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Chapter 86
Part 3
Season of Winter, Week 2, Day 2
Dear Secret Journal,
I'm thankful that nothing interesting has been happening lately. It gives me time to catch up on everything that happened two weeks ago. There's still so much to tell, and I don't want to forget any of it. I got the whole day off, so maybe this is the day I can finally catch up.
I almost can't look at anything I wrote yesterday. So sloppy. But at the same time, there's a certain beauty in the sloppy writing, too. Whenever I look at those pages, I'll remember the days when I was new at being a Zoroark and it was still hard to write neatly with my new hands.
Still, this time I'll go nice and slow. No rush. Nobody's going to bother me or barge in on me for the next ten hours, at least. Plenty of time to be thorough, be honest, and be myself.
Before we were going to write the letter to send to the Black Division, Hunter needed to know what to actually put in the letter. Apparently I couldn't just write a letter asking to see my sisters again; it had to be some kind of secret coded message that only some Pokémon would understand. And since Hunter didn't have firsthand knowledge of my family, or the Black Division for that matter, he needed my help.
But he needed something more than just hearing my story over again.
Knowing Char would come home soon, we couldn't afford to stay in the secret base. Hunter took Domo and I out into the backwoods. And by that, I mean he took us really far out into the backwoods. I'm talking over an hour of walking. He said it was necessary. He didn't want to risk any other civilized Pokémon finding out what we were going to do.
The whole way I had to awkwardly lumber along on all fours like a Primeape. I knew Zoroark can walk on two legs when they want, but I didn't have time to get comfortable balancing on two legs, so I kept to what I knew. Domo completely showed me up by taking Zoroark form and taking perfect strides alongside me like some kind of an expert at being bipedal. Maybe he was trying to help me learn, but he only made me jealous. Seeing him, I thought: how is one Pokémon so good at being so many different species? How would I ever hope to attain such a level of skill? I couldn't even pretend to be one Pokémon very well…
Admittedly, it was much harder to feel sorry for myself than before. There was too much new, raw joy in the way! I was a grown-up now. I was as big and strong as Vivia. Why had it taken me so long to become a Zoroark? If I knew how amazing it felt, I'd have evolved a lot sooner. I could reach for things with actual arms! I could grab things with actual claws, I could squeeze and feel things with so much more articulation than just my canine jaws. I could sense things and smell things so far around me that I wondered if I were projecting my soul outside of my body. I started to understand how Hunter was able to read his surroundings so well only by his sense of smell; canines have such good sense of smell. Before, my sense of smell was like having an extra sense of taste. Now it was like having an extra sense of taste with four hundred new flavors.
I felt a new kind of darkfire power radiating through my skin, deeper and stronger, bursting at the seams. I felt my own aura sizzling through my fur like static. For the first time in my life, I felt like my natural element was a part of me. I really felt like a dark-type Pokémon.
I was new. I was reborn. For once, I wasn't just pretending to be a different Pokémon. For once, I'd actually changed into something else for real. Forever. The thought was somehow deeply thrilling, and it still is. I love this body and I've only just begun to live. But even as I followed Hunter through the woods that evening, enjoying the new spectrum of scents and sounds as they made themselves known to me, I had not even begun to realize the true power of my new form. But that's what our little trip was for. I would soon understand.
We came to a forest clearing who-knows-how-far from the secret base, Domo cast some spells he knew and double-checked that we hadn't stumbled into a mystery dungeon (oh, the irony), and Hunter said he was satisfied with the location. "Now… we have roughly three hours before the Watchers attack," said Hunter. "And while I am more than capable of outrunning them, and I'm certain Domo has forms he uses to counter them, I'd rather not deal with all the inconvenience. So I'm going to need you to focus, Miss Arcana, and focus well."
I was still baffled by why we were in the forest to begin with. I thought we were writing a letter or something. "Focus on what? I asked, still distracted by the way my claw-nails felt when I rubbed them together.
"Terra-warping," Hunter said. "Not just changing forms, but changing the environment around you. I want to you show me. Show me your power."
"I don't think I know how," I muttered mostly to myself. "Vivia had to train for years to learn how to terra-warp… I can hardly make basic illusions, how am I supposed to figure out something harder?"
"Oh, you don't need training to cast illusions!" said Domo in his different, elder-fox voice. "It's your innate power now. You can do it as much as you want. It only takes training to make your illusions super convincing and consistent if you're trying to trick Pokémon into thinking they're real, especially certain Pokémon trained to look for them, or to make them last a long time without dissolving in a big storm of contradictions. But just casting illusions upon unsuspecting Pokémon? That's as simple as basic telepathy."
To demonstrate, Domo pointed his Zoroark claw.
In front of us, there materialized a very solid, very believable Charizard, stomping across the grass at me and roaring in glee. I heard it, I smelled it, I even felt its footsteps reverberate through the ground as it came closer.
I blinked. I shook my head. But when I opened my eyes again, it was still there, and still just as real.
I knew it wasn't real. But every sense in my body believed otherwise. I felt the heat from its scales. I saw its tail fire casting shadows in the grass as it swung around. I saw the deep, green glimmer of its eyes.
"See?" said the Charizard in a deep and calming voice, spreading its arms as though to hug me. "It's that simple."
