The End: Rekindled

The dining hall was bustling as it always was first thing in the morning. Cleo slid through a group of nattering pokemon to join Spark at the table. The small dedenne was sat beside a snubbul who, despite being too involved in his breakfast, took the time to look up and smile warmly at the meowstic. Cleo returned his greeting, then flopped down beside Spark.

"Great spread today!" said Spark just before taking a bite out of an oran berry.

Cleo couldn't agree more. To look at it, one wouldn't think the cold season was drawing in. It looked like the Guild had just had a fresh harvest.

She reached for a plate and grabbed a few slices of dried fish to add to it. Coupled with a savory root gravy, it went down a treat.

Spark wiped her whiskers and looked up at Cleo. "So what's the plan for today?"

"I thought we'd finally head out," said Cleo. "I think five days is a suitable enough rest."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get itchy feet." Spark reached for another berry. "I'd better fill up though if we're gonna be travelling a while."

"It's a two day walk to New City," said Cleo. "You won't be struggling. I'll restock our supplies before we leave."

"Fantastic!" Spark punctuated that by stuffing an entire cheri into her mouth.

It was little wonder the dedenne didn't choke. Cleo stifled a laugh and tucked into her own breakfast.

"Oh, I should let Tinker know we're heading off, too," said Cleo.

"Can't," said Spark. "He's apparently already left."

Cleo let out a small sigh of relief. She hadn't really spoken to him since they'd arrived. In fact, she'd actively tried to avoid him. The only other contact they'd had was small-talk over dinner two evenings prior, when they'd found themselves sitting next to each other. Things had seemed a little tense.

"Did he say where he was going?" Cleo ventured.

Spark shrugged her shoulders and swallowed her mouthful. "Nope. He didn't speak to me. I heard it off JuneBerry."

Cleo didn't know who JuneBerry was, but Spark's answer didn't exactly solve anything. If Cleo was to guess, Tinker had probably headed back to New City. Cleo hadn't heard any news about locals in trouble, and Tinker didn't often venture outside. He just sent out his own Warriors while handling affairs from his desk.

Cleo wiped her paw across her mouth and scooped up her empty plate. "I'll meet you back here after I've grabbed supplies, okay?"

Spark gave her a thumbs-up then returned to re-stocking her plate. Cleo had long since stopped questioning where Spark put it all. She left the dining hall, pausing only to place her plate on the shelf beside the door.

The store room wasn't far away. A wooden elevator box hung inside the wall, and she lowered herself using its creaky pulley system. The sides of the box scraped along the chute, occasionally snagging in place. It was somewhat unsettling, and a clear sign that the Guild Hall, despite appearances, was as hastily built as the rest of the town.

It finally opened up into a dark room. She could already smell the ripe berries, guiding her nose towards the wooden boxes at the back of the room. Dim light flickered from torches high above her by the elevator, but yet more danced around amid the boxes, casting erratic shadows across the walls. A charmander poked his head up and staggered beneath the weight of an overflowing basket. He set it inside another pulley system, smaller than the elevator, then poked his head inside.

"Sending them up!"

The dumb waiter creaked, lifting the basket out of sight. The charmander returned to his task, gathering berries one by one and examining them, before deciding which ones to put into another basket for the kitchen. He looked up when Cleo made her way towards the supplies.

"Oh hi!" he said. "Are you here for supplies?"

"Yes," she replied. "Just stocking up for a two day journey."

"Going to New City, huh?" He smiled warmly and lowered what he was holding into the basket. "I can help you pick things out if you like?"

Cleo eyed him curiously, assessing him. Her claws twitched at her sides and she bit her lip absently.

"No thanks," she said. "I know what I'm looking for. I won't disturb you."

"It's no problem, honest!" He straightened to look at her, and his eyes widened briefly. His face fell slightly, but he tried to mask it with a smile. "Oh. Right, I understand. Sure, help yourself."

Cleo nodded stiffly and clambered amid the boxes. Trusting others was always something she'd struggled with. Sure, she could put her life on the line for innocent pokemon, but would turn down help for a simple task like this… She shook her head at herself and began sorting through the varied selection of berries.

Pokemon often used berries, not just for food but medicinal reasons too. Oran and sitrus berries were a frequent go-to, although both Cleo and Spark preferred oran to the bitter tang of sitrus. She made sure to stock up on enough oran berries to see them though more than two days. On top of that, she made sure to grab a couple of cheri berries for Spark. A personal favourite of the dedenne's.

As well as a couple of pecha berries, and rawst perchance they needed them, Cleo also restocked her dried fish. Spark didn't touch the stuff, but Cleo had been raised on it. It was packaged in brown paper, and slotted in nicely at the back of Cleo's satchel, behind her map. That way, it wouldn't turn the berries salty.

Satisfied, Cleo headed back towards the elevator.

The charmander gave her a friendly 'bye!' as she entered it. She returned it with a polite wave, and dragged herself back out of the storage room.

Spark was waiting by the dining hall door, and her long whiskers twitched in a happy smile. She bounded across the floor and scrambled up Cleo's leg to her shoulder.

"So what didja get?" she asked.

"Now that would be telling," Cleo teased as they left the Guild.

"Aw! Come on!"

The sun beamed down on the little town, baking the dirt streets until they were almost too hot to walk on. The town was bustling with pokemon, most of them keeping close to the walls. Cleo followed the path through the buildings towards a small market. She quirked an eyebrow at it, then looked down at her bag.

