Chapter 6 — Part 1: Mr. Blue Sky

The claws opened, releasing the chameleon’s head. The latter didn’t even flex a muscle, with only a couple of spasms in his shoulders and collarbone, his eyes milky. Mantoroh drew himself upright, focusing his gaze on Conlogy—if a figure against the backlight of the dungeon’s unnatural illumination.

 

“T-Thank you, Mantoroh—” the small body in quivering white was unable to take it any longer, and collapsed forward—

 

His fall was halted by the chesnaught, which ran up to catch him in his arms. “Be careful,” he spoke softly, a stark contrast to his actions of just a moment ago; which though positive, had chilled his blood just witnessing them. He frowned, noting the scarlet painting the ralts forehead, with his dripping, messy bangs. “I’m sorry I was so late… I wanted to get here earlier but by the time I heard you were here it was too late—” he lowered his head.

 

Conlogy’s eyes dropped, barely able to remain open. “What…?” his voice was weak; an extinguished flame, once burning like a bonfire, now ashes due to the blood that had drowned it. “Did you know…?” he allowed his weight to rest in the armadillo’s arms.

 

“Y-You…” Though still frozen blood, he rasped his words, slashing his throat until it was sore. “Y-You knew this was going to happen?” The tone was higher pitched than he expected, voice broken at the end. With his fingertips he felt the cuts on his cheek, just the touch prickling like hell. That provoked an itch behind his eyes.

 

Mantoroh’s mouth grew into a thin line. A beat of silence as his eyes distanced themselves from both of them before he sighed, “…yes. No one must have told you, or heard about it, surely, and that’s normal, but… this, well, what just happened— it’s Rashing, a,” he took a pause, “a thief technique. Very common. But not everybody knows it. They do a brutal act on the streets, catch the eye of a rescuer or an explorer looking for work, lure them into a dungeon…” he inhaled deeply, “and there they take everything from them.”

 

That explained a lot.

 

Mantoroh lifted his gaze, falling upon the linoone. “You…” the ferret was shivering, glued to the floor and eyes enlarged—with a clouded gaze, like a day shrouded in fog, “I don’t need to fight you too, do I?”

 

Bahzar cowered into himself, denying —frenziedly— using his head. “No—! No. I— I know when I’ve lost… it would be stupid…” he inhaled sharply, and rushed towards the unconscious scaled—with a fulminating stare and a deep frown, his vision red, his soul burning. “YOU— You… traitor!” he strained the muscles of his face, and showing his teeth, spat down to the flames of his tail. “You worthless… filth… scum!” he repeated his action, with each word, them growing more bubbling with a sole emotion which made his voice rise higher and higher. “How dare you…! I—! I’m not a wet skin— this is my home! How dare you say it isn’t! I was born here!” he sniffed. “I thought…” he fell silent, shoulders slumped, intensity dying.

 

At such a scene, he couldn’t help but think… They were both fruit of the same tree.

 

Conlogy hummed —attracting Felix’s attention— and snuggled into the grip, blinking slowly. “So that was it…” his voice grew weaker, rasping the words out of his wounded throat. “It’s cold… good night…” he yawned, his eyelids drooping.

 

Blood rushed up his legs to rise, rushing towards Mantoroh. His heart pounded in his throat, but it wasn’t from the adrenaline—his right foot collided with the next, and all he managed to do was eat dirt.

 

The chesnaught’s eyes grew wide, but bringing one of his claws to his carotid was able to soothe his expression. He sighed in relief, “Easy, he’s… alright, he’s been strong. Doshe can check on him at the ship, he’ll be fine,” he glanced to the side, “First yesterday and then today…” he muttered, letting out a sigh—a primordial tiredness tinged with dismay. He adjusted himself, letting Conlogy rest on one arm and the other free. He dipped his paw into his satchel, extracting an aquamarine orb—Felix’s gaze lost in its reflection, in its silvery diameter, shimmering like the firmament. He turned it over, pressing his claw to the surface, “Let’s get out of here,” he cast a glance toward the linoone—his eyes more intense. “Don’t try to escape, it’s… better for both of us.”

 

The ferret averted his gaze, and grimaced, clenching the muscles in his face. “…I can’t either,” he huffed, frowning. “My whole body hurts, just…” he shot a pained look towards the reptile… full of resentment, bitterness, like ash from a cigarette.

 

Mantoroh nodded, and lifted his hand. From the sphere radiated light, bathing the entire dead-end room. Felix shielded his eyes, but his senses had already been absorbed by absolute nothingness, floating in the endless space of white; as primordial as the oneiric black. His senses were flighty, but with a gentle touch he landed on the forest grass, now free of the moss walls.

 

Marble rays flickered from the aquamarine orb before, with a throb, they disappeared. He saw how the linoone lingered at the charmeleon’s side, grumbling—though it was more akin to a soft muttering, acidic as the taste of copper on his fingers.

 

Mantoroh continued to use that strange orb —Felix pondered what its purpose was— pressing his claws as if it were a telephone. No sooner had he thought of that analogy was it when the image of the item turned to dust in the wind. 

 

His gaze wandered—for amidst the blur of colors in his peripheral sight, the silence was so overwhelming as to force him to look wherever he could. Where his eyes landed was on the trees, moved by the spring zephyr. He could number the leaves, the leafy canopies from which life was born, the oxygen he breathed—the roots glistening with dew from the soft humidity, the branches with drooping green, decorating the earth and the grass growing over it. As the whole horizon was hidden in the foliage, like that; like a painting that his eyes did not deserve to witness, was able to calm his heart rate. 

 

He remembered the heaviness in his muscles.

 

The blood that had boiled, that infernal heat without itching that had clung to his ribs as if they were steel bars and had pounded in a desperate attempt to escape down his throat—through his fists. But nothing had happened… because nothing could have happened.

 

That worm, excruciating and familiar, made room between his sternum and collarbone, writhing like a needle in his throat. It was bitter, it was syrupy like tar, and it was more foul than any taste on his palate. It was cold, and it tore at his heart like a beast at the hide of its prey. 

 

It ached his heart.

 

For when danger knocked at the door, he just went inert. But he knew it had to be this way… he couldn’t have done anything anyway. Pragmatically, out of two people, only one was hurt. 

 

Just the thought made the maggot in his gut squirm.

 

The sound of the satchel being shaken grounded him in reality. “Agent Magnezone must be on his way…” he sighed, and bent down to gently rest the ralts on the grass—he seemed caught in a placid sleep, his chest rising and falling with a slight intake of breath. “You must be in pain,” he glanced toward Felix, “so forgive me for asking this, but…” he stood up, walking toward him to, after rummaging through his satchel, hand him an oran berry. “Could you give him the berry? While I tie up the criminals,” he turned his gaze to the linoone. “I know it can be a little messy with the harm you’ve taken, if you want to refuse, that’s fine; I don’t blame you, I can do it later—”

 

“N-No,” he accepted the berry. “I-I can do this…” he must. Seeing Mantoroh’s nod, he reciprocated in kind, and walked over to Conlogy. He crouched down beside him, ogling his wounds—his bruises, his blood, his messy hair… he swallowed, delivering a look of commiseration. He drew a silent, deep breath, hesitantly reaching up with his hand to tug; gently, on his lower jaw, gaping open his mouth. With his other paw he brought the berry up to his maw, squeezing with his claws to elicit the brown liquid, which flowed down his throat and stained the corners of his jaw. 

 

Meanwhile, Mantoroh approached the linoone, pulling from his satchel a rope—somewhat tattered, and pulled it taut in his grasp. “I ask you, please, do not fight— you will only make it harder for both of us, most of all for you…” he took another step forward, tilting his head to the side. “I can’t blame you, though, so…” he loomed in front of him, and crouched down to meet his height; watching as the ferret didn’t budge a muscle, frozen. 

 

He just hung his head, his gaze drooping and his brow furrowed, his eyes brimming with deep embitterment. “So this is how we end?” slow and surrendered, his tone a tacit acceptance of despair. “So this is how the people that try to free our people end…?” he muttered, and cast a glance at the unconscious lizard. It was withering. “Deceived by scum,” he tightened his mouth into a thin line, the corners quivering. Filled with contempt. “Just…” he released an exhalation, as heavy as his lungs, as his soul. “Just make it quick,” he turned his head sharply to the side. “The cops are on the side of the wet-skins anyway, of course you are too…” 

 

“In his eyes you are one too,” Mantoroh cast a look at the reptile, as his claws moved expertly to bind the front paws, intertwining a knot with four turns. It appeared tight, squeezing and pulling the fur apart, chafing against the skin. 

 

The ferret’s eyes widened slightly, and he huffed, “And he’s not right. He’s just— scum, nothing more,” his tone didn’t mimic his words, being forcibly silenced as the rope wrapped around his muzzle, closing with a sturdy noose.

 

Mantoroh sighed, “If you say so,” without getting up, he shuffled in a crouch toward the chameleon, pulling out another rope —this one less worn and tattered— to tie his claws together, locking everything with a tie to his muzzle, this one shut like a sealed vault. He stood up, looking down at Conlogy.

 

Which, though still dormant, breathed less ripped—purple coloring in his eye and heels taking on a less intense hue, with the red parts steaming; creating scar tissue at breakneck speed. The blood that soaked his forehead congealed, creating a crust that hid his wound. Even so, that miraculous liquid did not eliminate the bruising on his figure.

