Distorted lights and blazing infernos tore through the calm, quiet hills and evaporated the tranquil cyan streams. It had been so silent before. Arid had trouble remembering why he was in such a strange place and why it had so quickly fallen to ruin once he had awoken from his slumber. It was a dream. He'd seldom encountered the depths of willpower needed to face such desire. But with his waking mind, that same inner strength focused on ignoring the intense flares of pain from the flames. Cracks weaved through the sky, drawn together by a crafty luthier, to pave the way for an ethereal light to cleave through the falling ash and raging fire.

The brightness was white-hot to the touch. Every sense Arid had numbed as a svelte body of soft porcelain obscured in a silver sequin ball gown took centre stage in his mind. It wanted to lead him somewhere – away from the chaos toward a grouping of strange, thin strokes of black and grey. He followed his seraph with devotion; it was hurrying along the thinning white filament. Occasionally, it turned – at least Arid thought so – to check whether or not its loyal hound was still clacking at its heels.

Ruptures formed beneath his feet, soon becoming widening canyons of pure sable. He fell forever. His seraph had led him astray; its form stood on the thinning light, watching him inscrutably.

A mixture of growing tiredness and orange light conquered what remained of his limpid visions. He groaned and reached as high as he could with his hands. Oval, serrated leaves fell into his outstretched palms in greeting. Lazily, Arid opened his eyes. Tall trees surrounded him, although the tree pressed against his back was particularly impressive. It took some of his remaining strength to turn his head. A desperate yearning to see its top made him smile, pained.

The rough, deeply furrowed bark of the deepest, richest brown remained partly concealed beneath sodden ivory-green moss around most of the trunk. It stopped short of the first branch, thrice the size of tree trunks nearby. Other branches sprawled high and wide, with shadows encasing bushes and saplings below in darkness.

"I can't go into the woods... I can't go. I have to leave," he breathed heavily.

He had grown up fearing the old tales of Relic Forest. The thought of sleepwalking to his demise had kept him awake plenty of nights, as it had other children his age. He still didn't know where he was exactly. An enormous elm tree was hardly a fit enough landmark to go by.

Clumps of soil covered his legs and arms, setting like concrete. He breathed hard and steady. Cursed soil – that's what he blanketed his body with. But why, he thought, did he have to stumble upon the only cursed land in the area? Quietly, he turned over onto his knees and began to beg for mercy. He didn't move until the sound of rustling leaves overhead reminded him that nobody was alone in a forest.

Several Beautifly, Scatterbug, and Tarountula peered down at his pathetic form. He seemed to fascinate them as much as they did him.

Arid realised something was amiss when his shirt stuck to his stomach like sellotape. Ferry wasn't here with him. He also realised that his cheek was burning hot. Gritting his teeth, Arid tried to bear through the pain. Before he knew it, though, his nails had already raked through the painful wound. Blackened blood and layers of skin fell to the soil, which quickly enveloped the mess without aid.

A sharp, horrid pain jabbed his ribs. Carefully, he lifted his shirt and saw a long red and blue scale. The end, not visible, had pierced the skin just under his heart. With a terrified tug, he pulled it out and started crying, bathing the leaves stuck to his cheek in saliva. He rolled to his left side to spare himself more pain.

The wound was strange. He expected, at the very least, some inflammation or irritated pink skin around the point of penetration. Instead, the only noticeable change was a patch of scaly skin. It was invisible to the eye and susceptible to touch. He tried to pry it away – an awful pain, akin to stubbing a toe on a door frame, made him puff out his cheeks to stall the risk of screaming too loud.

He cradled his hands close to his face. Both of them were coated in the Crimson Wing's dried dragon blood. Staring at his right hand, Arid noticed its slight silver coating. The pocketknife had caught him despite his and Ferry's best efforts. The pain beneath his heart returned so viciously that he hissed, thumping his fist against the tree out of anger.

He sat up and let out a string of curses. He realised he couldn't have been in Relic Forest. Everything linking him to Orre was gone. His mother and father died. Everyone was dead. Why, then, was he allowed to live? A halfwit fisherman with no hope for a decent future; that's all he was. Mostly out of spite, he finally found the force to stand on his feet. Jamie, his parents, Beluh and Eagun, would hate to see him give up. But the temptation to do so made him seethe in anguish.

Stomping off half-delirious, he blinked away his tears and tripped down the large mound of earth bulging around the elm tree. He lay face down in the dried grey dirt, numb. Already, he'd forgotten where he was and felt more than happy to keep it that way. It took Arid less than twelve seconds to abandon his silent promise – he cared not for shame nor pride. As his late father had put it, he could be the whited sepulchre. Let him preach sermons of truth while bedding the vile and wicked; at least, then, he'd feel alive.

A pair of soft brown paws drew forth all that remained of his humanity into a moment of crisp, blissful truth. Ferry's eyes glimpsed a past innocence long gone; Arid knew the poor Pokemon didn't understand what was happening. It seemed that the Teddiursa had collected some berries and sticks out of habit. Mud coated his paw pads, and with one faltering gaze at the brown stains on his shirt, he knew why Ferry looked so gloomy, so miserable. His friend had been in the process of burying him.

Elmwood coiled tightly at the base of a small crown of beautiful flowers in Ferry's free paw.

"Was this meant for me?" Arid asked kindly.

Ferry handed it to him, though with some stiffness.

His smile fell when he ran a hand over the flowers. One side expelled the vibrant youth of a dozen tulips, whereas the other was wrinkled and withered. It wasn't only the crown that bothered him. Grey matter spread like delicate lace across the humus and upturned saplings, poisoning the concealed sides of everything connected to the ground. Arid found it curious that with each affected leaf or petal, the deceptively pure side would eventually turn to face him if he stared at them too long. He blamed the wind, for the other possibility gave him the shivers.

Several small worm-like Pokemon with segmented bodies, golden eyes, a cloak made of leaves, two twigs as legs, and four grey coils curled tightly above their heads dozed about the grounds. They looked infuriated by the severe lack of healthy leaves. However, why they couldn't climb up the trees and gather additions to their cloaks that way left Arid feeling skittish.

A very loud buzz made the Pokemon panic. One flew straight at Ferry but stopped short when it noticed his presence. Had these Pokemon ever seen a human before? The thought bothered him. Unfortunately, the leaf collector vanished into the distance using silk lines before he could ask any questions. But then he felt silly. How could he ask questions to a creature that had never seen a person before, let alone heard their language? Another buzz caused Ferry to pull on his trousers. The sudden cold claw reminded him that his legs were partly exposed to the elements. Ferry poked him again and shuffled off in the direction of the buzzing.

