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The world parts for you. Can they be called battles if you barely break a sweat sweeping past the unworthy? Lie bleeds in with the truth. You weren't this much of a prodigy as a kid, and the details of these trainer battles don't exist beyond their montage. Unimportant things have no place in a narrative. If a gun appears, it should be fired, right? Youngsters and Bug Catchers had no bullets though.[break][break]

Earn eight badges, fight the Elite Four, then the Champion. The Pokémon League attracted all manner of trainers, but for you it was the ladder you needed to see at least this slice of the world. If things had gone to plan, you would've seen this through, right? Maybe you will in this intersection between your memories and the mist.[break][break]

The future unfolds before you. There you are, with your two closest companions, the three champions of Unova. Scenes of fierce battle illuminate the way, like the finished section of an unfinished puzzle.[break][break]

Here, you are a warrior. Your strength is acknowledged by the world, your might enough to rock mountains. For eight hours, that will serve as comfort for the pitiable real you, with your mismatched body with the strength of a twig.

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Their name is Quercus. It's not; they might not even exist outside of this mirage, come to think of it. But in this moment, be they allegory, metaphor, or genuine memory, they might as well exist. Even a dream can be equal to reality if it has enough significance, or that's the conclusion you've reached.[break][break]

Here, their hair snakes down like fire, and their eyes cut like diamonds. They are power and ferocity, from the way they look to the way they have the gait of a Pyroar. They are revolution, the promise of a better tomorrow among the ashes of today. In your youthful eyes, the League was the greatest goal you could reach. How easily that view of the world changes.[break][break]

"Save the world."[break][break]

Children dream of being heroes, but such ideals are known to erode away and diminish over the years. In that case, wouldn't a kid be the best way to forge a hero? They are the ones who remain closest to that ideal, after all.[break][break]

Well, it may just be that you saw some petty crime take place and decide to live out your dreams, rather than become a revolutionary. But the ironclad fact is that things change from here.

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Now everything is a lie — or at the very least distorted beyond belief, like a carnival mirror, or kaleidoscope. This isn't what your mind likes to do. It doesn't spiral in these nonsensical ways; but that's why you're so interested, right? A series of dreams that are more than the collective muck.[break][break]

Once again, this is a glimpse of who you are. Who you were. Who you will be. Who you could have been.[break][break]

There is a rot at the heart of your homeland. When the veil of childhood is lifted, when that diamond gaze splinters itself, and its shards fall in your eyes, this is what you realise. Somewhere, distantly, the rocket you've spent years of your life building takes off for the stars. You have work to do here on this boring, muddy planet.[break][break]

There is victory in your heart, and you walk with happy purpose, like licks of flame. In Driftveil City, there is a warehouse. Innocuous to the rest of the world, but you caught its putrid scent like a bloodhound. You found yourself as you found this den of rats, finding comfort in the fact that when this was over, when you seized this place and dug up its far-reaching roots, the world would be a better place.

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Fire. You are fire refracted a thousand thousand times in the facets of a brilliant diamond. No longer a person, but an idea, the moonflower entwined with the white oak. Revolution rides on your breath, a knight atop a steed. Things change as you pass by, the fractals that exist in your peripherals sometimes bowing, or growing, or decaying.[break][break]

You are happier in this dream. The world fades into a blur, the inconsequential details scribbled out in favour of your purpose. The world will be saved. From what doesn't matter, as long as you know they offer nothing of value. There is blood on your hands, but a new future cannot be built upon the jagged bones of the past. They must be splintered and broken into dust, so that it might give way to something better.[break][break]

Soon you will awaken, and be left with another icon of strength to ponder. In the apocalypse, you were crusher of mountains, with physical might. Here, you are cleanser of the land, so sure of purpose. In 'reality', you fall far short of either mark. But these are still you, aren't they? Somehow, somewhere, you can become a shape similar to these, perhaps a whole greater than their parts.[break][break]

You are stronger than you know.