I took a wary step towards the false Charizard. Every moment, I waited for the vision to flicker, for some telltale sign that it was only a projection of a dream. But there just wasn't anything. No mistakes. The sun glinted off its individual scales. The chest moved with its deep breaths, and a deep dragon-like rumble rose from its snout along with the faint scent of smoke. The grass bent and crumpled underfoot as it stepped.
What an illusion. It was an illusion I would have fallen for, easily, if I didn't know any better. It was an illusion I would have liked to befriend.
"How…" I whispered, stunned at the vision before me. "How is this possible…?"
"It's just what you are," said the Charizard, grinning at me. "It's what you can do. Just as the natural power of a Ditto is to transform, the natural power of a Zoroark is to dream."
I stood in such awe. The thought I had this much power… that I always had it, or always could have had it… It was too much to swallow. I glanced at my own claws again, wondering what potential I might truly hold!
I reached a trembling claw forward to hold its hand. I thought, for sure, this would break the illusion. My claw would go right through. That was always the danger of my Zorua illusions – anyone who tried to touch me would know the truth, because you couldn't touch something that wasn't there. And if I got hurt, that would end the illusion immediately, since there's just no way to recover from the shock of the distraction.
But I took the Charizard's hand. I touched it. I felt its warm scales, stroked my claws over the knotted wrinkles of its knuckles, the smooth and bonelike claw-nails. I felt its fingers reflexively twitch at my touch.
I threw the claw away from me and jumped away in horror. The Charizard looked surprised for a moment. The next moment, it blinked out of existence.
I shook my head in a strange panic. "No. Nuh-uh. I… that wasn't… I can't do that." I tried saying, as though to reassure myself it wasn't real. "No. That thing was… it was really there. I swear. There's no way I can make an illusion that convincing! It would take years to get all the details that good… I could touch it, Domo! I touched something that wasn't even there! I could smell the smoke from its fire! I… that's just impossible! You're not supposed to be able to touch things that aren't really there! …Are you?"
"You still weren't actually touching anything," Domo informed me. "You only felt it because you thought you were touching it. That's why it's called an illusion."
I was shivering now. Shivering in terror of my own power. It was already too much. "But… That's… that's crazy. That was more than an illusion. That was delusion. You made me delusional for a moment. Exactly how much practice have you had with Zoroark powers?"
Domo shrugged his Zoroark shoulders. "I was barely even trying," he told me. "That's the thing with illusions. You don't have to get all the details right. Most of the work is done by the mind of the beholder. It's like a dream! They fill in all the little details on their own. They see whatever they're looking for. They see what they want to see. So don't be too overwhelmed; most of what you saw just now was your own mind at work, not mine. But enough about me! How about you give it a try?"
I knew I had to start somewhere. If I wanted to stop being afraid of my power, I needed to learn how to control it. To wield it. To wield it proudly, like a warrior would.
I closed my claws into tight fists. I nodded. I said to Domo, "I'll try. What do I do? How do I make something so real, like that?"
"When you're first learning, I find it helps to close your eyes and picture the scene in your head," he said, pausing to change back into a Ditto, then to a Mew. "Then open your eyes and try to keep the scene from disappearing. Try to project the scene into reality."
I did so. I shut my eyes quickly, keeping the image of the forest clearing burned into my mind's eye. In the middle of that clearing, I superimposed the image of a Hoothoot that I knew well. The only real Pokémon I knew intimately enough that I could make a halfway convincing illusion of her.
At least, that's what I've been telling myself for the past few years.
"Arcana," said a sudden voice.
I blinked open my eyes. Glower the Hoothoot was there. Standing in front of me. Looking at me. And talking to me.
"You're not real," I breathed.
"Correct," said Glower. "I am your creation."
I shivered in the strangest delight, hearing Glower speak to me so… autonomously. Like a dream projection. Glower was always nothing to me but a mask, a glob of sculpted light that I could puppeteer around. But the power of a Zoroark went beyond that. It was giving her a separate personality now. It was an animated impression of a mind separate from my own.
I squinted at the Hoothoot, eyeing her individual feathers. Those dirty brown feathers with tiny black flecks. Those legs she held so tightly together, it always looked like she only had one leg and one talon.
I slowly lumbered around her, appraising her from all sides. Her head turned to follow me, just as a real owl's would, keeping those orangish-red eyes pinned on me.
So small and insignificant was this Hoothoot. Even now that she had her own projected character, she was… still… so plain and boring. Such little personality. Like she was content to just stand around and do nothing. And be nothing.
She was exactly the way I made her. Exactly the way I decided she should be.
"I can't believe this is how everyone else sees me," I muttered, reaching to brush a single claw against Glower's smooth and oily feathers, just to see how it felt. "I know you're not really me. You're only a projected image. But now I'm starting to realize… This is what everyone else sees when they look at me… A little owl. A little owl who minds her own business and never speaks. I barely even exist to anyone else…"
"In some sense, I am you," Glower said in reply. "I truly represent part of you. This is the way you decided that Pokémon should see you. Thus, this is what you've decided to become. For we all eventually become whatever we pretend to be, don't we?"
"Since when did I decide to be so… dull?" I asked her. "Since when did I decide to be so normal?"
