Chapter 2: The Shadow

Fire burned past her eyelids, harsh and ruthless as it spread down her back, side, and then as a lance into her wing. Cresselia gasped for air, the rush of falling, falling, and spinning out of control reclaiming her. Thunder pulsed through her body, electric, white hot agony jerking her frame. She squirmed under it with a whimper, prayers at her lips—

“Ah, you’re awake.” The gentle press of a palm ghosted over her feathers near her shoulder. She flinched away, hissing with pain as the instinct was punished with another searing shot down her flank. The hand pulled just as hastily back. “Oh, please don’t be frightened,” the voice returned, smooth and resonant in apology. “I mean you no harm. You took quite a tumble from the sky, but you’re safe now.” 

As she fought to even out her breath, to reclaim her senses and realize that she was, indeed, no longer falling, Cresselia cracked opened her eyes. A room drew slowly into focus around her. Or rather, what she could make out of it. Stormy grey-purple walls blurred across her vision, the flickering light of a glass oil lamp nearby obscuring a clearer view from her more nocturnally-based sight. She squinted past it where she lay on her side, looked for the owner of the voice that had spoken…only to find no one there.

Instead, she was greeted with the sight of glaringly white bandages wrapped tight about her left wing, tucked into her side by a sling of lavender cloth. Cresselia stiffened at the sight, sucking in short breaths as her beleaguered mind floundered for meaning. Once more, she glanced about in frantic search of the other, thinking the light must be obscuring her vision too much. A haze of mahogany furniture—a side table, an arm chair, a bookshelf—grazed by, but still she could make no one out among them. A ghost…?

“Where are you? What—?” Her voice cracked, throat dry and raw, leaving her words to break off into a mouthed whisper.    

“My apologies.” The voice—a he, it seemed—was quick to respond. It echoed about the room now in a manner in which she couldn’t pinpoint the origin. “I understand it must seem discourteous of me, but I cannot show myself. I can offer only my voice—I hope it will be sufficient.”

The mystery mon waited for a moment in the silence, possibly for a response. She attempted to repeat her last question, but when she could produce nothing, something shifted nearby, as if he were rising from where he sat into a stand. Something like smoke, like shadows come to life edged toward her vision. Then suddenly they drowned her sight in pitch, pulling her muscles tight in apprehension. What—!

“Don’t be alarmed. This will only be for a moment, and then the light will return.” The voice was back at her side again, less phantasmal or omnipresent this time. The sound of tinkling crystal echoed next to her then, a sound like claws against glass. “I have water for you. I’ll need to touch you again to help, though. Is that all right?”

‘Is that all right?’ While blinded?!

Cresselia recoiled in response, clamping her mouth shut. She tensed against the pillow propped at her back, the gem at her forehead burning with the beginnings of a moonblast. A hasty shift of a sound like the other had jerked or tensed issued in response—however, no attempt to invade her space or otherwise incapacitate her was made. Another strained pause stretched between them as she held her breath and offensive at bay.

“Very well,” came a sigh then. “Please let me know if you change your mind.”

With the sound of the glass meeting the bedside table, the shadows receded from her vision. All at once, the candlelight flooded back in, blinding her all the more painfully this time. Did she imagine it, or did another shadow shift across the carpet and wall just now?

“In the meantime, allow me to properly introduce myself,” he continued. This time, the voice was more localized, across from where she lay by several generous feet. She turned her head as well as she could toward it, only to tense further. Against the wall by the bookshelf, a shadow flared, dancing with the candlelight in the shape of a pokémon she’d never seen before, vague as it was. Three wisps rose from the shoulders and head, an hourglass figure stretching down to the floor from there.

“I will be your host during your stay here in this manor; you may call me Shade, as that is all you will see of me.” A large, clawed hand gestured to its shadowed body. “Consequently, please do not attack any shadows moving along the floors or walls of my home, such as this one.” Then the hand drew inward, as if to clasp with its partner in the center of the shadow’s body. “May I also inquire your name?”

For a moment, Cresselia only stared at the shadow in consideration. The room fell into a hush, only the patter of rain against windows behind her filling it. Thunder rumbled overhead, the sound of trees scraping against the side of the house following. Taking her eyes off of the shadow then, she turned her gaze back to her wing where it had been bandaged. A dull ache still coursed through it even as she lay there unmoving. She wasn’t sure the extent of the damage, but regardless, no moonlight would give her the ability to heal it tonight.

