Years passed. For most of them, Terez had found her new home - one deep under Drasal’s jungles. The old king wasn’t imprisoned, nor was he dead, and now she served him like her father did. She’d kept her soul clean, of course - King Artanouk was a good man.

So she believed.

For the first few years, she worked her way up the underground ranks, honing her skills as a psychic and a magician, picking up flute playing in her spare time, and going to war against the organisation she was once part of. Corrupted and twisted beyond recognition, it had to be gotten rid of. By any means necessary, some among the Alliance’s ranks said, but she’d shut them down. They weren’t the enemy - the Crest’s serpentine head was.

Her neck now wrapped in a black scarf, Terez did her duty diligently, fighting and mentoring where needed, focusing on becoming the best version of herself. Not just for her sake. For his sake. For everyone’s sake. She owed them that much.

Yet the sense all wasn’t well never faded. At first, her concerns seemed irrational. She got the opportunity to shake the former king’s flipper soon after joining, for crying out loud. Queen Patrina would never consent to the same.

But alas, first impressions deceived far too often. In due time, Terez began hearing things. Black scarves with shady pasts, violent ideas being shared in the open, rumours of the unsavoury kind. For now, it was little more than a rotten apple in the bucket. But it didn't take much for one to spoil the batch.

At first, Terez tried getting closer withLen, but his role as a fighter diminished over time. It started with his legs being bent: one particularly cruel green scarf had caught him off guard. Not long after recovering, a horn found its way through his chest. It went in like a hot knife through butter: Len surviving that was nothing short of a miracle. After this, he didn't want to push his luck any longer, and the commanders agreed. Terez, still fighting danger, was once again on her own. No real friends to speak of.

How fortunate that the Alliance appointed friends. In her case, said friend was a real piece of work. An Aggron from the other side of the continent, as quiet as a collapsing building, and as subtle as a hammer smashing your face. Skal was his name, and Terez mysteriously found him getting assigned to missions with her. For a year afterwards, every day began the same: The Aggron went to her first thing in the morning, shook her hand, then rolled the same quote off his tongue.

"G'day, Terez! Ready to go at 'em?"

Unlike Skal, Terez' response always changed with the day. It's hard having a canned greeting when an armoured behemoth grabbed your hand and shook it like crazy. A simple 'yes' or 'nice seeing you too' didn't cut it. Not when your hand was being squeezed.

Cultural clashes aside, Skal seemed alright. Too boisterous, but that was in the eye of the beholder. Some days though, he wasn't quite sunshine and roses. Angry, violent, bloodthirsty - and a convenient excuse afterwards.

She'll never forget one of their missions in particular. It took place in the jungles of Drasal, not far from the Alliance's hideout. Scouts reported green scarves getting too close to the entrance, and the pair were tasked with stopping them. By any means necessary.

It took a while to find the targets. No matter how sharp your claws or how hot your flames, Drasal’s forests were ever so thick and impenetrable. Skal’s nostrils did most of the work; even if Terez spotted the enemy’s footprints first. Having caught onto the scent, they stalked their prey, looking for the right spot to ambush.

By the time they struck gold, the morning sun had long been sinking in the western sky. The green scarves, a trio consisting of an Umbreon, a Scizor and a Rapidash, looked and sounded anxious from afar. The Scizor in particular couldn’t stop clacking his claws, his head whipping back and forth.

“Hey. Shouldn’t we go home? I don’t like this place…”

The Umbreon's teeth audibly chattered. "Yeah. This place gives me the creeps. Nothing but ferals here, and it always feels like we're being watched."

"Shouldn't that be cause to stick around? I swear, those blackscarved bastards are crawling somewhere nearby," the Rapidash half-bellowed. "Pawprints everywhere. Any second now, we'll stumble on a whole nest of them. We've got to report something substantial."

"But it's dangerous!" Scizor replied. "You don't want to be in the woods at night, trust me!"

“We can’t return empty handed, either!”

The trio argued among themselves, loud enough for Durant larvae to catch wind of their dilemma. Skal and Terez jumped into cover, Terez keeping an eye on their targets. Skal had better talents than stalking.

“Heh. Sounds like the time to jump ‘em, alright.” The Aggron rubbed his metal claws together. “They won’t see us comin’. We hit ‘em hard and fast, then bury ‘em dead.”

Surprised, Terez pulled herself away from the edge, pointing her eyes at the Aggron with a notable glare. “Excuse me? We were told to capture them. Killing is a last resort, remember?” she reminded, tugging on her scarf; It sat far too tight for comfort.

