War was a weary thing, and history forgot the suffering and struggles of soldiers under the weight of grand objectives and ideals.

Maybe that was why Howard Slayte looked better than the many League and Rocket soldiers. He knew when he was beat, and allowed himself to be marched over. Isaac, and Ollie could've crushed the archaeologist underfoot with nothing but a finger, but Howard had thrown himself onto the floor and allowed himself to be stepped on.

Shameful, but he was alive. A scarred backside was shameful, but life was more important than pride.

"Team Rocket is an armed, dangerous terrorist group. They’re not gonna show you mercy."

Then why had Navy shown him any? If the Gym Leader had known, would he have crushed Howard, just as the archaeologist had asked him to, back in Granite Cave? Would Michael Navidson even remember that promise? Meaningless questions. Hypothetical 'what-ifs' that led to confusion and conflict.

Howard's eye flicked to the hat atop Navy's head as the conference came to a close. Another one of history's tricks. Michael Navidson's fashion attire would draw the gaze of the populace. It might even be chronicled into the history books when they wrote about this day. Humanity's greatest virtue was latching onto a piece of information like a raft, after all.

Not that he could blame the reporters. It was a pretty nice hat. Howard let himself feel a smidge of pride. Nobody could doubt the archaeologist's taste in hatted attire.

"Hm." Howard leaves the group of reporters, following the Gym Leader backstage. "Impressive. I didn't even know if I'd find you after the battle. I thought I was dead."

Until you spoke to me. Howard thought silently, before crushing the thought. He had died on that island, but he had also lived. A vengeful spirit hellbent on chronicling the aftermath of the battle, and discerning the secrets of the island. The truth of that which lived in the belly of the ruins at its center.

Regice, a god.

"Bad, but they'll improve." Howard reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of Purple Koffing and a lighter. He removed two cigarettes, and lit them both. One for himself, one for his... friend? Enemy? Colleague? Hat-thief? Who even knew, anymore.

"You look like shit." Without his eye patch, Howard wasn't much better. An ugly scar rimmed his missing eye, and a Key Stone gleamed within. "My hat's gotten popular on the head of Sheriff Navidson. I'll have to buy you one, I suppose."

He takes a drag from the cancer stick.

---

Michael Navidson

"The island's sinking was a tragedy. I weep for it. I weep for the history within that was lost due to a petty, childish battle."

It was moments like this that made it clear that history books were written by the churlish, heavy hands of those who had an agenda to push, or a side to please. The League would paint this as a massive success, in which Dynamax had successfully been returned to Galar. Rocket would believe the same. Both would acknowledge the dangers of the alien power, but neither would say it aloud.

That would make the danger real.

At least, in the eyes of men.

"I wasn't at the Galar that people mention. The one out of story books, where myth and story melded together into a fantastical fairy tale. I wish I was, so I could verify it myself." It was natural for historians to rely on secondary accounts, but archaeologists take evidence that is extracted with their own two hands and determine it as their own.

"Yet I trust your account. Because I think you alone might understand the great crime of lying to the dead to placate the living."

The ship of damned passengers flashes in the missing half of Howard's vision. A drag from his cigarette floats up into the sky. They watch the smoke float away together. Both broken, incomplete. The sheriff's arm, broken to splinters. Howard's eye, gone for a cruel contract that would remain buried.

Eternatus.

Navy's enemy.

Tsubaki's god.

The entity mentioned in the ruins, related to the god Howard helped defeat.

They cannot defeat Eternatus. This is where their duality begins and ends. Michael Navidson will fight until the end, even if his opponent is a god. Howard Slayte will hide in the crevices where the gods' gaze does not fall, and he will chronicle the end of the world.

That is why the Valor Badge in his hand feels wrong. Howard Slayte had no valor. Yet even as he held it, he suspected that it wasn't entirely true. He had chased Shred Zeppelin while fighting the Regice, and had found his courage, if only for a moment. How would Navy feel, knowing Howard and Hyakkaryōran Tsubaki had fought each other to the breaking point.

"Why?" Howard had to ask it. "I'm not a strong trainer. You should give this to someone who fought alongside you."

---

Michael Navidson

The Gym Leader could never find out the truth about Howard.

That revelation would destroy everything. Navy could speak about Howard's bravery, about his willingness to fight despite his fear, about how he was 'worthy'. That would all be flushed away like the ocean lapping at Dewford's shores. It was ephemeral. It meant nothing, because it was meant for a man that Navy saw.