…As much as her stomach turned at the thought, she would need to rely on his hospitality for at least a day before setting off again. She may even need to travel on foot until she could reach Mountain Crag if the skies did not cooperate. She would need the rest and supplies…

Across from her, the shadow remained patient. He hadn’t even moved, assuming that was some semblance of his form and not an illusion. So polite, and so considerate… And yet he would neither give his name nor reveal his form to her. Alongside these unsettling facts, Kangaskhan’s words rang once more through her head—warnings of hallucinations and following terrors that came with this forest, provided she remained in it.   

“…Celeste,” she finally whispered.

A short chuckle echoed from the shadow against the wall, a knowing tone of acknowledgement. It was an unspoken understanding: as long as he wore his mask, then so would she.

“Well met, then, Celeste.” The outline grew shorter against the wall until it vanished—no, pooled into a single blotch of shadow against the plum rug over the floor. “I know it may not seem so now, but you must be blessed beyond measure. You didn’t just fall from the sky here; you were struck out of it. There were a few instances during your recovery that I thought you may finally slip away, and yet you have persisted.”

“Then I am still…” she struggled to gather her voice, “…in Howling Forest?”

“Indeed, not far from where you fell. Speaking of which, are you in any significant pain?” The shadow expanded outward from where it sat on the carpet, moving toward the armchair across the room. Upon closer inspection, she noticed a basket lying over the seat, a few bottles of salves, gauze, and other first aid materials packed into its rim. “A couple of your ribs and your left wing were broken in some places. I did my best to set it and treat your wounds, and I’ve been giving you medicine for the pain so you could rest, but it’s been some hours since the last dose.” 

A haze of shadow fell over the basket as Shade spoke, a vague shape like an arm moving the supplies around before one of the bottles lifted into the air. It hovered there for a moment as if someone were inspecting it before settling over the end of her bedside table. A spoon soon followed. “It’s a combination of sitrus and rawst, among other medicinal herbs. It isn’t the most palatable, but it’ll help with the pain and inflammation. Just don’t take more than a spoonful every four hours. As for your burns, leave the dressings. You’ll need several days before they’re fit to be reassessed.”   

Silence fell over them again as she eyed the bottle skeptically where it sat. At least he hadn’t tried to ‘help’ again… Then the second part of his warning finally registered in her increasingly weary mind—burns. She’d sustained burns?

Anxiety seizing her lungs, Cresselia craned her neck back toward her bound wing, to her bandaged side, willing those words to be lies. She could fix broken, but scar tissue was another matter. There was no fixing what the body had already begun to ‘fix’ on its own, and it may be a while before she could heal herself properly. If the typhoon didn’t blow over soon, the obscured skies and new moon would both see to that.

What if…

What if it was too late by the time the new moon waned? If she couldn’t heal anything and the feathers never grew back? Were the burns over her wing or just her side? They couldn’t be over her wing—couldn’t! How else would she get to Mountain Crag? How would she get anywhere, for that matter? What good would she be to anyone without her flight?

“Ah…” For once during his spiel, Shade’s tone faltered, an awkward fumble for words that didn’t come. Like he’d stepped in on something that wasn’t his business to see. That was when Cresselia realized how suddenly damp her cheek feathers were, as drops of tears fell onto her shoulder where she stared through herself. The shadow nearby shifted as if uncomfortable before Shade cleared his throat.

“I’m confident you’ll recover well. I know quite a bit about medicine, and I assure you I put forth my best effort.” His words sounded less direct now, as if he’d turned his face away from her to speak, and they were uncharacteristically rushed. She struggled to keep up with him as her own thoughts raced. “Anyhow, Celeste, I would like to ensure that your stay here is comfortable—so may I ask if are you typically diurnal or nocturnal?”

Cresselia blinked; she hadn’t caught any of that, and her vision was still swimming. Her breath was stuck in her chest. After another moment of no reply, the lamps about the room all flickered out, snuffed in one instant. He eyes adjusted with relief, allowing her to take in the space around her more clearly—her surroundings sharpened, gained more precise depth, and the outline along the floor that she knew to be Shade deepened. It remained where it had before in the sudden stillness, though something angular seemed to shift, like an elbow jutting out as its owner grabbed for its other arm.