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The Snubbull King had managed to accomplish the incredible feat of exposition, in a way that managed to both give context and give no context whatsoever. They were in the kingdom of Sylvis, which had completely fallen except for this castle, but what crisis was happening? What threat were they fending off? Why the hell were all of them even here?[break][break]

"Musharna, where are you—?" There would be no answers to any of your questions. The king would elaborate no further. One of your closest, most prized Pokémon would wander off in search of the thing making that wild howl, without even giving you a second thought. You knew that 'something' in it had changed; it had still been your Musharna, but in that singular moment it had become something else entirely.[break][break]

It, it, it. Other trainers lavish their Pokémon, calling them he and she, and trite little nicknames they think are clever. Even when Musharna's abandoning you, you can't think of Musharna as anything but 'it', can you? It's closer to you than any human is, but that doesn't matter, does it?[break][break]

A ball gently drops into your hands. It even looks like Musharna, doesn't it? Ah, now look up. Time to stop ruminating about your own emotional limits and complexities, yeah? You have a Pokémon you need to get back, and now you have a Pokéball. Get to work.[break][break]

As you step out of the castle, a helpful little box pops up, with some interesting things to say:

Princess' Distant View[break]
Summon a floating moon that illuminates its surroundings. Can be fired at a target, but deals as much damage as a dodgeball.

You hold out your palm, and a flower blooms atop your hand, before its petals rise and curl into each other to form a miniature moon, about the size of a dodgeball. It drifts in the air, slowly orbiting you before your will sends it careening into the ground, bouncing back into your gravitational pull. Finally, it winks out of existence, rapidly moving through the lunar phases as it disappears entirely.[break][break]

Cute. At least you can walk around knowing you'll always see what's in front of your face. As you begin your search in the forest, it takes the twisted shadows of the trees around you and twists them further, elongating them into giants, always closing in.[break][break]

No. You're not looking for anything other than Musharna. That would be why a vicious Basculegion dives from behind a tree trunk and tears into you. It's actually Eris Halla 's, fun fact, but you'll probably never learn that — and even then, the mortal pain of having deep gouges carved into your body would keep you from caring.[break][break]

Alba wakes up with a start, sweat gathering on his brow as his body remembers that he wasn't dead. He never died. Not in this world. The day drags on as a dull, pointless blur, its only purpose being to wear him out so he could sleep once more, the next night.[break][break]

Don't beat yourself up too much; the pain isn't much compared to the feeling of dying, anyway. You've still got what, six more tries before you're kicked out of the dream and maybe lose your partner forever?[break][break]

Maybe that's the thought that keeps you alert this time, or maybe it's the new and profound understanding of your mortality that you were completely lacking before. Alba Evovae doesn't die, right? Whether it's avalanches, tides of toxic sludge, or aliens masquerading as corpses, the dangers of the world just pass you by. Only here, in a place where death has next to no meaning, can you truly understand such a concept.[break][break]

Regardless, you're getting the hang of this, now. The moon only shines when you need it to, and your senses stay focused on any surrounding noise. When it's quiet, you light up and move. Otherwise, you hope nothing spots you in the dark.[break][break]

Tonight you spot it. Musharna, swaying in the middle of a small clearing, almost like it's taking a nap. With a sigh of relief, you begin marching up to it, and it turns to face you. The joy makes you feel like you're floating— no, you are floating. Your body is outlined with the glow of psychic energy, which is all you get to realise before the Shadow Pokémon begins slamming you against the ground over and over again.[break][break]

Alba wakes up with a start, sweat gathering on his brow as his body remembers that he wasn't dead. He never died. Not in this world. The day drags on as a dull, pointless blur, its only purpose being to wear him out so he could sleep once more, the next night.[break][break]

…Okay, so it's not your Musharna right now. Surely it'll come back to its senses when you catch it, though. You have to cling to that thought. It might only exist as 'it' to you, you might have no special name for it, but it's still something you treasure.[break][break]

We'll take a stealthier approach this time. Quietly, you approach Musharna — still in its little clearing — until one of your feet falls a little too heavy. You lunge for your Dream Ball, but its Shadow Ball is faster, spectral energies stealing your dying gasp before you have a chance to wheeze it.[break][break]