 

Felix let out a sigh that was unconsciously contained within him. Even though lightness formed in his chest, it was still as if he had swallowed sharp needles, stabbing his heart from all directions, twitching with every throb. He clutched his chest, finding it hard to breathe… his gaze wandering back to the lush horizon, with its natural greenery, with the scent of earth flooding his senses, with the slight taste the air caused as it entered his nostrils dewy, to—

 

He blinked, being sent back to reality by the heavy sound of something landing on the shoulders of Mantoroh—the reptile, which rested, leaning his head and forearms on his broad back. “Hope you don’t mind—” he extended his free arm to hoist the linoone —which only sighed, dropping his weight— and brought him to rest on his shoulder. He turned north —towards the distant town— and spoke, “I think I should go ahead to spare Agent Magnezone the trip…” he looked back at Felix. “Will you two be alright, just the two of you? If you want I can stay or I can carry Conlogy, he’s light and—” 

 

“N-No—” he exhaled, shakily. He had failed, that one was as plain as day… but if he could do anything, even in that situation, it was the least he could afford to do. For the one who had fought by his side, even if they barely knew each other—protecting him had merit. “W-We’ll be fine, I-I can…” the words died in his throat. He knew it wasn’t true. “…N-Nothing will happen. Go.”

 

The chesnaught’s gaze lingered on him for a few moments—he recognized a liar, until he averted his gaze and sighed, “…alright,” his tone was hesitant. He commenced to stride, taking a course northward—there where the dirt road lay, an area hidden by the grass. “But…” he swiveled his head to look at him out of the corner of his eye, lifting his chin to avoid the back of the reptile, and —with difficulty— he pulled out an oran berry, which he tossed at Felix—he could barely manage to catch it, almost slipping and skidding from his fingers. “But if anything happens, just… scream at the top of your lungs, alright? I’ll be able to hear you, and I’ll come right away to help, in case anything bad happens. I’ll come as fast as I can,” and with that, he left… He got smaller and smaller, until he vanished.

 

And there they were, the two of them, alone. At that moment, with his unconscious partner at his side, his awakened mind was lonely, trapped in the confines of that forest. With the twinge behind his knees, he took a seat beside the ralts, crossing his legs and slumping his shoulders, allowing his aching body to relax. He opened his maw, sinking his fangs into the bluish surface. He gulped the brown liquid… insipid, like water. The cut on his cheek smoked, and he winced as he heard it crackle, like oil, and sting on his fresh scar. He ran his digits over his face, gently, probing with his fingertips where he could still feel the soft throbbing. 

 

He sighed.

 

Beneath his skin was still the omnipresent static.

 

With another —shuddering— sigh, he buried his face in his hands. No one could see his expression, no one could feel the needles digging into his ribs, or his heart. It was like a pressure cooker, bubbling with all its bitter flavors and simmering inside, tearing to flee from its meat wrapping. The idea of digging his claws into his chest and ripping, to let all the sensations escape, seemed even less terrifying than expected. He breathed out, warmth in his palms. 

 

Is this what existence felt like—just one step away from exploding? He was incapable of processing it, much less understanding and handling it, so he only allowed himself to shrink more and more into himself, like a rotting tree, like a star on the brink of death.

 

…

 

In the distance he heard the whistling of birds.

 

He raised his face from his hands, looking up at the sky. The white clouds, vast and covering the skyline, were incapable of concealing the burning star that brightened everything with its homely warmth, like a bonfire in winter. He could feel —in his open mouth— the soft taste of moisture in the air. He smelt fresh grass, the fragrance of natural oil from the trees and wood infused the air, enveloping his senses… flowers perfumed the atmosphere, it was the scent of leaves and pine. 

 

It was the fresh air. The sigh of nature.

 

Leafy canopies that, if he squinted, merged with the white clouds, with the aquamarine crystalline sky. With the breeze; this one tickling his sensitive skin, the leaves rippled—like a hypnotic dance, tailor-made, a spectacle not made for his mortal eyes. 

 

He didn’t even realize when his bones became as light as feathers, when his diaphragm soothed as much as it ever had before, when that pressure melted away from his chest. The pressure cooker ceased.

 

His expression softened.

 

“This…” nothing sprang out forced in his words, not a single falter. Lower than the sound of the air, but yet, still, so matched by the rest of the world. He brushed his fingertips over the grass beneath his feet, scratching his skin with a tender touch, just like the breeze. He took a deep breath. That was not a familiar sensation, but it was more welcome than life itself. “This is…” was…

 

Gorgeous.

 

His heartbeat was peaceful. He felt it as he placed his hand on his chest.

 

He glanced down at the unconscious Conlogy. His breathing was light, like a feather. His chest barely heaving up and down, with an expression as if he was having beautiful dreams.  

 

The look in Felix’s eyes mellowed—more than before, more than his bones. That took the reins of his heartstrings yet again, souring the whole experience; but still, it was something that should happen, something he deserved. “I…” he gulped, looking away. He had no right, and even so… “I—” still, the truth surfaced; that he wouldn’t have been able to change fate anyway, it had just happened that way. He lowered his gaze, then his head, “…I’m sorry…”

 

The cawing and chirping of birds filled the silence.

 

He stared at his own hands—still with scarlet-stained fingers. He gazed up, once again to contemplate the clouds hovering overhead. That worm ceased to wriggle, and left only him, and the leafy trees. He pondered how he had been so ignorant so far as to ignore the landscape drawn before him.

 

But no matter how healing the forest might be, he could not be cured.

 

---

 

He didn’t know how much time had elapsed. Perhaps ten minutes, perhaps an hour—he was only aware of the dancing of the leaves, so placid to the eye. It was in that stillness, in that bonanza, that he heard the groan coming from his side. He glanced toward the source, watching the ralts stir and shift in his position. He opened his eyes wide, turning his abdomen to face him, “C-Conlogy— are you, uh, alright?” his hands flew over his form, but his fingers twitched and recoiled.

 

Conlogy blinked, his scarlet eyes veiled behind his green bangs. Squinting, he focused his gaze skyward; obstructed by the yellow ears peering down at him from above. “F-Felix…?” he muttered, rasping out the words. “It’s…?” he blinked, taking a deep breath. “It’s you…?” with the throb of silence, his eyes widened further. “Wait, yes it’s you—” he grunted before raising his abdomen —causing Felix to pull away— and stretching his arms upward. He hissed at the motion. “Where are we…?” his tone seemingly sleepy, letting out a yawn. He glanced to the sides, “Where’s Mantoroh?” he inquired, but interrupted himself with another groan of discomfort, bringing his palm up to his forehead to hold his head. His fingers quirked up at the relief of the bruise.

 

“C-Careful—” Felix leaned down a few inches, his hands still at a loss as to what action to take. “You’re still, uh…” he was unable to put his emotion into words, so he merely bit his tongue. “Just. Uh. Get some rest, alright?” I think—” he gestured with his hands, vague and meaningless, attempting to keep what he was saying from hitting the floor. “Look, just, just lie down,” he hummed inquisitively, hoping that might be enough.

 

Conlogy hummed in response, “alright— it’s like my head is going to explode, like a seed bomb,” he continued to press —gently— his palm against his bruise, and opted to lean back, resting his back on the green undergrowth. His gaze remained on Felix, “so…” he tilted his head, resting his hand on his own ribs, “what happened— where’s Mantoroh—? Because I didn’t see him around, unless he’s hiding, but why would he hide—? Oh, to ambush those bullies? Although, well, they already saw him— wait, did they beat him—?” he shook his head, biting his tongue. “No, that couldn’t happen— he’s strong. But what happened, human? Where are we?” 

 

“Uh,” Felix, still cross-legged, scratched the back of his neck, looking away—he was slow-brained, taking seconds to process. “We’re… umh,” he clawed a bit harder. “Out of the dungeon, yes. And Mantoroh, he, uh—” just from summing up the facts; how little he had influenced these, caused his face to heat up. “He went, uh, I mean, he went to deliver those… well, those guys.”

 

“He went to give up the crooks, then?” Conlogy hummed, and his gaze lit up—even though his soul, in those instants, was ashes. “Did he use one of those—? Uh,” he brought a hand to his chin and rubbed gently, “uh… one of those, of those—” he clicked his tongue. “Ah, yes, one of those— of those orbs— the ones from the water continent— or were they mist? I don’t really remember— but those orbs!” he raised his head, looking up at Felix. “Human, I haven’t told you about them! You see, they’re—!” and he began to cough. Loud. A growl born from his throat cut off his voice, and he clutched his bruise-covered side.

 

“A-Ah—” Felix gulped, and shook his head. “Th-That doesn’t matter now, just— uh—”

 

“Yeah, yeah, lay down, I know,” he retorted between coughing fits, his throat relaxing. “Don’t worry about me, human!” he added, leaning his body back once more.  “Really, don’t worry—this is nothing,” he let out a laugh—it was odd. “After all, this is normal for any crew member—! Or… Or I guess so,” he fell silent for a moment, but clicked his tongue. “I mean— none of them complain about these things, and I’m not going to be any less!” he sketched a smile. “We don’t complain about some nothing wounds—!” he winced as he shifted a bit.