They both remained in that silence for a few more minutes as she regained her composure. With the light gone, the innate sense of safety crept back in, allowing her to pace her breath with a bit more peace and rein her thoughts back into a more manageable state in turn.

“I had noticed the bright lights seemed to disorient you, but I wasn’t certain…” Shade’s lowered voice finally cut back into the silence. It was still tentative and careful of where it tread. “If it suits you, I will leave the sconces unlit and the curtains closed for now.”

Cresselia managed to dip her head into a nod before forcing herself to recline one more against the pillow. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Is there anything more I can do for you at the moment?”

“No.” Less unsettled by his presence at this point, she finally took her eyes off of his shadow. Instead, she turned them up to the ceiling, still burning as she listened to the pounding rhythm of rain against the roof above. It hadn’t eased for a moment since she’d woken—an angry crack of thunder rumbled past the walls of the home and rattled her frame where she lay, useless and broken.  “…Thank you.”

 “Very well.” Although polite as ever, the words still carried a sense of disappointment, of defeat, with them. “If at any time you need something, simply call for me. Once you’ve recovered more, you may go wherever you wish. I’ll leave a floorplan of my home on the nightstand. The only place I ask that you not disturb are my own quarters, which I have placed an X over in the west wing.”  

A crinkle of paper followed by the sound of things shifting across wood issued by her side. She glanced back just in time to notice the remnants of shadows retreating from the folded map he’d left on her side table. The water, spoon, and bottle of medicine were also closer, within her reach should she choose to sit up. Meanwhile, he continued, his voice closer from approaching the nightstand but promptly retreating once more to give her space.

“You’ve woken up a few hours before dawn, but I’ll go make breakfast now and bring it when it’s finished. I suggest you rest until then; I won’t be long.”

Before she could consider saying anything more, the shadow along the rug melted away toward the door at the other end of the room. Without even opening it, Shade slipped out through the gap beneath, leaving her alone at last. …Supposedly. For a few minutes, Cresselia lay there, watching the gap and surrounding door jamb intently. Once she was satisfied that his presence wouldn’t return to darken its edges any time too soon, she finally turned her attention to the room’s interior now that she could see more clearly.

To the right of where she lay in the bed, the bookshelf and armchair huddled together against the wall. The spines of the books appeared worn and cracked down the spines, as if read often. Next to them, across the armchair’s seat, rested a maroon knit blanket that matched the comforter of her bed, along with the basket of first aid supplies. And slung over the chair’s back…

Cresselia made a double take. Was that—?

It was! Her bag! Freshly cleaned, pressed, and with tuft of royal purple fabric tied around its strap.

Anxiously drawn to it, Cresselia huffed with the effort to shift herself. Her bruised legs still felt weak and sore, but not as weary as they had been yesterday. All that mattered was that they held her weight as she extended them to the floor, balancing herself against the bed before taking a tentative step forward. Thankfully, the chair wasn’t too far from the bed. Stretching her wing out, she inspected the lucky ribbon first. It was fastened loosely, torn and a bit ragged at one end from her fall. Cresselia’s heart sank at the sight: she hadn’t even had it a full day, and already she’d ruined it. She would need to find someone to mend it before returning to Pokémon Square…

Grabbing the satchel from the seat then, she moved to unfasten the flap. It took a moment, but she managed to get it loose with a bit of finagling from her beak. Inside, nothing remained but the seeds—the berries must have been obliterated, but at least these had been left to her. Her pouch of poké remained undisturbed as well.

“Oh, thank goodness…”

With a short sigh of relief, Cresselia shifted the bag over her good shoulder, and after glancing over the map Shade had left, swept it from the nightstand and turned for the door. She found it unlocked—another good sign so far—but she eased her head out to scan the hallway all the same. The corridor remained silent save for the roar of the winds and rain without. Ahead, iron balusters jutted up from a fine mahogany railing, overlooking what appeared to be a grand entryway. As she approached the railing for a better look, she noted the front doors to the right and the split staircase to her left that led down to them. Across the way, on the other end of the staircase, was another hall of rooms that seemed to mirror hers—the west wing, it seemed. Aside from that, it seemed the only other way to go from here was down. 