Alba wakes up with a start, sweat gathering on his brow as his body remembers that he wasn't dead. He never died. Not in this world. The day drags on as a dull, pointless blur, its only purpose being to wear him out so he could sleep once more, the next night.[break][break]

Right, so here's the problem: you're trying to get close. It's not your Musharna, we've been over this. Getting close is just going to get you killed. This time, let's try things from a distance, yeah?[break][break]

It's still in the same place, like always. Why does it linger here? Does it move when you're busy being dream-dead? Or is the distant 'Musharna' part of it waiting here for you? Questions, questions, but the rule of this place is that they never have answers.[break][break]

Your moon appears, and careens into your once-was and soon-will-be Pokémon. It looks dazed, then enraged, as it begins to charge towards you. It's too far away for it to kill you again, unless you were dumb enough to stop it. You trace the pink material of the ball with your thumb, then hurl it towards your partner with all your might.[break][break]

And the world stops.

[break][break]

As a child, you weren't quite as close to your Munna. Compared to your Cottonee's open whimsicality, there had always been a degree of separation between the two of you that you couldn't quite bridge. It was a Pokémon that lived half its life in dreams, and drifted around with an unreadable face. It isn't until you grew older that you realised there had been no distance in the first place; you had always understood its disconnection, even if you hadn't noticed that.[break][break]

"This is what we are, Musharna… This is what we're meant to be." In some charming fairy tale, this would surely be the moment where the hero rejects such primal power, calling it malevolent and casting it back into the shadow where it belonged. But what's wrong with being a creature of brute force? If being pure means being too weak to do what you needed to, maybe it was better to stay tainted. And besides, it's not as if you've ever fit into those kinds of storybook fantasies. You fit on the shady, wooded path, and nowhere else.[break][break]

You hold your Dream Ball close to your heart. This might not be 'right', this might not be 'good', but it's what you both want. And with that thought, the world returns, and your featureless self is draped in a thin pink mist.

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[break]

The world is aflame. A childish innocence burns away its impurities, and from the smoke rises a palace devoid of sin. It's a place you made, or could have made in a different life. Or the representation of one? This is just a dream, after all. Everything is always half-allegorical.[break][break]

"Sure. So what is this place supposed to mean?"[break][break]

It's not howard slayte that accompanies you, just a concept wearing his skin, and his big hat. …That's a plot twist you're meant to figure out a little later than the start, but maybe you're just not that great at conjuring fascimilies of other people. Or maybe your subconscious just doesn't care? 'Howard's' role is to ask questions like that, and it just so happened he was the guy in your memory who had the face that matched the best.[break][break]

Does it mean anything? 'Yes and no' is probably the most pretentious answer you could give, but you're basically talking to yourself right now, so you might as well say it. The flames below don't mean anything, but the absence of meaning has a meaning in its own right. The smoke around them… well, you're only at the entrance of the dungeon. How are you supposed to know?[break][break]

"Well, whatever it is… It's quiet, don't you think?"[break][break]

Yeah. The crackling of the fire should be reaching you here, but there's nothing but an eerie nothingness. It's not just the silence, either; there's no heat to make you sweat, no acrid smell of burning, no taste of charcoal on your tongue. Even the flickering orange light has been washed out into a comforting sunrise — or sunset. It's as if this place is running away from its roots as fast as it possibly can.[break][break]

"...So now what is this place supposed to mean?" You say nothing, and just pass through the front doors that part themselves in greeting.[break][break]

Inside, the citadel (wasn't it a palace before? (it still is: 'citadel' implies there's a city around it)) looks more like a replica of a place. The walls and floors are pristine, made of trapped smoke that caresses its boundaries. Nobody lives here. Every monster you meet — wicker effigies, all of them — springs out from just beyond your vision, as if they didn't exist until their role in your life began.[break][break]

"Just like a game. But being able to see the monsters in the overworld is the new normal, so why do you think your dream works like this?"[break][break]

Okay the whole therapist questioning session got old a while ago, so the first chance you get you throw 'Howard' at an effigy, watching him get dragged into its hollow chest and skewered by a thousand straw spears—[break][break]

Slayte Teleport - trade places with a rock. can only be used during times when the user might be slain.