She'd managed to amass some items during her last job that she'd successfully buried beneath all the berries, but unloading them off on the market might not be a bad idea. She didn't use items in battle herself. Iron thorns were a simple means to peg her tent into the ground, as opposed to something to throw at her foes. She was clumsy with them, and had never mastered the art of throwing them straight.

She passed by a table that specialised in such items, but the seller was deep in debate with a skarmory. The metal bird had recently shed some feathers and was trying to get a good price for the material, which the graveller who owned the stall was desperate to underpay for.

Cleo decided to take her wares elsewhere, following the stalls around to another filled with battle items. Normal and water gems were the main focus, and to no surprise of Cleo's, there wasn't a psychic gem in sight. Typical. That was one item she might have actually considered.

"Can I help you?" The seller was a cinccino.

"Yes, actually." Cleo fumbled through her bag for the small paw-full of iron thorns. "I was wondering if you were interested in these?"

The cinccino gathered them up and examined them with intense scrutiny. "I think two gold coins would be enough?"

Cleo shrugged. "I'll take-"

She staggered forwards as someone bashed into her, her words cutting off as she reached out to steady herself on the table. Two of the gems fell off to the floor, rolling away beneath the feet of a passing ursaring. She turned her head towards the sound of scampering feet, but whoever it was had slipped away unseen.

"Little toe-rag," Spark scoffed.

Cleo muttered an apology to the cinccino and stooped to grab one of the gems. The other had been picked up by the ursaring. Cleo's heart sank when she noted the crack in the surface of the water gem in her paws.

The cinccino's lips turned down in a sad frown. "I'm afraid I'll have to charge you for that."

"Will the thorns be enough?" Cleo asked.

The cinccino shook her head. "They're three gold each."

Cleo sighed and reached into her bag for her coin pouch, but her claws closed around something hard and round. She pulled it out and her eyes widened. A rock?

"What are you doing with a rock?" Spark asked.

Cleo's heart sank even further and she dropped her paw, searching the crowd of busy pokemon. "I think whoever bumped me robbed me…"

"We were robbed?!" Spark twisted on her shoulder and shook her fist at the air. "Get back here, you thief!"

"It's a little late now." Cleo turned back to the cinccino. "I'm really sorry, I-"

The cinccino lifted her paws and shook her head. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. It's just one coin. I'll keep the iron thorns, though." She closed her eyes in a smile. "Just… catch that thief before he robs anyone else?"

"Thank you so much." Cleo turned from the table and dashed through the crowd.

It didn't surprise her. Even amid the Outcasts there were dishonest pokemon. Yet another reason not to trust so blindly. She cut hastily through the crowd, trying to spot anyone who looked remotely suspicious.

Spark tapped Cleo's ear and pointed straight ahead. "Is that the thief?"

Cleo narrowed her eyes at the retreating fluffy back of a whimsicott. His running gait was almost as if he were in slow-motion, rising daintily into the air as the breeze carried him further along.

"Oi!" Spark shouted. "Stop right there, you thief!"

The whimsicott looked back at her, and his orange eyes widened. He turned and picked up his pace, galloping towards the edge of town.

Spark bailed off Cleo's shoulder and took off after him, screeching at him to stop.

Cleo shook her head sharply and raced after him. Spark was alarmingly fast, outrunning Cleo and almost snapping at the whimsicott's heels. He gave another glance back and let out a 'yikes!' before desperately trying to speed up. The wind was no longer in his favour, having dropped and leaving him to outrun the speedy dedenne alone.

Spark's whiskers lit up with electricity and she fired a thunderbolt at the whimsicott. It staggered him, slowing him down enough for Cleo to come within striking distance.

The meowstic unfurled her ears, and a blast of purple light struck the thief. He yelped and stumbled forwards, but he didn't hit the floor. Instead, Cleo lifted him in her psychic attack and turned the fluffy pokemon around to face her.

She came to a stop beside Spark, panting to catch her breath. "You're fast, I'll give you that."

The whimsicott touched a thumb-claw to his chest. "Are you talking to me?"

"Do you see any other thieves in bubbles?" Cleo scoffed.

The whimsicott turned his head left and right, straining to see behind him. Then he turned back to Cleo and shook his head. "Nope."

Cleo and Spark exchanged glances. It had been a sarcastic and rhetorical question, and Cleo wasn't sure if the whimsicott was returning the jest or being serious.

She turned back to him and held out her paw. "Now. Give back what you stole from me, and I'll let you go without any fuss."

"Oh darn it!" His face fell and his arms flopped at his sides. "I can't! I need it. At least… I think I do."

"What kind of answer is that?!" Spark squeaked, rising to her hind legs. "You can't just go around stealing things because you need them!" She paused and her nose crinkled. "Especially if you aren't even certain you need them!"

"Exactly," said Cleo. "And replacing it with a rock? It's not as if I didn't notice you'd bumped into me."

"I switcheroo'd!" he explained. "It's all I know for pick-pocketing."

Spark looked up at Cleo. "He's rather honest for a thief."

Cleo stared up at the levitating whimsicott. Spark wasn't wrong. He was being oddly honest. Something didn't smell right.

"Spark's got a point," she said. "Why would you explain yourself? Most criminals I pump for information are so unwilling to give it up that I have beat it out of them."

The whimsicott paled. "That sounds rather unnecessarily violent."