"Since you've been afraid of failure," she plainly replied. "Since you've convinced yourself that you have to choose between failure and cowardice. You've created me as an unfeeling, uncaring, and unambitious persona. It's because you've given up, and you've crafted my character to cope with your own hopelessness."
"Gaah. You. You don't have to be so forward about it!" I gasped in exasperation, almost wanting to punch her, but hug her at the same time because she understood me.
"Except that I do," Glower replied calmly. "You need to hear me say it. You've always known it, but never admitted to it. The first step to strength is admitting to your weakness."
I grumbled. I kind of half-faceplanted down on the ground the same way I'd always do as a four-legged fox. Awkward now that I had actual arms.
"Alright, Glower. You said what you needed to say. Happy?" I mumbled. "I don't suppose you'd happen to know what the next step to finding strength is? Because I sure don't."
"There isn't one single answer," she replied, brushing a wing on my head, as though to return the gesture of touch I'd given her.
"Alright, but do you have any answer?" I begged. "Ngh. Well. I know that's a silly question anyway. You shouldn't know anything that I don't know…"
"An excellent second step to becoming strong is to dabble in matters above your head," Glower told me, spreading her wings. "Fly above your comfort zone. Play with possibilities, until a fascination emerges. Once found, fascination will lead you forward."
"A fascination…? By playing with my illusions?" I wondered absently.
"Exactly," she said. "For instance, you've grown so fascinated by how real you've made me, that if we converse any longer, you'll forget that we aren't even alone."
I blinked and pushed myself up off the ground again. Domo and Hunter were still there, keenly watching the conversation I was holding with myself.
Domo eyed me with his bright bubbly Mew eyes. "Having fun?" he said with a big grin. "Gives a whole new outlook on life, doesn't it? You're just getting started. Now if you focus a bit, you can bring even more illusion Pokémon to life at once. Then you can try terra-warping. Someday you might work your way up to making entire dreamscapes, kind of like your own personal mystery dungeons. But dreamscapes are totally expert-level. That's definitely beyond my skill."
"I… yeah," I admitted, looking back at Glower, who still stood near me with rapt attention. I pat her on the head. "This… this takes actual creativity, doesn't it? This power? It's not just… about hiding anymore. I always thought a Zorua's power was all about hiding and being a coward."
"Ohh… certainly not, certainly not," Domo said, grinning in happiness for me. "In fact, I'll tell you something that a mighty Zoroark once told me. In particular, the Zoroark I got my transformation from! He said, 'A Zorua's power is to hide the body. A Zoroark's power is to bare the soul.'"
I cast one last affectionate gaze at Glower. For some reason, I didn't want to just vanish her into nothing. That would break the illusion, my own illusion I wanted to uphold to myself. So instead, I told her to just fly away.
"I will be here," she told me before winging away to the treetops. "I will return when I am needed, and you can tell me all about what you've learned. Good luck, Arcana."
Then we were alone. Just the three of us – no transformations, no illusions, just the three of us.
"Is that it?" I asked Hunter. "Is that why you took me all the way out here? So I could play with my illusions?"
"Yes, but for a very particular purpose," Hunter told me, stepping up to me as though to take command. "I want you to tell me the story of your family again. Except this time, show it to me. Bring it to life, in place of this forest. Let me see every single detail you remember."
I looked down at my claw, completely disbelieving that I held such a power.
"This whole forest clearing is your canvas. Replace it with your memories and your dreams. Play out the most vivid parts of your childhood for us to watch. And perhaps, if we are so fortunate, I will spot something in your memories that will reveal more information about the Black Division. You have an hour before we need to return to shelter."
"Yeah! Go wild!" Domo encouraged me. "Unleash your mind for us! Pretend we aren't even here!"
I sat in the grass for half a minute more. I breathed in the crisp evening air, as though making the nature part of myself. I looked to the sky and already spotted a few of the brightest stars twinkling through the darkening blanket of blue.
Then I pushed myself up to my feet. My two feet. I hunched forward to find my sense of balance. I took several steps away from my companions, enough that I could convince myself I was standing alone in the clearing.
The forest is my canvas, I told myself, gazing around. I can put my dreams here. I can make them real. I can bring them back to life.
I put a claw against my chest and I closed my eyes, as Domo instructed. And I pictured, as vividly as possible, some moment from my childhood. The first one that came to mind.
…
I was a Zorua again, standing alone under the same evening sky.
The feel of twigs snapping under my paws. The scent of dry leaves. A certain, faraway sense of heartwarmth.
"I'm so hungry…" muttered a long-lost familiar voice beside me. "I'm too hungry to even disguise anymore. I'd almost suggest we just steal some oranges from the market, but the market's closed by now. Alright, that's it. I'm eating bugs…"
I turned and spotted my little sister flipping up rocks and logs from the forest floor.
I gave her a sad smile. "Weavra…" I sighed, trotting over next to her. "We'll find something good to eat. If we can't catch a Rattata tonight, we'll just eat some berries. Okay?"
"No. I need protein. I am a carnivore. I can't get big and strong if I don't get protein," grumbled the little Zorua as she pawed at the moist dirt that was beneath a hollow log, trying to rustle up some of the gross little non-Pokémon bugs from the ground.
