FRALA’S POV

They say that the older you get, the faster time seems to advance. Well, that is definitely true for me. It was hard to believe that it had been more than four months since Spencer had arrived in Whitehall and formed a rescue team with Enfield and my own adoptive son, and yet it had been.

And what did that leave me? Soon, an empty-nester.

It was now the middle of May, with many of the flowers in the alpine meadows now in full bloom. However, I knew instinctively that they weren’t doing as well as they should have been.

There was an obvious culprit for this fact: Namely, the air. It was far drier than it should’ve been. Come to think of it, it had barely rained once since the sled race - we’d been obligated to wash the flowers ourselves. It’s a wonder they’d grown as well as they had.

I tried not to think about the flowers (or any other distressing topics) at the dinner table. In the presence of Team Earthlink, this was especially important - no reason to discourage them unnecessarily from what they needed to do.

“Mom, this is amazing,” Calvin mouthed as he chowed down on a dinner salad I’d mixed together from a variety of berries. “Did anyone tell you you’re an excellent cook?”

I forced a smile. “Yes. You have, Calvin. Many times.”

“Well, it’s true,” he said.

Let me tell you, that warmed my heart the way little else could. Although Calvin was not my son by blood, he still saw me as his mother. That was the most important thing.

The berry salad tasted even better when you’d made it yourself, and I licked my lips more than once despite this being contrary to the table manners I’d taught Calvin. The truth was, it was the perfect dish for an unseasonably warm day (which, according to the scientists, we’d be having more of soon). It was the perfect antidote to having so much fur.

As Calvin and Spencer passed around the salad and cornbread, arguing over whose turn it was to serve themselves, I couldn’t help but savor each moment as delicately as I savored each bite.

Sooner or later, I wouldn’t have dinners like this anymore. If I was lucky, Calvin would visit me a few times a year to let me know about all his escapades with Team Earthlink. His adventures would overshadow my healing “career”, and why shouldn’t they? They were more interesting for sure!

Meanwhile, Spencer had grown on me. Having a human in your midst wasn’t normally something to be celebrated in these parts, but I’d been able to work some of my magic to turn him into a Pokémon. So far as I knew, this spell could only be reversed by myself, but why would I do that when it would make Spencer’s life worse? Besides, he seemed to be adjusting well to his new form - what other conclusion could I come to when he’d been a valuable member of Team Earthlink for all this time?

So why had I turned him into a Litleo? Why, after not using this spell all my life, had I decided to suddenly unleash it against a stranger?

Calvin yawned. “I think I’ll head to bed, Mom,” he mouthed. “That hit the spot, though.”

“It’s a bit early for bed, isn’t it?” I wondered aloud, my motherly instinct imploring me to feel his forehead. But it was not Calvin who was feverish, but the air outside. Far drier than it should have been.

“Well, I’m tired,” my son mumbled. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I wasn’t going to keep Calvin from his bed if that was truly where he needed to be, so instead I glanced at Spencer, who did not yet show the same signs of tiredness.

For Calvin’s whole childhood, I’d wanted him to have a sibling. Maybe having someone else in the family would force him to adapt socially. Besides, it would give him a bond that nothing could sever. Of course, family ties can be torn when there’s a major betrayal, but short of that, blood is thicker than anything.

Needless to say, conceiving a child wasn’t an option for me. Nor did I want to adopt, given how difficult that was in such a village, or take part in surrogacy. The cross of motherhood was mine alone to bear if I chose to go that route, and yet I couldn’t. Tests showed that I remained stubbornly infertile.

So Calvin had grown up as an only child. And now, when he was about to strike out on his own, I’d given him a brother for my own selfish reasons.

No. He’s already struck out on his own. I think I’m in denial.

Would I ever turn Spencer back? Could I, at this point? Probably not - it was best to keep my magic at bay as much as possible. If I wasn’t careful, who knew how much it might backfire?

When my own eyelids grew heavy, I moved sluggishly to the master bedroom and closed the door. Hopefully then the indoor air would cool, because sweating through your fur is no fun at all.

I sighed. Arceus, it was so hot and dry. My lips were chapped and my throat was parched, so I took several long swigs of water right from the tap before I climbed into bed and closed my eyes.

Sleep wasn’t easy to come by either. That is, until I decided to ditch my blankets and instead just stare closed-eyed at the ceiling until I drifted off.

When I did finally sleep, I got more than I’d bargained for.

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In my dream, I sat in a leather recliner in a cavernous room. I could tell I was the only one in the room, because…I just could.

The lighting was rather dim, but it was enough to see that there were numerous rows of seats identical to mine. There were no illuminated exits, but other than that, it looked just like a particularly luxurious movie theater. Admittedly, there were no buckets of popcorn or bottles of soda to be found.

There was no movie either, but that was about to change as I heard a click behind me and a projector whirred into life.

“Good evening. Please remember to remain quiet and that there is to be no recording of the presentation as it is in progress.”