 

The presence of the blue fruit in his grip was conspicuous by its absence. He cracked his mouth open, but the words died in his throat. He pondered what he could even utter, but anything would sound like nothing more than empty contrariness. He sighed, scratching behind his neck, lowering his claws. “A-Alright, uh… i-if you say so,” there was a strategy superior beyond all others, one that he applied to every footfall in his life.

 

Conlogy nodded, “Yes, really, don’t worry— because I see you worried, but there’s no need for you to be— even more—! I can get up myself—!” he drew his knees together and tried to press his palms against the ground, but staggered backwards.

 

“Ah—” Felix rushed to hold his arms, allowing a more delicate fall back to the grass.

 

In response, the ralts pushed his hand away. “Human, really— I’m fine! I can handle this, it’s just—” he coughed with phlegm. “It’s just… a nothing wound, alright?” he took a deep breath, focusing his gaze straight ahead. With another sharp breath he formed a tiny smile, “See? I’m fine now, much better, at least—” he chuckled, and leaned closer to the abra. “So—! What happened while I was, uh… unconscious?”

 

“Uh,” he scratched his nape, the intersection between his head and neck. “Well, we just… got out of there, first of all, and, uh, then— then Mantoroh took those, umh, those guys, took them for town, or at least in that direction. Oh, and he also told me that, uh, umh,” his claws ceased. He felt his face heat—he was unable to admit that he had been left to take care of, because his only action up to that point had been to lose himself in the scenery. “N-No, nothing. Umh. N-Nevermind, it was nothing.” 

 

Conlogy tilted his head, “…alright?” he replied, slowly, “if you say so, human…” he clapped his hands together, resuming a more lively tone, the flames of the blaze being reborn like a phoenix. “Then— we should be leaving now, for our reward awaits— and also dinner, and also that conversation you owe me…! about… humans—” his voice dropped in pace and volume gradually, squinting his eyes. “Wait—” he topped off his action with a sharp slap of his palm to his forehead, hissing at the impact. “I just realized— this isn’t a mission, and that means there’s no reward!” he raised his hand, raising his hair. “Felix— we’re not getting anything!”

 

…

 

In surprise, his heart didn’t sink at the news. Perhaps it was something they deserved—though it was a shame that Conlogy’s efforts were not going to be rewarded. “A-Ah, that’s, uh, bad…”

 

“Yes— very bad!” Conlogy groaned, burying his face in his singular hand, and clicked his tongue—repeatedly. “Oh, by Arceus— we got beaten up, I mean, I don’t know how to describe it perfectly, but I think beaten up fits— but we got beaten up! And for nothing—! I’d say the reward was helping but— but we didn’t help anyone!” he let out a heavy exhale, allowing his shoulders to slump. “Aw…”

 

It was anomalous to see him like this. But, at the same time, he couldn’t contradict him.

 

He gazed at him silently for a couple of breaths, until he clicked his tongue and glanced up, “But…” there was a rekindled fire, “But— let’s try to think of, well, good! Positive!” he pointed skyward, “It’s… it’s…” he hummed, “Experience! Yes, experience— in combat!” his tone took on a more Felix-like tinge. “And, uh, umh… we learned to, to… identify thieving techniques?” his gaze wandered heavenward, then fixed on Felix—on his muzzle, not his closed eyes. “Because that’s what Mantoroh said, right? That it was a strategy— of thieves, though they weren’t so much thieves as bullies but— well, they were both. I’d never heard of it before, or read about it, either…”

 

Sometimes the paper didn’t contain everything. His throat closed and he nodded, “y-yeah, I guess… I guess we learned, uh, that.”

 

“Exactly, human— we learned something… how to fight— better! Not so much better, though…” he clapped his hands together, “yeah! And now let’s go!” he pressed his palms against the ground at his sides, and exerted force with his arms. They were able to lift his small body, but— “ah—!” he lost his balance, staggering forward.

 

Felix pulled himself up from his cross-legged position, “watch out—” his fingers twitched at the thud, too late to reach out to hold the pale figure. He winced and flinched as he observed the impact, covering his muzzle with the tips of his knuckles, “oh god— a-are you alright?” he offered a hand.

 

He felt the warmth on it. “Of course— well, not quite well, not well well, but well, you know? Well enough!” he exclaimed, rising; finally, off the ground. Steady in his position. “Well enough to get back to the ship!” he grinned.

 

They should wait, that would be the wise course of action; but what was foolproof was strategy. “E-Eh, actually…” he brought his fingers to his throat, feeling above his veins, tracking the pulse.

 

Conlogy hummed, tilting his head to one side. “Do you have a better idea, human?” he asked, still smiling—though more confused.

 

…

 

He swallowed. “N-No, uh… better… better get back now,” he nodded. That was a bad idea.

 

Conlogy turned —wobbling to the right briefly before regaining his balance— to the northwest, letting out a soft hiss. “Alright, let’s go—! Wait—” he glanced around, locating the stairs hidden in the bushes with his eyes. “If that’s where the stairs are, then…” he muttered, rubbing his chin, and looked to the north… “Ah, that way, then! Come on, human, let’s get going!” he commenced his gait, on his way to emerge from the leafy forest.

 

To abandon weighed his heart.

 

With a sigh, he followed.

 

---

 

It was to be anticipated—the twinges behind his knees were no more than to be expected. And even with his body marred in sweat, his figure was in better condition than the ralts, who —could barely— led the way. With the bruises on his body rubbing against his whitish skin, with heavy and even hoarse breathing that manifested itself in panting. His steps were slow, but that was positive for Felix.

 

Nevertheless, the scene weighed heavily on his heart. But unable to take action on the predicament, he swallowed his emotions and continued to march on in silence. The spire remained lodged between his ribs, with each tick of a passing clock in his walk increasing in intensity.

 

“We should… be…” he breathed in sharply, bringing a hand to his chest. His tone was higher pitched than normal, deflated in his air, devoid of energy. “We should be… close! Close to a, to a…” with a misstep, he staggered to the left, barely regaining his balance as he briefly rested his weight to the right.

 

Then, the desert drop appeared—the gem in the darkness. The green and cream-white blob loomed on the horizon, drawn first among the trees —into which he melted— as a blurred figure before taking shape. It was the chesnaught, who, upon spotting them, widened his eyes and stepped forward. “Ah— Conlogy, Felix—”

 

“M-Mantoroh!” the ralts gasped, and lifted his hand to wave it in the air. “Hello— Mantoroh, hi! Here we are!”

 

He stared at the gesture from behind, shrinking his body by a few inches. He felt his face redden, all because of his actions; and how they had ended up there. His greeting was much looser, “hi…” it was soft, beneath the sound of the wind.

 

Mantoroh reciprocated with the same gesture, and as he settled down in front of the ralts, he knelt down, mimicking his height. “Hello, Conlogy, are you… alright? Are you feeling well?” his hands flew over the ralts’ small shoulders, but in the end his claws twitched and recoiled. Though his gaze was gentle, his voice had a tinge of firmness that only a concerned familiar could exhibit.

 

“Yes—!” with a twinge of distinct pain on his face, he clenched his teeth and exhaled with a hiss. “Well— no— not really—” he sketched a smile, hiding the weariness behind his gaze. “But I can walk without a problem! So I’d say I’m fine, though fighting would be kind of hard, but we’re not going to fight so—” he interrupted himself at the muffled panting, wincing as he grabbed his arm with the opposite one.

 

Mantoroh sighed, “if you say so…” he rose, taking a step back to gain space. That look of commiseration lingered in his eyes, and he averted his gaze elsewhere, to the side. “…Not that I want to imply anything, but,” he took a deep breath, taking a pause. “Yes. Not that I want to imply anything bad, but do you want me to carry you? On the way. If you don’t want to, that’s fine too—”

 

Conlogy made eye contact, and immediately startled, quickly shaking his hands in denial. “No, no, no, no, no— carry me? No— not at all! Well, not that it’s a bad thing, really, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with carrying people, but I’m fine so I don’t need that— I don’t need you to carry me, Mantoroh.” He laughed—with alacrity, a shade different from amusement. “Sure, it hurts to walk, and my wounds hurt, and I’m tired, but it’s not that bad— well, for me it feels bad but it shouldn’t be that bad on a, uh, perspective level,” he clicked his tongue, nervously, “yeah, perspective! So I’m fine, really!”

 

Felix took a step forward, his index finger threatening to tap the ralts shoulder. “Uh, Conlogy, actually—” as the scarlet eyes pierced his gaze, his throat tightened—perishing any suggestion on the tip of his palate.

 

Conlogy hummed, “Ah, hu— Felix? What’s wrong?” 

 

The words dangled from his tongue. He closed and opened his mouth before lowering his arm. “N-No, nothing,” he backed up a step, detached from that situation.

 

The chesnaught held his gaze, but squeezed his eyes shut as he sighed. “…Alright, then,” he shifted his gaze to his own chest, rummaging inside the leather satchel that hung from his trunk. In his grasp was a blue-colored fruit, and he extended his hand toward the ralts. “Would you like another oran—? I don’t mean you can’t handle the pain, but it would make your path more bearable… at least until we get as far as the ship so he can thoroughly check your wounds. If you want that, of course.”

 

With haste he picked up the fruit, bringing it up to his mouth. “Oh, by Arceus, yes—” he showed his maw, swiping a large bite. It was sloppy, some brown liquid leaking from his jaw. He licked his lips, letting out a sigh of relief. “It’s not tasty, but—! It’s better than tasty, it’s healing—” he cocked his head to the side. “I was going to say nourishing instead of healing but I don’t think they’re the same thing, although they sound somewhat similar, just a bit, so maybe they are.” His bruises took on a different hue, the multiple shades of purple on his body mellowing to pale.