Skal scoffed at her, his feet shifting in the grassy dirt. “Killin’, capturin’, what’s the difference, really? Some crap for brains captain at the Crest is gonna notice ‘em missin’ eventually. Or not, ‘cause it’s not like they care.” The Aggron snorted, then went back to whispering. ”Don’t feel sorry for ‘em. ‘Cause they sure as hell ain’t gonna feel sorry about stabbin’ you in the gut. Let ‘em rot.”

Terez grabbed her left wrist with her right hand. “That’s… That’s crude, and you know it. Besides, we need to know what the Crest knows about Drasal. How are we going to figure that out by killing them? We’d have nothing, aside from disobeying orders.”

At the mention of ‘orders’, Skal went from being smug and itching for a bloodbath, to being still. “Blegh. Orders,” he let his words linger. ”Ya know, I’ve been waitin’ to really show these wussies how I feel ‘bout ‘em, right? Been dreamin’ bout it. Finally havin’ power and smashin’ em with it. ‘S what we both deserve… anyway. Where were we?”

Terez breathed in deep, her fingers shaking. This was her partner in crime, the one the Alliance had assigned her with, openly fantasising about murder. Death and war were inseparable partners, but to make it worse? Willingly? A horrible feeling bubbled up her veins. The longer she spent around Skal, the more comfortable he shared his unsavoury side.

“Right,” she said, burying her conflicts for the moment. “Take out the threats first. Rapidash would have you beat, Umbreon would kill me. The Scizor’s not a threat. You hit the Umbreon, I hit the Rapidash, and then we finish up with the Scyther. Shall we?”

The Aggron rubbed his dirty claws together. “Sounds like a plan, alright…”

Indeed, they had their plan, unbeknownst to their soon-to-be-victims. And say one thing for Skal, say he was good at following directions. The trap was sprung with a thunderous bang, and the prey was pulverised into dust. The greenscarf trio hardly knew what hit them: A rock flew against Umbreon’s head, and a psychic shock brought the Rapidash to a pile of frail legs thrashing about on the floor, foam bubbling from their mouth. Scizor tried running, but it was hopeless. Terez held onto him with telekinesis, and Skal landed the killing blow.

A moment before impact, Terez shuddered at the single word cried out. “Mercy!”

‘Gods… what am I doing?’

Having kept her distance, the Gardevoir crept towards where the trio once stood, which Skal had turned into his stomping ground. The Aggron’s attention had fallen upon the Rapidash, who attempted to bleat out a singular word when his toe claws met their eyeballs. Their eyes went wide as Skal bent over.

“Aw, gotten yerself in a pickle? Lemme help with that!”

In the blink of an eye, the Aggron seized the Rapidash by the neck. Terez reflexively shut her eyes, and shielded her chest with an arm. Unfortunately, her ears worked fine. A snapping sound reverberated through the humid air, then echoed through the foliage. Her blood ran cold, in contrast to her head. Had this been a year earlier, she’d have wanted to puke. Scream. Shout. Anything. But her tolerance had warped beyond recognition long ago.

‘Happy now, you son of a bitch?’

* * *

Over time, Terez’ dignity died a lonely death. Watching Skal do as he pleased with Pokemon that pleaded with him. Hearing other Alliancemen brag about the horrors they inflicted, and the maddening ideas they spouted out loud in the base’s halls. No one had a filter, it seemed. They talked about their morning one moment, and atrocities the next. And no one cared, or intervened. Any warnings she gave were wholly discarded and forgotten, left to rot in the dustbin. She tried and tried, oh did she ever, until the confrontation turned ugly one day. The higher ups in the Alliance told her to stop, with the implication that things wouldn’t remain rosy if she kept at it.

Terez struggled to wrap her head around it. They were supposed to fight back against injustice, not perturbate it. ‘Injustice’ wasn’t the right word, ‘atrocities’ was. How else would you call executions, senseless violence and threats? Looting villages, exercising power to feel powerful. Some went further than the Crest ever did.

And Terez had no power to stop any of it. If she tried, the Alliance would turn on her. She’d be rolled in a pit, then buried under ten feet of mud: warring factions had a time honoured tradition for traitors, after all. Even if they didn’t, then what? Where would she go? A nameless village away from civilization? Return to the Crest, who had more than a handful of stern words waiting for her by now? Try her luck and cross the seas? She’d have a hard time reaching the shore, let alone sail a boat.