"Oh, come on! You don't have to eat bugs!" I pleaded to her. "It's… eugh, so dirty! And undignified! Foxes aren't carnivores, Weavra. We're omnivores. We can survive on berries just fine."
"If we're omnivores, then we can also survive on bugs," she returned stubbornly. "And there's just not enough time. The ghosts are coming out soon." Then she pulled her head out of the dirt and gave me a weird look, with a weird half-alive beetle hanging from her teeth. So revolting. I had to look away.
"I bet Father never had to eat bugs…" I growled. "Bet he feasts on roasted Sawsbuck steak and golden apples every night."
I didn't even know where we were going. I didn't care. It was nice to see Weavra again. To talk to her. Even though she wasn't real.
Well, I didn't have to believe she wasn't real. She was exactly as real as I wanted her to be. And yet…
I blinked. I pawed at the ground in thought. "Y'know… this isn't very useful," I said out loud.
"Hmmfff?" said Weavra with her mouth full. "Not useful?"
"This… this memory," I told her. "I shouldn't be here. I should probably be somewhere else. Somewhere more useful."
"I don't know what you're talking about…" Weavra said. "Where we should be is home, before the big snowstorms hit. Why can't we go there?"
"Because… because Father won't let us," I remembered. "Father doesn't want us home for another six days."
…
Still deep in the forest, still beneath the darkening sun, but on a different day… I found myself staring at our big cottage-house. Or rather, spying on it. Disguising myself as a Deerling and standing around in silent surveillance.
"Ssst. Aracana. You're the wrong color," said a mother Sawsbuck nearby with big patches of leaves on its antlers. "You're not supposed to be brown. You're supposed to be green."
I looked at the Sawsbuck, realizing it was only a stand-in for my sister. "But… it's autumn going on winter," I told her.
"No, it's summer, you dummy. Father will know it's us right away. Change colors," she shot back.
Eh. It seemed pretty cold to me. And there were streaks of cirrus clouds high in the sky. Maybe I was still seeing the real sky…?
Wait, real sky? What's that mean?
Without further question, I changed my disguise and I let the fake mama deer lead me closer to the cottage. I should have felt paranoid about the leaves crunching under our paws, like a hunting predator should. But deerling families wandered around here all the time, so it shouldn't raise suspicions.
We crept forward. I could see the warm firelight from a window, glowing in the darkening evening sky.
"Why are we here, again?" Weavra asked me, pretending to long-step over a fallen tree. "We're not supposed to be back home for another six days, I thought?"
I had to think about that for a moment. "We're hungry. I want to steal some food from our pantry," I said.
"Well, I'm not hungry," Weavra informed me. "I just ate a delicious Yungoos, thank you. But I'll help you get some food if you want…"
"Wait, no, that's not right," I said. "I could have sworn you were hungry. Weren't you just hungry? Wait, no. We're not here for food. We're here to see Dad."
"Dad? Why are we seeing Dad? He'll just kick us out again. And for longer this time," Weavra said in a worried tone. "This is already the first time he's ever kicked us out for more than a week… I just want to go back home already…"
I heard someone coming. I hissed at Weavra to stop chatting at me, which probably looked really weird coming from a deer's teeth. But I made sure we were standing just far enough away that we looked like feral Pokémon who just happened to notice some nearby commotion, and I stopped in my tracks and stared at the cottage door.
Father came stomping out, looking all gruff and annoyed. Beside him was a younger Zoroark. My sister Vivia.
"Because they'll never survive in the resistance," said Dad. "I told you. I only have time to train one of you."
"You're not even giving them a chance," Vivia returned.
"They had their chance when they hatched from the egg with horrendous IVs," he said. "I lead a team. I only have the time and the effort to train one of you. Would you prefer that I spread myself thin between the three of you, and give you all such mediocre training that I'm basically just leaving you all to die?"
"That's almost better than what you're doing to them right now," Vivia said. "Any reason they can't just train with Virizia? That's literally what a dojo is for."
"Becauze Virizia does not know how to be a warrior," said Dad. "She is a coward who has proven that she cannot take a life when necessary. Why do you think she hides in a dojo? Why do you think she's not fighting on the front lines? At least your sisters are learning to draw blood for the sakes of their own benefit. That's a greater lesson than Virizia would ever a hatchling."
"I wouldn't let their blood spill for my benefit," said Vivia halfheartedly.
Father didn't answer right away. He looked annoyed. He almost looked like he wanted to cast a disguise, but decided against it.
"My daughter, listen. And listen well, because I'm only going to say this once," said the elder male. "You want to champion your sisters? Fight for them? Elevate them? Fine. That's on you. But you'll never stand a chance unless you continue your training. You won't be strong enough. Next week, we start on the six-star dungeons. Throat of Thorin. When we're down in the forty-first floor of the Throat of Thorin, then you look me in the eye and tell me how you feel about dragging your runt sisters into a place like that, knowing that their deaths will be on your claws now, not on mine."
Vivia held her head in defeat, brushing through her hair with her claw. "Alright, father," she sighed in return. "Alright. I understand."
"Good. Now it's time we get to hunting," said my father, brushing past her. "And realize that if you intend to support your sisters, you'd only look forward to double the hunting that we already are. Or you could let nature train them to be self-sufficient and stay out of your hair."
"Yes, father," said Vivia dejectedly.
