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General Velmos.[break][break]

The name means next to nothing to Alba Evovae. He'd only met the man in the Penitentiary, and even then their paths had never truly crossed. They had simply been in the same place at the same time.[break][break]

So, why was he here, at the funeral of a stranger?[break][break]

The man closes his eyes, squinting against the brilliant light, and the murky dark reminds him of his time in the alien capital. Maybe that was why; attendance not to mourn the man, but to pity the people who had been left to regress into madness, into wild-eyed beasts that survived in the shadows.[break][break]

The scientist opens them once more, casts a glance across the rest of the wake, all the blue faces in the crowd. Perhaps he simply wanted a way to grow closer to the Megalopolans, a route to satisfy his own astronomical curiosity.[break][break]

He tucks his reasons under the collar of his shirt, black enough that he stands out like a sunspot.[break][break]

“He was a good man.” It rings painfully hollow — the words taste like cardboard on his tongue — but the man says it without much thought, as the instinct to fill silence kicks in.

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“I used to, but… That was a while ago, now.” Back when his body was twenty years older than what it was currently.[break][break]

The Alba Evovae of today, of course, bore more than a passing resemblance to a willow in winter. The most strenuous activity this man had ever done (in the physical world) had been running around like a madman during the Battle of Dewford, and on the Resurfaced Island. The workout clothes might have helped obscure some of that, but somehow they still fit ill on him as he stood there with his water bottle and his hair tied in a bun.[break][break]

(He wore it like that partly so it didn't get in his face during training, and partly because he was slightly worried Zev would demonstrate how easy it was to strangle someone with a braid.)[break][break]

“Probably best to start at… the very bottom, honestly,” Alba said, casting an eye across the room. Wow, he had actually never been to this part of the sub before!

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There’s a catharsis in watching his jailer kill itself. It splits and falls apart, shrieking all the while; Alba’s heard that shriek too many times, but there’s something more desperate and final about this one.[break][break]

With that spectacle concluded, he takes the time to gaze out of the window into the heart of Ultra Space, as pristine and colorful as ever. He only gets a brief moment of peace to do so, though, as magenta streaks through the air, dancing together with yet more desperate, crazed shrieking. And then, at the precipice of everything falling apart—[break][break]

—The world shakes.[break][break]

What a horrible, fascinating place this was. Inhuman howls, and night beyond night…[break][break]

Dragged back to terra firma, Alba finds his voice again. He approaches DESIREE BLOOMS to prod and pry, out of intrigue formed from various colours. The woman who had yelled at him so thoroughly about callousness, now wielding an executioner’s petals so readily…[break][break]

He had no right to judge. But she didn’t need to know that.[break][break]

“‘Anyone who does not vote trust should not be trusted in the heart’... Didn’t you say something like that to me, back at the start of all this? Guess someone who kills people who are surrendering is super trustworthy, though.” It’s not outright malice in his voice, but the tone the white-haired man speaks in isn’t neutral. And he has more he wishes to say, namely to the orchestrator of their capture.[break][break]

“You wanted to come here? All that work, just to make your way back to this hellhole? You—” Something makes him hold his tongue. An errant thought that he refuses to speak on, a glimpse of himself in a broken mirror that holds his gaze.[break][break]

“God damnit…” Alba mutters, softly. “You want to go? Sure, get going. I care more about not ending up like those guys over there,” he nods towards the sounds of the maddened Megalopolans, “Than I care about killing you.”[break][break]

Was the Toxic Chain really the cure to this dead world? His experience in the Penitentiary was telling him letting them go would just be unleashing a fresh new plague on the Megalopolans. But gazing out into the gloom, it seemed just as likely that they’d end up being torn apart and devoured themselves. So what did it really matter?[break][break]

Besides, if Cyllora really did hold such strong convictions, maybe they deserved a chance to save their world. …How sickeningly sweet. Must be an after-effect of the mochi.[break][break]

“Froslass. Snowscape.” Alba motions, and his Pokémon moves, trying to cover this patch of pitch black in a blanket of white.[break][break]

“Your people can decide whether you live or die, but not before you get us out of here!” He couldn’t say he never wanted to see this place again. But at the end of it all, Alba would rather see another dawn, then fade away under that lightless sky.