 

Mantoroh smiled—gentle as the zephyr of the forest. “I’m glad you like it.”

 

He released a giggle, “who doesn’t like a good oran berry?” he took another bite, chewing. He swallowed, “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t get happy at the sight of an oran— not even Felix!” he turned to the abra, “right, Felix?”

 

He startled slightly. “A-Ah, yes,” he scratched behind the back of his neck. “I-I guess so…” it was still overwhelming, like drowning in a vast ocean of which it was impossible to even come to comprehend its size. It was black and viscous, like tar, infecting his heart with an indescribable heaviness. Still, he was drenched by the fragrance of pine and wet grass, which caressed his soul.

 

“Well, if you’re better now—” Mantoroh spoke, then shifted his gaze to Felix. “I offered you an oran earlier, and I don’t mean to imply anything, believe me, but would you like another one? It’s no problem, I have quite a few, and your wounds probably hurt a bit, so I thought maybe another…” he trailed off, implied ending. He rummaged through his satchel, offering a juicy blue sphere. “Want one?”

 

His gaze lingered on its shape. Round. Its scent like fresh water, mixed with bitter grass and a hint of sweetness in the air, waltzing in his senses. That was crushed by a multitude of things, as was that loathsome feeling in his soul that urged him to refuse, to maintain what little dignity was left in his body.

 

But he had never had pride. He accepted, hesitantly, with a weak nod, “s-sure…” he brought it up to his muzzle, “uh, thank you,” he chewed. It was like paradise running down his throat, soothing with its gentle touch —akin to an instant massage— the twinge behind his knees, the soles of his feet. 

 

What returned his gaze was a grin. “Alright. Shall we continue?”

 

---

 

“Welcome back, dears.”

 

They were greeted —and made their bones rattle— by the booming voice beached on the shore of the golden beach, with the grains of sand —like gravel and soft needles— between his fingers, sinking by a few inches his body.

 

Tiny black dots landed on Conlogy, taking on a dismayed glow. “Oh, Conlogy, dear, are you alright? I heard you went on tour today— how did you end up so bad?” 

 

“I’m fine— better than before, at least—” Conlogy answered, standing in the middle, between Felix and Mantoroh. He rasped his words as he spoke, bringing a hand to his neck to clear his throat, drawing the end of his limb to shield his forehead with his forearm. “But, hello, Beatrix! Don’t worry, I’m fine, or well, better than I was before, which was worse— and we went into a fight, we ended up on a mission, which isn’t technically a mission, but there was fighting, so for having fought, I’m fine!” 

 

“Still…” her eyes squinted, going towards the chesnaught; how seeking the responsible adult who might shed some light on her doubts—it was obvious they wouldn’t go to Felix. “What exactly happened?” 

 

“Rashing,” he blurted out, directly—gaining the enlargement of the cetacean’s eyes. “But they already got to safety and the criminals were arrested, so… well, it doesn’t take away the problem of Conlogy’s injuries, but at least that part’s taken care of,” he replied. His gaze softened, “don’t worry, Beatrix, the wounds may look bad but I’m sure Doshe will do a good job, he always does.”

 

The colossal cetacean sighed —causing Felix to stagger gently backwards, almost losing his balance— before frowning. “Ay, dear, are you sure you’re ready for that kind of risky mission? Don’t you think it’s better to leave it to Zelodec and the others? You have to prepare yourself, a little at a time…” 

 

It was difficult to perceive—but he saw the ralts tense up. “It wasn’t that dangerous, Beatrix! Sure, Mantoroh came to save us— but I think we could have done something, if we’d known it was an ambush— so we’ll do better next time!” he sketched a smile. There was a tinge to it that he was incapable of even comprehending—a bubbly feeling that was a contrast to everything else until it became uncomfortable to witness.

 

He shuddered at the notion that they would have to repeat the experience.

 

Beatrix sighed, “If you’re so sure, I can’t tell you not to…” that black-dotted look mellowed, just as her tone became more subdued. “But rest, alright? To heal well you have to eat and sleep a lot.”

 

“Yes, don’t worry!”

 

The whale cracked a faint smile. “I won’t take up any more of your time, then. Come in,” — once again, the monumental jaws parted open like a magnificent door, allowing the rays of light to pour in, which bathed the slimy tongue coated with saliva and with the veins underneath pulsing with life. The white teeth shaped a tiny fence, a raised relief when stepped on, like a stairway to the bulky abyss that led to the new home.

 

From the sight of it he felt a shiver, every time.

 

Mantoroh brought one hand to the clump of cream fur on his chest and made a short bow forward, the other digits on his back. “Thank you, Beatrix,” his actions were in stark contrast to the faint waving of Felix’s hand, or Conlogy raising both arms broadly to wave goodbye to her. 

 

Thus the three took passage into the black maw. Behind them rumbled the earth as they found themselves on the other side, teeth clenched together and the light ceasing to suffuse their bodies, now greeted by the pulpy floor and pure darkness in front of them. 

 

He could barely see the front of his muzzle, but with difficulty, feeling the vibration in the air, he watched the white hand reach out toward him. “Come on— take my hand, Felix.”

 

Heat gathered in his face; that needle nestled in his ribs twisted viciously. He had no right to accept that show of kindness, not after the way he’d behaved. He shook his head, “Uh, actually…” he stumbled over his words, fumbling for an excuse. “Uh, I said… I said yesterday that, uh— yesterday I said I could do it on my own,” after all, he could only come up with one word to describe someone who had to be guided by someone younger.

 

Or perhaps older.

 

It was for the best not to dwell on that, because the mere notion squeezed his heart.

 

Even in the gloom, he caught the confused blink before the scarlet eyes widened. “Oh— right, right!” he nodded, setting a pace in the even more absolute blackness. “Are you sure you’ll be alright…?” his tone became gentler, his shade revealing his frown. “Ah, but I’m sure you can! Don’t worry, you’ll do fine!” the energy returned. “Well, I don’t think so fine, because you haven’t learned your way around yet, but you should be able to follow in our footsteps, and as long as you’re careful, you’ll be fine.”

 

Mantoroh halted his march. “Oh, Felix, you don’t know your way around?” he could even hear the tilt of his head in his tone. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with it,” that nuance softened, to be reassuring, “it’s to be expected, you’re fairly new.” Another hand reached out toward Felix—one of three brown claws, barely visible in the blackness. “Let me guide you. If you want, of course.”

 

Though the needle wriggled even less, it still made its presence clear. He shook his head, “no, uh— no, thank you. I— I, umh, I can,” he lied.

 

“Alright, then,” he was hardly able to spot his nod in the darkness. “Let’s go,” he made a gesture that was elusive to identify, and so, they all set off into the absolute abyss that was the esophagus.

 

Although silent, the journey was challenging. It was slimy, slippery as ice, and without a support that could steer his hand, his feet threatened to trip over each other just by walking. His foot skidded, sending his body forward, and he maneuvered to even carry his weight backwards.

 

“Felix, are you sure that—?” Conlogy asked.

 

“D-Don’t worry…” he gulped, moving forward behind them. He slowed his pace, trying to ease his own gait.

 

Eventually, of slime his feet began to palpate flesh, with noticeable veins throbbing beneath like the roots of a tree, sprouting alive from the earth. Light streaked across the horizon, like blurry smudges in his sight that began to gather shape the closer they came, warmly illuminating the environment with its soft orange hue. It was just as he remembered it in the morning—the empty ring —but with dashes of red, still fresh, staining its stone— and the bar seats occupied by the bisharp and the incineroar, one with a cup of water, the other with a wooden jug brimming with foam. 

 

Mantoroh spun toward the abra. “Felix, would you mind staying here for a moment? While I take Conlogy to Doshe— although, of course, you can come too, if you want. If you’re still in pain I think Doshe has some painkillers.”

 

Conlogy intercepted, shaking his head. “You don’t need to come, Felix—! Well, maybe you’re hurt or want painkillers, if so, then you can come if you want— but that’s not my point— What I mean is that it’s not necessary for either of you to accompany me! I can go to the infirmary on my own, it’s not too far either— it’s right here— so there shouldn’t be a problem—”

 

Mantoroh cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but… I understand the sentiment, and I respect it, but… I insist, so I can help in Doshe if he needs it.”

 

The ralts squinted, barely visible behind his hair—was annoyance. The silence was like a string, capable of being severed with a single word but held for a long while, until he finally let out a soft grumble. “Well, alright—” he folded his arms, reluctant.

 

The abra scratched behind his neck, “uh, I, uh, I-I don’t need painkillers but, uh, I-I can go too—” 

 

Conlogy glared at him, shaking his head. “You don’t need to—! It’s not like I don’t want you to come, I’m fine with it, even if you don’t need painkillers, because there’s no reason for me to mind if you come along, that would be silly. I’m just saying that if you don’t want to— you don’t need to come if you don’t want to! It’s a nothing injury, I can handle it! And you, Felix,” he laid a hand on his shoulder. “You need to rest! Because you’re tired, aren’t you? I assumed you were tired by the way you look, but maybe you’re not, but I assumed you are tired. So go get some rest! It’s good for you, well, for everyone, but for you more right now.”