Cleo and Spark both turned slack-jawed.

The whimsicott raised his paws in a shrug. "What can I say? You caught me."

"But…" Spark stuttered. "But you're the bad guy!" She lowered her head into her paws and groaned. "What a cheesy line…"

"Hey, I'm not a bad guy!" said the whimsicott. "I'm just lost!"

"Then you're in the same situation as all of us," said Cleo. "Most pokemon these days are lost."

"Are they?" He glanced back at the town and made a thoughtful noise, before returning to Cleo. "You two don't look very lost. You seem to know where you're going."

Cleo blinked a couple of times, then sighed. "I give up. You're not making any sense. Just give back what you stole from me, and we'll be on our way."

The whimsicott scratched his fluffy head. "Okay. I'll give it back, but… can you please help me?"

"That depends," said Cleo. "You said you need that money pouch, so I'm going to hazard a guess you don't have anything on you?"

"Nope!" He shook his head sadly. "Just fluffy little me."

He reached into his cottony down and pulled out Cleo's brown money pouch. He tossed it towards her, sending it straight through the bubble and into her waiting paws. Immediately, Cleo dropped her psychic and the whimsicott dropped onto his bottom with a grunt.

He stood up and dusted down his behind. "So… are you going to help me?"

"Sorry." Cleo stuffed her pouch back into her bag and marched past him with Spark on her shoulder. "I don't help strange pokemon, especially not if they've just robbed me. You don't know who to trust in this day and age."

"But you can trust me." He trotted to keep up with her. "I just want you to keep me company for a while."

"Company?" Cleo twirled on the spot to look back at him.

"Yes!" he said with a smile.

"I'm afraid I don't do that either." She turned and marched away, picking up pace to try and lose him.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because you never know who's going to turn around and stab you in the back."

"Or steal from you," Spark added. "Or 'switcheroo'."

"Oh." The whimsicott looked downcast. "But I gave it back, right?"

"Sure," said Cleo. "But you wouldn't have needed to if you hadn't stolen it in the first place."

"Well you have my full trust that I won't do it again!" he said, rushing to keep up with them. "And I won't stab you in the back either. My claws aren't even that sharp!" When Cleo didn't respond, he went on, "I'll just follow you. You won't even know I'm here! My name's Mischief by the way. What's yours?"

Cleo grit her teeth together, biting back the urge to retaliate. Spark sank down on her shoulder so far she couldn't even make out the bump under her fur. If he was going to insist on following them, the best thing they could do would be to remain silent in the hopes he'd grow bored and go away?


The Outcast town was well behind them now, and the sun was high in the sky, baking the ground and scorching the dry plants. Tough weeds and young trees rose around them, casting shadows that provided some temporary relief from the sun. The ground had grown much more hostile, hard and rocky with large jagged crags that rose up around them, shoved out of place by trees and brambles that had exploded through once-small cracks. Tufts of grass sprouted along stretches of the rugged landscape, dotted by delicate wildflowers that struggled against thorny brambles.

Spark poked her head out of Cleo's fur and twisted to look behind them. "We're still being followed…"

"I'm aware." Cleo didn't look back, not wanting to prompt conversation with their tag-a-long thief.

"Yes, but I'm getting hungry," said Spark, "and I'd really like to stop soon for lunch."

Cleo sighed and slowed to a stop beside a young berry tree. Its sparse branches were rapidly losing their leaves, and overripe berries lay scattered along the floor, many of them dried up from the heatwave. Cleo flopped against its trunk and began rummaging through her satchel.

Spark dropped beside her, glaring at Mischief as he approached them.

"Is it lunch time already?" he asked with a friendly smile. "Time sure flies with company, doesn't it?" He skipped over with the typical whimsicott gait and examined the canopy.

Cleo and Spark remained silent, cautiously tucking into their berries and deeply wishing the whimsicott would just leave them alone.

He gave a little hop and drifted up towards the branches, scrambling around above their heads. A few yellow leaves drifted down, almost blanketing Spark. They were soon followed by a wrinkly oran berry that hadn't decided to vacate its home yet. Within moments, Mischief was beside them again, clutching another overripe berry in his paw.

"Argh!" Spark abandoned her lunch and leapt to her feet, sparking vehemently. "I can't take it anymore! I'm gonna have to say something!"

Cleo watched Spark out of the corner of her eye. Mischief took a wary step back, more-so to avoid the electricity that was dancing over the dry ground.

"Why are you following us around like a growlithe pup?" Spark demanded. "What do you want?!"

Mischief glanced up at the sky then shrugged. "Company."

Spark placed her paws on her hips. "Seriously?!"

"I think what Spark is trying to say," said Cleo slowly, "is that first you rob us, and then you follow us around claiming to be lonely. It doesn't make any sense."

"Well…" Mischief scratched his fluffy head and leant back against the slender trunk of a young tree. "You see… thieving isn't really my style. At least, I don't think it is. I didn't like it, anyway. It felt wrong, and you two are really unhappy about it so… I'm gonna guess it's bad?"

"Of course it's bad!" Spark snapped. "A hatchling could've told you that much!"

Mischief just nodded and juggled his berry between both paws.

Cleo inclined her head on one side. "So you've never stolen anything before today?"