How am I going to record this? I don’t have a camera, and besides, I’m the only one here, so why should they care about me being quiet?

Oh well. The dream became far stranger pretty quickly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to today’s featured presentation.”

That voice. It sounded familiar…but also not familiar. It was just like when you think you’ve heard something before, but can’t quite place where and when you heard it. But I didn’t think about it any more, because just then, the screen lit up.

Unlike a movie that you’d see at a cinema, there were no trailers prior to the real thing. Instead, the words immediately flashing before my eyes were the following:

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF FRALA PYROAR

RELEASED: 2024

RUNNING TIME: 3 HOURS, 3 MINUTES

RATING: R

I gasped. “They made a three-hour movie about me?”

There was that voice again. “Please be quiet, or you will be asked to leave the cinema. You do not want that, do you?”

Well, no. I guess I don’t. I’m curious now - how could they fill three hours with my life?

The first screen of the film was a still image of a stork carrying a bundle in its beak. Then, the scene animated, the stork flapping its wings across the screen toward an object in the distance.

When the scene crystallized into high-definition, I saw that the creature was not a stork, but a Bombirdier. Same difference. Either way, as the stork flew, I saw that it was approaching an elevated portion of the Earth’s crust - in layman’s terms, a mountain.

The Bombirdier got closer to the mountainside, and for a moment I expected the Flying-type and its precious cargo to crash. At the very last moment, however, a door opened in the massive marble pyramid and the Bombirdier flew right through!

This is the kind of thing that only happens in movies. Wait, this is a movie.

The scene changed, and now I saw the Bombier and its bundle in what looked like a hangar of sorts. The Flying-type put its wings in the “big ears” formation used for rapid descent, and then floated to the ground, depositing its package on the floor.

Two men in dark blue suits ran to the Flying-type’s side, petting its fur and thanking it for a job well done. Then they unwrapped the bundle.

The bundle contained a sleeping infant Litleo, blowing bubbles with its saliva as it snoozed. One of the men cooed in a manner that made my fur crawl - this was not genuine affection for an adorable baby.

“We need to get her inside,” the man barked. “We have to take care of her!”

Generally, I understood “taking care of someone” to mean providing for their needs, whatever those needs might be. However, that connotation was not present here; if anything, it seemed as though they meant to eliminate this infant as a threat.

“There’s a word on the blanket she was wrapped in,” the other man noted. “We should probably read it in case that’s her name.”

The other man frowned. “What’s that name?”

“It starts with an F, that’s all I’m saying!”

I shivered at that sentence. Not because it was particularly harsh on its own, but because an inkling of familiarity came along with it. I started to suspect what the rest of the word was, and which Litleo had been in that bundle.

The scene changed again. Now one of the men from earlier stood in what looked like a laboratory. I could tell it was a lab because it contained numerous beakers and tables, and the other personnel wore the dark blue coats typical of scientists at work. Most of them were not smiling, but the man from before was.

“Say your name, please,” he told the Litleo. “You’re a year old, so you should have a word or two by now.”

The Litleo opened her mouth, but all she did was cry.

“Oh, you’re hungry? Don’t worry, I’ll feed you when we’re done. Just say your name!”

But, as you might imagine, the infant did not wish to comply with the instructions, not least because she was too young to understand them. Instead she kept wailing.

“I’ll make some things easy for you!” the man barked, loudly enough to elicit some dirty looks from the other scientists. “Your name is Frala. F-R-A-L-A. Frala.”

On some level, I’d known this before, but to hear it actually said felt like a jolt from the paddles of a defibrillator. That’s me in the movie.

I was moved to a lab as a baby…but why?

The man began snickering. “Yes, yes…I think it’s a rather silly name. Sounds like the combination of two airport codes or something. But whatever.”

It occurred to me that because humans could not understand my language, infant me wouldn’t be able to satisfy his demands even if she’d been old enough to speak. The man no doubt knew this, and was instead trying to mock me, knowing I could hear every word.

And then the baby - baby me - started crying again. That set the man’s temper off, like lighting the fuse of a stick of dynamite on fire.

“Oh, for crying out loud! Do you want a bottle or something? Well, you’ll get that after I’m done!”

Despite the knowledge that this was only a film, that the events depicted within weren’t currently happening, I flinched at the way the man spoke. To conform to the dynamite analogy, the lab was about to be blown apart by the blast.

“Gorrister!” one of the other scientists bellowed. “Stop yelling at her!”

“I’ll yell as much as I need to!” the man identified as Gorrister exclaimed. “If she doesn’t want to follow directions, that’s her problem!”

“Well, she’s already crying loud enough,” the other scientist muttered. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

These people have the NERVE to talk about right and wrong as though they know the difference. That’s just…it makes me see red!

“Maybe it doesn’t, Corrigan,” Gorrister said coolly, “but I’ve got to run some blood tests on this baby girl. We need to figure out her baseline health!”

As if they care about my health at all.

Gorrister came at the infant version of me with a needle. “Okay, little Frala,” he said in a tone reminiscent of poisoned honey, “this won’t hurt a bit.”