Confident that she was alone for now at least, Cresselia made her way down the chilled stone of the stairs, claws clacking in earnest against them. She reached the doors unobstructed. However, when she gave the handle and latch a tug, it wouldn’t budge. She tried for the other, pressing the latch a bit harder this time with her fingers, but to no avail. The heavyset wood wouldn’t jostle even a centimeter from its frame. Chest tightening, she glanced about the entryway for windows. Unfortunately, aside from the seamless one above the doors themselves, not a single pane graced the walls. Only decor like vases, various articles of furniture, and more hallways leading toward the back of the home.

Barely withholding a cry of frustration, Cresselia swept about on her feet in a heated stride. The nerve! Even just taking stock of the storm from the outside would have been nice. How dare he have locked her in? Perhaps there truly was something more sinister he wanted with her? Well, if that was the case, Shade was in for a rude and unforgiving awakening—injured or not, she was still more than a match for even the most skilled or underhanded mortal! Thus, seething, she made her way to the halls, the dusky blue tones of the entryway shifting into an eerie shade of green paint this time.

Gradually, exhaustion caught back up with her past the irritation, forcing her to slow her pace as she reached them. There were no windows here, either, but an assortment of frames lined the walls. Portraits? Perhaps they might suggest something more about her host? Cresselia stopped to glance up at one, curiosity getting the better of her. …Only to tilt her head at the painting within.

“Oh my.”

It…certainly wasn’t what she would have expected to see in such a stately manor as this appeared to be. Within the golden frame, a chaotic blend of smudged blue and purple paint meandered about and splattered the canvas with no apparent rhyme or reason. No signature, either. Interest piqued, she glanced to the next frame. This one was a little more coherent: a copse of trees at the edge of a forest, blackened under the night sky, which was lit with stars and a more crude attempt at the milky way. Still no signature.

“Odd…”

As she moved down the hallway, glancing to each wall, she found a variety of similar paintings: abstract blends and messes of paint among amateur object or nature studies. However, it was the last painting at the end of the hall that truly caught her attention. Tucked into this frame was what clearly appeared to be a child’s painting. A solid line of blue at the top denoted the sky, a collection of white dots for the stars scattered through it, a purple box with a roof beneath it, and in front of it, two black figures she couldn’t make out well. The smaller figure—the child?—was painted like a rectangle with sticks for arms, both outstretched. Next to it stood a larger pokémon, shaped like two triangles with their points touching, a splash of red, blue, and white paint around what she assumed must be the head. Was this Shade?

“Then who is the child?” she wondered to herself.

As she considered it, something caught the corner of her eye, snagging it in a rush of shadow from the side and closing rapidly in behind her. With a stifled gasp, she stumbled, flipping her back to the wall upon the sudden intrusion. It simply zipped by at first, unperturbed. Then the streak of shadow shortened, congealed into a single murky puddle of shadow. From its depths a form rose, wisps like smoke flaring at its exit. It lengthened out into a short, stout pokémon on two legs, the shade of its body undulating about its shoulders. A chill raised the feathers at her neck; a ghost type without a doubt, and one she had never seen.

Before she could manage another step back, a head tilted over dusky shoulders in her direction. Two flames for eyes bore through her, pinning her down. The world stilled until her pulse echoed like a drum in her head, time lost to that increasingly intense stare. Another urge to call forth a moonblast stung at the gem of her forehead. On the other hand, wispy head perking up, the ghost smiled. A short gasp of exhilarated breath accompanied its widening grin as it turned on its stubby legs to face her. It hopped excitedly in place one, two, three times before falling back into the shadows whence it came. And then as quickly as it had come, its reclaimed shadow zipped down the carpet lining the hall and away.

Left alone once more, Cresselia took a moment to settle her breath. The encounter had happened so suddenly that she hadn’t had much of a chance to process it. Now, however, the gears were clicking into place. She turned back to the last painting, noticing the golden pinpricks of eyes the young artist had given itself. The very same ones that had just greeted her moments ago. Shade’s child? Curious; she had never heard of a species line like this one. Perhaps a more reclusive kind of ghost, particularly if the elders didn’t show themselves…?

Clink, clink, clank!

The abrupt sound of something like wood chips against each other jerked her attention into the next room. Ahead, the little ghost had risen back out of the floor, a wooden board in hand as it dumped what appeared to be puzzle pieces onto the carpet. That done, the child resumed its little jig as if to beckon her over. A bit less on guard now, Cresselia obliged the young one and drew closer to get a better glimpse of the puzzle. Geometric shapes of various colors littered the floor where the child had taken a seat, gesturing eagerly to the board.