The steepness of the clumpy dead soil was strange. Arid knew he hadn't rolled more than twice when he had fallen. He wearily rubbed his eyes and hoisted Ferry onto his shoulder, stomping over the first of many roots. Ten minutes later, he was no closer to the top than he had been at the start of the ascent. The waning sunlight bathed the ground in port wine as if the sills of a large distillery had been punctured over surrounding crabgrass. Arid stood motionless, allowing the warmth to creep over his legs and kiss the tips of his fingers. There was something to it – a barely contained eagerness to give him and Ferry as much company as possible before nightfall.

He closed his eyes. Ferry wrangled himself free and trudged away once he realised Arid had no desire to move. Crisp winds pulled at his eyelids; he breathed in contentment. The source of the strange noise was near. Steeling his nerve, he opened his eyes again. The large elm tree watched him. One of its branches had been snapped, and he had the creeping feeling the tree was trying to warn him of something.

He followed Ferry to the other side of the tree, which took him more than ten seconds, and felt a burning sensation crawling up the back of his neck.

Ferry was stood on a large lump of scales. They were crimson red. His heart began to race: they hadn't made it out safe. Braving the rash fire in his mind, Arid approached. He couldn't stop envisioning an endless fall into a bath of blood. He could feel a pair of silver eye pads doused in anaesthetic crippling his senses, assisting the sloshing bloody waves pull him into darkness.

Ferry tapped his knee and pulled him closer.

"It's a Crimson Wing!" he hissed. "Getting closer to one is hardly a good idea. If anything, we should be going in the other direction."

Arid felt his eyes water when he saw a glass-like lens spread across the bed of black lilies and roses. Its red hue slowly faded into the network of roots and sterile soil. The once-concealed side of the large tree was now fully exposed. A very strong alcoholic stench wafted from the dark, wet patches of slime flux from the top branch to the base of the trunk. But no scent nor otherworldly sight would let his eyes wander from the rousing mountain of scales. They were running out of time.

Concerned, he realised the scales were glimmering, coated in a layer of blood oozing from several wounds along the Pokemon's neck. A bloodshot eye snapped his way, but he felt no fear. When the dragon moved, it was laborious and without any malice. The end was less a mercy for Flygon as it was a punishment for failing to safely guide himself and Ferry to a city, at the very least. He felt ashamed of the thought. Flygon had performed incredibly well and he wanted the dragon to know it.

Carefully, he set Ferry down near the dragon's eye. Then, he pressed his foot against the ground and fell back onto his backside. He was mindful not to reach out for support lest he irritate Flygon's wounds. Large claw marks raked through lime green scales, curving up to meet a soft patch of skin beneath the Pokemon's chin. Its tail was wedged within the bark of a tree, and a long winding trail led up the dirt to where it now rested.

"You did so well," said Arid. "I'm so proud of you. We both are – right, Ferry?"

Ferry caressed Flygon's snout, muttering something gently under his breath. He continued to pat away what aches he could. Flygon buzzed cheerfully in response. Ferry then presented the crown he'd made and asked Arid (mostly through wildly waving his arms) to place it on Flygon's head. For a moment, Arid thought of a diamond-encrusted band of gold. How could twigs match the reward for such an act of heroism? However, the effort put into the crown was more than worth its weight in gold. The dragon seemed pleased with its prize.

He hummed an old nursery rhyme when, all of a sudden, Flygon moved its head and placed it on his lap. Arid cursed under his breath at the weight – he didn't stop humming, though – and ran his fingers over the same spot as Ferry. It struck him that Eagun had hummed the same song to all the young Pokemon in his care. It was possible, Arid thought sadly, that Flygon was in so much pain it thought that he was being cared for by his old friend.

Once his vocal cords hitched, Flygon started to buzz the same song beneath the darkening sky. Most of the blood had dried now, and the last of Flygon's strength went to a generous hum when Arid told it to relax. He continued where Flygon had left off, aware that its eye was intensely focused on him. When he looked back with a smile, the dragon had gone limp.

"He deserves a fair burial," said Arid. "I won't leave him to the Mandibuzz. Ferry, can you climb that tree, please?" he asked, pointing down the length of Flygon's still tail. "Warn me if any Pokemon tries to approach."

Ferry hugged Arid's knee before clumsily climbing for the tree. Before he left, he said something to the dragon before stumbling toward the tree. Once certain Ferry was out of earshot, he sniffed and gently pushed the heavy head off his legs. He did so carefully, not wanting to risk the crown rolling away. Sure of his strength, Arid surveyed the area for any suitable burial site. The burns beneath his heart flared with each step.

He felt another jab, this time through his heart. Flygon's Pokeball and Arid's pocket knife had been lost in the descent. To Arid, it was the greatest disrespect to not bury a Pokemon with what tethered their bond to men, women, and children. He knew not to test those dangerous waters, for if he suddenly took off, he'd die of shame for abandoning Ferry.

Sighing to himself, he turned back Flygon's way. His eyes went very wide. A ten-foot-deep hole patiently awaited his return. He blinked, shifting on the spot awkwardly. Whatever had helped him was very quiet and very strong. Tunnelling through so much root and soil wasn't easy. He was always aware that he was in a foreign region, though. Who knew what other Pokemon he'd never seen before lurked beneath his feet?

Pushing and heaving, he finally managed to get Flygon's legs into the grave. He rubbed the sweat covering his forehead with the back of his hand. Arid dug in his heels and pushed with all his might so that the dragon's body could naturally slide forward under the hands of gravity. It wasn't as easy as he thought. His head was light, and his chest felt heavy when it was all said and done. There was too much weight to move at once.

Similar to a conveyor belt, the ground crept forward beneath his knees. Flygon tumbled into the grave. The thump had shaken every tree close to the elm's roots. Arid crawled back when the layers of topsoil began to swarm the corpse until the grave was filled to the brim.

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Arid stumbled down a muddy, squelchy trail cutting across creeping phlox and a mat of coneflowers. Ferry was constantly by his side, preventing him from falling at least nine times. The trick the Teddiursa employed was similar to a game of tag, but only Arid was always getting tagged. He resented Ferry for it. Every time he went down a path he was certain he hadn't seen before, a female corpse – Jamie – waited for him at the bottom. She tried to crawl her way up to meet him slowly. Her hair stuck to her arms in matted tresses, and it was for that reason that he wanted to close his eyes forever.

At times, jubilation relayed the vocal fry of his father, who would direct him where to go next.