 

“Uh…” the needle squirmed. He looked down. “A-Alright, then.”

 

Mantoroh nodded, bringing his paw closer toward Conlogy’s small arm. His fingers curled around it, closed; but he soon moved them to be more akin to holding his own hand in the air. “Come on, then.”

 

Conlogy grumbled softly. “Hey! I can walk on my own— I walked all the way here on my own, so I don’t need you to hold my hand, really,” he replied.

 

“Ah, right—” he retracted the offer, and rubbed the back of his hand with the palm of the other. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize, it’s alright!” he commenced walking toward one of the huts—he could remember how it was the one he’d left a couple of days ago already, where he’d rested his bruised body after the massacre he’d suffered above the ring.

 

Mantoroh nodded, walking beside him. “…Alright, if you say so.”

 

Thus he was left alone.

 

…

 

Although his gaze fell upon one of the lamps —similar to oil lamps— illuminating with its dim light the flesh beneath the pole from which it hung, it was inevitable that his ears twitched as he heard the conversation coming from the bar; which, at the moment, had no one to attend to it.

 

“So they raised their taxes again?” Arinton spoke up, taking a big, loud swig from his oak mug, the foam forming a mustache above his snout, beneath his nose. “To the guilds of the Grass?”

 

Huirai —a shiver ran down his back just being aware of his presence— nodded, elbow on the bar and hand slightly raised, holding a stone goblet; spurring the water with a gentle swish. “So I hear.” He took a sip, much more discreetly than his chattering companion. “It has to do with the Exploration Team Federation, apparently, that they raised the standards for guildmasters…” he glanced at his reflection in the water. “Poor things; the workers, in the end they’re the ones who always get the short end of the stick.”

 

Arinton leaned back, a mighty laugh bubbling up from within him. “That’s what they get for not going independent, I tell you! There’s no better education than one’s own, really, you don’t learn anything at all in those guilds; they just bleed you dry until you’re drier than a white corsola,” he tapped the table with the side —of his pinky toe— of his closed paw. “I tell you I dodged a bullet! To think that when I was young I wanted so badly to work in one of those guilds, for what? To be bled until I was skinnier than a ghastly?” he grinned with vast arrogance, pointing his thumb at his face. “Besides, they were too lil’ too little for me, so send ’em the heck away, yeah! It’s better here, I tell you.”

 

Huirai nodded, turning his head to face him. “Then why didn’t you stay independent? Sure it’s a good life, but why not continue further?” as he spoke he was measured, words chosen meticulously—it was evident in the speed of his words.

 

“Because here they offer very good work— lots of it, besides!” he took a large swig from his mug. He leaned to the side, trying to rest his elbow on Huirai’s shoulder, albeit awkwardly. “Have ye never been independent? Because, by arceus, as an independent you have more work than a combee in high season,” he sighed—dramatically. “What if talking to clients, what if investigating the criminal or the dungeon, what if having to look up quests…” he huffed. “There were too many papers— I wanted to do real stuff, like, like— like a good fight! Action! Battle! Real work, come on! Why would my talent have to be spent looking for work instead of fighting…” he shook his head. “Surely ya understand, don’t ya, Huirai!? Don’t ya think there’s nothing better than a good fight!?”

 

Huirai laughed gently, taking a sip of water before leaning —by a few inches— to the left. “Of course I understand, who doesn’t crave a good fight every now and then?”

 

Yet listening to the conversation from afar, Felix could think of a couple of people who, indeed, didn’t like a fight. 

 

Arinton smacked his palm on the bisharp’s shoulder, then brought his arm across around his neck from behind. “Aaayyy, you sure do know what’s good— you always know, buddy!” he laughed, before, with his other arm, he reached with his paws for the mug by the jug and took a sloppy swig; fluid flowing down his neck in strands, laughing once more. “Hey, by the way, come to think of it… sometimes you’re more mysterious than a dungeon, buddy,” his free hand prodded the tip of his red shoulder pad with his index finger. “What are you hiding? Come on, tell me, I don’t even know what you were working on before, well,” he held out his hand and made a gesture as if encompassing the opening. “You know, all this! Come on, tell— you weren’t even independent, were you? Let me guess—explorer? rescuer? For a company in the city?”

 

Huirai frowned, watching his reflection in the water. “None of those…” his smile faltered. “Actually—”

 

The bell and its ringing echoed throughout the esophagus opening, interrupting the conversation —and causing Felix to startle, about to jump— of the two at the bar. He turned his gaze toward the source, to see how from the second longest hut, the door opened.

 

From inside exuded smoke that flooded his senses with its aroma of cooked vegetables and oil. That fragrance alone awakened his stomach, making it growl. From the doorway Karoson peeked out, “Dinner is ready,” though his volume was similar to a shout, his tone was as monotone as it seemed customary. He returned to the dining room.

 

The incineroar released the half-hug he had the bisharp trapped in and roared, leaning his body to the left. “Yeah! Dinner!” he jumped to his feet. “I’m going!” he pumped his fist, as he descended his heel buckled but he easily regained his balance. “Hehe…” he tapped Huirai on the shoulder as he walked behind him. “You can tell me later what you were working on— at the table! Or anytime— just don’t become a shuckle!” he let out a laugh, departing towards the hut; from which the alluring smoke was still emanating.

 

“Sure… I’ll tell you about it,” his gaze stayed glued to the water, but when he lifted it, his tiny black eyes fell on the abra—his heart jumped up into his throat as he was penetrated by those irises. “ah, hello, Felix. I didn’t see you,” he stood up from the stool, walking over to approach—to loom over him. “You had a tour today, didn’t you? Did it go well today?”

 

He felt his own tongue throbbing—on the verge of bursting, on the verge of vomiting. “Eh— uh— umh,” he brought a hand to his collarbone, hoping his claws could bind him to reality. “I-I—” he swallowed, hard. “Y-Yeah— well— it’s— we a-are w-well,” he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “A-And you—?”

 

When he reopened his eyes, he was greeted by a gentle smile. “Very well, thank you. I’m glad to hear you did well today,” he nodded. “We can continue talking at the table, if you’d like. I wouldn’t mind hearing about your tour. Catch up.”

 

He nodded—too quickly. “S-Sure—! Sure, sure, o-of course,” he cleared his throat, noisily; with the mere action his strings vibrated with a soft itch. He felt his lungs empty.

 

They were disrupted by the sharp creak of a door being punched open—or the brandishing of a chunk of stone. It was Sancyel, scowling and grumbling, striding toward the dining hall, “They can’t even give the food in the rooms like it should be anymore…” he complained aloud, passing through the door.

 

Behind him walked the bisharp, “ah, good afternoon, Sancyel.”

 

He was greeted by a growl that turned muffled as they stepped away.

 

Felix drew in a sharp breath, feeling the life return to his soul. It was as if the space had suddenly increased in temperature, the air clean as that of the emerald forest. 

 

Another sound disturbed his brief reassurance—another door opened, more gently this time. It was from the infirmary, from which Mantoroh and Doshe emerged… and finally, the ralts came out. 

 

It was plain to see the difference between the three—one of them had his right eye covered by a diagonal bandage, with another one wrapping around his forehead, under his hair and above his eyes. The white cloth crossed his chest a couple of times until it ended tight, just like the one on his left forearm. Despite this, not all of his soft bruises were covered. As he engaged in a glance with the yellow lizard, he grinned, “thanks a lot, Doshe— again! I’m sure I’ll be feeling fine soon!” 

 

“No problem,” his tail swung back and forth.

 

His smile widened, and as he looked to the sides, his eyes fell on Felix. “Felix!” he almost ran towards the abra. “Didn’t you hear the bell?! It’s dinner time—!” he grabbed his paws with his little hands, “yesterday you didn’t go to dinner because you overslept— but today! Because skipping dinner would make you sick, even if apples are good you can’t live on apples alone, I think, although there are some who do and yes you can live on apples— but not in the crew, so come on!” he began to drag him —Mantoroh watching with his smile from afar— to the dining room.

 

He wasn’t going to resist either. He allowed those tiny limbs to pull him forward.

 

As they made their way into the hut, they were greeted by a wide space, with a long oak table and a red tablecloth with white borders that was inches from reaching the floor—which was extremely close, since the table was not high. On the sides were a myriad of blue-green cushions, made of light fabric and thick borders, which upon viewing were already of a more robust texture. Near the door, the four nearest pillows —two to the right and to the left— were empty. In the center, however, seats were already occupied. Doshe sat next to the second empty cushion, curling his tail under the fabric, leaning his body slightly back. The next one was empty. The third one in the center right was the bisharp, with his legs crossed and elbows resting gently on the oak.

 

On the left side, Sancyel was seated opposite Doshe, legs spread wide and the pieces of rock upright at his sides, vacating his hands. He prodded the bump on his head with his index finger, causing it to bounce softly; he grumbled, settling into his seat. Next to him was another empty pillow. The seat across from Huirai was occupied by the incineroar, grinning and claws tapping rhythmically on the tablecloth, with a droopy, awkward posture. 

 

Finally, at the end closest to the end of the room, rested a lone seat; occupied by no one.

 

The room was bisected by a wall, with a glassless window that allowed a view of the other side of the room: there were several pots burning, the fire and smoke emanating from them with their exquisite fragrance. Several wooden buckets overflowing with water rested in one corner, with a pantry with containers full of dried berries. The aroma that perfumed the place was apple-like, with a sugary touch and multiple sautéed vegetables.