He sniffed at the air for a moment. "I don't know about you, but tonight I'm in the mood for delicacy. Mm. How about Noviern eggs? I can show you how to raid their nests."
He stopped in mid-stride. His head twitched to the side.
"Wait a momenmt," he said, staring right at me. "Why does that Deerling have orange fur? It's out of season."
"Oh no…" breathed my sister. "Arcana. Run."
I turned and ran, not caring where I was headed. I just needed to get away from my father.
…
Fort Glimmer. Seeing it from the outside, it was anything but. On the inside, we knew there were skyscraper-towers of gold bars. But on the outside, stone dark shadow. Stony walls streaked with rusty-red patches as decades of moisture eroded the strange alloy, evoking the image of the bloodstains of all the intruders who'd failed to breach the outer wall.
Around the front entryway, a solid steel fence crowned with blades and spikes. No, not an inanimate fence. A perfect formation of Bisharp, standing so straight and still that I'd easily mistake them for dead. About twenty of them, silently threatening any intruders with a cold, steel death.
We just needed a gold bar. Just one. That was all.
Looking at the watchtowers now, I could see them. The silhouettes. The occasional ruby-red gleam against the sunset. The Corvisquire.
Vivia had failed to see them.
Wait. Viva. Where was she? Maybe this time we could change her fate.
Maybe we could warn her.
I turned to my sister, expecting to see a fellow Rattata standing beside me.
But no… Weavra was undisguised. She was her Zorua self. Collapsed and wallowing in the mud, tears streaking down her face. Sobbing, pawing at the air as though trying to brush away the cold and painful reality which was her life.
Oh, no. No, it… it already happened, didn't it?
I looked over the row of Bisharp. Between their steely blades, overtop their heads, I looked at the dark corner I knew so well, the dark corner that haunted my nightmares.
The carcass of my sister. My perfect big sister. Ribcage skewering through her open torso. Already picked clean. The guards had returned to their stations as though nothing of note had happened.
Tears welling in my eyes. No changing the past, after all. This had already happened. This was sealed.
Part of me just wanted to rush in. I wanted to rush in and die the same death my sister did. Maybe that would finally mean I was as good as her.
I looked back at Weavra, still uncontrollably sobbing into the muddy ground. But we were no longer overlooking Fort Glimmer. Now we were settled around a campfire. I had to double-check to make sure none of the guards could see us. But we were far enough away.
Weavra always had to start the campfire. She knew how to incinerate leaves and twigs, and I didn't. I relied on her. I was never able to start my own fires once she…
I hated remembering this part. I hated standing and staring at something and knowing I couldn't change anything. The changes were never real. The changes aren't real. They're all imaginary. I can imagine changes. I can dream. But I can never make the dreams come real.
So I would just sit there, knowing I could do nothing about my devastated sister, knowing she would soon die.
I cuddled against my sister by the fire. I felt her tears on my face, trickling through my fur. I threw my front leg over her and held her tight.
I remembered her. I remembered the hopelessness. The coming darkness in the sky. The stars were twinkling. Multiplying. Overwhelming.
"I… I guess we… I guess we really were stronger than her after all, weren't we?" Weavra coughed in between sobbing. "I mean… a strong Zoroark wouldn't do something so stupid and dangerous for two useless little sisters…"
We had nothing to eat. Nothing to do. Nothing to hope for.
Unless there was still hope.
We could still infiltrate Fort Glimmer. We just needed to spend some time preparing. We'd just have to get into really, really convincing Bisharp disguises, and slip into the ranks during the changing of the guards that happened in the morning. We'd keep out of sight of the watchbirds, ignore the splattered remains of Vivia. We'd…
No. No, we can't.
I wasn't going to let that happen.
I wasn't going to let my only living sister feel sorry for me. Write me a note. Run away again. And get killed again.
I wasn't going to be alone again.
I was going to change the past.
"C'mon. We're going back," I said to Weavra.
She sniffled and looked up at me. "Going back… where?"
"Home," I decided. "I'm not letting you die. I'm going to fight Dad."
When I returned back home, the moon was already out, and the sky was almost pitch-black. Not like that would stop me. I'm a dark-type. I can see in the dark. Everything was still so clear. Clearer than it has ever been before. The landscape, the cottage walls, the trees, they all glinted in the silver-golden moonlight, that deep-star-sparkle type of light you can only see when you're dreaming. It drenched everything and made me feel whole.
I stood on two legs. I was a Zoroark now. I was stronger than my dad ever expected. And I was going to fight him. And I was going to destroy him for what he did, to prove I'm strong. The darkfire surged in me. My claws sparkled with white-energy. I was going to make Dad feel everything he ever made me feel.
I realized too late that I'd accidentally gone back to Fort Glimmer, and not back to my house. Oh well, that was good enough, right? It was still a house. It had a front wall and a front door, and Pokémon living there to greet me when I arrived.
And besides, my dad was there too. I met him on the way.
"Arcana," he said to me, his eyes aglow with anger. "What have you done?! What have you done to your sister?"
"She's dead!" I shouted. "You killed her."
"That's right, I did," cackled my father. "And now I'll kill you too!"
I was about to have the epic, final fight with Father. To make him pay for everything he's done. For all the neglect, the nights alone in the woods, the sobbing and crying. The childhood we lived that brought us nothing but cowardice. The childhood that took my family away. The childhood that brought Glower into existence.