All she wanted was to make her father proud. And in the process, what had she become? A homeless woman with a worn out flute, and a black scarf. On her way back to her habitat, she grabbed the fabric and tried to crush it. Cloth didn’t break from delicate fingers, alas. And she wasn’t safe here. If anyone saw her rip her scarf off…

She made a run for the door. Any exit from the base, into the Drasal jungles. The exit she picked just so happened to have Len standing beside it, greeting those passing through.

“Terez! Long time no see! What’s the rush for?”

It hadn’t been more than half a second, yet Terez had closed the gap between her and the exit. “I’d like to get some fresh air, please,” she said, hand shaking.

“Sure, go right ahead!”

She made her way through the void, rising back to the surface. Whatever magic powered the elevator, it creeped her out. Everything went dark, and she swore she heard whispers whenever passing through. What kind of sorcery caused it?

No one in the Alliance would ever give an answer to that question. For all she knew, she was alone in her dilemma. Struggling with treasonous feelings, all while being crushed under a mountain of disappointment. Somewhere, she had gone terribly wrong. She shouldn’t have defected. How could she have known? The Alliance, they didn’t seem like terrible people. Sure, they wore black scarves. What kind of a judgement is that? That’s like judging Pokemon by their species! That’s terrible! Her dad drilled that into her when she was young! But what else could she have done? Why didn’t she figure it out somehow, anyhow? How did her life get to this point? How?

She ran into the forest, away from the corpse of the tree she had come out of. Growling, she grabbed her scarf by the nape, then yanked the knot loose, before tossing it into the mud. It fluttered in the wind for a moment, before dropping like a falling stick. The trident-like sigil pictured on the scarf rested on top, almost teasing her.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The wind howled, one branch falling off a tree and landing in between Terez and her scarf. She kept staring at the lap of cloth, her hands balling into fists for a seconds, before falling back apart. Blue flashes of psychic energy passed through her eyes, as if someone was repeatedly flipping a switch back and forth, playing with the light in a room. She hated what she’d become. What else was there to say about her, really? Once upon a time, she had the whole world ahead of her, and her father at her back. Then, she had all the reasons imaginable to make him proud. A trustworthy Soldier, a hero serving the people, an idealist who stood up for what she believed in.

And what did the mirror show her now? A disgruntled Gardevoir whose hair was a mess, whose dress was stained with mud, and whose principles were as clean as the scarf she’d been wearing. Worse, it took her years of doubt to discard the black scarf, physically. She had to turn back around, of course. It’s not as if she had anywhere else to go.

For what felt like hours to her legs, she wandered the forests, stubbing her feet against thick roots and whatever else dirtied the ground, struggling to make sense of herself. Why walk at all? Fresh air? Drasal was too humid. Too hot. Getting peace and quiet? The ferals here never shut up. All sorts of chirping and chattering echoed through the trees and ferns. This was Drasal. Only animals lived here.

Seeing her dirty and slovenly appearance in a puddle of rainwater, Terez might as well have gone feral too. She just hadn’t begun to make noise yet, like the ferals do. To the contrary, the song of the wilds fell silent, the Pokemon electing to go quiet at the same time.

It didn’t take long for Terez to break out of her stupor. Emotional or not, feral Pokemon’s behaviour didn’t cater to the civilised. For all of them to die down in the blink of an eye?

A chill ran up her spine; she hyperventilated. The ferals may have disappeared, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. Tapping into her psychic senses revealed nothing. No heartbeats, no flickers of emotion or movement from the living. But this wasn’t right. Something was off. Someone was nearby. Someone, or something with the power to take one’s breath away.

“Looking for something?”

A ghastly voice echoed through the trees. Gravelly and weary, like the voice of a man on his deathbed, full of a lifetime’s malice. Terez whipped her head around, and came face to face with something she didn’t dare to dream of. Ghosts were myths, fairy tales.

Yet there he was. The Lone Eye, holding her scarf up in one of his hands.

“Quite embarrassing of you, leaving your rag to rot.”

Terez’s heart froze over; she put up a psychic barrier in a panic, the dazzling glow of fairy magic shining in her other hand. “You… get lost! Now!” she shouted, desperate to say anything. Alas for her, the Dusknoir seemed amused.

“If only it were that simple. I’m afraid you have something I want. Would you like to trade?” the ghost said, tossing the scarf around, whilst his fingers turned black with a demonic energy. In spite of his mocking tone, he knew exactly what he was after. The Alliance did not take kindly to its members losing their scarves, even by accident.