His corneas wouldn't permit him to assess anything lurking in the shadows. It was especially bad in his peripheral vision, as strange movements were blurred amidst August lilies and cyan mirrors covered in lily pads. His knees, still frozen by the cursed soil, shook anew when one of the lily pads split in two. A pair of sinister, cruel black eyes glared his way. It was Lotad. Three stubby legs floated innocently near its decaying body.

A meadow filled with fragrant pollen lured him and Ferry further south of the Lotad. Several saplings lay the groundwork, with their tender shoots aching in their stretch for the stars. Several Pidove used the shade to search for their last supper before nightfall. However, only stillness and terrible fear filled the air once they noticed him. He wanted to strip them of their feathers and feast on their organs. Maybe he'd gnaw on the bones like a Growlithe.

He waved his arms until all the Pokemon watching him fled for safety. Chewing his gums, he whispered an apology and met the eye of a Farfetch'd. The more he gazed, the more the white feathers slowly transformed into a messy blue. It stared at him evilly. So quickly ran its heartbeat that from as far below as he stood, he could see its fragile form bobbing up and down involuntarily. It promptly flew after the rest of its kind; no blue feather could be seen.

Arid dug his nails into his scalp. A mountain in the distance distracted him from calling it a day and lobotomising himself with the dragon scale. It was the largest he'd ever seen. Rugged rocks surrounded its plateau, along with dense common hair caps and tall oak trees that shadowed an entrance to a tremendous city of light. The slopes were so cold that their rocks had turned cobalt, and a remarkable treeline ended where the barren harshness of nature truly began.

Hundreds of small flying types flew in harmony around gnarled dwarf willows. Their leaves were almost as blue as the rocks below them. But after he rubbed his eyes, he was troubled to see no further than one hundred feet ahead, let alone the several hundred kilometres separating him from the colossal landmark. He bade Ferry forward and told him to look for the blue-leaved trees. Ferry shook his head, saddened. He closed his eyes, imagining what the crisp crunch of snow would feel like up there. Maybe he'd eventually enjoy climbing it with a little help from other aspiring hikers.

A shadow slithered into his vision. Its five fingers reminded him of his seraph dancing as it had danced through the maze of dark lines; only the darkness now seemed to swallow the stars in his eyes. The gentle brushstroke of darkness through the canvas of green and yellow left him feeling distinctly cold. Was this the hand of Lady Death? Was he to feel the icy, tarnished coins anchoring him to Death's boat as it drifted aimlessly down the River Styx? He chose not to resist, fearing Ferry being punished in his stead.

The fatal touch never reached him. Instead, it waved up and down with increasing annoyance until he started to feel sick.

"Hello?" He didn't respond. "Hey! Don't ignore me, you snobbish little Snorunt!"

"Leave me alone," said Arid, daring. "Leave me alone, Jamie. You're dead – please..."

"I haven't chased a nutter for thirty minutes on a cold evening, have I? The least you could do is turn around and look at me. I'm a part of Johto's Ranger Corps – I'm a Field Ranger, and I'd be damned if I left an injured citizen after all my hours of training. Turn around. Go on. I don't bite."

He obeyed.

She had slightly tanned skin, more than he expected from someone so far east. She looked small for an adult. She wore a wide-brimmed Breton concealing some of her vivid green hair, of which plenty spilt out down her neck in proud unrestraint. They matched well with the playful emeralds cut to gentle ovals on either side of her nose; with her hair parted on one side while tucked behind her ear on the other, Arid had the feeling she enjoyed flaunting her cheeks more than she did her eyes. Her jaw was slightly uneven, as if broken in a brawl a long time ago.

Her lips curled upward in a friendly smile. Her uniform consisted of a long-sleeved buttoned-up shirt (a third of the collar deviated from emerald to a murky grey), a bright green pin with the letter 'R' resting against her breast, a belt cinched at her waist with strange tools spilling out of the compartments attached to it, a well-worn backpack slung over her shoulders, plain green trousers, and a pair of brown boots that looked as though they had been recently unearthed in an excavation.

Before he spoke, Ferry pulled him back with a squeaky growl. The once-brown crescent on the Pokemon's head glowed like a pale sickle bathed in the ethereal waters of Phenac City's aquariums. His eyes were mere cuts of obsidian dotted with fine diamonds. His teeth were out, and with one paw still pulling Arid away, his claws had stretched out like five fine cuts of chalk broken off from a cliff.

"Fear the interloper," said the woman mysteriously. She held out her hands, twitching her fingers as if possessed. "The name's Elowen Thalia. I usually work the night shift further south, but I saw something fall from the sky hours ago. I tried to find it, but instead, I found you two. The forest worked against me, pushing me away the closer I got to you. I won in the end! Sorry if my rambling is annoying you."

Despite sensing something wrong with her, he felt a little safer in her presence. It was his test – his voice alone was foreign, and there was no chance that she didn't suspect he was from somewhere west. He thought that Johto must have been expecting some refugees fleeing for safety. So, then, what was she after? Money to not rat him out to her superiors? Did she have handcuffs? Was this merely a game to dissuade him from remaining silent? He didn't trust that she was out in the dark alone. Not at all.

"I flew here on the back of my friend," he began, worried. "We crashed into a tree. It died from its injuries. I buried the dragon... sort of. Actually, the tree seemed to bury it for me, along with everything else nearby. I've never seen a tree that big before. Must have something to do with all the rain you get – orographic rainfall and all..."

"You... come on." She walked back through the clearing.

For each step he took, Elowen seemed to take five. He had to grip a tree for support while Ferry growled nervously at passing Noctowl. It took all the wind out of him to catch up to her. Arid was ashamed to have vomited over a sleeping Sunflora, which was too sluggish from the lack of sunlight to notice him running away. Ferry had needed to pat at Arid's heels because he kept tripping over dodder vines.

Eventually, they caught up to the Ranger.

Elowen kindled her campfire with a stick using her right hand while the other quickly unlooped her belt and slung it over a branch, noose-like. The flames fed on the wood like starved Noibat; some, he had known of, crammed together in their mother's nest, hoping to stave off cold death another day. It astounded him that any similarity could be drawn between himself and those weak, starving dragons. And yet, he felt compelled to hug Ferry close and sleep by the fire all night. They shook like leaves caught in the eddies of coolness that spread from the large mountain.

Her eyes glinted with newfound interest. "Tell me about this tree, stranger."

"I awoke beneath it, almost right next to its trunk. I didn't know where I was, and I thought for a few minutes that Ferry hadn't survived the fall – he's my Teddiursa, by the way. That tree... it must have led me to him, but it sounds stupid. I swear I'm not lying." He brushed aside his tears. "I wish I never opened my eyes. Arceus, when I saw your hand, I felt relief! I thought I could die in peace."