 

Mantoroh; who was standing behind them, peeked through the doorway and looked around. “Wait…” he quirked an eyebrow, “where’s Zelodec?” he stood in the frame, just behind those who obstructed the entrance.

 

The small blue creature peeked out from the doorless frame that led into the kitchen—a plate of baked clay of a brownish color lodged on his head, barely maintaining its balance thanks to the tiny arms that held it from the edges. “Dad’s out!” He could see now, up close, how the dinner appeared to be dehydrated, boiled apple slices, encircled by a number of fruits —which he couldn’t recognize— of similar qualities, only without the peel and with their natural juice painting the plate. He deposited the dish in front of the conkeldurr, which growled before burying his face and beginning to swallow. Fash rushed over to Mantoroh, wrapping his little arms around his right leg—causing Felix and Conlogy to move to the sides, “See dad? See? I’m helping Uncle Karoson!” he beamed.

 

Mantoroh bent down a few inches to pat his head with familiarity. “That’s very good. Well done, Fash,” he gave way inside the dining room, lifting his gaze to scan. But he merely sighed, turning his eyes back to the bagon. “Did Zelodec say where he was going?”

 

He shook his head. “no, he didn’t say! Although he got called by one of those… of the little magnezones! But Dad didn’t say where he was going.”

 

Mantoroh nodded, “It must be something serious…” he hummed, and went back to petting the little blue creature’s head. “I think you’ve done a good job already, Fash. Shall we sit down?” 

 

“Yes!” he nodded with alacrity, hopping up to readjust his direction forward, walking toward the pillows closest to the door on the right side. “I’m hungry, dad! Come on!” he hastened toward the cushion, taking a seat and bouncing his short legs.

 

Mantoroh chuckled, settling down next to the bagon. “Of course, I’m hungry too,” his posture was cross-legged—upright and correct, neither elbows resting on the oak.

 

Interrupting the scene was the warmth that made its presence known in his hand, with a strong grip. “Come on, let’s go, Felix!” Conlogy exclaimed, dragging his body to the seats nearest the door on the left side. “See, this is where I sit—” he patted the pillow in front of Fash with his free hand, “and the captain told me that’s where you’re going to sit— well, sit down, now!” he pointed toward the next seat. He released his hand, sitting cross-legged. “Come on, sit down, I know you must be tired— and these seats are quite comfortable, more so than our beds, actually,” he giggled, “although they’re not big enough to sleep on, so don’t get used to them! So I’m sure you’ll like them!”

 

For a moment, he stood frozen in disbelief. But with a hesitant movement, he rested his rear end on the fabric—and it was heaven on earth. He heaved a sigh of pure alleviation, even going so far as to grunt, as if all the air —and soul— from his lungs had been expelled with a mere exhalation. “Y-You’re right… I like them…” his eyelids fell closed under their own weight, his tone sleepy and longing, as if resting on clouds. 

 

He felt the throbbing in his chest, surrounded by the conversation around him, the soft bustle that crowded the room. When he realized, he sniffed and the scent of boiled apple grew stronger, closer to his snout. He cracked his eyes open, seeing the steaming dish in front of him, enveloping his senses with its fragrance. He glanced to the side, seeing the large magmortar —with a pair of bandages around his arms— serving a dish; of resembling ceramic, to Conlogy. 

 

“Thank you, Karoson,” Conlogy smiled.

 

Felix blinked, landing in reality. “A-Ah— yes— thank you,” he hastened to blurt out.

 

He was greeted by the monotone gaze of the magmortar, who nodded and retreated back to the kitchen.

 

Next thing was, from the open doorway, flew —with his soft flapping cutting through the noise of the room— the owl into the dining room, soaring over everyone to land on the seat between Doshe and Huirai. He dug his talons into the cloth, and made a disdainful sound, disregarding everyone in the room. Stares lingered briefly on him before returning to what they were doing moments before.

 

The bisharp leaned forward —lowering the temperature of the room— to settle his gaze on Conlogy, ceasing his chewing. “Conlogy, I thought you were just going on a tour today…?” his eyes fell upon the bandages on his body, quirking an eyebrow. Though his eyes sparkled with sympathy, he didn’t frown.

 

Felix froze, staring at his dish and cringing.

 

“Well—” Conlogy halted eating, resting the boiled apple on the pottery. “We had a few problems— not just a few, a lot of problems, with some criminals who were liars and bullies— but in the end it all turned out fine—! Of course, no thanks to us, but I think we did pretty well!” he turned his head toward the abra, “didn’t we, Felix?”

 

“A-Ah, uh…”

 

“They did their best,” Mantoroh finished munching, grabbing another slice of apple and chopped berries. “So yes, I’d say they did a good job,” looking up, he flashed them both a gentle smile.

 

Fash tilted his head, opening his mouth full. “Dadh, wha’ a’ ya’ dwo’ dalgin’ ’bout? Wha’ ‘append’?” he glanced up at the ralts, and pointed. “Whyh bro—?” he swallowed, “why brother Conlogy is so hurt?” 

 

“Fash, try not to eat with your mouth open, alright?” he spoke in a soft tone. “But they fought some criminals today, remember that time you went with Zelodec to arrest a simisear around here in Arcella Town?” 

 

The bagon tilted his head, but nodded. “Yes! Wait—” his eyes grew wide. “The angry-face simisear? I remember he was very angry— and he was very mean to his friend, the Fearow!” he snorted. “They were both very mean! They fought in the street…”

 

He hummed, “and do you remember how it was fake?”

 

“Ah— yes, I remember!” he nodded once more. “Dad said it was a lie!”

 

“Well, they…” he cast a glance straight ahead. “They fell for the lie,” his eyes softened. 

 

“Ohhh—”

 

Arinton slammed the table, gulping the fruits into his mouth and flashing a toothy grin of disbelief and teasing. “Wait, wait, wait, wait—!” he gazed toward them both, crinkling his eyes and bringing a hand to his chest, as if that gesture could control his bombastic laughter. “Rashing?! You fell for rashing, little buddies?!” he finally burst out guffawing, slamming the table once more and leaning back. “Don’t be slower than a slowpoke, fellas, those poorly made zoroarks are clearer than on Lock-On!” 

 

Felix cringed. What a bad day to feel the heat on his cheeks.

 

Conlogy laid his hands on the table, raising his rear end of his seat a trifle. “Well— I’d never heard of that trick, the rashing thing— nor had I ever read about it, or heard of it, or anything, really— maybe because I don’t get off the boat as much as I should, but I should have heard of it before, shouldn’t I? But no, that’s weird— that’s why I didn’t suspect anything, and of course Felix didn’t either, but I don’t think that makes us slow, though maybe it does—”

 

Mantoroh cleared his throat, “sorry to interrupt, but don’t feel bad, alright? Yes, it may be common knowledge, but no one is born knowing these things, and you were trying to help someone who was in trouble. That’s commendable,” the sound of munching was hegemonic in the room. “But…” he tilted his head downward at an angle by a few degrees. “While I don’t take credit away from you guys, maybe it was… a little risky, considering none of you wear badges.”

 

“They didn’t wear badges?” Doshe interjected, his half-closed eyes now wider. “That’s…”

 

It could have turned out very badly. He felt his heart pounding in his throat. 

 

Conlogy nodded, his shoulders slumped. “Yes— actually, we shouldn’t have gone— it was dangerous, well, it went dangerously—” he raised his head. “But if it had been a real situation, because this one was pretend, then it wouldn’t have mattered—!” he grinned, nervously. “Well, yes, it would have mattered, it’s bad not to wear a badge—” he returned confidence to his expression, “but there are more important things than health— like helping! Even though we didn’t help anyone, but now I mean a real situation— not real like it happened, but someone actually being in danger— and in the end it all worked out, so no problem!”

 

Adrenaline weighed on his heart—it didn’t matter that it had ended well, in the end…

 

Huirai chewed and swallowed the berry in his mouth, having poked the food with his fingertips. “So… did you catch the criminals? If so, I understand the… recklessness. What rank were they?” 

 

Sancyel razzed, snorting. “D-Rank at most, that kid won’t take a punch, and the other one?” he glared towards Felix, “scrawny rookie gets knocked to the ground by a breeze,” he remarked gruffly, taking a swig from his wooden mug. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, burping.

 

“Well,” Doshe poked an apple slice with the end of one of his fingers. “Conlogy took good hits,” he interjected, shooting a glance at the ralts. “Relax tomorrow.”

 

Conlogy chewed the food in his mouth, and shook his head. “Buth Dosheh—!” he almost spat as he spoke. He gulped before returning to mumble again, “tomorrow there are missions to be done—! Because I don’t think we’re going on a tour— and don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.”

 

The lizard shrugged. “Aight, then,” he stuck a mouthful into his food, chewing.

 

Felix scratched his neck, halting his munching —the sweet flavor waltzed through his palate, with a smoky hint like burnt meat, which, surprising as it was, didn’t ruin the bland texture but harmonized it with everything else, with a faint hint of spiciness on the tip of his taste buds— to look up at the ralts. “E-Eh, C-Conlogy…” he raised —hesitantly— his index finger, “m-maybe—” his eyes flew over the bandages around his body. The sight twisted the needle.