“Oh. You want me to put it together with you?”

The child bounced where they sat in affirmation. Already they were placing pieces into the empty space of the board. Cresselia took another look about the room once more before returning her eyes to the child. They were staring expectantly up to her, a blue T shape extended in a small, rounded palm.

“…All right, then.” As she crouched down to place the offered tile, she glanced appraisingly over the child’s form. Ghosts didn’t generally show the same indicators of health that—for the lack of a better word, living—children did, but they did appear well cared for. “What is your name?”

The child only grinned again, making a quick motion with its hand before grabbing for another tile of its own and slotting it against her T-tile in the board.

“My name is Celeste,” she offered gently, in hopes that the child may be more comfortable that way. Still, they gave no name in return and simply pushed her another tile. “Are you Shade’s child?” she tried then, obliging them and placing the requested piece. That, at least, gained a clearer answer—the little one shook their head, the curled wisps at the sides of their head bouncing a bit in their fervor. By now, she was becoming a bit unnerved with the silence. Did the child not speak? “Are you his brother?”

This time, there was no answer of any kind—the young ghost peeked up at her as if about to respond before something else caught their attention. Eyes darting beyond her shoulder, the child perked up, the ghostly tendrils along its head and shoulders flickering, and just like that, the game was over. Jumping to their feet with such excitement that they nearly stumbled over their own legs, they tugged one of her trailing tail feathers as they hurried to a door behind her.

Cresselia yelped more in surprise than pain. What awful manners! Before she could correct them, though, the little ghost had already dipped back into the shadows, like an oil stain over the floor, and beneath the door of interest. She could only gape after them, bewildered by the hasty departure. That was, until she caught the scent of food drifting into the room.

Ah. I suppose that makes sense.

Even so, she considered as she rose back to her feet to follow, the child should know better than to tug on people’s tails. She gave the shape puzzle one more thoughtful glance before turning to the door the child had slipped beneath. Gingerly, she turned the knob as she was able with her good wing. This one was unlocked, thankfully. As she pushed it open, a flash of something dark on the other end of the room retracted from view in an instant, even in the general darkness of the room itself. She froze there in the doorway, scanning the room through the silence. A lengthy dining room table filled the center, its regally carved chairs all tucked neatly in. More paintings lined the walls, and on the other end lay another doorway, where she thought she’d seen the sudden motion in her peripheral. The door itself sat askew, and beneath its frame…   

“Oh!” The deep tone of Shade’s voice finally rang out. It sounded slightly out of breath. Flustered, even. “Celeste, you’re on your feet already?” The shadow of his form lifted back against the wall from the doorway, where he’d evidently been standing before her entrance. A polished wooden tray lifted up from the shadows with it before being deposited over the end of the table. “I was going to bring this to you, but if you’re more comfortable here…” A sudden pause ensued as his shadow appeared to turn back to the door from which he’d come. “Mallow? Could you come here, please?”

As he spoke, Cresselia noticed Shade’s hands seemed to be moving in the silhouette against the wall, claws gesticulating in patterns. On cue, a second, smaller shadow came hurdling into the room over the carpet, the child from before popping enthusiastically out. Already he was returning the hand gestures in rapid succession, five small fingers having popped out from rounded palms. From the tray he’d set down, the ghostly shadows of Shade’s form grabbed a plate of food. Some form of shadow sneak, perhaps?

“Would you please bring our guest her plate?” he asked. The little one extended their arms eagerly to accept, and Shade lowered the plate carefully into the child’s grasp. “Be careful with it,” he warned. “It’s heavy, so walk slowly.” Once the plate was successfully transferred into the child’s hands, effectively with his arms spread to accommodate it with his tiny form, Shade’s shadow and voice turned back to her. “Please, sit anywhere you’d like. I’ll be back shortly.”

And with that, Shade’s shadow shrank away. Realizing she’d frozen to the spot, not having said a word until now, Cresselia finally stepped into the room, a wave of embarrassment washing over her for some reason. Shade was…unsettling, to say the least, but he hadn’t done anything malicious yet. If his goodwill was to be trusted, she had to admit that he had actually been quite generous in his tending to her.

