[attr="class","spiral"]The world inverts again but to what end?

His time in Regirock’s chamber, as fleeting as it was, is as vivid as the chaos around him. Despite his actions Fernando feels no bearings on his memories. Nothing’s changed. Or at least he can’t discern a difference.

Because this is nothing more than a dream, he reasons. That’s why there’s no need to panic like the others who were thrust into this Nightmare Raid. So even amidst the tragedy that was Slateport’s invasion, there’s no need to interfere.

Because no matter what happens, the future will come and Hoenn will recover.

Despite the power plant, despite the train being derailed, despite Rocket taking over, no event proves too tragic that warrants tampering with spacetime.

This complacency causes Fernando to avoid League Headquarters entirely. The only possible thing that Fernando could’ve done better was ensuring that dahlia goode was never abducted. If he had been a bit faster, just a bit more organized, perhaps he could’ve prevented her sentence to Slateport plot prison.

But what would change? Thomas Benoit, Stormy Silph, and Laurence Anderson and kyle lopez would’ve never been set up for failure during her rescue operation but did that really affect them? Kyle and Lars were relatively unaffected. Thomas Benoit resigned from Interpol and took up residence in Hoenn, eventually becoming a member of the Elite Four. And Stormy had been pushed into taking up her role as a Gym Leader due to the incident — a contributing factor in her ascension as Elite Four.

The obvious answer is possibly altering Dahlia’s future for the better but there’s too many unknowns for Fernando to risk it.

So, he does nothing.

Rocket attacks.

Many of them gain an edge due to their sheer numbers. Those a step above, with a particular skillset, such as dominic sinclair, will empty the League’s roster as a claim to their trophy cabinet. For every hundreds of lives lost today, the League will lose a Gym Leader, a high ranking official, even skilled Rangers. If they could’ve saved them would the League fare any better today? Undoubtedly, but apathy lines his consciousness as do the broken light fixtures along his path.

His presence is as ethereal as his body. Like the invasion, Fernando rolls in with the tide, a MIND ALTERING FOG diverting the attention of anyone who comes too close. Rocket and civilians alike become unhinged, avoiding him for something more attention grabbing like a nearby skirmish.

It isn’t until several explosion go off that Fernando reacts. Their grounded enough to throw him off balance, revealing his momentary vulnerability. They’re not too far off and he could just as easily turn around and avoid the scene altogether. But he remembers the area.

How could he forget?

In an uncharacteristic panic, Fernando takes off, breaking into an immediate run as he doubles back down a road he’s long forgotten. His indifference only stems from his hard-headed belief that nothing he can do here will impact him. Both events went against his plans but ultimately things turn out well.

Except one thing.



“Fuck.”

All it takes is one reminder to set him off.

Thick clouds of MISTY TERRAIN stream from his nostrils with every labored breath. No matter how much he punished his body during the Pokeathlon, none of it hurt as bad as his current sprint. It hurts because he’s no longer racing against a clock for some trivial reward and recognition. He’s racing against time to save something — someone — that means the world to him.

“Go!”

As sure as the Invasion throws off Hoenn’s natural balance, so does his own presence. The chaos of the night manifests in many ways. At the scene of a no-name, League science lab, it becomes undone at the presence of a sudden tropical storm. Pixie glitter illuminates the night sky as Team Rocket members stare in awe at the never-before seen attack.

The GUARDIAN OF ALOLA comes down at Fernando’s behest. Although the Tapu Fini has never met the owner, nor seen Fernando this troubled, even the Legendary recognizes the plight of the vindictive. Feeling their mutually shared pain, the Legendary Pokemon wipes the streets clean of such filth. Pokemon, humans, and even victims are ripped away by the maelstrom of NATURE’S MADNESS.

But it’s already too late. The science labs has been blown apart, reduced to rubble, and before him lies the presumed grave site of thalia black.

“Fuck! No. Please!”

And, despite knowing what happens, Fernando tries desperate to fight fate. In every other instance, whether it be Regirock flattening his Kirlia, or Ho-oh roasting his Garchomp, there had been a way around letting his grief manifest. In the throes of danger, fight or flight kicks in. There’s no time to dwell on the dead, not when your own life isn’t guaranteed.

Grief is a burden for the living.

And by the time Fernando finds himself in a place he can let go, there’s nothing left. Dwelling on past tragedies does nothing to shape the future. That’s what allows him to go on, unfazed, uncaring. Some may call it cold but for him it’s nothing more than a practical control of emotions. Anything more is wasteful.

So why does he throw himself and disheveled block of concrete, tearing at broken pieces, bloodying his hands as they crack and tear in an effort to dig into the rubble? Because maybe this time he’s not too late. Pain torments everyone differently.

For him, it only hurts when he has to experience it again — just as helpless, just as useless.

“Fuck. Thalia.”



By the time the rift calls again his tears are dry.

Only now does he notice he's not alone.

[attr="class","spiral"]The little anxieties that plagued her in the ruins move to the front of her mind and menace her on their second jump. What is going on? How is this happening? She can't answer those questions. What do we do? Can we do? To change things, to escape? Still nothing. Not even a fraction of an idea crosses her mind.

In the face of this great unknown her eyes dart about to find security, and they find him. Composed as always. Walking purposefully even in this enigmatic situation. Just moving in step with him -- following his lead -- quiets the fear that had begun to grip her. His slow steps set time for her heart and help her count out her breaths. In. Out.

So long as he's alright, she's alright.

But what if he's not alright?

What about when explosions go off and his whole body seems to swivel to stare at some unseen target in the distance? What about when he's sprinting like his life depends on it, panting and cursing under his breath? What about when he screams for help and even the god at his command isn't enough to settle him?

Lillian has told herself countless times that thalia black took Slateport as an opportunity to cut and run. That the little sobbing girl on Mt. Silver had never left and had instead waited for a moment like this to flee from her obligations. It is a stupid, worthless little lie to save herself from this. This sight that she's never wanted to behold in person.

A petty, disgusting part of her twists itself up watching Fernando sob and scream and split his fingers in that rubble. Envy, for this so raw of displays. It brings tears of shame to her eyes. Recompense for the tears of sorrow she can't muster even with her illusion broken. Even knowing she's looking at the grave of a woman she spent half her life with.

How disgusting that she feels nothing but defeat in this moment.

She is no longer looking at him by the time they are pulled from the scene by whatever power of fate put them there. She is beside him, within arm's reach, but looking far into the distance with dry, red-rimmed eyes. She will not look at him.

There's no way she can risk him seeing what she is right now.

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