"I don't think so," he said. "I mean… you see, I don't really know why I am, to be honest. I just woke up outside this morning. Around here, actually." He waved a paw at their immediate surroundings. "I think… I'm lost. I dunno…"

Cleo and Spark stared at him, dumbfounded. Something was very off about this whimsicott. A lot of pokemon slept outside (although it wasn't recommended given the state of the world) but the more he said, the more strange he seemed.

"Where are you from?" Cleo ventured.

"Oh that I know!" Mischief's face lit up with a smile. "I'm from the Clean Place!"

Cleo and Spark blinked.

"The what?" Spark asked.

"The Clean Place!" he repeated. "They were really nice there! Those I remember, anyway. Although I only remember being surrounded by other pokemon, and called Mischief. Then I woke up here." He waved at the ground again.

"You woke up here?" Cleo pointed at the floor between her feet. "This spot, right here?"

"Kind of." Mischief extended his arm towards the surrounding rugged ground. "I woke up, then headed towards the town because there were pokemon there and I was hungry. Although this tree has berries." He looked up at the branches above Cleo's head then took a bite out of his oran berry, sending tangy juices over his chin.

"So where is this Clean Place?" Cleo asked.

"I don't know," he answered. "I'd never been outside. At least… I don't think I did. I really can't remember."

A brief silence washed over them, broken only by Mischief slurping berry juices off his paws.

Spark looked up at Cleo and said in a hushed whisper, "I think he's had his memory wiped."

Cleo shook her head. "He remembers too much for that." She turned back to the whimsicott. "Mischief… your story doesn't settle well with me. But I'm starting to think you're telling the truth."

"Of course I am," he said. "Why would I lie?" He then inclined his head on one side and his eyes became distant. "At least… I don't think I'm lying."

"Your memories seem to have been tampered with. Can you remember any pokemon from this Clean Place?"

He shook his head. "Sorry. All their faces are blurry. But I remember they were nice to me! And excited, although I can't remember why."

"This just cements my fears," said Cleo. "Why would someone want to tamper with your memories?"

Mischief finished licking his paws clean then gave another shrug. He then dropped to all fours and began examining the berries on the floor.

Spark sighed into her lunch and looked up at Cleo. "You're thinking of helping him, aren't you?"

"Not so much 'helping'," Cleo replied quietly as she watched Mischief sample one of the dried and rotten berries with some level of disgust. "But I think it would be a good idea to have him with us."

Spark crinkled her nose in a frown. "Why?"

"So we know where he is," said Cleo. "I have a funny feeling…" She scratched her head and sighed. "Mischief, if you really want company, then you can tag along with us for a while."

He stood up and beamed at them. "Really? You're going to be my friends?"

Spark scoffed a little too loud.

"That's stretching it a bit." Cleo gathered up her bag and lowered an arm for Spark to climb back onto her shoulder. The dedenne stuffed the rest of her oran into her cheek pouches before scampering up onto her usual perch. Cleo then turned back to Mischief. "Let's just say 'companion' for now, okay?"

"Okay, Companion For Now!" He bounced lightly on his feet. "So where are we going?"

"Spark and I are on Guild Business," said Cleo.

"Important Guild Business," Spark said, puffing out her chest.

"You can follow us for a bit," said Cleo, "but we'll part ways when we reach the moors. Maybe you'll regain your memories before then and can return home."

"That would be nice," he said. "But if we're going to be Companions For Now, I need to know your names. You know mine, I'm Mischief. You are Spark and…" He pointed from Spark then to Cleo.

Cleo grimaced. She hadn't been planning on giving out their names. "It's Cleo." She moved past Mischief to follow the dirt track towards the moors. "If you're going to tag along, then you'll need to keep up. We're on a tight schedule, and we won't be slowing down for you."

"You already know I'm quick on my feet!" he said as he skipped lightly after them. "I mean, you had trouble catching me before, right? Wow, I think this is gonna be fun!"

Spark tensed and swished her long tail. "I'm beginning to think Mischief is less his name and something the Clean Place called him for being a nuisance."

"Ooh look! There's more berries over here!" Mischief skipped away from them to gather up some fallen berries from beneath a razz bush. Each one had clearly seen better days, and left a purple residue on his paws. "Would you like me to gather some for you?"

"No, no…" Spark's nose crinkled with distaste. "We're really fine."

Cleo grimaced and lowered her head into her collar. If Tinker could see her now, the meowstic who refused to take on an extra companion, he'd roll onto his back laughing.

Flames crackled across the canopy and crept over the leaves, gradually encroaching on the fallen noivern. Cleo and Spark had swiftly moved away from it, dragging Mischief’s unconscious body with them. The pair were stunned, unable to form words. Unable to take their eyes off the dragon. Both of them weren’t entirely sure of what they’d just witnessed. A whimsicott taking down a noivern? It was impossible! Grass attacks were feeble against dragon-types at best. And what was that purple light? The closest thing Cleo could liken it to was her psychic, but it was much too dazzling for that.

Spark stepped back from embers that had claimed the dry leaves a couple of feet away. “I think we need to get outta here. I don’t wanna be caught in another forest blaze.”

“Agreed.” Cleo uncurled her ears and trapped Mischief in a purple bubble. “Hopefully the Guild will send some water-types to deal with this blaze before it gets out of control.”

“Yeah, but uhm… wait a second.” Spark scratched her nose as she watched Mischief drift ahead of them. “Why are you bringing him?”

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving him here,” Cleo replied. “What if those murkrow wake up before he does? It’s hardly fair.”

“I get that, Cleo. But we can’t take him with us. It’s against regulations.”

