Conlogy made his way inside the wide street—it was already faintly familiar, with its multitude of stalls leaning against clay buildings, or stores with their strange symbol signs hanging from the doors, or the crowd; walking to and fro, going about their daily lives. The ralts —and the group following behind— integrated into the mass of people, taking a leftward course. “I know, but… hopefully you’ll find a job you really like, sir! It must be something, well— not being able to do something that feels important must be kind of sad, right?” he clicked his tongue, pointing straight ahead. “Ah, look— we’re already at the exit! Come on!” he quickened his pace.

 

The sight was familiar—the lack of houses on the horizon, replaced by a wide, expansive field as far as his gaze could reach, and even beyond. Walking a bit faster was when his body chastised him with a twinge behind his knees, “C-Conlogy, c-could we… uh, slow down?” 

 

“Ah— are you tired already?” he decreased the pace, and tilted his head to one side. “If we still have two hours to go before we get to the Tiny Forest!” 

 

…He was so dead.