Baby Frala resisted nonetheless, rolling over a few times to prevent herself from being stuck with the needle. Eventually, she was unable to resist, and numerous vials of her blood were taken.

My blood, I reminded myself. This is me.

By the time Gorrister had finished withdrawing blood from the bank that was baby Frala’s body, she’d grown rather limp on the bed. The girl yawned.

“Who would’ve thought that the process would make her cry less?” Corrigan muttered. Glaring at Gorrister, Corrigan continued as follows: “It’s almost as if getting it over with quickly helps.”

“Maybe it does,” Gorrister replied. “Should I just let her sleep? She seems really tired - she can eat when she wakes up.”

The Litleo baby fell asleep quickly after that, after which I was greeted by a montage of scientists walking around the lab performing various mundane tasks. Ordinarily, it would have been malpractice to place this scene in a movie that people were meant to find exciting, but I suppose when you needed to fill three hours, you had to pad it out somewhere.

When the scene changed yet again, the next thing I saw was baby Frala (baby me) lying in the lap of Gorrister. The scientist I recognized as Corrigan stood in front of a set of beakers, mixing a few multicolored chemicals together. Corrigan frowned a few times, possibly at the smell of some of the ingredients for whatever he was making.

Gorrister, however, was the more appalling sight. He sat in a rocking chair, moving gently back and forth, and he kept making the same noises I recognized from the film’s opening scene. The noises that were guaranteed to piss me off, in other words.

As Gorrister cooed, Corrigan cooked, and the former man asked the latter what was taking so long.

“It’s my first time making infant formula and I don’t want to mess this up” Corrigan said very quickly, almost too quickly for even my very keen ears to understand.

“Well, hurry up, would you? Little Frala isn’t going to be happy much longer without something to…well, do they even eat at this age? Or is the word drink?”

“Whatever.”

In any case, after a few more mixes, the formula was ready for the infant’s consumption - or at least, as ready as it would ever be. Though I could not smell or taste through the screen, I recoiled at just how artificial the formula appeared to be in a way I couldn’t place.

The bottle was held to baby Frala’s lips, and the Litleo cried at the sight of it.

“I’m trying to help you, little Frala,” Gorrister said testily. “You need to take food by mouth so that your teeth are strong. Besides, Corrigan here made it for you, because he cares.”

My present self could barely keep from laughing at the notion that Corrigan cared, but whatever.

“So drink up, Frala. It’s good for you.”

And yet baby me continued to sob, and Gorrister’s free hand scratched his head. “What gives, little Frala? Why won’t you drink it?”

Corrigan frowned. “I think she’s not used to it. Isn’t it more nutritious for babies to drink their mother’s milk if possible?”

“Well yes, but her own mother rejected her. Besides, didn’t you mix together everything that would be found in…in that type of milk?”

My own mother rejected me, I realized with a tiny little shank to the heart.

I remembered what Borden had told me about my parents. They were missing explorers - not dead, he kept emphasizing. Missing.

Right away, present-day me understood why he’d kept that secret from me. There are some things that a child never wants to think about their parents, let alone know about them, and this was one of those things.

“There are some things, of course,” Corrigan continued, “that even I have not been able to replicate. Vaccines are one thing, but placing antibodies in synthetic mother’s milk is something else.”

Antibodies.

I sensed a plot twist coming. Surely it had to be important that Corrigan was mentioning that the lab-mixed milk lacked antibodies.

“So in other words,” Gorrister muttered, “you haven’t been able to make it perfect.”

“Well, nothing is ever perfect” Corrigan replied curtly. “We in the field of science rarely speak of perfection - there are very few absolutes in our world, contrary to popular belief. But this is as good as we’re going to get.”

“All right, then. Open wide, little Frala.”

I watched myself be force-fed the formula and cringed at the sight. Not because my infant self ate particularly messily, but more because of just how much pleasure these two men seemed to take in having all the power.

The film settled into another montage, with the following caption over it for the next few minutes: OVER THE NEXT FEW MONTHS, FRALA LITLEO WAS FED SYNTHETIC FORMULA AT THE SYNDICATE 23 LAB. THESE WERE THE RESULTS.

Eventually, another scene came into the film’s “vision.” By the time depicted, Frala Litleo was now a toddler being taught how to walk. She was made to complete short obstacle courses, staggering around a series of cones arranged in a line across the room, and even smiled a few times when she succeeded in doing so without falling. Along the way, Gorrister and Corrigan took notes on little Frala’s performance.

There were other milestones too, such as my toddler self saying her name for the first time, as well as a few games of tic-tac-toe that she’d already learned how to never lose at when she had the first move. On the whole, I watched myself develop normally, if a little faster than most Litleo (including Calvin) had.

And then the fevers started. It seemed like I was catching every little thing that went around the lab. Given that little Frala was kept in a cage during that time among hundreds of others, conditions were likely less than sanitary despite the cosmetic concessions to hygiene the lab took.