“You saw what he just did,” said Cleo. “I think Tinker will want to see him. In fact, scratch that. I think Tinker would be very excited to meet him.”

Spark scoffed and scampered on ahead of her. “Hardly. Tinker doesn’t strike me as the social type. I mean, he stays holed up in his office most of the time, and rarely ventures outside. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him on the road travelling from Hall to Hall. He just… shows up.”

Cleo made a thoughtful noise and watched the whimsicott bob freely in her psychic bubble. Spark had a point, but Cleo couldn’t help but think Mischief would intrigue him. Any pokemon that could withstand a dragon pulse without even taking any damage? It was unheard of. Was there a possibility he was actually immune to such an attack, like the dark-types were immune to her psychic?

No. No, it couldn’t be. How would that even be the case? New typings didn’t just crop up like that. Maybe whatever had taken over him had merely rendered him unable to feel pain.

She shook her head and picked up her pace, almost taking over Spark. They needed to get back, before the noivern’s reinforcements showed up. Some of those murkrow had escaped, she was certain of it. Word would spread, and soon the Moorlands Forest would be teeming with the Darkness.

Spark scampered over the grass beside Cleo’s heel. “What happened to him, anyway? Why did he turn on you like that?”

“I don’t know,” Cleo answered. “Whatever it was, it didn’t last.”

“Sure, cos he passed out,” Spark scoffed. “What if he wakes up and lashes out at us again, huh?”

Now they were out in the open, Spark wasn’t willing to elaborate, but Cleo knew what she was getting at. If he turned hostile in New City, then so many pokemon would be at risk. Cleo considered just leaving him. Hiding him somewhere so he could come-to in safety. Then he’d be on his own, and they’d be rid of the weird pokemon. But it didn’t settle well with her. Not after what she’d seen. Something was screaming at her to take him to New City. That if she didn’t, they’d be losing something crucial.

Besides, Spark clearly hadn’t seen what Cleo had. That look of confusion on Mischief’s face, right before he lost consciousness. It was as if he was two different pokemon trapped in one body. One that was wild and reckless, and the other some lost and confused drifter. Perhaps it had something to do with his memory loss?

Despite the high sun, the grass spreading across the rocky Moorlands felt cool beneath her paws. She could still hear the crackle of flames from the forest over the hum in her ears, and the smell of smoldering bark made her nose crinkle. A few voices rose above the flames, and she ventured a glance back. She couldn’t see them, but New City’s aquatic soldiers had already noticed the blaze. Two spouts of water reached over the canopy, fighting back the flames. Relief flooded through her and she turned back the way they were heading.

Cleo looked up to take in the landscape. It wasn’t long now. Brambles scrambled over the Moorlands, their branches picked clean by the harvesters. All that remained were jagged leaves. Not so much as a single rotten razz berry lay on the grass. Beyond them rose the rocky peaks of the Silent Mountains, stretching on for miles and obscuring the view beyond them. The very tips were usually coated with snow, but in the heatwave it had long since melted away.

Cleo gave a quick glance around, making sure there were no lurking pokemon watching them. Then she made for the thickest of the brambles, shoving Mischief ahead of her through the prickles. She ducked in after him, leaving Spark to close the rear. From the outside, it looked like any old bramble bush. But inside was a small, rocky mound with a huge stone disk in the middle of it. It sported a groove shaped like a sun, the perfect fit for her Guild badge. She slotted it inside and turned it anti-clockwise. There was a faint click, then the door slid sideways, grating along its runners. She sent Mischief in first, slipping in after him. The door was on a timer, and didn’t remain open for long. It rolled shut behind her, and Spark let out a small squeak of surprise.

“It almost claimed my tail!” she said, clutching her thin, black tail in both paws.

“Then you should have ridden on my shoulder,” said Cleo.

“I don’t like being so close to your ears when they’re open, Cleo, you know that.” Spark shuddered. “What if I get caught in a crossfire or something?”

The dedenne scampered on ahead of her, bounding down the winding staircase towards the faint light below.

Cleo rolled her eyes and followed after her, keeping Mischief between them. Torches adorned the walls, casting flickering shadows along the dry surface. Eventually the stairs levelled out into a wide tunnel. Voices filled the air, reverberating off the cold walls. Huge, stone arches arced above them every few meters until the tunnel finally opened out into a huge market place.

The place was bustling with pokemon rushing back and forth, visiting the various stalls. Parents holding their hatchlings’ paws or carrying them on their backs, soldiers off-duty as they gathered their meals to take home or nattered with their friends. A few nods were cast in Cleo and Spark’s direction, which were swiftly followed by looks of confusion or curiosity towards the whimsicott bobbing before them. A fallen ally? Or a newcomer she’d been tasked to bring?

“Get your pastries! Bluk berry pastries!”

“This just in! Fire in the Moorlands’ Forest!”

“Recruiting now! Warriors needed in Rock Quarry!”

Cleo slipped past all of the vendors, keeping her focus on her task at paw. Spark couldn’t help but meander to the pastry stall, but when Cleo didn’t stop, she let out a groan of disappointment and followed her towards the tunnels leading off the market.

Due to its confusing layout, each tunnel was clearly marked. The left and right ones lead to the nest rooms, and further along they forked off into two tunnels, one curling further underground. Cleo knew the left one well, given it lead to her and Spark’s home. The other tunnels lead to various locations - a training hall, nursery, school…

The one she wanted lead to the Guild Headquarters. It was home to many facilities. Warrior Team base, item shop, the Guild food hall, the medical ward, and of course Tinker’s office. The latter stood before them at the very end of the tunnel in all its glory.