[break]

Only for your Comet Piece to shatter in his place. It's a sign from God that you're stuck with him (what? (look just go with it okay)).[break][break]

As a mercy, there's little else for him to question. The palace-citadel is as empty as ever, with all the details so hard to make out amidst the shifting smoke structure. If it really is a game, this is something like the data that exists after the credits. Perfect, but lifeless.[break][break]

Well. Almost. There is one last thing this place has to offer, for even after the end of the world, there are laws that must be obeyed. Every dungeon has a boss at the end; this one dwells in a rooftop garden, a place full of life in spite of everything. No, spite isn't the right word here. It's more like it doesn't realise it should be withering away.[break][break]

Right. That makes sense. The other half of the pair from his childhood. The one who never grew up, who never learned how to walk on the world's tainted land. The one born of mischief, but blind to malice, the radiance to the shadow…[break][break]

Whimsicott drifts like a cumulonimbus, a stormcloud enveloping the entire sky. Seeds leap from its body, shedding life even as its role in this dream is to kill. Ah, you're faltering. You can't catch it like you could catch Musharna; the only way you're getting out of here is if you kill it. You could always just let the clock run down, of course… but then you'd be giving up on understanding what you're going through.[break][break]

Fortunately for you, Musharna has a calmer, more brutal mind than yours. Its Dream Mist whips up into a frenzy, a storm of shadow and nightmare that gathers the seeds and crushes them before it can take root. Does it understand the lie at work here? Or does it simply not care whether an enemy looks like a friend?[break][break]

Your hand moves to one of your cards (does it? (yes, I'm not waiting for you to snap out of this)), the X Accuracy turning surety of purpose into surety of aim.[break][break]

"Hypnosis, Musharna." You callous, bleeding heart. Empty enough to maim and kill a stranger, full enough to care when your partners are fighting. But it works all the same. The titan slips into slumber, and your shadow feasts on its dreams.[break][break]

And keeps going. The boundary between dreams is shallow; first it is the dream of a dream, then the dream itself disappears, and then the dream surrounding that dream. The world does not crumble, it just stretches thinner and thinner in its attempt to patch itself, and beyond the boundaries of this false place, you see yourself, and yourself sees you, [break][break]

and / That fraying piece of rope is what lets you escape from paradox.

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A length of yarn is what takes you back to that empty world. And God, what an easy place to destroy it is. The walls of smoke shatter like they were never solid in the first place, as if they cannot bear to defy the man who had created them.[break][break]

…Because this is only part of the world. The fragile dream born from those distant flickering embers. And as the paradise you built shatters in a storm of shadow, you fall, fall, fall into the flames.[break][break]

This is Unova, devoid of sin. Fires rage across every inch of the region, burning it all into an ash so fine it falls like snow. This, too, will be easy to destroy; snuff out the candle you lit in another life, and the one thing keeping this dream alive will vanish into the wavering smoke.[break][break]

It’s easy. So easy. This is who you are, remember? This is why you and Musharna stayed a Shadow. You are a destroyer. In this life you played at hero, and even those pure, childish ideals grew and warped into this desolate land.[break][break]

Dear Alba,[break]
Who are you?[break]
Love, [me]

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…When you open the gift, you are a child again. The living room is empty, save for you and the family Stoutland. Not an uncommon scene, seeing how your parents were busy most of the time. Your world right now is the warmth you feel buried into its fur, and the cold of Opelucid’s winter you feel when parted from it.[break][break]

This was the present. The moment where something is alive; not the heart of the past that no longer beat, or the veins of the future that run dry and cold. But that place had no interest in that fleeting time. That was, of course, why you left. Left behind that warmth and that fur in pursuit of a world far wider than that…[break][break]

You haven’t thought about Stoutland for a long while, have you? Another thing you’ve rejected, said you can never have back. But when you wake up tomorrow, there it will be. A perfect replica; not the one from home (better off for it, perhaps), but still a bearer of that same warmth.

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