Ferry shook his head and kicked a stick. The Teddiursa hadn't cried much since he had woken up, Arid thought. He embraced the Pokemon and fussed him for a few minutes. A nasty sadness cloaked the serenity of the fire when he realised that Ferry's flowers were gone. He had spent most of his time awake nursing the surface wounds of uncertainty. Ferry had to have believed, if only for a few hours, that he was alone in the world. The thought of not surviving poisoned Arid's hopes for a peaceful night's sleep, not that he intended to join with his tiredness just yet.

"The Elm Tree of Ectruteak," she said, shocked. "I had no idea it'd ever be found again. And for a foreigner of all people to gaze upon its lofty branches..." She breathed heavily. "Tell me, did you feel any different when you left the tree behind? Did it fight to keep you close? There are no reports of its existence in current records. But the stories are well-known by all in Johto, especially around the Indigo Plateau."

Arid frowned. She was a very fast talker. "I remember when I first left it behind. It's fairer to say that I tripped down its side than I intentionally sought an escape from its shadow. Anyway, yeah, we both kept running in circles for a while, and that weird thing kept appearing. It finally left us alone after an hour or so. But then weird things waited for me on every path I tried to take."

She hummed, snacking on a roasted Slowpoke tail. Aghast, he waved a swift 'no, thank you' gesture her way before she tried to offer him some of the pink delicacies. There it was again, he thought conspiratorially. Over the last minute, every Pokemon that could fly seemed to cut around rather than fly above them. Several nesting Pidgeotto even avoided their nestlings in the tree closest to Elowen. They were all scared of her – too much for his liking. His eyes roamed her body for a radio, but she had none.

"Hate to break it to you, but you haven't introduced yourself yet. Are you waiting for a drumbeat? Or do you think I find amusement in speaking to myself? Because I can assure you the latter couldn't be further from the truth. What's your name?"

Again, he felt pressured to answer anything she asked. His eyes roamed into the shadows beyond her shoulders, which shone like molten gold in the twilight, into the shadows. He was certain there was something out there... something powerful and cruel.

"Arid, that's my name." He breathed as though he'd relinquished his claim to a castle. She didn't laugh at how ironic it was to name a child after the barren wastelands outside one's home. "You know I speak the truth?"

"My name's Elowen," she muttered self-consciously. "Weird names don't bother me. Believe me when I say I don't care for a person's forename or surname. Judging people by their names is shallow and pathetic. I knew a man called Smellic Unt! The poor man never escaped the insinuation."

Arid choked on his dry laughter. "Liar."

"Yeah, obviously," she said, rolling her eyes. "But here and now, it's Arid and Elowen. The Ranger and the stranger."

He sniffed dismissively, "Okay, we're on a first-name basis. What do you know about the tall elm tree? Are its leaves coated in poison? Is it dangerous to wake up beneath it covered in cursed soil?"

Elowen started to speak, but something tangled amidst purple barberry caught his attention. It was her again. Jamie. Her torn jeans were slashed, and the denim stuck to her skin like plaster. She crawled toward him, her blouse almost like a lifejacket of shiny blood anchoring her to the floor with its pasty, repulsive weight. Chalk-white skin tightened around her hairless skull as she stared up at him, hateful. He'd already forgotten that Elowen hadn't answered his question.

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Her nails scraped against the odd stone, making a sound that passed right through him. They were chipped and encrusted with dirt.

Arid's eyesight blurred. He thought a rain shower had arrived, but the campfire crackles told him otherwise. He thought it sounded like the cackling of a witch pulling her prey into a deeper trance, biding her time before the deadly strike. By the time he looked for Jamie, she was gone. He felt uncomfortable at that realisation. Had she climbed the trees to strangle the defenceless nestlings for ruining her peace? For ruining all of their peace?

"...so that's more or less my job out here," Elowen finished tiredly. "How did you find your way here on a dragon, of all things? They're very hard to control, even if they're fond of you."

"My friend Eagun gifted me his Flygon. I'm the only one that survived the collapse of Agate Village. Everyone I've ever known is dead besides Ferry. I wish for the chance to meet with the person who gave the order for everyone to be killed. I'd skin him alive for what they've done and all the little minions at their heels. Sorry if that was a bit too far. Honestly, I've never hurt anyone before."

"Massacres are awful things. Do you want to know why?" She asked, turning her head to stare at the purple barberry. "It's because you don't survive them. A part of you dies in the moment. When it falls silent, and the ash coats the floor, you can still hear the screams if you listen close enough. I do. You bleed away the old, and whatever is left crumbles or builds itself anew. As a Ranger, it is a duty – in fact, an honour – to guide those lost in the world and take them back home. There isn't a protocol for someone who has lost their home entirely. People like that don't have any..."

Privilege. He felt grateful she hadn't said it aloud. She knew more than he bargained for. Her advice also seemed to echo from someone else, though from who he could not say. Again, he felt misled by her. The shadowy entrapments of cold silver clasped in the hands of his soothsayer frightened him. It was only a thought taken form, and he loathed to admit how realistic and simple it seemed. Was this her bald-faced game reaching its sickeningly sweet end? He thought so.

Bravely, he continued, "The descent on Flygon's back was uncontrolled for the most part. I lost consciousness over the first sight of elms. I thought I had died when black spots filled my vision. It shows what two pissed-off Crimson Wing can do when angered enough. I can't even remember why they were so annoyed. I find it difficult to recall in detail what happened to me, and then there are these terrible things I've been seeing all the time. They make me scared. I don't want to remember what happened – I want to move on."

"Two Crimson Wing? How backwards was Orre, for crying out loud? I haven't heard Salamence called that in a long time. People in my old village – Wraith Town – used to call Salamence Crimson Wing, but they were all the old wrinkly ones. Anyway, that's beside the point. Taking on two Salamence while on dragonback... You must have balls the size of watermelons."

"Orre isn't..." He double-checked her outfit. "All right, fine! My home was old-fashioned, so what? Crimson Wing sounds more menacing than Salamence. Who would even fear the last name?" he finished, incredulous.

The crackle of the campfire went out. He was thankful for the silence bar Ferry's insistence that he should stop talking to the woman. A lead weight formed in his stomach when he thought about what she said. He'd often looked for a signpost or a clear parting meant for traversal between two moss-covered stones. However, in his efforts, not once had he or Ferry spotted at the very least a thatched roof or heard the distant echoes of Excadrill working alongside their lumberjack partners.