The wooden door sported a sign that read ‘knock before entering’, so Cleo obliged.(In the past, she’d often ignored it, each time receiving a berating from a disgruntled riolu who was desperately trying to hide his inventions beneath a pile of papers.)

After a brief pause, Tinker replied with a cheerful “Come in!”

“See?” Spark said quietly. “He just… shows up.”

Cleo chuckled at that and nudged the door open. It glided smoothly past Tinker’s ‘organised chaos’. Tinker gave them both a warm smile, but it was swiftly distorted as his eyes flashed with enraged confusion.

“What is this?” He waved a hand at Mischief.

“This-” Cleo dropped the whimsicott unceremoniously onto his untidy floor, “is a fuzzy nuisance.”

Tinker shook his head as he rose to his feet. “I think more of an explanation is in order here, Cleo. You can’t just come dragging random strangers into New City!”

“I’m aware of that,” Cleo retorted.

Spark leapt up onto her shoulder and folded her arms, but she wasn’t sure if the dedenne was on her side or Tinker’s.

“His name is Mischief,” Cleo explained. “He forced himself on us just after we left the other Outcast town to come here.”

Tinker narrowed his eyes at her. “And you brought him here because…?”

“We were attacked by a noivern in the Moorlands Forest,” Cleo explained. “Mischief fought him off. Killed him, actually.”

Tinker’s eyes widened, and he placed a paw on his chair before he lost his footing. He scratched behind one of his ears and looked down at Mischief. “He… this whimsicott… killed a noivern?”

“Not only that,” said Cleo. “He also took a dragon pulse head on and didn’t even flinch.” She met Tinker’s surprised look with a nod. “It just washed over him like water off a ducklett’s back.”

Tinker flopped into his seat and ran his paws over his face. “You’re telling me that this whimsicott withstood a dragon attack? That he was immune to it?”

“I don’t know about ‘immune’, but the possibility did cross my mind.”

“And why is he unconscious?” Tinker asked.

“I was hoping you could tell me that.” Cleo pulled up a stool beside Tinker’s desk. “He seemed to snap when fighting the dragon. He just lost it, and waled on the noivern repeatedly. I think it’s safe to say the noivern never stood a chance…”

Tinker lowered his paws enough to see over them, but he wasn’t looking at Cleo or anyone else. “I’m guessing this is why the forest is ablaze?”

Cleo nodded stiffly. “After he defeated the noivern, he fell unconscious.”

“Nice little dodge there, Cleo,” said Spark. “You’ve completely missed out the part where he attacked you!”

Cleo hissed at Spark, but Tinker leapt up so quickly his chair clattered to the floor.

“He attacked you?!” he barked. “And you brought him here?!”

Cleo sank in her seat and ran her claws between her ears. “He seemed friendly enough beforehand, Tinker. And I wouldn’t have brought him here without good reason!” She waved a paw towards Mischief and met Tinker’s glare with one of her own. “He withstood a dragon pulse! There’s something strange about that, Tinker! No one can! We’ve been looking for a way to recover from the Darkness for years! If he can take down a noivern-”

“He can destroy New City,” Tinker finished.

Cleo’s jaw snapped shut. She had nothing to add to that.

Tinker flopped back into his seat and reached for a brass tube protruding from the wall. “Melody? Could you come in here please?”

“Melody?” Cleo gasped. “You’re calling the nurse?”

“If he’s wounded, he needs seeing to,” said Tinker. “Then after that, he’ll be thoroughly vetted and confined to cells if need be.” He leant back in his seat and shook his head slowly, catching Cleo’s eye. “You’re making some really questionable decisions lately, Cleo.”

She stared down at the whimsicott, her mind replaying that battle and not for the first time. “If it weren’t for him, Spark and I would have both died in that forest.”

Tinker inclined his head on one side.

“It was a noivern,” Cleo went on. “In a way, Mischief actually saved our lives.”

“Then attacked you,” said Tinker.

“He’d lost it,” Cleo explained. “I don’t know what happened to him, but the pokemon that attacked us wasn’t the whimsicott who’d followed us all that way.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“I can’t,” said Cleo. “It’s just a feeling I have.”

“Yeah, I can see that, too,” said Spark. “He was like some kind of wild animal. Not a civilised pokemon at all. He just went nuts.” She paused and huddled down into herself. “I’m still not sure about him, but… Cleo’s right. He did save our lives back there.”

The door creaked open and an audino shuffled inside. She spotted Mischief and stopped beside him. “I assume this is my patient? What happened to him?”

“Exhaustion, I assume,” said Tinker. “Please take him to a private ward and keep him away from others. We don’t know where he’s come from. Also, please don’t be alarmed when I assign guards.”

Melody looked a little taken aback, but said nothing against him. Instead, she gave a curt nod and waved a paw. Mischief was engulfed in yet another purple bubble and carried from the room behind Melody.

“Ahh,” said Spark. “It’s so nice when pokemon can use psychic abilities without risking blasting you with their ears.”

Cleo gave the dedenne a playful shove.

Tinker was still silent, only causing the tension in the air to feel even heavier. Cleo turned her head back towards him, catching his stare. He lowered his paws from his muzzle to absently toy with the everstone hanging around his neck.