 

But at the same time, a more comforting voice intervened. “Conlogy, it’s not that—” his eyes opened wide at the second, clearing his throat before looking back toward the abra. “Ah, excuse me. Continue what you were saying.”

 

He shrugged, “a-ah. Uh. D-Don’t worry, it’s not…” it squirmed deeper. “It was nothing.”

 

Mantoroh held his gaze, but eventually nodded. “Alright, then,” he turned his gaze to the ralts. “But, Conlogy… you’re starting with the explorations, and believe me, I understand you’re ready for it but… maybe it’s better if you take it slower, and, maybe, take a day off. But…” he sighed, “if you don’t want to, that’s understandable too.”

 

Conlogy hummed. “…” to shake his head, “don’t worry, Mantoroh— I know I’m just starting— really starting!” he sketched a smile; beaming with confidence, with a hidden nuance behind it. “Yes, I may be hurt, and yes, I may be unwell— but I can move, and that’s better than not moving, which would be bad enough, because if I couldn’t move I couldn’t do missions, and I couldn’t fight— well, maybe I could, but it would be hard, but I could. Or I think so. But my point is— we’ll be fine!”

 

He knew he wasn’t the greatest optimist, for those words only stirred disbelief in his heart. But he knew they would only drag the atmosphere and his excitement through the mud, so he clenched his teeth.

 

“For one place you have to start, though remember not to burn yourselves out…” Huirai commented, “but then… that means you did good, in the end. Conlogy, Felix,” he glanced towards the abra—which shrank back, “good job on completing your first mission in hunting a criminal. Right?” he glanced at the ralts. “I understand you haven’t done one before.”

 

Conlogy hummed, adding a nod.

 

Huirai mimicked the gesture, “So, if they were some actors… maybe they were B-Rank? I’ve arrested quite a few actors, and the vast majority are B-Rank,” he stirred the food with the blade that was his limb. “They’re not as easy as people think. It’s quite an accomplishment to catch one as first prey,” he smiled, graciously.

 

“Uhhh…” Felix scratched behind the back of his neck. That disbelief twisted in his gut again. At least Conlogy had done well.

 

“They were C-Rank,” Mantoroh commented, finishing chewing. “I agree, though. That’s a good rank for the first time you two have hunted a criminal… although…” he leaned one of his elbows on the wood. “Actually, those two, Agent Magnezone told me, weren’t actors. They’d beaten up other foreigners before. They were real purists.”

 

“Of course it wasn’t an act!” Conlogy interjected. “They were real bad— but in the end we could—! No, wait,” he scratched behind the back of his neck, his spirits flagging a bit. “Well, we couldn’t— because we didn’t arrest them, or defeat them— that was done by you, Mantoroh— so we didn’t do too much…” he coughed. “But I think even though we were only there, we did good! Kinda!”

 

Felix nodded, albeit only for the former part.

 

“There’s merit in hanging in there,” Huirai replied, resting his arms on the tablecloth. “So they were members of The Purists?”

 

Mantoroh shook his head. “No— although it’s a valid assumption, I can see why you would think that…” he turned his gaze toward the ralts. “And I agree with Huirai; it has merit to have held up well against C-Ranked criminals, you having captured none before.” In a heartbeat, his eyes widened. “Ah— right— after dinner, I’ll give you your reward-“

 

Felix gaped. Immediately Conlogy pounded —gently— on the table. “Ah? Why? No!” he shook his head, “You should keep it, Mantoroh— after all you did most of the arresting… those… bullies—” he trailed off, and swung his head back to the abra. “Wait— do you want the mission reward? I don’t think it should be ours but if it’s alright with you—”

 

“N-No—” he cleared his throat, his voice a higher pitched, forced tone, for some reason. “N-No. I-I-I’m… alright.”

 

Conlogy nodded, “see, Mantoroh? We both agree— the reward is all yours! What’s more— it’s our thanks for the help—! Although, well, they’re not our thanks, because they were given to you by Agent Magnezone, so our thanks would be more like we let you keep the reward— although that wouldn’t be a thank you, because you did the mission…”

 

Mantoroh tilted his head slightly to one side. With a blink, he replied, “All… right, then,” he accepted the fact and nodded “Ah, then let me give you your money. I forgot to give it to you on the way, sorry,” he rummaged inside his satchel to catch the sack, reaching out his hand to offer him the money back—Conlogy accepted with a smile, tucking it away inside his scalp. With a nod, his hand overflew over one of the multiple apple slices, free claw crushing the berries to form them into a warm-colored puree—caught a portion which he calmly brought to his muzzle.

 

The gigantic feline finished swallowing—that was alerted by a loud roar, which shook the room though none of those present —except for Felix— and just as quickly grabbed a new slice with a sharp movement, causing a stream of water to flow down his closed palm. “A C-Rank? Just that?” he barked out a laugh accompanied by a snort. “That’s nothing! I…” he raised his free hand —resting his elbow on the table— and held up three digits. “I arrested three— three! B-Rank criminals today,” he announced haughtily, a smile matching his pride. “And one of those… was a corviknight!” he guffawed louder, puffing out his chest. “I brought him down like a Smack Down straight to the ground!” 

 

“A corviknight?” Huirai took interest, perking up his posture. “Wait…” he hummed, “you mean Blackwing?” he blinked, rested his hands on the edge of the tablecloth. Near him, the bird and the reptile ate in silence. “I didn’t know they’d already found him.”

 

“Even I didn’t know that!” Arinton cackled, “I noticed it today on the missions— well hidden they had it!” he pointed a thumb at himself. “But nothing escapes the sniff of number one, hahah…” he widened his maw, devouring the slice in his paws in one bite.

 

“I see… I thought they were going to catch him later,” Huirai hummed. “Where was he?”

 

Arinton finished chewing. “you won’t believe it— in the Sand Dune! Up here at no time— the quite impidim thought he wasn’t going to be seen, stealing in the middle of Pechoro. Obviously the cops were on his trail…” he grinned—more playfully, laughing, causing his shoulders to rise as he did so. “You should have seen his face when he saw me coming!” he razzed. “He really didn’t expect to be found, when he went to hide in the most obvious place— he stood there like a stantler on the carriage way! He was shaking like a castform in the desert, I swear,” he guffawed louder, slamming the table. “And he didn’t even expect the punch I gave him full in the face— he didn’t even fly! And I go and hit him in the face—” he spoke faster, making the gesture of a quick jab; pushing the air away. “And yell—” he roared, imitating his old tone; triumphant, “the best is here!” he slurred the syllables. “And he didn’t even answer me, the very quagsire! Really, you should have seen him… I’ve never seen such a frightened corviknight before! But he put up a fight,” his index finger bounced gently to the side, “he put up a fight. Have you ever seen a criminal that afraid?” and he took a bite of his plate.

 

Huirai hummed—his eyes submerged in thought before he nodded, a slight smile bearing upon it the icy chill of winter. “A few times, yes,” were words that came so naturally from his mouth that the abra —who listened silently— couldn’t help but shiver.

 

“Ah—” eyes, in the blink of an eye, widened like saucers. He scratched his cheek with his claws. “Ah, right, right—” he shrugged, pointing his palms upward with a twist of his wrists. “Sometimes I’m more forgetful than a psyduck, but maybe it’s the…” he snapped his fingers. “The… what was it like…” he muttered. Finally he dismissed with his hands, “ah, whatever!” he turned his gaze back to the bisharp. “But no wonder—! You must have seen more magost jellies than a city cook,” he chuckled. He leaned forward, “but are they Blackwing?” he asked, defiantly. “What do you have to compete against Blackwing, eh?” even with his words, his grin was frolicsome.

 

Huirai returned the gesture—albeit of a gentler hue. “Now this was a competition?” he inquired, arms crossed on the table —ahead of the plate— and not relenting.

 

“It always is!” Arinton roared—filling the room with his loud waves of sound, almost vibrating like the strings of a guitar.

 

“Of course, of course…” Huirai shook his head, closing his eyes—opening them, they held an endearing glow, creating a fundamental discordance with the rest of his being. “If so… today I captured Eyeang.”

 

“What?” he elongated the syllable exaggeratedly, on the verge of startlement. He pressed his palms against the tablecloth, near the edge and flanks of his dish. “Eyeang? They found them already— and I couldn’t catch them myself?” he clenched his teeth, and slapped his thigh with his open palm. The other fist clenched, snarling, “No—! But well done— you sure are fast, by Arceus!” he pointed his index finger at him. “But don’t worry— you won this round but I’ll win the next!” 

 

He chuckled—I was even melodious. “I hope so, I hope so…” he moved his head. He crinkled his eyes, “but yes,” he nodded, “Eyeang, in the flesh.” He speared a slice and several berries with the end of his arm, a skewer from which he took a light bite. “On Tree Mountain. They hid even in a monster house.”

 

He whistled, surprised. “A monster house?” He razzed. “What a coward… I expected more from them, really— with what I’d heard,” he crossed his arms. “They really do play tough… but they always run away like rats!” he shook his head. “Fight on their own and have guts— that’s always what I say!” he leaned back. “See, I should have captured Eyeang— I would have beaten the heck out of them and reminded them what pride is!” 

 

“I’m sure you would…” that gentle tone still didn’t sit well with Huirai, at least in Felix’s opinion. “But it’s no problem, being honest, after all…” and so, as his voice lowered in volume and tone, that was when the room dropped in warmth. “When there are monster houses, there are more criminals to catch. In the end…” he lowered his head. The shadow on his feature was fragmented by the smile, of a new hue. “They’re the ones who fell into the trap.”