The Bisharp and Corvisquire were watching us, all in their long lines just like some kind of an audience at a Pokémon colosseum. On the high-rises there perched the birds. All ready to watch the bloodshed. The same kind of carnage they'd already seen twice. They were going to see it again. I bet they couldn't wait to taste our delicious meat again.
I drew my claws. I hoped they looked long and sharp, like Scyther blades. I hoped they made Father tremble in fear. I grinned with glee. I was finally free. I was finally myself. I was here, and now, and in the present, and I was about to change the past.
I glanced upward, right before the fight was to start, to check and see if the birds were still paying attention.
Except there were no more Corvisquire up there. The high-rise platforms were all empty.
Upon the highest pillar, there stood another figure. A Zoroark, eyes gleaming as bright as the golden moon. Watching me with mysterious pride.
My mother?
I never knew my mother. I never even knew her name. I just know she died on a mission before I hatched.
Was she alive, too? Was she still alive, just like my sisters?
Was she proud of me? Would I ever find her?
"HEEEEEEYYYYYYYYY!" screamed a sudden voice that sounded absolutely out-of-place. A little Mew zoomed in front of my face and grabbed my nose. "HEEEY! Arcana! You've got to end this, you know! You've been in this dreamscape for three hours! The Watchers are coming out RIGHT NOW! Arcana, we need to get going back!"
"Get… what? Going back?" I muttered, still peering up at my mother, who was now suspiciously starting to look like a Watcher. "What are you talking about? I've been here for twenty years."
"Arcana, look. You've got to break this dreamscape. Hunter and I are trapped in here too! This is like a weird mystery dungeon you've made for us! You left us way behind and we've been looking everywhere for you!" cried the Mew.
"I… I don't know how," I said, finally vaguely starting to realize I was swimming in a scrambled sea of thoughts, and not reality. "Wait… I'm dreaming? I don't know how to shut it off. Maybe I'm stuck in here too."
"Well I'd wake you up if I knew where you were!" Mew said, growing more exasperated and visibly shuddering in the air.
I blinked. "Aren't you floating right in front of me?" I asked.
"GAAAAH! NO!" growled the Mew in a strangely adorable way. "Arcana, you don't get it! Just because I found you in the dreamscape doesn't mean I know where you are in the real world! You could be anywhere in this forest! Anywhere at all! Ugh, the Watchers are coming! Arcana, please. Remember what's real. I'm real. Me, Domo. Hunter is real. Your team is real. Kerzek and Scarlet and Char and Tallie and all your new companions that know who you are. They are real. This is just a memory."
"A memory? Not even." Said a new, familiar voice. "More like a revenge fantasy. But I'll concede, Miss Arcana: it seems you are far more powerful than anyone has given you credit for. Your father included."
Hunter. I recognized that voice. The Flareon. He appeared from somewhere behind me and stood at Mew's side. Seeing him, I was starting to remember a little more of the real world. Bits and pieces of memories were coming back to me, memories of what actually happened three hours ago. He discovered me… or something. It was still hard to grasp.
"Oh, hi," I said, still only half-lucid. "Did you get what you wanted from my story?"
"Actually, no," Hunter plainly said, swishing his tail behind him. "Your dreamscape has proven far too fragmented and… inaccurate to procure any useful information. I asked for your memories, but you've only provided me with scrambled fantasies. So I'm afraid we must resort to other means. That is, assuming we escape this dreamscape of yours in a timely manner and do not get our bodies and souls mangled by the Watchers in the meantime, which is looking less and less likely. You've made this dreamscape… very inescapable."
I glanced around at the dreamscape, still not fully comprehending that it wasn't real. Darkness had fallen hard. The stars were shifting in the sky. The Bisharp had all melted together and had green tentacles bursting out of them. My father was trying to morph himself back into a Zorua for some reason, as my two sisters watched and laughed at him.
"Arcana… you've got to listen to us. LISTEN!" barked Hunter, spewing fire into my face. "Focus. Break the dreamscape. If you do not, we might all die tonight. Or worse. This is all on you, Arcana. Free us."
I looked at my right claw. At my left claw. They looked pretty real to me. "I don't get it," I said. "What's there to break? I'm sorry. I'd help if I could…"
The stars were floating deeper down to earth. The ground beneath us was changing colors. And yet, I could see nothing out of the ordinary. I guess I ether didn't believe Hunter, or I was okay with the thought of dying. Maybe I thought dying would just wake me up, like it usually did with dreams. Maybe I thought Hunter was a dream.
Glower flew down from somewhere. From one of the trees, I think. She came back the same way she left.
"I don't think she's letting you escape," Glower said. "Perhaps she doesn't want to. Therefore, if you have any alternative solutions, I would think that now is the best time to use them."
I noticed Mew sag in the air like he was sad, or wondering about something.
"Guys… I'm sorry about this…" he said quietly. "I know this is probably going to hurt, but… I'm really sorry."
…
Red. Yellow. Black. Flashes of impact.
Pain. Searing headache. Skin on fire. Fur being yanked from its roots.
That's all I remembered from what happened next. Just pain. Pure, stinging pain all over half my body.
