[attr="class","rigidw"]

He'd seen the solemn obelisk at the edges of the night market, the stone figure cutting a striking silhouette as the moon illuminated it from above like a spotlight. The structure itself was maybe seven or eight feet tall, surrounded by circular benches made from the same material as the obelisk itself. Victor told himself he'd come back to check it out the next evening, and here he was, fingers tracing over cravings embossed over it's sleek, marble face. [break][break]

Even though the last few rays of sunlight from beyond the horizon didn't provide much illumination, Victor almost immediately recognized what the carvings were; names. Specifically, the names of dozens of lives that were lost when a horrific Ultra Beast had leveled the night market a few years prior. Victor stopped, contemplating this as his rough fingertips worried at one of the angular corners of the structure. Where had he been when this tragedy occurred? [break][break]

Ah, that was right. He'd been with Naomi in a little cabin they'd rented just off of Route 113. She was still well then, mostly, and had delighted at the way the volcanic ash trickled down like snow. Victor swallowed a lump that'd formed in his throat; her name wasn't on this memorial, or any other, but she'd died in this region like the rest of these poor bastards. Hoenn was a place that just seemed to take, and take, and take from the people stuck living in it. [break][break]

He was angry now, at this stupid terrible place that took his wife and who knows how many other innocent people. As Victor pulled his hand away from the monument, he looked down at his fingers to find them caked in dust. This made him angrier, somehow; this was a tribute to people who had lived, and loved, and who had been fucking butchered by a freak disaster that was in no way their fault, and no one even offered them the courtesy of maintaining the site of their final resting place? Victor ground his teeth and angrily fished out a handkerchief and a bottle of water from the shoddy old messenger bag he'd set at his feet. Soaking the rag with clean water, he began to angrily scrub at the surface of the monument, but neglected two things as he did so. [break][break]

The first was that a small, red fabric charm had fallen out of his pack when he'd grabbed his makeshift cleaning supplies. It's gold embroidery caught the fading light just so, and the thick white cord that tied off the top was stark to the point of almost being luminous in it's own right. The second was that there were a pair of yellow and blue eyes watching from just beyond Victor's periphery, lapping up the wellspring of anger in his heart like a starving beast, hoping to gorge itself on his misery. [break][break]