The coughs were hard to watch, as difficult as they’d been when Calvin had been sick with croup at age six. Even if I sat alive and well in my recliner, it still wasn’t easy to hear the cough like a Dewgong’s bark, particularly when it seemed to frustrate my two caregivers.

Gorrister grunted as he lifted me onto one of the lab’s beds, where I’d apparently been kept until I recovered. “Why is she getting sick so often? Third time in as many months!”

I dunno, maybe it’s because of the conditions you’re keeping me in?

One of the fevers was particularly ferocious. My toddler self was lying in her cage, looking completely out of it as she rocked back and forth. Except that “rocking” was hardly an accurate word to use, and “writhing in terror” would likely have been more appropriate.

Not only was toddler Frala visibly uncomfortable, but I could practically see the steam rising off her brow just like I’d taught myself how to with Calvin. And if even that weren’t enough, the toddler was sweating like a beast. The blankets were soaked through with her perspiration.

When Corrigan brought her breakfast (soft yet solid foods unlike what I’d been eating at first), my much younger self did not stir.

“Sweetie, you really need to eat, okay? It might not be your favorite food, but breakfast is the most important meal of the day! You’ve gotta eat up so you can be big and strong!”

Corrigan flexed his muscles there as though imitating a bodybuilder; which, of course, he almost assuredly was. But the feverish toddler lying in the cage was not amused, as she continued sleeping fitfully.

“Don’t throw a tantrum over it” Corrigan snapped, opening the cage door. The scientist appeared determined to force-feed the Litleo if necessary; I could hardly believe the food hadn’t been spiked with how intensely Corrigan pushed the food into Frala’s lap.

But the Litleo toddler kept rolling about, eventually knocking her bowl over. And that’s when Corrigan gasped.

“She’s burning up!” Corrigan shouted. “Medics, somebody! Come here!”

Within a minute, several Syndicate 23 physicians (kind of an oxymoron, come to think of it) were on me. One of them placed electrodes (not the Pokémon) on my chest to monitor my heart rate, while another took my blood pressure. And then…

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“I don’t know what this is,” one of the medics said. “We’ll need to take her to the med lab.”

Corrigan nodded as though this was perfectly unremarkable. And then I realized it probably was, considering how many fevers I’d suffered from at the age of one.

This is going to sound selfish, and I’ll admit it: It’s unbecoming of a mother to express this feeling. But at that moment, watching this scene from afar as part of a movie, I felt sorry for myself.

When you’re a mother, even an adoptive one, you’re not allowed to feel sorry for yourself. You can’t take a day off from being a parent, even if you’re sick, and especially if your child is sick too. And yet, viewing this film as though I were an actress in my own life was akin to an out-of-body experience.

In any case, after watching a compilation of blood draws, pulse checks, and whatever else happened in Syndicate 23’s med lab, I saw a number of other scenes that I’ll briefly describe.

When she turned two years old, my younger self was given a cake and chew toy as a present. The cake itself might as well have been a lie - it appeared so unabashedly synthetic that I recoiled. And sure, cakes aren’t the healthiest food in the world, but I highly doubted this one was even made with real flour and sugar. It just looked as rubbery as though it were a chew toy much like the Lycanroc one they presented as my inedible gift.

My toddler self didn’t seem too pleased by the cake, which is when Gorrister (the man presenting it) sneered angrily.

“Frala Litleo,” he began, “you will eat this cake, or you will wear it!”

Although I knew I was the one being mistreated and mocked to no end here, present me couldn’t help but chuckle at that saying. In a way, it almost sounded erotic, like it was something 2-year-old me wasn’t supposed to understand.

Gorrister was plainly getting frustrated. This wasn’t working as planned. Quite frankly, he had probably drugged the cake with something, maybe even poison to kill me if I ingested it. (Admittedly, it would’ve been ridiculous to keep me alive all this time just to poison me now, but so was the saying “eat it or wear it”).

The Litleo kept resisting the cake, so Gorrister gave her one last chance. “Frala, I’ll give you one last offer. You can either eat this cake, or you can submit to me dumping it on your head.”

I had been laughing before. I wasn’t laughing anymore, not when the Litleo turned her nose away from the cake and Gorrister picked up the plate. I half-expected him to whack 2-year-old Frala in the noggin as punishment for refusing the cake, and my present self waited with bated breath for what would happen next.

As it turned out, there was no twist here. Gorrister simply turned the plate upside down, and the cake fell onto my toddler self’s head. Clearly-fake frosting cascaded down the Litleo’s face, and her expression was downright grumpy.

“Well,” Gorrister noted, “I wasn’t kidding that time.”

When someone shows you who they are, believe them. That was an old saying from Borden that presently worked its way back into my head. In other words, if Gorrister seemed cruel enough to force the Litleo to “wear” her cake, then he probably was.

The film went on for another two hours or so, touching on various other events from my third year of life. There were walks in the hall, during which I was invariably chaperoned by either Gorrister or Corrigan. There were also scheduled free play times in a cavernous room that for all the world resembled the gymnasium at which many of Whitehall’s town meetings were held.