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A look of confusion passed over Alba’s face, like a cloud drifting across the sky before breaking apart. Maybe… it didn’t seem so different from the perspective of an avatar?[break][break]

“Well, I mean… Musharna is one of my oldest Pokémon, but I don’t have the power to manipulate Dream Mist. Not to mention, the balance of power is different when comparing the partnership of an avatar and patron, to a trainer and Pokémon.”[break][break]

And then a question.[break][break]

“I didn’t so much ‘fight’, but I encountered the avatar of Groudon in the Battle of Dewford. I’d only been in Hoenn for a couple of months back then… It was a bit of a shock to the system to see a man summon spikes from the earth.”

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“Hm, I see… So the Shadow phenomenon is tied to Ultra Beasts? At least, assuming Necrozma is also classified as an Ultra Beast.” Could Ultra Beast toxin be transferred through dreams? No, surely not without some other technology to facilitate that.[break][break]

“It could potentially be Terastal energy that’s the root cause of this particular case, but that still raises a few questions. We know it can manifest long-term effects like the Paradox Pokémon, and can temporarily affect existing Pokémon, but I don’t know if it’s capable of this kind of permanent alteration. And even then, the collective dream was too ‘organised’ to just be a natural thing. Oh, but to get back to your question…[break][break]

“I’ve never asked it to show me its own dreams,” Because he didn’t care enough to, or because their dreams had been identical until now? “But I’ve had Musharna for a long time. It'll understand what I want, at least.” Giving it a pat on the head, Alba turned to look his partner in its sleeping eyes.[break][break]

“Can you do that? Can you show us what happened when you changed?”

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Inaction breeds invincibility. What does a simple observer have to fear from flying rocks and broken bones? Alba simply slips down the hole, floating all the way, his aching body ever-grateful for the respite.[break][break]

And as his eyes adjust to the darkness, he sees his Pokémon, amongst others he doesn’t care about, all floating in tubes as if this was some shoddy laboratory. There is not enough time to ponder how to burn this room to the ground, as willpower comes forth to free the prisoners of this penitentiary. ‘Freedom’ shrivels up and dies; he picks up his mask after it clatters to the ground, examining it with a morbid hybrid of distaste and curiosity.[break][break]

Even as his Pokémon bound over in joyous reunion — he summons the bare minimum needed to coo and fawn over them — Alba still mourns that loss. That suffocation that had seemed so unbearable for so long, but had brought with it a tiny, infinitesimal taste of the night sky.[break][break]

Shred brings the sun; howard slayte brings the moon. Together, that twilight drowns out all the stars he thought he could see. Clutching that Key Stone buried deep in his bundle of clothes, Alba Evovae makes a wish.[break][break]

Let me be free. Even if the sun swallows me whole, let me burn forever.[break][break]

[break]
And there is an answer. The air ripples with psychic energy as Gardevoir picks up on its (it, even here, even now) trainer’s heart, gown billowing as its gaze turns towards Munkidori. That jailer, that warden, that malformed beast with an insufferable face… That spite, that venom, those foreign emotions would serve as kindling for the assault.

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Of course, it was never true freedom. Chains were something that bound you, restrained you; something like that could never turn traitor on itself, at least not fully. The world Alba watches starts to drown in a fuschia haze, that tightness against his throat closing in once more.[break][break]

Even now, even with this power at his fingertips, he was no star. Just some old rocket who had tried to touch the sky, now burning up in its reentry. The light of escape trickles away, piece by piece… but never truly dies.[break][break]

The war rages like a forest fire, spreading and burning hotter than the flames of that monster.
All of them, fighting so fiercely. What could he possibly do to turn the tide? The monster’s fire reaches every inch of the feeding pit; the Nihilego infest the air with their rocks. All Alba can do is bob and weave, slipping past harm like driftwood down a river.[break][break]

If he was a little stronger, a little wiser, a little more noble, perhaps he would stay and fight. It’s with that justification, a justification he didn’t need in the first place, that he pushes through the fight towards the hole in the floor.