Across the way, Mallow had stepped dutifully forward in her direction, balancing the plate with all the seriousness his childlike mien could muster. Stifling a laugh at the sight, she met him halfway, choosing a chair nearest to where he was. “Thank you,” the told him as he stretched it forward to her as much as his petite arms would allow. He didn’t quite reach the table, just barely tall enough to climb into a chair as it was. With her good wing fingers, she took it from him graciously, inspecting its contents as she did: steamed vegetables with crushed nuts, a slice of bread, and some kind of berry jam on the side. Most likely more rawst… “That was very kind of you.” 

The child giggled a few breaths of air in return. As she set her plate over the table, he clambered up and into the chair next to her. Although, he was still too short to reach the tabletop properly without standing.     

“So your name is Mallow?” she asked once he’d settled.

“That’s what I call him, yes.”

Cresselia jerked at the return of Shade’s voice. A few chairs down, another tray levitated amidst the hazy form of shadows in what was evidently the kitchen doorway. A paralyzing chill crept over her as it approached, coming to sit over the table where Mallow was seated next to her. Guided by a phantom hand, two glasses of water, napkins and utensils, and another plate of food slid down the table to Mallow, who then pushed one of the glasses and utensils to her.

“He’s still young and doesn’t speak, so please be patient with him,” Shade continued without any hint of offense. “He is like family to me.”

“He’s…” Cresselia cleared her throat, cursing the lump that had formed there. “He’s not yours then?” She took a quick sip of the water in hopes to hide the reason she’d faltered.

“Oh, no.” Slightly amused, though with a tinge of sheepishness, Shade’s voice moved the other end of the table. “He’s more like a younger brother. Though I supposed I am involved in quite a bit of raising,” he hummed. Mallow took that moment in between words to clap his palms against the table top a few times. Standing on his tip toes—or lack thereof—he faced where Shade had moved to and started signing rapidly. “Yes, yes, don’t worry. I’m getting it.”

Curiosity piqued, Cresselia watched as yet another object floated into the air from the head of the table and over to them—this time, a cushioned stool. Mallow grabbed the item from the air with apparent delight before plopping it down to sit over. Then Shade’s shadow disappeared beneath the table before resurfacing on the other end. A single chair pushed outward across from them, and then all grew quiet as Mallow dug promptly in. Cresselia glanced hesitantly down to her own plate.  

“You aren’t allergic to anything, are you?” Shade asked after a moment, an unexpected anxiety clinging to the edges of his words. “I should have asked before. It didn’t occur to me.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” she blurted out, cheeks burning. She grabbed a fork from the napkin and began picking at some of the brussel sprouts. Had he wanted to poison or otherwise harm her, surely he’d have done so by now… “I appreciate it.”

By her side, Mallow peered curiously over as he munched with cheeks full. He looked between the two of them, and she wondered just how much he could pick up on of the awkward atmosphere between the two of them. If he did, he withheld judgement at least, and shifted his attention to his toast, which Shade had pre-emptively spread jam over.

“I see you found your bag,” Shade picked the conversation back up eventually. “I’m sorry about the ribbon. I’m no good at mending such delicate fabric. Silk, I believe? It’s still lovely, though.” A slight tapping like claws at the edge of the table followed his words as he considered his next ones. Still chewing, Cresselia allowed him to continue carrying the conversation. It was preferable, actually, to not speak more than necessary and instead observe. “Although, I hope you aren’t planning to leave so soon. You should rest and allow yourself time to heal. Besides that, the weather is atrocious at present.”

“I will stay for a day, but I cannot delay any longer than that,” she said simply before taking another bite and training her gaze down on her plate.

“May I ask why? What could be so urgent that you were willing to fly through that storm? That you would still walk through it injured?”

She glanced up at that, taken aback at first. She couldn’t see his form, of course, just the shadow cast against the wall, but she fixed her eyes where she imagined his head may be where he sat. “Have you not heard the news about Mountain Crag City?” she asked, incredulous. She glanced over to Mallow where he was smearing jam over his face as he attempted to eat his toast. He didn’t have any sort of reaction, either, though he was listening intently.

“I don’t receive very prompt news here, sadly,” Shade reclaimed her attention, concern layering itself over his words. The erratic tap of nervous claws had ceased. “What is wrong in Mountain Crag?”

“The city is suffering an epidemic. I was hoping to get there in time to assist, and that it hasn’t already spread to Lake Town.”

“You’re a healer, then?” There was evident surprise in those words, which made Cresselia’s face burn all the more. She wanted to feel angry—insulted—but how could she? How foolish she must appear as a healer who couldn’t currently heal herself.