For what it’s worth, my toddler self seemed to be making a few friends. Maybe she (no, I) had even found a silver lining to her life (no, my life) in the lab, though it seemed pretty narrow to me.

Arceus, watching yourself when you’re so young, especially with events like this, really fucks with your mind.

Suddenly, the screen turned green, and for a moment I wondered if the film was about to glitch and skip around like it does if a disc is dirty. But instead, the green screen was littered with giant block letters stating: AND NOW, TIME FOR THE REVEAL.

“What reveal?” I gasped.

“Please remain quiet in the theater, or you will be asked to leave.”

Honestly, by this time I was equal parts bored and uncomfortable, so leaving the cinema early didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. And yet I held out, simply because I wanted to know the truth.

The scene changed for the umpteenth time, and now I, Frala, was three. I could tell she was three years old because another clearly-fake cake had been set before her, and it had three candles in it.

“You know the drill, girl,” Gorrister said. “Eat it or wear it.”

Just as she had the previous year, the Litleo scoffed at the cake, evidently not caring if she had to “wear” the cake again. But that wasn’t the end of it.

“Frala,” Gorrister continued, “you would be wise to eat the cake now, because it’s the last thing you’re going to eat before tomorrow morning.”

I grimaced. The way Gorrister phrased it sounded almost like the cake was my last meal on death row. It didn’t matter that I was still alive - there’s still something chilling about being told that something is the last thing you’re going to eat.

Indeed, the 3-year-old version of me twitched a bit, scrunching her nose at the cake. But before Gorrister could dump it on her head, she took a bite of the cake, frosting ending up on her nose. I almost giggled at how cute the scene was - or at least, how cute it would have been if not for the other facts of the Litleo’s situation.

The following morning, Gorrister and Corrigan stood in front of a third man who resembled a doctor. I could tell he was a doctor of some kind due to his outfit, including a face shield.

“She hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since last night, correct?” the doctor asked.

Both Gorrister and Corrigan nodded. “Nil per os, as they say in some ancient language that nobody speaks anymore.”

“Very well. I’ll prepare her for surgery. It’s best if she doesn’t remember any of this, so it’s good that we’re doing it as soon as she turns three.”

Surgery. But why? Three-year-old me looks perfectly healthy…at least, as healthy as one can be in such an environment.

I saw my far younger self wheeled into a sterile operating room. A team of doctors stood there; two were women, so there was at least some representation there. Of course, given how badly I’d been treated during most of my time with Syndicate 23, it hardly mattered in my mind.

The anesthesia mask was placed over the Litleo’s face, and an IV was inserted in one of her legs. The woman putting her under said the following:“Okay, Frala. Count back from ten. Ten…nine…eight…”.

Three-year-old Frala went limp before the anesthesiologist’s countdown hit seven, and then the doctors began operating on my younger self. Mercifully for my present self, I was not shown any details of the procedure. That is, until my younger self woke up in the recovery room, a set of stitches over her stomach and midsection.

“Welcome back to the waking world, Frala” the anesthesiologist announced eventually. “The operation was a success.”

What did they even do to me?

My 3-year-old self blinked groggily as her eyes readjusted to the light. She yawned as well, looking as though she wanted to say something but knew that the doctor wouldn’t understand her, so it was fruitless.

“There are many burdens of motherhood, you know” the anesthesiologist said, which made my current self raise my eyebrows. “Labor is only one of the difficult, highly unpleasant tasks that those who take on this job must endure. And motherhood is a job you don’t get a vacation from, nor even a day off.

“You will be pleased to hear, therefore, that this is one cross you will not need to bear.”

I gulped, suddenly knowing exactly what operation had been performed on the 3-year-old Litleo. A female, especially a young female, who had to undergo it was always someone to feel bad for, because it meant that she’d never have children even if she wanted to. To be clear, not every woman wants to be a mother, but I certainly did when I was younger, and that jerk Falco hadn’t been able to forgive me when I failed to deliver (literally).

“You see, Frala, we have removed your ovaries.”

There it was. That slap in the face, like a bucket of ice water being dumped on your head. It confirmed what I’d just figured out, and let me tell you: I saw red.

I banged a fist against the recliner’s armrest, barely resisting the urge to shout at the screen, to go on a massive tirade against Syndicate 23. Yes, I’d adopted Calvin and become a mother that way, but my motherhood still came with an asterisk beside it, one that would forever invalidate that status in the eyes of some.

“Yes, Frala Pyroar, you have reason to be upset” a voice announced.

It was not the voice of the anesthesiologist from the film. Rather, it was the voice from above me, presumably the being operating the projector. The same voice I’d heard earlier and been unable to place.

“When you are deeply, unspeakably angry at someone, there is only one thing you want. There’s only one thing you think you need. And if you are able to acquire this one thing, it will all be worthwhile.”