Cautiously, he looked up at Elowen and thought of what to say next. Without the fire, she looked like a frozen silhouette caught like a Stantler in headlights. Where mist escaped his lips, none seemed to leave hers. Not even a single ember dared flash her way from what had once been an insistent warmth on an encroaching cold night. He kept his eyes trained on her as he fed four twigs into the sharp spark Ferry made with his claws.

A sombre yellowish flame danced under the Ranger's chin. The singular marker told Arid what he hoped not to be true. She had been inching closer to him. Childishly, she hastily pulled a buttercup from one of her compartments and gave it to him – her skin cracked beneath his warm hand. It reminded him of what he thought the crunching of snow would have sounded like.

"If you're from a settlement called Wraith Town, why not lead me back to a Ranger Station? I assume you have them. I don't mean to offend, but why are we so far from civilisation? You said you saw me fall – okay, fine. Then why haven't you contacted anyone? Why haven't you used a Pokemon to request assistance from another Ranger? You may be working the night shift, but surely this – this event doesn't happen all of the time. Anyone that works with you might be open to –"

Elowen's lip curled, and she fell silent. Then, almost angrily, she snapped her head back to him. "There is no help. Nobody has ever helped me for a good reason. That doesn't mean you should take me lightly. I do have a bloody streak here and there."

Arid could hear his heartbeat in his ears. It may have been his imagination, but her voice suddenly sounded raspy and very dry.

"I'd never attack someone innocent!" he roared. "And how dare you even think that I'd try and cause you harm. I already told you I'm not like that, not really. I was just upset before. Do you think I fled from feral Pokemon, jammed a knife into the eye of a Crimson Wing, and escaped from Team Cipher only to repeat their same crimes? Have you lost your fucking mind?"

She turned her neck to the side, her bones crunching. When she stopped, Arid was uncertain whether or not she'd be able to return it to its original position.

"You're lucky Indigo decided on an Open Border Policy yesterday. If that hadn't been implemented, you'd be dead by now. By the way, I don't think you'd hurt me. I only wanted to see what type of person you are." She chuckled, though it sounded like she was being strangled. "It's clear as day why you survived. There is no luck in this world, Arid. But that doesn't mean that people should abandon all hope and love for a second because it isn't handed to them on a silver platter. You lived because you wanted to."

His head was spinning. "An Open Border Policy?"

"It's to attract people – trainers – to participate in the Indigo Circuit. Sixteen is the minimum age for entry, along with alcohol and so on. Many people find battling amusing and gather badges to prove their mettle on the battlefield. Those who gather eight badges or more can participate in the Indigo Conference. And with over three million people arriving here this year alone, I'd say the competition will be fiercer than normal. I doubt a thousand or so will pass the fifth badge. Gym Leaders are going to be very tough on everyone now."

He gave her a queer look. "I take it Gym Leaders award badges?"

"Right on the mark, Arid."

He knew that Orre, at its best, had little over seventy thousand citizens many years ago. Most had lived on the coast, and few were willing to cross the desert for Mt. Battle. There were rarely times when one would find themselves in a queue for anything. The number alone of three million made his eyes nearly pop out of his skull. He did feel amused at the thought of thousands of people clamouring for an ice cream parlour outside of a sleek, well-designed stadium.

"Ferry," Arrid began gently. "Do you think Jamie would be furious if we entered this strange Circuit?"

His smile fell away. He needed to remember that she was dead. What, then, would his parents think? He shivered on the spot. They were gone, too. He felt the urge to demand a standing ovation for his adamant failure to build friendships with anyone. He wasn't about to start clapping; although he did feel a sick sense of achievement, he felt less loss than he would have otherwise, and it was of great importance that he remembered that things could have been worse. Far worse. What if he had a girlfriend to grieve? It was all he could do to obsess about one death so he wouldn't think of his parents.

Ferry growled when Elowen shifted closer to the log on his left; her neck was still stuck to her left shoulder. He felt sick for admiring it earlier.

She returned Ferry's growl with a stern, offended look and then stared at the purple barberries patiently. Arid felt his throat tighten. She noticed his disconcerted expression and smirked. It wasn't so kind anymore.

From afar, a bright flash of silver feathers streaked across a grouping of eleven polished mirrors on the forest floor. Slate-grey clouds roiled overhead, adding a gentle paleness to each cerulean puddle. Faint raindrops dipped into each pool one by one, enacting an invisible beast skipping across each at a leisurely pace. He could already feel a white-hot rage in his stomach, boiling over like rage-filled Beedrill defending their hive. He looked to the last puddle. His fingers froze stiff.

Beside the grey-feathered Ducklett was a Lotad, both staring his way with contempt. There was also a small shadow lurking near a bush to their right.

"Ryan's running again," Elowen lamented. She stomped away, not even bothering to use a flashlight.

At this point, he doubted she had one.

Arid felt more confused by 'Ryan' than he dared say aloud. Ferry tugged at his shoelaces, pointing in the opposite direction of the Ranger. He shook his head. Something about Elowen subtly reminded him of a Persian stalking a Starly through thickets and beneath vibrant green trees. If he fled, she'd find him. Regretting the choice already, he stood up and chased after the Ranger.

----------------------------------------

Ferry found Elowen sifting through bones and wilting horsetails near a very dark tree; her fingers were covered in so much dirt he couldn't distinguish the colour of her skin under the moonlight. She looked like she'd risen from the ground only hours ago. Maybe Flygon had woken her, he thought sourly, or maybe his heavy steps had unrooted the brambled burial chambers of a spiteful poltergeist.

"You're not hurt," she commented, scratching the tree like a Meowth.

"I'm winded, not wounded. You're the fastest woman I've ever met." She was also the maddest. "Can you tell me a bit more about Ryan? Such as what he may look like. I did follow you all the way out here, you know!"

"Ryan!" she yelled. "Ryan, wake up! You have a visitor and you're being very rude right now. Don't make me count to ten, mister!"

Ryan didn't appear to be in a playing mood. Arid wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing. He clenched his jaw and fought back the urge to shake her by the shoulders. Ferry wasn't in the mood to entertain any communication and fought Arid's attempts at doing so by never taking his eyes off the Ranger.

"Who bled?" she asked suddenly, whirling around and pointing at his shirt. "Did someone else fall with you after all? Oh, my boss will have words with me!"

"It's not mine," he answered.

She eyed his waist with unchecked hunger. Her eyes never strayed, and for a moment, he thought she intended to tear out his hips with her nails. He wondered whether or not all Rangers in Johto were as mad as her, lacked basic manners, and behaved like they weren't being observed by the sane people around them. The dragon scale pressed against his skin, tucked firmly through the hole under his waistband.