But that did it. That popped my dreamscape and woke me up. Because that's all you really need to break a Zoroark's illusion, after all: just land an attack. A physical attack. Even the best Zoroark in the world struggle to maintain an illusion after getting punched in the face. There's just no recovering from the distraction.
And I didn't just get punched in the face. I got blown up.
Memories flooded back to me. Memories of the real world. Memories of Team Ember. Memories of pretending to be Glower. Memories of a mission to find a famed resistance leader. Memories of Hunter and Domo and writing a letter to see if my family was still alive.
It all came flooding back to me with a strange flavor of nostalgia to it, as though those were the long-lost childhood memories, and the dreamscape was a life I'd just lived for two whole decades.
But I was back. I was myself. I knew what was going on, what I had done, and I panicked.
The Watchers were coming. I could already see them shifting ominously above the treetops. I dropped to all fours and clambered around the forest, looking for my two companions. Hunter was the only one who knew the way back. And Domo was the only one who could probably fend off the Watchers half as well as Raon, probably because he could turn into Raon.
I guess I didn't notice at the time that there was a lot of damage done to the forest all around me. Maybe because it was autumn and the trees were mostly already dead. Maybe because I was too panicked, looking for the others.
I focused. I peered into the dark, and I followed my new, wonderful sense of smell. Soon, in a strange ray of moonlight from the canopy, I saw him. I saw a Mew sprawled out on the top of a rock. Unconscious. Beside him stood an absolutely dumbfounded Flareon.
Hunter was frozen in pure shock and dread. I knew instantly, that was the same feeling I'd spent my whole life dreading. That soul-lock. Not even Hunter was safe from it.
Even though the Watchers drifted at the treetops, prodding at the cracks between the dead leaves and bare limbs, Hunter's gaze remained fixed on Domo's body. I wasn't even sure he was breathing.
Then I realized… oh. Oh no. Domo wasn't… No. He couldn't.
I rushed up to them. "Oh, Arceus," I breathed. "Domo. He's dead, isn't he? Isn't he? He's dead because of me?!"
Hunter took a moment to answer. A long moment. Too long. He struggled to speak. He opened his jaws, only to shut them again.
Finally, he said: "…No. He's knocked out. He used a very large self-destruction spell to destroy the dream. Which, despite the name, does not kill you. It just expends all one's energy and sends you into a deep sleep."
I looked down at the Mew. So he was alive. Barely moving. Barely breathing. But still alive.
"Then what's… what's… If he's still alive, what's the problem? Can't we just take him back to the base? Get him rested and healed?"
Hunter closed his eyes tight. He opened them again. Trying to decide if he was dreaming. Trying to decide if the Mew he saw before him was an illusion of a dreamscape.
"Miss Arcana… let me explain something," Hunter said quietly. "When a Pokémon… passes out, they cannot… sustain a transformation. They revert to their true form. Were you to knock Domo unconscious under normal circumstances, he would have reverted to a Ditto by now."
I looked at the unconscious Pokémon. Still very much a Mew.
"So… what does this mean, exactly?" I wondered.
"I've heard his story," Hunter explained. "I've heard how he gained the Mew transformation, and the ability to keep an unlimited stockpile of transformations. At first, I thought it didn't make any sense. But now… I understand what's happened. This… this is his true form, Arcana. Domo is not a Ditto. Domo is a Mew."
Hunter started to laugh. It was his crazy-laughter. He couldn't believe what he was even saying, yet he knew it to be true.
"He… he must have fallen victim to a heart-swap, or some such spell. Perhaps the Mew he met traded bodies with him in some sort of permanent way. As a gift, perhaps? I don't know. But… whatever the case… I now realize that the resistance has a Mew on their side. Not a transformation. Not a facsimile. A real, genuine Mew. This… this… changes absolutely everything. This means… the resistance is more powerful than any of us have ever imagined. Hah. Hah-hah. It occurs to me – you are not the only Pokémon, Miss Arcana, to be found masquerading as a normal-type. And just as it is with you, o mighty illusion-sweeper, nothing about this creature we now behold is normal. No… it is all extraordinary."
I peered down at the sleeping Domo. I gently took him into my arms. Such a tiny little creature, he was. So small. Yet so, so powerful. A Pokémon able to do anything. To be anything, just like a Ditto. To learn every single Pokémon technique, just like a Smeargle. Even to read minds. Enter dreams. Anything.
And I held his small, frail, unconscious body in my arms. Because he'd saved me.
"But… But that…" I stammered, the disbelief now starting to crawl over me as well. "But he always… he always changed back into a Ditto before he changed forms. I saw him. And he always changed back into a Ditto whenever he got knocked out…! How can that be?"
"Simple. Because he always thought he had to!" Hunter said, poorly holding back his maniacal laughter. "For the same reasons you were trapped in your dreamscape because you did not understand what was real, Domo only transforms into Ditto because he believes he is truly a Ditto. As to why he changes back into a Ditto when he was knocked unconscious, I can only theorize that it is because he becomes transformed twice – a Mew transformed into a Ditto transformed into something else. And being knocked out only ever undid one of his transformations, because his Mew was always powerful enough to sustain his Ditto form indefinitely. Hah. Hah-hah-hah. I suppose this is the first time Domo has ever been knocked unconscious while in his favorite form. He's bragged to me that his Mew form is undefeatable, after all. And he does all his training in different Pokémon forms, as is his job. Therefore! I congratulate you, Miss Arcana; you were the first to truly defeat his Mew form and learn the truth. And now… a world of possibilities has opened to us."