I lifted my eyes toward the ceiling. “I don’t know how you were raised, or who you are, but I was taught that holding a grudge is like drinking poison and hoping the other ‘mon dies.”

In other words, it’s not worth it. It isn’t healthy. So…

“Well, I’ll phrase this a different way” the voice announced. “When something like this is done to a three-year-old, someone always pays. You paid during the recovery from an unnecessary procedure, you paid again when you attempted to bear children only to find that you were barren, and you’ve been paying ever since you adopted Calvin.”

“I’ve paid by raising him as a loving mother” I snapped. “It’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.”

“But don’t you worry that some of the other villagers think less of your motherhood?” the voice asked me calmly. “That in their eyes, it isn’t as valuable as theirs?”

Oh, I don’t worry about that. I know they feel that way. There’s no need to beat around the bush, whoever you are.

“Whatever. What are you trying to get at?”

“As I stated above, the question is not whether anyone should pay for what has been done - a three-year-old, made barren for no good reason, and even that is to say nothing of all the other atrocities Syndicate 23 has committed. The question is who should pay? You, and all their other innocent victims? Or them?”

That achingly, tantalizingly familiar voice allowed me to chew on that idea (metaphorically, of course) for a few moments. Just when I thought they’d never continue speaking, they did.

“If you wish to make Syndicate 23 pay, to get even with those who have wronged you, meet me at the House of Vengeance as soon as you can.”

I snorted. “Oh, way to tell me everything I need to know. Where is this House of Vengeance, exactly?”

No answer was forthcoming; no useful answer, at any rate. But when the voice finally responded, this is what it said:

“I do not have long to talk. You’ll find me at the House of Vengeance - as long as I remain there, I’m not going anywhere.”

Uh…no shit.

“But first, you must wake up. Whitehall needs you. Thank you for coming to tonight’s screening, and I wish you the best of luck.”

After that, the movie theater faded around me, to be replaced by the real world. And it was only then that I understood why Whitehall needed me.

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SPENCER’S POV

The sound of a blaring alarm ripped me from my slumber.

Too early, I thought. It’s just too early. Can’t you give me a few more minutes, Mom?

I half-expected my mother to enter my room and say that I’d slept later than I should, that I needed to be ready to head to school. That she could not give me a few more minutes, no matter how badly I wanted them.

And then everything came back to me. I hadn’t seen my mother in over four months, and while I’d grown used to her absence, it’s not like I didn’t have the occasional event to jog my memory.

More importantly, my bed was so warm and comfortable. The covers felt as though they’d just been heated in the dryer, hot and dry and fluffy. So did the mattress, come to think of it.

All I wanted to do was sleep a bit longer, but the alarm rose in pitch, a sound that was grating at first, but soon became, well, alarming.

“Wake up, dammit!” I heard Calvin yell. “Open your eyes!”

But it was difficult to resist the tug of sleep. Nonetheless…

“Open your eyes, you idiot! Now is no time for a snooze!”

I did as I was told, and almost wished I hadn’t.

The air was thick with smoke, bathed in a red glow. The artificial lighting used to illuminate the home was gone. (Later, I’d realize this was because the power had been shut off.)

“Calvin?” I rasped, my throat feeling as though it had been baked in an oven.

“Arceus, Spence! Look around you!”

I glanced around to find that outside the window, it was still dark. At least, the sky was dark, but the ground was a different story.

“A fire!” I exclaimed, that one motion causing more discomfort than I wanted to admit.

Calvin nodded. “Enfield’s still in the kitchen - Mom left!”

Mom left. He was talking, of course, about Frala. In the context of a massive fire, this sounded rather ominous.

“I’ve got our satchel!” Calvin exclaimed breathlessly. “Just in case we can’t come back!”

Something within my teammate’s tone, however, told me that it was hardly a matter of “just in case.” We would not come back, not anytime soon at least.

“Why’d she leave?” I moaned. Of course, I was referring to Frala as I staggered with Calvin out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

“To tend to the wounded, of which I assume there’ll be many! Don’t let yourself become a statistic!”

I followed Calvin and Enfield out of the kitchen and thus out of the house, where I saw that the usual array of stars in that dome high above us had vanished. More specifically, they’d been snuffed out by the light pollution created by the fires crackling all around us. Needless to say, these weren’t the cozy crackles of a fire you’d set on the hearth.

The village was a scene of utter pandemonium. While Frala’s house was in a less dense part of Whitehall, there were still numerous structures aflame that the village’s few Water-types were attempting to put out. The fire department even had hoses with them, but hoses will only do so much against an out-of-control wildfire.

We should’ve known this was coming, I “heard” Calvin say. It’s been so hot and dry lately! We were overdue for a major wildfire!

Enfield clenched his paws into fists. “If this were Coronet City, it would be getting so many more resources! Instead they’re making us fend for ourselves!”

Calvin frowned. “We’re going to run, okay? We can rant about the way humans treat us later.”

Notably, he didn’t disagree with what Enfield had said, only when he had said it. Calvin then began sprinting in the direction of the village green and guild hall.