But when cornered, the heart had a certain way with words.

“Keep that dirty rag! In fact, why don’t you stick it in your mouth, you overgrown puff of smoke?” Terez said through gritted teeth, backing away gradually.

The Dusknoir spun the scarf on the end of one finger, his pupil dilating. “Why, having second thoughts now, are we? Not so fond of being a cultist? How cute. I might not have to kill you, after all.”

In spite of his words, Terez noticed that the ghost’s maw was open. An inky black void awaited her on the other side, an otherworldly energy crackling within like lightning. Her breathing intensified, her feet shuffled sloppily across the ground. She was a Rattata in a trap.

“Don’t lie to me. I know what you are… ‘Lone Eye’. Everyone knows the legends. Of your bloodlust,” she spat out, her throat tightening. “Do you think I wanted to be a maniac? I never knew these people were all lunatics, why do you think you’re holding that scarf?!”

Her retreat continued. One hand kept up the psychic barrier, while the other kept a ray of fairy light trained upon the demon that had appeared. The Dusknoir floated towards her at the same speed she retreated; all it took was her stumbling over a rock or backing into a tree, and she was dead.

No one meets the Lone Eye and lives to tell the tale. Dead, or fundamentally broken and changed. They were never the same. And the Lone Eye was amused watching Terez cope with that knowledge.

“Hahaha! ‘Why’ indeed!” the ghost cackled. “I must say, it takes some guts to throw that scarf away. Provided you know what the consequences for tossing it aside are. There’s a punishment specifically reserved for traitors. You need not guess what it is.”

The Dusknoir waved a glowing hand in front of his eye. The bands and markings on his body shone a fierce yellow, all while darkness crackled in his maw. From a distance, it looked as if he’d dominated what had contained him before. Darkness devoured light, and now manipulated it like the strings of a puppet. Terez kept staring at it, unable to break free no matter how much her skin crawled. Hands, chest and eye - all were stained with blood.

“Of course… Why do you think it took me so long? Do you even care?”

A grin materialised on the Dusknoir’s body. “Actually, let me ask you a question first. How long do you think I’ve kept my eye on you?”

Terez grimaced in the blink of an eye. A second after, her foot struck the root of a tree, nearly tripping her. Instead, she recovered… only for her back to make contact with the bark of a tree. All the while, the Dusknoir kept himself at the same distance from her, pupil dilating in wait for an answer. In hindsight, there had been moments where things didn’t seem right. Noises in the dark. Sounds of dust being swept away, even when indoors and away from others. The sense someone was burning a hole through her back. It had been some time since it started. Weeks. Months. Maybe a year.

A whole year with him watching from the shadows. She refused to believe it herself, if only to keep her conscience clear, for what little that mattered now.

“...A few months. Three,” she said after hesitating.

Yet again, the Lone Eye scoffed, circling around her like a feral beast. “We both know you are brighter than that. But I digress. I have witnessed your doubts for myself. Seen you struggle with what you know… with what little you know, to be precise. You hardly know how deep the Buneary hole goes. And yet at the same time, I doubt you. You aligned yourself with them for years. You held off leaving for a while.”

Terez raised her hand glowing with fairly light before her face. “Because I’d be dead!” she shouted. “The Crest wants me, then the Alliance as well! No one survives on their own! No one except you, and look at yourself! You’re a damn killing machine! A freak of nature! All of Eravate knows just how much blood you’ve spilled, damn it! And I’m NOT letting myself go down so easily!”

She shoved her hand forward, magic missiles shooting forth towards the Dusknoir. He swooped out of the way, most of the missiles crashing into a tree, while smacking one into oblivion with his darkened hand. Not even a sizzle remained; the ghost let out a long, drawn out sigh.

The Dusknoir cleared his throat. ”As I said, you have much to learn. But that is what I expected. No one truly knows what is happening, until they see just how deep the hole goes. Until they learn the ‘Alliance’s’ true nature. Only then will you understand just what you have gotten yourself into.”

“Then tell me,” Terez said, a new group of missiles gathering at her fingertips. The Dusknoir had yet to respond; in spite of his bluster.

“You will have to trust me first. No more attacks.”

“And leave me open? Please. I know what you’re capable of.”