“In a manner of speaking,” she quipped, stabbing her fork into another sprout. “I must do what I can, which is why I will leave come nightfall.”

“No.” The response was unexpectedly prompt and insistent. “You need not stress yourself so.”

Cresselia glanced up with a start as the chair across the table pushed back on its own accord. The shadow against the wall stood now at its full height, wisps extended and snapping. Confusion set in just as swiftly, followed by indignation. “Excuse me?”

“I have contact with a proficient healer that I can send in your stead if that is the case,” he explained, undeterred. “She cannot come here, unfortunately, but I know without a doubt that she can make it to Mountain Crag in a timely manner. I will see to it immediately, so please enjoy your meal and rest assured.”

Before she could say another word, the chair pushed neatly back in, and the shadow fell from the wall and into the floor. As he made for the door, she stood as well to follow after him. To her chagrin, her leg winced under her at the hasty movement, shooting a piercing pain through her side. She gripped the end of the table to ride it out, holding her breath to keep the gasp down. Evidently, Shade still noticed. The blotch over the rug froze where it was before the door.

“Celeste, please.” His form rose once more against the grain of the richly stained wood. “The medicine upstairs will help you. I didn’t tamper with it. You were going to rest for the day as it was, so please allow me this chance to buy you more time to recover. I will not delay you past that if you do not wish it.”

Cresselia exhaled in a light hiss through her beak. As much as she was loathe to acknowledge it, there was reason to his words, and if she took another step right now…

“All right,” she conceded. “But I still plan to leave by evening.”

The shadow seemed to fold into a short bow of thanks. “In case you find yourself unable to sleep, I have plenty of books to keep you company. If it interests you, there is a library across the hall if you’d like different titles from what is in your room.” He turned ever so slightly then to call beyond her. “Mallow, when you’re finished, leave your plate and play inside.” Again, shadows of hands moved in quick succession. “Do not go out, and do not interrupt our guest while she rests today. Understood?”

Behind her, enraptured by the drama that had been unfolding before him, Mallow blinked. Folding his hand into a fist, he made a short knocking motion before returning to the toast he’d set aside in favor of watching.

“Very good. Celeste, I will see you in the evening.”

And with that, he was gone, melting beneath the door in a manner that was beginning to feel mildly infuriating. A new tapping against the table behind her brought her thoughts to a more calm pace, however. The child—Mallow—was extending the toast she’d left untouched on her own plate, a sticky, jam smeared smile on his face. In light of it, she couldn’t help but return one of her own.

“Ok, you’ve convinced me,” she told him gently and took her seat once more, albeit wincing.

She didn’t know about this other healer of Shade’s, but still. One day was acceptable. Just one. Tomorrow would be the new moon, which would give her ample time to travel with rest in between so that she could make it to Mountain Crag before the following night, Arceus willing. Until then, she would rest here…

******

All in all, Mallow had been obedient to a fault; he hadn’t disturbed Celeste today as far as Darkrai could discern. Darkrai himself, however, was another story. He hadn’t seen or heard the little one enter, but the standard chill that always came with a ghost’s presence prickled at his skin later that day as he lay in bed. He cracked his eyes just enough to spare a glance, and sure enough…

“Stop staring at me like that, Mallow,” he snapped softly. The smaller shadow had risen up at the end of his mattress, Darkrai’s old Ursaluna stuffy in hand, and taken an attentive seat. Darkrai flipped pointedly onto his side to face the other direction.

Though the arrangement for aid to Mountain Crag had been simple and without a hitch as expected, he nevertheless hadn’t been able to sleep this morning. There was no quality rest to be found when he had guests. Not anymore. Before retiring for the day, Darkrai had bolted his door tightly, double-checked it several times from sheer nerves, and even thrown a blanket across the gap at the floor, slight as it may be. Not that he took Celeste for the nosy type, but still… One glimpse was all it took—just one split second of a glance, and his newest guest would all but blast his front door down to escape him. Out of all the guests he’d ever had, only Mallow himself had remained, and only because he’d initially been more determined on fight than flight.

Unfortunately, Mallow was also just old enough to comprehend this conundrum and Darkrai’s anxiety over it; and though he knew the little one meant nothing by it, Darkrai hated being the object of pity from anyone, sympathetic as it was.