I had no choice but to follow him, racing at high speed through Whitehall. All around us, lions were milling about, in some cases packed together as closely as though they were at a concert or sporting event. Of course, they were not having the time of their lives, but rather running for their lives.

As the structures around us grew more numerous, so did the chaos. At one point I spotted Mayor Barrett holding a hose with several other volunteer firefighters, aiming it right at the guild hall (which was alight with a series of small flames).

“Barrett!” I exclaimed.

The mayor’s concentration didn’t waver from keeping the hose aloft and helping the other members of the fire-fighting brigade aim it where it needed to go.

“Hey, sorry guys, but I’m a little busy here!” the mayor exclaimed. “You three should be running for your lives!”

“You’re so important, though!” Calvin bellowed. “Your life is worth more than ours - shouldn’t you live through this for the sake of continuity?”

Mayor Barrett shook his head. “When times are tough, I’m not supposed to tuck my tail between my legs and run away! No! I’m going to right the ship as best I can, and I’ll go down with the ship if I need to!”

Selfishly, I wanted to live. And that’s what motivated me to keep running, even as my chest started burning from the efforts to continue drawing breath. I was already inhaling smoke, after all, and it was drying my throat so that it could be burned, much like the weather had been doing to the forest.

It occurred to me, not for the first time, that I might not get out of this situation with my life intact. If I did, would I ever be the same? And if I didn’t, would I even have any remains to go back to the Earth, as it were?

Panic didn’t take long to seize me, but I channeled that panic into my legs to propel me forward, into my lungs to keep enough air amid all the smoke, and my mind to remain determined to escape. But something else entered my mind as we entered the forest proper.

I was a human before. Now I’m a lion. I’d like to think that I have the courage of one, but when I’m faced with a wall of flame, I’m just as cowardly as everyone else.

We ran uphill for a few minutes, and I had ample time to wonder where, exactly, Calvin was leading us. It wasn’t until we reached a clearing that I recognized where we were.

“This is where the sled race started!” I exclaimed, but I was seized by a coughing fit before that sentence was finished.

“Shut up, don’t waste your air!” Calvin shouted. If not for the crackling inferno masking some of that, he’d have made more noise than the sound he’d been trying to stop.

“But it is!” I forced out. “Calvin, are we going to the Labyrinth?”

“Don’t speak!” my fellow Litleo barked. “There are better…gasp…uses of your…gasp… lung capacity!”

“Answer me! Are we going to the Labyrinth?”

“Yes!”

I wanted to object. I’d either point out that the Labyrinth’s entrance at Arceus’ Fist was a good few miles away and therefore too far to traverse through the blaze, or that the Labyrinth itself was incredibly perilous. Or maybe both. Yet one glance at Calvin’s face told me that either argument would fall flatter than a pancake.

During our run through the fire, I tripped on more than a couple roots, flames nipping at my heels. And if you find running exhausting normally, try doing it when the oxygen is literally being burned out of the air all around you.

After a mile or two, I rolled my back right ankle on a rock, falling to the ground in pain. I yelped, but I wasn’t sure the others had heard me.

So I yelped again, and then Enfield swiveled in my direction. “Get up!” he yelled. “You’ll be in far worse pain if you don’t - cough - keep running!”

He was right, and I knew it. But I could barely see straight, much less walk straight, and I couldn’t even allow myself a minute’s rest.

Naturally, my heart rate quickened further, to the point that I thought it might well beat its way out of my chest. And yet I still couldn’t get up on my own.

“Help…” I moaned, grimacing from the pain.

Enfield, luckily, heard me, and he used his paw to pull me back into a standing position. He didn’t even stop to ask if I was okay - he just sprinted forward, leaving me no choice but to follow him.

With pain points practically everywhere on my body, the rest of the trip felt interminable. At any moment, I half-expected to run into a feral Pokémon that we’d need to fight. This would only delay us further.

Don’t be silly, Spencer! Staying here is suicide, even if the beasts want to add a murder to that suicide!

Just because something’s dumb doesn’t mean that it’s beneath your enemies!

I gasped in pain with every impact my ankle made against the ground. I grimaced every few seconds, but I narrowed my eyes whenever I felt the slightest urge to give up.

Slowly but surely, I was losing the battle to remain on my feet. Sweating from the immense heat all around me and huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Lycanroc, my eyes watered so intensely I could hardly see.

I must’ve been breathing pretty loudly, because Calvin glared at me. “Come on, Spence!”

“I’m trying” I rasped, gasping and nearly retching more than once.

“Spencer, I’m carrying the satchel! You don’t have to worry about anything but yourself!”

I rolled my eyes. So Calvin must think he’s Super’mon or something! But I guess someone has to carry the satchel, or else we won’t be prepared!

After a very long run, Arceus’ Fist was in sight. The pile of rocks remained untouched by the conflagration, probably because stone wasn’t the most flammable material. It would be our refuge, our sanctuary, until the fire subsided.