Was this what it was like, for people to be embellished throughout history? Did historians simply find one person more likeable than another, and had that reflect in historical accounts?

"Nobody has ever said that I'm mighty. That I'm strong." Howard stared at the badge, his reflection distorted in its gleaming surface. "Remember this, Navy. You're not alone. It may seem like it, but there will always be someone standing next to you. A lot of people in this world are chained to gods, but men? Ordinary men, who watch time tick by?"

The badge disappeared as he clenched his fist.

"We will triumph. Go and create a world with no need for gods."

He didn't reject the badge. Howard figured that he would. The archaeologist wondered how many people Navy had offered this honor to. How many were bigger men, capable of walking away from something that wasn't deserved? How many people were strong enough to correct an error in judgement? Howard would've amended this if it was a historical error, but he was willing to let this slide?

Hypocrisy.

"You're just as scared as me, but you've learned to embrace it. You've conquered it. You've tamed it, at least." Howard met the Gym Leader's eyes. The Key Stone in his socket reflected Navy's face back at him. "Is that what it means to be strong?"

Reaching out, he takes the proffered hat. He puts it back onto his head. It feels right, but it fits differently. Someone else's heart has been engraved into it.

It's no longer just Howard's treasure. It's something else entirely.

"..." Howard's eye widens as Navy apologizes. A small chuckle escapes his lips. The irony of it makes Howard want to cry. "No, don't apologize. This is a war, and I'm a nameless corpse who will be walked over. Remember what I told you in Granite Cave?"

---

Michael Navidson

The gaze of a conflicted coward meets the gaze of a warrior.

And what an ugly meeting of sight that it is. Bile rose in Howard's throat, and he pursed his lips. History favored the rule of the mighty. Warriors and kings were remembered by the populace of history, not individuals. Michael Navidson's name would pass on, an etching to history that everyone would remember. A man who had fought against insurmountable odds until his body shattered in the wind.

History would laud his name.

Howard would loathe his name, even as he commended it.

"History doesn't remember beauty. It doesn't remember weakness. Hell, it hardly remembers humanity. All it cares about is the engraving the mark of what came before. Guess what comes before, every single time? Strength. Mankind doesn't care about weak people, like me, like that daughter of yours, like all the children at your gym. We'll all be swept aside as monuments are built to the greats."

Team Rocket had never appealed to the archaeologist. He had no interest in fighting for the glory for an organization that didn't care for him. He was simply tied, enchained, trapped. He was something small, stuck to a stronger, bigger thing.

One day, it would kill him.

This man would kill him, one day.

"I'm going to battle you one day. Earn this right and true. I hope that I'll beat you, so you can be weak for a moment. In that moment of weakness, you'll be stronger than anyone."

Howard clenched the fist holding the badge tightly.

"Count on it. Promise me." His voice began to plead as his eye gleamed. "Promise me that you'll do that, and remember to look backward instead of forward."

---

Michael Navidson

"Yes." Howard said simply. "It means everything."

The man of action lives in the present. The record keeper lives anywhere but. Howard Slayte would never get to experience the feeling of living in the now, because doing so would mean he'd have to face the future. A future that he was not strong enough to protect. Navy could laud his ideals and motives as much as he desired, but the world's greatest trick was forgetting the sins and virtues of the past.

So Howard would survive. He'd let Zev Harcourt step over him as the Beast attempted to become a dark sun. He'd let Rocket and League tear themselves apart for the sake of justice and truth—concepts that meant something different every generation. He'd let Grigori Sokolov believe that redemption existed. He'd let Shred Zeppelin believe that there was even a slight chance of freedom.

Because when they were all gone, who would ensure their ideals were not forgotten? Who would ensure that Navy's perspective was permanently instilled into civilization?

Howard would.

I will never live a happy life. I do not deserve one." A man who joined Rocket for petulant reasons deserved nothing but a petulant end. Howard would find that, no matter how much he ran.

I don't want our children to forget our struggles, nor do I want them to live a harder life than the one they currently live. I can do the former, but I can't do the latter. You can."

"So fight, you wonderful bastard. Fight. Fight so I can tell people about the bravery of Dewford's greatest warrior."

As Navy disappeared back into the League's clutches, Howard sighed to himself and put his hand in his pocket. He pulled out the badge and gripped it until it threatened to snap. He could preserve as much history as he desired, and he would.

...yet who would ensure that it survived to see another day?

---

Michael Navidson