 

Felix was like a fish out of water—perhaps, in another circumstance, he might be able to bite into the sweet apple —mixed with flesh-colored fruits that danced with gentle but all too painful piquancy on his palate— with tranquility. But in those moments, with his throat closed and his bones frozen, his soul was powerless to keep in harmony, more akin to a gentle trembling in his legs, which rested beneath the tablecloth.

 

“Uncle Huirai,” Fash chimed in—a contrast of the low voices, now with a more youthful one that cut through the somber mood, which Felix, at least, was unable to bear any longer. “Who’s Eyeang?” he tilted his head to one side. “Is he a bad guy?” he asked, as innocently as an infant could hope for.

 

Huirai turned his gaze to him, resting a much more affable smile back on his features—a change from zero to a hundred, which from just watching him made his heart skip a beat. “Yes, Fash,” he nodded, “Eyeang is a very dangerous criminal. A flygon who stole a lot of things from a lot of people. But they have already…” once again, that tone invaded his voice like a cursed venom—more akin to as if bubbling to the surface. “Paid for their crimes.”

 

“To be honest,” Mantoroh commented, finishing his meal. His plate was nearly clean by now, only a portion of the skin-colored mash left resting on the ceramic. “I didn’t expect they were going to find them, not after so many months.”

 

Huirai looked at him. “In the end…” a glint flashed in his eye—again his heart skipped a beat. “Justice always does its work. To everyone…” it was like radiance, chilling his bones just to witness. “To everyone, justice comes. Sooner, or later.”

 

“I am retiring,” the owl rose suddenly, resting his wingtips on the table—as one who uses his palms to lift himself dramatically. He arched an eyebrow, casting a sidelong glance at the bisharp… but he didn’t utter a word, merely huffed disdainfully. “If you’ll excuse me,” he flew off, grabbing the empty bowl with his paws and depositing it in the kitchen—where the magmortar was still, cleaning some pots in one of the water buckets. Just like that, he took flight out of the dining room, and was gone.

 

All eyes followed him, creating the funeral silence that pervaded the room. Who cut it short was the sigh of the chesnaught, who rested a cheek on his palm; elbow on the tablecloth. “It would do him good…” he took a deep breath. “It would do him good to socialize a little more, you know? Although… I understand if he doesn’t want to.”

 

Sancyel huffed—dignified to say a word… only to rant. “What’s to understand? He’s just a birdy with no guts, and no feathers—he’s going to end up plucked and in the bones in less than a season. So much the better for us. I don’t want to talk to pathetic fowl either,” and he buried his teeth on the plate, not even grasping with his hands—pulling to drag all the berries into his maw.

 

Huirai raised his head, glancing toward the door. “I don’t think that’s it,” with a final bite, he finished the skewer he had formed on his arm. “I think he just needs more time to get used to this. Adjusting to working with people must be…” he went without saying, merely catching more food on its blade. 

 

“I hope it’s just time,” Mantoroh sighed, once more. Exhausted.

 

Conlogy ceased his relentless chomping, mouth full and chewing in an exaggerated manner. He swallowed the tasteless mass left in his maw, hitting his collarbone with his hand; causing it to go down. “Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to us— because he’s a jerk,” he grumbled, again clutching a large amount with both arms, like a hug.

 

Even if it was in foul taste to say it aloud, Felix agreed with Conlogy on this point. With that in mind, he caught the last slice of apple on his dinner plate, relishing its satisfying flavor flooding his sense of taste until it vanished as a mushy, shredded mass caught between his teeth. Finally his stomach had ceased its rumbling, filled as if it were a balloon about to burst—with the sensation of heaviness in his eyelids and peace in his legs. He sighed with pleasure.

 

“Ah— you were hungry, Felix!” Conlogy commented, looking down at his plate. He giggled. “Obviously— I was too! Like a bad pain, I don’t like being hungry at all, but who likes being hungry?” he tilted his head. He returned, quickly, his own eyes to the food in front of him. “Ah, right— don’t worry, I’ll be done in a second—” he swiftly caught with his —diminutive arms— everything that remained on his plate, and bringing his mouth close to it, he dragged it all in. As he chewed, he almost gagged, but managed to munch and swallow it all. He sighed—long and satisfied. “That was delicious—!” he raised his head to look toward the kitchen. “Thank you, Karoson!”

 

He received no reply—only a glance and a vague palm wave, acknowledging his compliment.

 

Conlogy slapped his belly. “Now I’m full— but full good, not full bad!” he grinned. “We were so hungry!”

 

Mantoroh nodded, “of course you were. It’s to be expected, after a long day…” his look softened—that one of compassion, it matched the calm atmosphere in the room.

 

To confirm his point, he yawned. “Y-Yes…” he scratched his head, eliciting another yawn from his lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and as he stretched his arms, he felt the crackle and pop, causing him to wince. His frown passed into dismay, and he ceased to move his limbs. 

 

Conlogy, as lively as —he could tell— was customary, quirked a grin, nodding. “That we will, Mantoroh— that we will!” he caught Felix’s forearm with his hand, lifting his body —and in reaction, him, as if he were a rag doll— from the seat. No sooner was his grip formed, no sooner was it over, for the ralts glared at him with wide eyes as he clicked his tongue. “Ah, right— Felix! Don’t forget to pick up your plate— and take it to the kitchen, because plates are left in the kitchen,” he glanced toward said kitchen, at the counters. Karoson was still there, completing the cleaning of the owl’s dirty dish. “I think it would be bad manners to leave it here. I think. Or so I’ve been taught, but I agree, because otherwise Karoson would have to come pick them up and…” he sighed. In the blink of an eye the flame was lit. “But that!” he grabbed his own plate. “Come on!”

 

Felix assented, and following from behind, watched Conlogy walk into the kitchen to lay the item in his hands on the counter. The aside, he followed, now both dishes resting one on top of the other; dirty and with remnants of crumbs on their surface—in Conlogy’s with small portions of green stem and thin skin discarded at the edge of the ceramic. Without a word Karoson grabbed them, rubbing them into the bucket.

 

The ralts was already at the edge of the door, waving his hands in the air to bid farewell to all present. The abra was still only on the side; withdrawn, closer to the wall near the exit. “Alright!” he clapped his hands, “we’re leaving—!” he returned to the same earlier gesture he was making a few moments ago, “bye, see you tomorrow! Good night!”

 

“Good night, Conlogy, Felix.”

 

“‘Night.”

 

“Have good dreams.”

 

“Good night!”

 

“Wait!” Arinton leaned his palms on the table, raising his rear end but his legs still being the support for his lifted body. “Skitty—!” the red fur glowed brighter under the fur. “Aren’t ya going to stay and drink—? Only a quagsire wouldn’t take the opportunity to have a drink of good, good ale! Or Cider—! By Arceus, we even have rum— the good, good rum! Have you tried rum? It’s expensive— but here alcohol is cheap—!” To show his point, he elevated the wooden jug he had brought from the bar, now with only a few inches of fluid forming a puddle at the bottom. “Pretty cheap!” he guffawed, loudly, taking a swig that emptied it completely. “Maybe even a good fight will break out and everything!” he grinned—broad and vast.

 

Sancyel razzed—long and disdainful, “the scrawny one? THAT scrawny boy?” he pointed his finger at him, on the verge of bursting into laughter—and even that couldn’t remove that natural acidity in his voice, a raspiness as if he hadn’t had a drink of water in years. “One drop of ale and that southern market meowstic gonna wind up in the infirmary for another whole afternoon,” he sipped from his jug, also imitating Arinton; in the sense that he left it empty. He wiped with the back of his hand the moustache of foam that had been left over his mouth. 

 

His mouth remained dry—stinging, yearning, the bitter. “N-No thanks…” If he had to have a preference, it should be in the solitude of his room, and not with a group that would drag him into the ring of hell, poised to dismember his body. Still, the itch on the roof of his mouth didn’t fade. It was familiar.

 

“Don’t believe that sourpuss—!”

 

“Sourpuss?!” In retort Sancyel stood up from his seat, rattling the table and interrupting those present.

 

Arinton snarled through his teeth, causing the conkeldurr to mimic the gesture. He turned his gaze toward Felix, and pointed his thumb at Sancyel. “Don’t believe this sourpuss— that alcohol doesn’t bite! But if you’re thirsty, remember that the offer is always open, skitty!” he waved goodbye. “Good night!” 

 

Sancyel’s eyes became engorged with blood, and he leaned his whole body across the table to reach toward the incineroar, whom he grabbed by the neck —more correctly by the fur at the collarbone, like one who grabs someone by the shirt collar— and yanked forward, forcing him to face him. “NOBODY gonna call me a sourpuss—! You wanna fight?! Is that it?! Because friggin’ cats like you I can knock ’em out from here to the city and I’m gonna hit you so hard you’re gonna go back to the—!”

 

Arinton blew sparks of fire straight into his face. “Prove it, then! You!” he pointed at him, “and me!” he pointed his own thumb at himself. “Into the ring, now! Or no guts?” 

 

“Says the piece of trash who insults me to my freaking face,” he bared his teeth, clenching his fists. Tension formed in the air…

 

Heat formed in Felix’s arm, and that force dragged him out of the dining room before he could further witness the scene.