“I have a few concerns here, Cleo. I have to tell you.”

“I’m aware,” she said. “I brought a strange pokemon here without first warning you.”

“Not only that,” he said. “But what you’ve described has puzzled me. A pokemon that doesn’t take any damage from a dragon-type attack - at least, no damage we can see, anyway. Also a noivern, a nocturnal dragon, out during the day? Over the Moorlands Forest? Did you happen to notice where he was actually headed?”

“North,” said Cleo. “I’m guessing back towards the Shadow Lands?”

“During the day?” Tinker shook his head. “This doesn’t settle well with me, Cleo. None of our warriors have trouble with noivern during the day. Those who do travel at night take specific training to deal with them, and it usually involves a lot of running and hiding. No one survives an encounter with a noivern at night. During the day, you might stand more of a chance. But… I’m very unsettled by all of this. I want to investigate your friend further.”

“Mischief is not a friend,” said Cleo. “He’s a fuzzy tag-a-long who tried to rob me at the market.”

“So you know nothing about him?” Tinker asked. “No idea where he’s come from? Why he’s following you?”

Cleo and Spark both shook their heads.

“He claims to have no memories at all,” said Cleo. “When we asked him where he came from, all he said was ‘The Clean Place’.”

“The Clean Place?” Tinker scratched his nose and lowered his head in thought. “That doesn’t ring any bells.”

“As for what he wanted,” said Spark. “He just wanted ‘company’ apparently.”

“This just gets more and more strange.” Tinker looked up at them and his expression softened. “Very well. We’ll keep your friend - I mean Mischief - here for the time being while I investigate him. I’ll ask Grey to probe his memories and see if he proves any risk.”

“So we’re off the hook?” Spark asked.

Tinker chuckled and folded his paws together. “Hardly. You two will stay here until we discern whether or not Mischief is a threat.”

Cleo grimaced. Great. So she was really in trouble now.

“You can tell me more about him and your encounter with the noivern later, over dinner.” Tinker turned away from them and reached for a blank sheet of paper. “For now, go and get some rest. The pair of you look positively exhausted.”

Cleo’s eyes widened and she pawed at her face. It wasn’t that obvious, was it?

Spark yawned widely and hopped up onto her shoulder. “Food and sleep. There’s a plan I can get on board with.”


Cleo’s dreams were filled with frightful images - dragons spewing flames over villages, the shadows of other pokemon scattering as screams filled the crimson sky. The faces of pokemon she knew were filled with panic as they fell to the ground, maimed beneath the rending claws of the Darkness. Cleo cowered in a bramble bush as she watched the chaos unfold. Hundreds of dragon pokemon of various species flocked before her, scrambling over the fallen bodies of her comrades. Druddigon, zweilos, garchomp, fraxure… too many to count.

Then something else caught her attention, drawing her eye from the massacre. A scream… no, not a scream. A laugh. Then in the distance she could make out the form of a whimsicott bouncing from dragon to dragon, scattering them like they had the Outcasts. Each dragon was reduced to a blooded mess of shattered flesh and bones, turning the landscape a dreaded scarlet. It snaked and coiled down the rocky hillside like a river, and Cleo staggered back from the bush to avoid it.

“You need to be careful.”

Her head snapped around, and she spotted Mischief leaning against a tree. A lush green thing that looked wildly out of place in the war-torn landscape. Yet she could still hear that hysterical laughter, and the frightful screams as the victims desperately tried to flee to safety.

He nodded back towards it and gave her an unnerving smile. “It might be you next.”

Cleo sat bolt upright, sending her sheet cascading off her body. She could still hear that hysterical laughing, but it faded away into soft snores as the nest-room came into focus. Cleo’s breath came in fitful bursts, and she fought to steady them as she ran her paws over her damp face.

She lay back down on her hay with a flop, and her arm fell over her eyes. Nightmares… She should be used to those by now.

She turned her head towards Spark, who was sleeping on her back with her arms splayed out at her sides. Loud snores unfitting for her small size filled the room, causing a smile to tease the corner of Cleo’s mouth. Regardless, the room felt wildly unwelcome now. Each shadow flickering over the wall from the torchlight outside her door seemed to resemble a dragon or some other pokemon of the Darkness.

And only a short walk away, lying in the medical ward, was the core element of her nightmare.

Someone who she felt should be fighting against the Darkness could well threaten the safety of her friends in New City.

She turned to find a window to give her some idea of what time it was, but the walls were just bare stone. Of course, they were underground. No such thing existed here. She let out another sigh and rubbed her paws over her face. There was no way she wanted to sleep after that nightmare. She knew from experience they just kept coming, repeating themselves unless she took her mind off it. A walk was what she needed.

She clambered from her nest and plodded towards the door.

“Where you goin’?” Spark sat up in her nest, groggily rubbing a paw over her black eyes.

“Just for a walk,” Cleo explained. “You go back to sleep.”

“Iss mornin’?”

Cleo shrugged at that and glanced back into the hallway. “No idea.”

“I’m comin’.” Spark waddled from her nest to join her.

Oh well. The company was welcome. Cleo stooped to scoop up the dedenne in her paws and set her on her shoulder. Spark snuggled into her fur, and almost instantly, soft snores could be heard from Cleo’s ruff. She rolled her eyes and strolled out into the corridor.