"Do you wish that it was?" she asked without hesitation.

"Maybe," he replied monotonously.

"COWARD! Jamie would – does – hate you for giving up so easily. Blood isn't just a token of life. It's all that matters. Jamie gave her blood so you wouldn't have to, and this is how you repay her? Are you surprised that you hate me more now than before? Telling people the truth always tends to leave a sting.

Molten anger turned his forearms an ugly red. How, he considered coldly, did she ever think herself worthy of saying Jamie's name? And why did she think it was fine to speak on his dead friend's behalf? The urge to wrap his hands around her delicate throat, to become the monster he loathed to accept and squeeze every last drop of life out of her excited him to no end. He wrestled with the poisonous thought like a petulant child. He worried he would actually throttle an innocent woman; reuniting her with Ryan in the afterlife whispered nothing but positivity, even if the act was cruel and heartless.

He knew he could kill her. She knew it, too. Even Ferry seemed to pick up on his thoughts as the Teddiursa began to back away with frightened eyes. She had no friends to help her; she admitted as much no less than twenty minutes ago. He had no friends either. She had no Pokemon – he did. Her face melted away into one of Cipher's cronies, who taunted him with his parents' heads in a large picnic basket. Murder seemed less of a sin by the second.

He breathed in and out, relying on the mountain's cool breeze to freeze the hell burrowing through his skin. Arid worked every muscle in his neck to look back at her while assessing the surroundings to make sure they were alone. Much like when the last ember of the campfire had died, a large shadow covered her front once more.

A ring of ugly black and red bruises wrapped around her throat emboldened beneath the slanted droplets falling from above until – on the mountain of fear erecting in his mind – he thought his body had acted on his will without his knowing. But then he remembered how awful a condition his hands were in; there was no chance he wouldn't have felt something press against the scarred, burned skin. None.

"The Elm Tree of Ecruteak saved you from death. You deny its kindness because of shame. Honestly! The tree doesn't save the unworthy. It kills them. You and Ferry are alive because it saw something in you. I can't say it saw the same in me."

He gave her ghostly pale throat, bruised and bloodied, a searching look. And then he knew. One of the branches – the only one that all the Pokemon avoided – on the tree had been snapped near its centre. The gnarled, prickly bark had jutted out at odd angles. It would have taken a tremendous weight to cause such a thick branch to snap.

"'The Overseer begets a champion, sturdy and strong, beholdeth his countenance in the tumult to unfold.'" Elowen droned. "Rather the eerie message, many think. I thought so for a while, but it's not. It's a good thing. Well, it's good if you're on the right side of the riddle. If the overseer seeks a worthy person, you'll see beauty. If it hates you, all you see is death and an endless grey cold."

She took a step closer. Mysteriously, her feet made no sound on the forest floor. Flowers and leaves, once crimson red and lush green, curled and withered, falling to the soil where several bleary-eyed Caterpie waited patiently. The air stilled.

"It's a voice of the forest, and it repeats that message once at dawn and again at dusk. My grandmother taught me to listen to nature with Ryan many years ago, hoping that, should the need arise, I could prevent any unjust harm. Of course, there wasn't any help for me when..."

"What?" he asked breathlessly. "When what happened?"

"That's not a story you'd like to hear, Arid. I can tell you of the First War instead, where King Punic Blackthorn flew on the back of his Dragonite and crashed into the Elm Tree of Ecruteak. He was supposed to visit Healer Ben of Queen Grennit's council. This obviously never came to pass."

She inched closer, but the shadow remained.

"Oh, how he fell. The trees had never heard, let alone seen, a dragon before. They wanted to keep it – King Punic wasn't so lucky. Once the dragon's wings broke against one of the sturdy branches, the other branches swarmed it. Terrible! Awful! But then something strange happened. On the other side of the tree, peacefully sleeping as you had, a boy six years your junior awoke to Punic's cries for help. He tried to save the man. He failed. The branches had already peeled away the handsome man's face, daubing a slick red warning over the man's eyes:

Bosque [https://see.fontimg.com/api/renderfont4/9z0K/eyJyIjoiZnMiLCJoIjo2NCwidyI6MTAwMCwiZnMiOjY0LCJmZ2MiOiIjRUExRDBFIiwiYmdjIjoiI0VBMEIwQiIsInQiOjF9/VW53b3J0aHk/bosque.png]

Arid stepped back with Ferry. Elowen tilted her head coyly with an abnormal smoothness. She had recounted the story excellently, maybe a little too well. A tree killing a Dragonite did sound ridiculous, and he made an effort not to laugh. The longer he thought about it, the more sense it made. The Elm Tree of Ecuteak's long slime flux did look like a natural stitching of a very old wound from a certain angle. He bit his cheek and then ran away. Ferry mounted the back of his legs.

"Peacefully sleeping as you had," he echoed. She had been watching him for longer than she claimed. "Hang on, Ferry! There's a stream up ahead, and I don't want you to get wet."

She was already on the other side, her movements frantic and fevered. The smell of formaldehyde and old leather mixed with sweat filled the air, taking away the naturalness of the scenery. With a coarse thread, a needle, and the body of a Pikachu, Elowen slowly put the Pokemon back together again. She shakily pulled the needle through flesh and fabric in a savage rage. Each stitch formed by brutal jabs made Ferry whimper, or maybe it was himself. Elowen's tongue lolled out of her mouth as she breathed heavily. Then she cinched it between her teeth, drawing golden blood down her lips.

Beads of sweat ran down her forehead. Arid could see her eyes from where he stood. They were very wide; her pupils were like pinpricks, constricted to tiny pebbles of emerald. Pikachu's organs were strewn over her bare, muddied feet, glistening and sparkling with the odd bolt of electricity. Around the torn throat of the small Pokemon, a single band of rubber had been engraved with the name Ryan.

"When Clan Blackthorn heard of their poor king's death, why, they were furious! Everything burned! They bombarded the forest for one thousand days – they didn't gain anything from it. The war ended in a stalemate. Every so often, one of Blackthorn's Salamence went missing, and it was too great a risk for the clan to risk losing any more power. Other reasons led to the end of the First War, such as a swarm of Gastly taking Blackthorn City and flooding it with the River of Rage. Thirty-seven serpents destroyed Drake's Nest, and as a result, many people died.

"All for a king?" He looked for an escape. "So many dead, all because a tree wanted to catch itself a dragon."