“Go to your own room and leave me in peace.” He said, signing what he could remember of the words. Mallow wasn’t deaf so much as he was simply mute, but he made the effort to keep up practice. “I’m not in the mood for company.”

No response came, of course, nor did any patter of feet against a floor or anything of the like signal the other’s departure. Neither of them generally created such sounds, so closely bound to the shadows as they were. Darkrai pressed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath through his nose to try clearing his mind. It snagged in his throat as something sidled up against his backside then, cool and only just tangible enough to feel its weight against his spine. Darkrai turned his eye over his shoulder to see Mallow curled in his blankets with Ursaluna, all the while leaning against him like a Glameow.

“…Fine,” he sighed. They lay there for a bit in peaceable silence as Darkrai’s thoughts inevitably drifted back to their new guest. “I take it you took a liking to her? I noticed the puzzle on my way out. Did you rope her into playing with you?”

Three knocks against his back followed.

“She was kind to you?”

Three more knocks.

“She wasn’t afraid?”

Three fingers pinched against his back in a ‘no’.

Darkrai breathed out slowly, the tension in his chest loosening a bit more. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Across from his new position, Darkrai stared out into the storm from his window. These occasions were some of the few in which he would leave his curtains open for the day. The trees beyond swayed, bending beneath the wind with battered leaves. Aside from the steady rumble of thunder and pounding of rain, the day was quiet—somewhat peaceful even in its melancholy shades of murky, swirling grey. It was oddly soothing.

“Have you ever seen another flying type like her?” he mused to the other as he watched, finally relaxing under the chorus of the storm. Mallow shifted, something like shoulder blades brushing against his back—a shrug?

Darkrai himself had seen plenty of bird pokémon before. He watched them often from his garden as they flew across or through the forests, sometimes in flocks of their kin. Staraptor, Talonflames, Pidgeotto, Pelipper, Noctowls, Mandibuzz, Fearow, Braviary, and even the occasional Swanna or Altaria. Never had he seen another of Celeste’s kind, though. And not one of the former—not even Swanna—had ever came close to the elegance of her shimmering feathers, a rippling array of gold, blue, and pink. The azure feathers of her tail cascaded like a curling waterfall to the floor, and a rosy crescent like a shining aurora arced across her back, followed by trailing ribbons of the same sheen down her sides. He could only imagine how stunning her flight must appear against the night sky. He had only caught a glimpse of her briefly before the flash of lightning had obscured and then cast her from it…   

A yawn from behind, deep and tired, interrupted his thoughts. A swirl of anxiety settled in his stomach at the sound. He turned his head back as far as he could manage without disturbing Mallow’s position.

“When did you last sleep?” he asked, trying to recall the last time the other had disappeared. It had probably been about a week, if he remembered correctly…

As it were, by the possible grace of Arceus—as much as his father would hate hearing those words coming out of Darkrai’s mouth—it so happened that Mallow was an insomniac. He didn’t need sleep often, lending to his willingness to share Darkrai’s company where no others consciously dared. Of course, Arceus was never meant to know of Darkrai—and yet sometimes, when the jaws of loneliness threatened to crunch fatally down, a sudden smile, hug, or innocent gift of pebbles from the Marshadow would lead Darkrai to wonder if the Original One knew all the same and had deigned to show him mercy. 

Happy accident or divine compassion, though, it still remained a fact that even insomniacs had to sleep now and then. When that time came, Mallow would typically tuck away somewhere out of Darkrai’s range to sleep for a day or two before returning. Most likely somewhere in Lake Town, if Darkrai had to guess. Only usually there wasn’t a typhoon threatening to uproot the forest’s trees whenever he made the trip. Or an epidemic…

A light huff of breath was the Marshadow’s only answer, though his smaller frame nestled further down into the quilt and against Darkrai’s back.

“How long do you think you can hold on?” he asked, airing his thoughts more so than anything else. “I’m worried it won’t be safe for you to leave until the storm has passed.”

Mallow made no effort to answer in either huff or sign this time, simply kneaded his fingers into Ursaluna’s plush body, so Darkrai let him be. He would get bored eventually sitting here, but it was nice to have his company for now. “Anyhow, I take back my earlier sentiment,” he said. “You can stay here for the day if you’d like.”

Mallow turned further into his back with a sign of thanks. Darkrai smiled, letting the sound of the rain finally ease him into a contented sleep.