So mesmerized was I by this idea, that I was friends with the real Mew, that I only vaguely worried about the ghosts overhead, slowly coming to haunt me.
"Arceus above!" laughed Hunter. "Every day, by every single passing day, I find myself more pleased that I have chosen to join the resistance! Already, such incredible things I've had the honor to witness! Now I need only to complete a miracle of my own, finding Adron the Terrible, if I hope to find myself worthy of standing among such legends."
"You call me a legend already? When I've only been a Zoroark for a few hours?" I said oddly.
"Oh, believe me… you will be one, when I'm done with you," he assured me mysteriously. "And I find that no Zoroark capable of generating a quasi-coherent dreamscape within mere hours of their evolution can possibly be given the label of normal. No, I'm more willing to believe that your mother somehow switched you in secret with your sister Vivia, leading your father to believe that she was born with perfect genetic traits, when in fact, all along, it was you. If I am right, this also serves as a testament to how the genetic testing for IVs all prove meaningless in the end, seeing that Vivia was trained well enough as a master illusionist and warrior despite such… supposedly inferior genes."
"Is it strange," I said to Hunter, "that I don't feel so proud about the thought of having perfect IVs? And I actually just feel happier that it proves my father was wrong? All along, he thought Vivia was the only one worth training, just because she was born that way… And now… maybe he was actually training the wrong daughter this whole time? That's… ah, the vindication! That feels so good!"
"Miss Arcana, it is foolish for anyone to feel proud of the way they are born, more than they are proud of the way they have lived," Hunter told me. "I will admit something: a teammate of yours recently asked me why I chose to become a skip tracer by profession. And to that question, I told a half-truth. I claimed that I enjoy the thrill of finding Pokémon who do not wish to be found. And while this is certainly true, it is the secondary reason I chose this profession. The primary reason is because I once had my genes tested, and my IVs were found to be the very lowest possible values. The very lowest. All zeroes. Seeing that, I said to myself, 'I have no future in battling; I probably should not be a warrior. Perhaps instead, a thinker.' You and I have plenty more to be proud of in life than some meaningless numbers. So, no. It is not strange whatsoever."
He eyed the forest canopy for a moment. "This is all assuming we have a future in the first place, and we aren't caught by the ghosts. Perhaps we should get going. How fast can you run on all fours?"
"Fast as a fox!" I promised him. "Surprisingly easy. Just lead the way. Oh! But… what about Domo?"
Hunter tilted his head at me. "Can Zoroark not stuff tiny Pokémon into their hair for safekeeping? Or is that only a myth?"
"Definitely not a myth. Definitely a thing," I told him, cradling the tiny Mew in my arms. Having not gotten myself a hair-bead yet, I'd already tied the end of my hair into a stupid rough knot before we embarked on this trip, so I wouldn't keep tripping over it. And that was good, because otherwise this wouldn't have worked.
I bowed down and swept my huge ponytail over to my side, and nestled the little mythical Pokémon between the strands until he was snug up to the neck. Miraculously, he stayed there for the whole run back to the base.
When Domo woke up later that night, he was fine. We haven't told him yet about really being a Mew, at least as of this writing, but Hunter is trying to figure out a way to tell him that won't absolutely freak him out. This is a MASSIVE surprise. A secret that not even Team Cog knew about - I told Kerzek assuming she already knew, but she didn't. Nobody did.
I kind of can't wait to see the look on his face when he discovers he's kind of the most powerful Pokémon in the Gold Division! And maybe in the whole resistance. Maybe. At least in the top ten. Downfall is probably up there, too. And Virizion. Xatu and Alakazam, I wouldn't underestimate either.
And that… I think that's all I'll put on this page for today. Oh, except for this part!
When Hunter and I had a moment to speak to one another privately, I asked him about that letter he wanted to write to the Black Division. And he said this:
"…Forget the letter. Plans have changed. If my instincts keep proving correct… the trail for Adron will take us to the Black Division in person."
Hunter says he's starting to realize what Scythe was trying to do when he left. The narrative, he calls it. He's starting to understand Scythe's narrative. So now he's forming a plan. A big, grand plan that will find him. Something that even Adiel would never see coming.
As for what that plan is? And my part in it?
Well, I can't write that here! I mean, he only told me parts of it so far, but still it's too confidential. So now, I have a third journal! A super-secret journal! One that I keep in a super-secret place.
That's all for now. Thank you for listening, secret journal, and being patient. I get the feeling there's going to be a lot to write about now. After all, I'm not just a Hoothoot anymore. Maybe now I'm going to be a legend. The legend my father never thought I could be.
See you on the next entry!
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Season of Winter, Week 2, Day 2
Dear Journal,
Having consumed the gifted feral-shard, I am now a Noctowl.
The evolution has gone well. There were few cramps, and I have overcome the cognitive drawbacks with the help of Syr's evolution therapy.
I will continue to provide my services to Team Ember, now with increased eyesight and stamina, for the foreseeable future.
There is nothing else to report at this time.