"The Tree of Ecruteak can't be found normally. It finds you. Out of all the places you could have woken up, what are the odds you do so under that tree? Right after you killed two Salamence, as well! Its roots stretch very, very far, Arid. You and your friends were pulled there. As the rumour goes, the roots stretch so far and deep that if the tree were uprooted by anything less than a god, Johto would be torn apart."

He fell back against a bush near the soft, silty earth that slanted into crystal clear waters. Trampled wildflowers stripped beneath his shoes floated toward Elowen as he dug in his heels, defiant. Ferry tried to reach for one but hurried back to Arid's lap. Curious, he looked into the timid stream that reminded him of the one he saw in his dreams. A pair of empty eyes watched him.

Mercifully, Elowen granted him leave. "Go now, Arid. Take the wildflower path to the south." She pointed at the steep hill to the south. "Not many have survived out here as long as you. There may be hope your home can be returned to its formative state or better. Take that path, and you promise yourself that, in the depths of your heart, you shall never give up without cause."

"And if I don't?" he challenged, gripping the Crimson Wing's scale.

She pointed at the stream and set Ryan down on the ground. His breath caught in his throat. Elowen waved her hand gracefully over the water's edge, muttering strange words that sounded like the snapping of branches. Ripples turned into waves accompanied by a frightful heat so strong that steam erupted twenty feet high in great geysers. Hundreds of bones – fingers, toes, skulls, and spines – rained down to rejoin their fractured bodies, which bobbed near the shallow bank so close and yet so far away.

----------------------------------------

Disoriented and aching, Arid stumbled alongside Ferry through dense brambles. He could hardly speak. His vision swam amidst a river of bones, his Lady Death stitching his eyes closed with a gentle hum that rang through his ears. If there hadn't been a path of bright dandelions for Arid to chase after, he feared he would have stumbled down a steeper section of the hill he was on, perhaps snapping his neck before he reached the large city lights in the distance.

Finally, a long column of white birch trees came into view. He waved away a few purple hexagons blocking his left eye and trudged ahead. Finely cut hedges had been carefully tended to around the perimeter. He felt the odd pressure to hide from their gaze. He saw a pool of golden light pour from a slender wrought iron street lamp between the hedges to his right. More street lamps – each at least one hundred feet from the last – stood strong and sturdy between its trees. The nightly chills had already frozen some of the street lamp's glass panes, diffusing clouds of yellow warmth into lukewarm streaks of worn silver.

Ferry ushered him toward a bush covered in succulent Oran berries.

A pink, ovoid Pokemon with stubby arms and dark pink feet shook the bush when Ferry approached. Its tiny eyes squinted kindly, dropping a berry into the Teddiursa's paws. A pink pouch holding a large egg was on the centre of the strange Pokemon's body. Its tail remained still when it finally looked his way, tilting its head so that its three strange hair growths cut across its vision.

Ferry waved him over.

Arid wouldn't budge. He was too scared, too apprehensive of stepping on the cobbled ground. Ultimately, the Pokemon left him be and waved farewell to Ferry before shuffling off to Ecruteak City.

A growl from his stomach reminded him of another, deeper ache he had yet to address. He craved the Oran berries so badly he wanted to tear them from the bush with his teeth. A full day, he thought, and I am already starved. He petted his lips. They weren't as cracked as he'd expected. A sharp pain from his fingers made him feel foolish.

"Eat as much as you can," Arid implored. "No, I'm fine. You need food much more than me. Go on – it's okay, Ferry." He smiled thinly at his Pokemon's sudden pause. "I'll be right here so you know you're safe."

Arid slumped onto a half-warmed cobblestone patch near one of the street lamps. Out of amusement, he raised his hands to the light, examining his burnt fingers. The skin was raw and blistered. His stomach growled again, twisting itself into knots. Oh, how he yeared for meat. A wave of desperation drowned him. He looked at his fingers and was reminded of Miltank slices that he'd eaten in his earlier years. He had loved Miltank slices more than anything in the world. It had been a long time since he'd had them.

Fifty paces from where he sat, a flash of silver followed by a strange call stopped him from opening his mouth. Silver again, he thought. What could it be now? Ducklett? Disgusted with himself, he forced his fingers from his lips. He couldn't recall them being so close before. Side-eyeing Ferry, he whispered a brief apology and chased after his stalker.

A series of rusted fences formed a forlorn barrier against an unruly marsh, which under the thick, low-lying mist appeared to conceal... something. The iron bars were streaked an ugly orange-brown and twisted like the creeping vines of a Tangela. The tall, reedy grasses covered murky, star-lit pools of chocolate honeycomb. The fences sagged under his arms as he leaned closer to the pool, squinting harder and harder as he made out the shapes of several small huts.

The broad, round head of a Quagsire broke through the surface. Its slimy purple stripes glowed, and it looked at him furiously. He held a placating hand, but this only seemed to antagonise it. Before long, lances of paper-thin water grazed his trainers, closing in the longer he stayed put. Shakily, he turned away and tripped his way back to Ferry.

When he turned around the last hedge in his way, he spotted Ferry conversing with a peculiar-looking Eevee. Aside from its ruffled ears, only its fur differed from others he had seen. It was completely silver, almost like a ghost. Could it have been conversing with the Quagsire? Arid shook his head. No, it wanted him to follow it.

"Excuse me," he said politely. "I'm sorry for interrupting."

The Eevee looked at him before backing away to the nearest tree. There was no chance he'd see it again. A silver birch tree was the perfect camouflage for it. Self-consciously, Arid reassessed his appearance in a puddle. He didn't blame the Eevee for running. He would, too, if he saw someone like himself at night.

"Bells? Bells, where are you?" he heard a girl yell. "BELLS! This is not a joke. We have to get back inside!"

He moved into the cold darkness. "Ferry, come here. Don't make a sound. Tell me if you can see a girl, please."

Teddiursa licked his paws clean, shuffled over, and sat beside him. Ferry murmured something and gave Arid a strange look before peering around the tree.

Unsatisfied, Arid looked for the girl he'd heard. She was tall – maybe taller than himself. She wore a strange sundress for the time of year; he chalked it up to fashion sense and almost turned around until he noticed where she was going. She was headed straight for the rusted fence, where that same Quagsire was probably still standing guard after his appearance.

"Miss!" he yelled. She ignored him. "Miss, don't go there!"

He winced with each painful step, limping alongside Ferry in his efforts to keep the girl in his line of sight. Her body seemed to fuzz around the edge if he stared too long. Because of it, he felt a mounting sense of dread building up in his stomach. His voice was full of ache and worry, so he could not, despite his efforts, draw her attention northward even though he tried to one final time.