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I always liked looking up at the stars in the sky. Even when I spent my days journeying across my homeland, when night fell I would always stare at those distant pinpricks of light, tracing shapes with my fingertip.[break][break]

Perhaps it was that I found the eternity of space more interesting than this moss-covered rock we stand on. Or perhaps it was that I wanted to be the stars, looking down on the world from far away.[break][break]

Who judges the stars in the sky? Who punishes the stars in the sky? Hopes, prayers, hate and scorn… From their place in the firmament, nothing could hope to reach them.[break][break]

Alba Evovae rises with tears in his eyes. Like he does every day, he wipes them with his finger and carefully lets them fall into a crack in the floor.[break][break]

His whole body aches. The thoughts of that ideal future he sees in the Chamber of Desires are not enough to counterbalance the beatings he receives from the monster that lives in the feeding pit. There is not enough time for him to rest and recover, not with the work he must do day in, day out. And so the bruises form a patchwork tapestry on his skin.[break][break]

Whispers make their way through the wards; one more day of work. One last chance for freedom. Ah, that monotony has already sunk into the soul, hasn’t it? The thought of escape has faded into a hollow mirage, a long-dead light that only shines with those dying rays.[break][break]

The chains are so suffocating, even as chaos erupts across the prison. Still too tight around Alba’s neck, still squeezing the life out of him.[break][break]

If only I could be as free as the stars, able to burn forever in the dark.[break][break]

That earnest desire is like a key for a lock. All of a sudden, Alba can breathe, and the smallest flicker of hope kindles itself in that sick sweetness, waiting to be kindled into more. He leaves the ground, and never touches it again. Like a puppet on two strings, the wretched monkey tries to slam him into the earth, only for him to float out of its mind’s grasp.[break][break]

“Come and get me.” Let the others fight the battle. His wish is only something for himself, anyway; he orbits Munkidori lethargically, drawing its ire and revelling in this newfound freedom.

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He doesn’t have the strength to move. He just sits there, motionless, as the icy water comes to wash out the grime. The aches and bruises stab him again under the bone-chill. The most Alba can do is be bitterly grateful they extended this small, taunting mercy.[break][break]

How many times will they go through this ‘manageable’ pain? Steadily being beaten down, until nothing remains? Will the other side start to forsake, now they know the kind of pain trusting will bring? Within the confines of the game, there's no way for them to win. The losing wards can either slowly die together, or kill each other quickly.[break][break]

On their feet they go, leaving the beast to its revolting feast. He doesn’t care to look back, just cringes at the sound of its smacking lips, and stares in disgust at the pulsating décor littered across the hallway.[break][break]

The new clothes are a kinder blessing, and the mochi is something Alba devours without hesitation, even as he knows its sweetness is to hide the taste of poison. If he eats it, he may die. But if he starves, he will die. It’s an easy choice, in the end.[break][break]

And then the dream comes. In that neon necropolis, the man breathes deeply, and basks in freedom away from mask and chain…

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Dusknoir’s eye opens wide, focused on something nobody present can see. The wind swirls and swirls around the group. It howls, and howls, slowly sounding less like the noise of the wind and more like distant, distorted screaming.[break][break]

Then it stops. Everything stops. The wind is still, and stagnant.[break][break]

“CHEEEEEEEEEEEESE?!” A loud booming voice rings out from the air, echoing as if it’s coming from the end of a long, long tunnel.[break][break]

“If it’s cheese you want, you can have it! I left my ripest, finest wheels in ‘that place’! All you have to do is take it!! Squeakakakakakakakakaka!!”

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What an interesting man Howard Slayte was.[break][break]

“Inexcusable…” Alba laughed at that, a sound devoid of mirth. “Yeah, we can call it that.” Their thoughts and feeling deviated, but they reached a similar conclusion in the end. A dead king of a dead kingdom… What right did a shambling corpse like that have to return from the grave?[break][break]

“A ploy? I don't know. Bear with me while I try and cover all of this…”[break][break]

“On Route 120, there was a battle between two forces. A pair of dog Pokémon — one wielding a sword, one wielding a shield — and two of the Ruinous Treasures. Admin jayden cross’s patron, and some Pokémon carrying a bowl, to be exact. The Treasures used some kind of power, which reacted with the weapons, pulling us into the dream.[break][break]

“Could it be a ploy? The Calyrex of hundreds of years ago, placing its trust in its vassals to pull it out of the memories lingering in Necrozma steel… It would make quite the story.” But his expression dulled, as if throwing away that fantasy without a second thought.[break][break]

“No, I don’t think so. I think our High King is just something that desperately wants to live; the stars happened to align, and it clung to that as hard as it could.” It was so fragile when its statue shattered. So full of blind fury and fear when its lifeline was severed.[break][break]

“Selfish bastard,” Alba muttered under his breath, without a single shred of irony.

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