Hope sprang in my chest. I’d be breathing safe air before long, and I’d no longer be at risk of being burned to a crisp. I just needed to make it another two hundred meters or so, and then I’d be out of the woods, literally.

Unfortunately, the satchel, which had loosely been strapped around Calvin’s back and midsection for the last few miles, suddenly slipped off of his rear and onto the ground.

“Calvin!” I shouted as forcefully as I could (admittedly, not very much). “Your satchel!”

My teammate glared at me. “There’s no time! Run for cover!”

“But if it’s gone…we’ll have nothing!” I wailed.

As if your life can be replaced as easily as those items!

I could not argue with that, but that left me no choice but to watch as the inferno caught up with the satchel, engulfing the highly flammable material until it was charred beyond recognition. (Of course, I was running as I did so.)

“Get in!” Enfield shrieked. “Or else we’re toast!”

Literally.

As soon as we crawled between the rocks making up Arceus’ Fist, the world shimmered out of existence, and then into a different form.

We were now back in the brick tunnel that was part of the world’s largest mystery dungeon. And although we’d just escaped such a nightmare, I could find little to celebrate.

Enfield stood tall, scanning the walls and ceiling. “So this is the Labyrinth?”

Calvin nodded, an act that I barely had the strength for. It was all I could do to remain upright and observe my fellow Litleo’s conversation with Enfield.

“Looks pretty…I dunno, just like your average mystery dungeon” the Emolga muttered.

“Trust me,” Calvin responded. “It’s a lot more nefarious. We’re well and truly in its clutches. Do you see the way we just came in, Spencer?”

I turned around to see where we’d just arrived from. To my chagrin, there was nothing but solid brick there. Hell, I couldn’t even have told you the general direction we’d used to end up here. I shook my head.

“Well, it’s a good thing we have Escape Orbs” Enfield mumbled. “Well, not right now, because the forest is on fire. But later.”

I glanced sheepishly at Calvin. Come to think of it, the Emolga had been too far ahead of us to witness our satchel going up in flames - therefore, he didn’t know that we no longer possessed it. This was an inconvenient truth, but a truth nonetheless, and it needed to be told.

“I lost the satchel,” Calvin mumbled. “It’s on me.”

That set Enfield off. As though he’d been shot out of a cannon, the Emolga flew over to Calvin’s side, seized him by the shoulders, and began shaking him back and forth.

“How could you be so careless?”

“My brain’s like a sieve!” my fellow Litleo asserted. “I can remember big things, but I’m always forgetting small things like that satchel!”

“I’d hardly call our adventure satchel a small thing, Cal!” Enfield all but shrieked. “That’s literally our lifeline! It’s our one-way ticket out of here if we need it! And it’s got food, water, and other supplies we desperately need!”

“Right” Calvin sighed.

“And you lost it like it was nothing!”

“Both of you, cut it out!” I tried to shout, but it came out as more of a yawn. Now that I was out of the most immediate danger, my adrenaline was fading fast. But I was still awake enough to know that having my two teammates at loggerheads would be a recipe for trouble in this quest, early trouble.

“You have fur in this game too, Spencer!” Enfield exclaimed, pointing at Calvin. “If he loses our satchel, we’re all going down with Captain Cal!”

“Since when am I the captain? We’re a team. And in case you haven’t noticed, unless we get Celebi in here at random - what are the odds - there’s no going back!”

“I need to sleep” I asserted, which was true. My eyelids were now heavier than those dumbbells used by the most elite weightlifters, and they wouldn’t stay open much longer.

Calvin glared at me. “Two things: One, you two would be lost without me. You need me more than I need you, and it’s not even close!”

That’s actually true, I guess. He guided us through a lot of those dungeons, like that underground lake we did last week.

Still, I felt…odd hearing that. Not gaslit, exactly, but something about those words seemed almost like he was trying to wear me down.

Don’t think that way. Calvin’s your ally. He’s your brother from another mother. Besides, he has something else to say.

“Two, I don’t think you should sleep right now, Spencer. We’re not going to eat or drink for a while, and if you rest now, you might not get up again.”

I yawned again. (Though this would have been an awfully convenient time to prove my point, I assure you that this was unintentional.)

“I’ll be useless until I rest” I said drowsily “If we run into any enemies, I won’t be of much help.”

“Let Spencer rest until morning” Enfield told Calvin. “He’s got a point.”

“It’s already morning,” my fellow Litleo protested.

“But it’s better not to have one of our members half-asleep, isn’t it?”

Calvin seemed to acquiesce to the Emolga’s reasoning here, which gave me the chance I needed to curl into a ball on the floor of the maze. Let me tell you, it wasn’t terribly comfortable, and the discomfort was only exacerbated by the anticipation of what lay ahead. Sleep could only delay the inevitable, which is why I wanted to stay asleep as long as possible. In a few short hours I would wake, my throat even drier, my stomach aching with hunger, and my brain knowing that neither of these needs could be met.