She moved as if in a trance, her pink slippers crunching against twigs and crispy leaves. Her head didn't twitch nor turn, which Arid thought was odd as a few seconds ago she had been looking for her friend.

He slowed. "Ferry, can you make her out from here?"

The Pokemon shook his head. Interestingly, the tan crescent on his head began to glow a faint alabaster. He thought that if Ferry couldn't see the girl, it was obviously all in his head. Nobody would clothe themselves at night time like she had. Feeling less anxious, he backed away. He saw a pale skull with red eyes watch him from just beyond the fence. This time, Ferry's fur stood on end, and he pushed Arid away.

Trudging back yet again, he breathed heavily under the warmth of a flickering street lamp. To his surprise, a group was still out and about, chatting animatedly on a bench: two boys and a woman with a bag spilling over with books.

For a moment, he considered yelling for their attention. He remembered not to risk his vocal cords as he raised a shaky hand. Phantoms were less lively than them, and he could tell that it wasn't an act. His steps faltered as he drew near. What would they do? If they reported him... But then came the soft words of his once kind saviour: Open Border Policy.

One of the boys was quite large. He had pale skin, grey hair, a simple red and white cap on his head, and eyes of great crystal blue. His eyebrows were like thick woollen socks or two young Zigzagoon pelts stapled to his face. His red jacket was unzipped, though it appeared not to be of his own volition, as the zipper was missing, revealing a large white T-shirt. His nose was small, yet his chin had a larger twin swallowing his neck. His legs were partly covered by shorts that reminded Arid of the great tarps he used to collect dew.

The other boy had smooth, caramel skin and black hair that exploded outward into a messy blowout. His hair was so voluminous his similar-looking cap sat far above his skull. Soft brown eyes sunk beneath sharp, wing-like eyebrows; his pointed nose and sharp chin reminded Arid of a feral Scyther's arms.

The woman was stunningly beautiful. Her skin was peachy, and a blanket of snowy white hair covered her shoulders. Her eyes were similar in colour to her hair and matched well with her white sundress, which took him away. The spaghetti straps rebelled against the distinctive coal-black heel of her high heels, as did her black-painted nails; her lips were thin and just as relaxed as her eyebrows.

She also had two earrings: an Umbreon and an Espeon on each ear. Her tote bag straps were hanging on by threads. Several thick books rested on her lap, and they looked so heavy that he could already feel the uncomfortable spines against his legs.

The large boy finally looked his way. His smile immediately fell away, and his eyes bugged out of his head. "I – well, that – I – Miss Kate?"

"Are you two finally willing to go back inside?" she said, displeased. She looked at him. "Oh."

Oh? The word rubbed him so badly that he frowned. Surviving a massacre, thousands of souls wearing his own thin, phantoms wearing Jamie's face and her Pokemon – and all of that could be summed up to one word. He suddenly felt very bitter and selfish. They looked a few moments ago like they were happy. He had taken that from them. He wanted to peel their joy apart, but the look Kate gave him dissuaded the notion. Instead of stopping, he shuffled past them to read three very old signs: Eastward: Route 39, 7400m; Westward: Ecruteak City, 2500m; and Route 38, his current location. The paint had faded in time, though the letters and numbers were still discernible.

A dark shape moved along a tree behind him. It was a very large bird clad in deep blue feathers. Not a Ducklett, then.

"Impressive." He cradled Ferry. "You're quite talented at situational awareness."

It was Kate.

"I'm going," he whispered.

She reached out and rapped a knuckle against his dragon scale. Ferry clawed at her thumb but luckily didn't manage to draw blood. She gave him a sweet smile. He couldn't bring himself to return it. He felt slightly warmer now. Arid shot the offending large bird Pokemon a cursory glance.

"Jake –!" hissed the brown-skinned boy.

"Come on, Aaron!" Jake murmured, stepping closer. He held a newspaper to his chest.

Arid noticed Kate glaring at one of the white birch trees. He saw a small Eevee slink back into one of the hedges. Kate maintained her eyes on the spot as the two boys drew near.

"Where are you from?" she asked quietly.

"Forgot." He turned away and sat on the far side of a bench behind him.

"You have an Orrian's accent," she continued. "You need some medical help."

"So you can steal my dragon scale when I'm not looking? You know what? Take it! I'd be better off without it, and you'd be too if you knew how I claimed it."

A paper silently fell into his lap. He turned it over and saw THE INDIGO TIMES in large print across its front. He struggled to read the smaller words, however. He could make out 'ORRE MASSACRE? WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN THE WESTERN DESERT NEXT?' before sliding the paper back to Kate with a painful grimace.

"Your Teddiursa looks sad," she commented.

"We're both sad." He gave her the scale. "Take it."

"You earned it fair and square. You're... peculiar. Strange. I can't explain it – and no, it's not to do with how you look or sound. Never give away a trophy like this again. Don't even think about sliding it back, either. How you obtained it will surely be a fascinating read in the future, but that's all. Right now, you need to calm down."

"You a Ranger?" he asked weakly.

"Rangers don't cover this section of Route thirty-eight. I'm unsure how you even know of their existence." She furrowed her brow, frustrated.

Aaron approached him awkwardly and whispered under his breath, "Check the back."

A thin paper voucher fell to the bench after Kate gave the newspaper a good shake. Its edges were scalloped and designed with several Gastly poking at Lavender plants. It was soggy. Arid grimaced at the wetness seeping through his trousers. The golden ink was smudged into a strange brown that slowly spread from edge to edge. He could see the Lost Hotel's name and an offering in small print beneath it claiming free buffets for its customers.

"We can put in a good word for you," said Jake. "The Indigo League Registration Office's location is on the bottom of the voucher." He drew himself up like a soldier. "I memorised its location and wrote it down. That's where people all across the world register for the Indigo Circuit. I figured that's something you want to do?"

They were staring at his right cheek and then at his hands.

Kate coughed. "Jake meant that we can give good references for your character, so you'll be fast-tracked for registration. I'll be taking Aaron and Jake there tomorrow. Does ten past twelve sound all right?"

"What is the date?"

"August twenty-fourth."

A corrosive lack of faith boiled in his chest. Why should he trust anything they said? Their every move made a terrible fear spike in his nervous system. He looked back to the tree with a scowl. Blind trust could not be nested when a bloodthirsty avian – he assumed it belonged to Kate – was watching his every move.

He stood and walked with clenched teeth toward Ecruteak City. Even miles away, the proud crimson-cyan neon lights of the Lost Hotel could be seen peaking over a hill of barren land and twisted trees.