The Gardevoir remained on edge, tracking the Lone Eye’s every movement. His circling of the tree continued, and she skirted along, dragging her back across the bark. She pressed her back against the tree with enough force to scrape her skin, fighting through the pain. Arceus alone knew what was in store for her soon. She braced for the worst.

And the worst did in fact happen, for a shape suddenly skirted out of the bushes. Terez immediately glanced, her reflexes kicking in. So focused on the Lone Eye that she’d missed the Ninetales entirely. And just as fate would have it, a black scarf was tied around his neck. Red on black in the daylight, and she’d missed it.

‘What?! How did I- crap! CRAP! He’s going to tell the base!’

Suddenly, a demonic howl surged past her. Spectral magic in the shape of a hand surged from the Dusknoir’s fingers, grabbed onto the Ninetales’s neck, then yanked backwards with the strength of a Machamp. The Ninetales shrieked upon being caught, and his screams only intensified as the Lone Eye caught up to him. From a spectral hand, to the Dusknoir’s actual hand; the Ninetales dangled in front of his open chest.

“Going somewhere?”

“N-No, I-” The Ninetales kicked and thrashed in the Dusknoir’s grasp, dangling around like he was trying to swim for the first time. He tried to wring his neck free, only to yelp. The Lone Eye’s grip tightened.

“Aren’t you something? Just evolved, and already inside of a cult. How funny. I was just helping your friend, here. Is she your friend?”

“H-how did you- No! I-I mean, look-”

The ghost smirked. “Ah. I take it you’ve heard a few private matters, no? Matters that those underground most certainly would appreciate knowing of,” he said, his eye glancing to Terez.

A whimper masquerading as a growl came out of the Ninetales’ throat. “Grr! I-I swear, even if I die, you won’t get away with this! He’ll cut you down with all his might, personally! BOTH of you!”

In the blink of an eye, Terez… relaxed a little. Not by much, but enough. In a way, hearing one of her ‘friends’ spill the beans was a relief, even if they came straight from the gut. Whether she regretted throwing her scarf aside, or whether she wanted to talk it out, the specifics no longer mattered. She was a dead woman walking.

She breathed in deep, concentrated her psychic senses, then took aim: the missiles on her fingertips turned a dark colour before firing. Like spears they flew, through the air and straight through the Ninetales’s body; whatever became of him, his head went limp. He wouldn’t be waking up for a while.

The Dusknoir’s eye widened for a brief moment as the Ninetales was struck. But once reality settled in, the glow faded from his body, as did his mouth close. He placed his would-be victim on the grass, then turned towards Terez. A cold breeze blew through the woods, shaking the trees and banishing what warmth remained in the air.

“Colour me… intrigued. I was not expecting that.”

“Hmpf.” Terez glared at him, still holding onto her barrier. “So you haven’t been following me for long, then?”

The Lone Eye shrugged. “Not long enough, evidently. But I digress. You’ve taken a big step.”

“Don’t bother reminding me,” Terez replied, squeezing her hand into a fist. “I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. And let me make things excruciatingly clear. Don’t try playing games with me. If I get even an inkling of an idea that you’re not honest with me, I swear to the Creator himself that I’ll drag you down into hell with me. Is that-”

“Abundantly clear?” the Dusknoir filled in, raising a hand in a casual manner. “Likewise, I can promise you that my words are golden. I am a man of my word,” he growled, his voice echoing through the trees. “You will not be disappointed in me should you choose to follow me. Or rather, follow us. You and I are not the only ones with suspicions in the Alliance. There are many like us, in places higher than you can imagine.”

“And how can I trust you?” Terez asked. “The only ‘higher power’ that I can think of is the Crest. Are you in cahoots with them?”

The ghost sighed, shaking his antenna. “No. And I have no ironclad proof of my trustworthiness, sad to say. But consider this. I have been roaming Eravate for long enough to garner a reputation. One the Crest fears, and the cultish Alliance lies awake over. As you can see, it is no mere myth. And though my strength is high, no one survives alone. Not for as long as I have. If I lied about my goals and my allies, I would be properly dead by now.”

Terez sneered at him. The Dusknoir appeared to open up, but the venom in his voice was palpable. It was as if he’d crawled out of a snake pit, covered in bites. She had no real reason to believe him. But she had no real reason not to, either. He wasn’t alone in surviving terrible odds.

“Let's cut the crap. If I find out you were lying, and this is all a ploy,” she paused. “You can drop your bloodthirsty fantasies right now. I’ll put you underground. Permanently.”

The Lone Eye shirked back as Terez placed emphasis on that last word, shifting her foot through the ferns for emphasis. “...Understood,” he said, after hesitating. “Then we will waste no time. Allow me to show you just what hell you’ve gotten yourself into,” he said, pointing at the Ninetales underneath him.

* * *

“And that’s how me and Hein met,” Terez said, shaking her head while resting against a tree. “I won’t bore you with all the details. It took a long time for me to fully trust him. Especially when he asked me to go back into the Alliance, for Creator’s sake.”

A hearty yet echoed chuckle came from behind her; the Dusknoir in question casually leaned against the same tree, his ectoplasm flickering. “So you will not mention the second time we almost came to blows?”

“We don’t need to,” Terez groaned.

“What, because you confused me praying to the Creator with being a cultist myself?” The Dusknoir cackled. “Now that is priceless.”

Hein laughed at Terez’ expense; sadly for him, he was alone in finding it funny. Terez looked like she wanted to slap someone in the face. And all the while, their only listener sat there with a raised eyebrow, trying to piece things together. Easier said than done when your ears went flat against your head.

“Hang on a second,” George said to little avail. Both of the adults nearby didn’t seem to notice, however. He rolled his eyes, grabbed his scalchop, then knocked it on the log he’d been sitting on. “Hello? He-lloooo?”

The ghostly laughter ceased; Hein patted himself on the chest. “My apologies, George. Go on.”

George bit his lip. ‘Yeah, thanks.’ “Honestly, I’m surprised you ever agreed to go with him. Both the Crest and the Alliance let you down, what were the odds he was going to be better? Especially given the whole ‘Lone Eye’ drama.”

The Gardevoir exhaled, letting go off the tree. “Believe me, I had every doubt in the world. But it turned out well in the end. Sure, we had our disagreements. Even fought each other, once.”

“Close to,” Hein corrected, wagging a finger.

A blue flash went through Terez’ eyes. George sensed, then heard a bunch of sticks being flung around behind him. “Yes, close to,” the Gardevoir grumbled, then cleared her throat. “In any case… Hein was far more open about who he was. He told me everything. From the Swords, to the cult, even his past. He’s someone you grow warmer to the longer you’re around him.”

“Being clandestine works wonders, it turns out,” Hein continued, floating towards George. “Not to everyone, of course. But people appreciate honesty in the right places. I’m sure you have similar experiences, no?”

“I do,” George muttered. ‘With the same person as Terez, no less.’

The Dusknoir folded his arms. “Well then. There shouldn’t be any questions here, then. Faith in each other is the glue that binds bonds together. Not strength, fear, convenience… trust. And even though our initial meetings may have turned the both of you off… sometimes, it’s a case of right place, right time. Right emotions, even. Sometimes, you want to believe someone is telling the truth.”

George nodded, clasping his hands a few centimetres in front of his face. “That… makes an awful lot of sense.” ‘Why else aren’t we all dead yet?’ “I guess I’ve learned something today… and Terez?”

The Gardevoir tilted her head at him, a ray of sunlight shining through her hair. “Yes?”

“Sorry about your father.”

“Oh, that?” She shrugged with her shoulders. “I’ve made peace with it long ago. It takes time to mourn. But eventually, you learn how to accept it.”

The Dewott flinched for a split second. ‘Blitzer…’

“Mhm.” Hein put out his chest, letting his ectoplasm bathe in the sunlight. “Say. That was quite the conversation. What do you say we take the conversation somewhere more open? Like say… a restaurant?”

Both George and Terez stared at the Dusknoir with a dumbfounded look, the latter shaking her head moments later. “In other words, you want to eat.”

Hein sheepishly looked away. “That too. We don’t get many opportunities for a break, the three of us, do we? Duty always calls, and I… would like the chance to know the three of you on a more casual level, if you will.”

George clicked his tongue. “Yeah, that.” ‘Casual level?’

Terez wrung her hands. “Right. All fine by me… under one condition.”

“Which is?”

“He pays.” She pointed at Hein, who only scoffed in return.

“I’ve got more than enough money saved up, don’t you worry,” the Dusknoir said, mouth ajar. “And I know just the place we’ll go to. It serves the kind of cuisine I have very fond memories of.”

Before Hein had the chance to shoo them towards what he had in mind, George stared into the ghost’s maw, appetite souring as he saw the darkness bubble inside. ‘What in the world do you even eat… Oh god, I’m going to see how he eats, won’t I?’