As expected, the corridors were void of any other life. Pokemon dozed in their nest-rooms, snoring softly or muttering to themselves. Cleo took comfort from it, assured that they were safe and comfortable. A shadow crossed the wall before her and she froze for a moment until the familiar form of a breloom shuffled by. One of the guards stationed to watch over New City perchance the unspeakable happened. He gave her a friendly nod and continued on his way, not venturing to ask why she was up. Maybe it was later than she thought?

She didn’t know where she was going. She had no destination planned. Just a stroll to clear her head, maybe venture into the market and find one of the news articles to read. Perhaps find the baker setting up stall and take the chance to buy a pastry fresh out of her oven.

So why had she stopped at the elevator to the medical ward?

She let out a sigh of frustration and leant her forehead against the wall. That nightmare had really struck a nerve. It was almost as if she’d made her way here for some level of reassurance.

Reassurance that Mischief was still held securely behind doors, guarded so he couldn’t wreck havoc on the pokemon here. Or was it something else?

“Cleo?”

She looked up to see Tinker strolling towards her, a look of concern on his face.

“You’re awake?” he asked quietly.

She nodded and pushed herself back from the wall. “I needed a walk.”

“A walk? Or are you visiting your friend in the dead of night?” He cut before her and leant his shoulder against the wall as if to block her entry to the elevator.

Cleo groaned inwardly. So it was still night?

“No,” she said. “I… just happened to stop here.”

Tinker grunted and glanced back at the elevator. “Well, you can rest assured. He’s still out. Melody gave him a sedative, he’ll be out cold until morning.” He stepped inside the wooden box and, much to Cleo’s surprise, gave her a smile. “Would you care to join me? Since you’re awake, I’d like to tell you what I’ve found out about your friend.”

Cleo shifted from foot to foot, and glanced back the way she’d come. She warred with the idea of going back to bed and abandoning her walk, or shrugging off Tinker’s offer to continue her stroll. But curiosity got the better of her and she found herself joining Tinker in the wooden elevator.

He gave her a friendly nod and lowered the box on its pulley system. It didn’t so much as squeak, well oiled to preserve the rest of those who might be recovering in the ward. The tart smell of medicinal berries flowed into the box and it opened up into a wide room. Several nests raised on wooden tables stretched across the room, all empty which was a nice surprise. Two pokemon sat in the far corner by a door, their eyes glinting in the dim light. A pikachu and a growlithe.

Cleo nodded at them, receiving one in return. They must be the guards, although she was surprised Tinker hadn’t assigned more than two.

“I smell berries.” Spark poked her head out of Cleo’s fur and twitched her nose at the air. “Hang on, this isn’t the dinner hall…” She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “What are we doing in here?”

Cleo didn’t answer. She followed Tinker to the back of the room where there were two doors that lead into the private wards. When he opened the one beside the guards, the first thing Cleo noticed was a raised bed where Mischief lay, covered up to his chest with a thin sheet.

Tinker moved to stand beside the bed and motioned Cleo to join him. “You told me of him mentioning a ‘Clean Place’?”

“Yes.” Cleo shifted uneasily beside him, trailing her eyes over the whimsicott. “It puzzled us.”

“Well I think I might have solved that mystery.”

Cleo looked up at Tinker with a start. “How?”

“Simple. Look at this.” The riolu brushed aside the creamy fluff over Mischief’s right shoulder.

Cleo let out a gasp, and Spark had to cover her mouth to stop herself from shouting. There, emblazoned beneath his tan fur, was the black outline of a crescent moon, surrounded by tapering spikes. A crude contradiction to the Outcasts’ sun symbol.

“That’s the Heretic mark,” said Cleo. “So that means-”

“He’s a Heretic?” Tinker nodded slowly. “Yes, it would seem so.”

“But he seemed to have no memories of it,” said Cleo.

“I’m curious about that, too,” said Tinker. “But we won’t know much until Grey probes his mind to find out whether or not he’s telling the truth. As for the Clean Place, that may well refer to one of their many laboratories throughout Estellis.” He let Mischief’s fur fall back into place and turned fully to Cleo. “You recall that pink liquid you took from those weavile?”

Cleo’s eyes widened. “Oh yes! I’d almost forgotten about that.”

“Come to my office.” Tinker placed a paw on Cleo’s back to steer her from the room. “I’ll explain everything there.”

They returned to his office in silence, leaving Cleo and Spark’s minds to reel over what he might have discovered. Was the pink liquid related to Mischief in some way, or was he simply taking out two birds with one stone?

He went into his office first, if only to clear his sketches and notes off the only other stool beside his desk. He fell into his chair and motioned for Cleo to sit.

She obliged, and Spark bailed from her shoulder to perch on the desk.

“That pink liquid,” he began, “has turned out to be pokerus.”

Cleo’s eyes widened again.

“What?!” Spark squeaked. “Isn’t that, like, super rare?!” She turned to Cleo and waved her arms. “Imagine how much we woulda got for that if we’d known?!”

“Unadvised.” Tinker raised a paw to silence the dedenne. “As it turns out, this form of pokerus is a mutated strain.”

“Oh great.” Spark flopped onto her belly. “Way to take the wind outta my sails.”

“What do you mean mutated?” Cleo asked. “Does it only affect dragon and dark-type pokemon?”

“No, it’s worse than that,” Tinker explained. “Whereas pokerus would be a beneficial condition that could help a pokemon to grow stronger, this particular strain pushes a pokemon’s abilities far beyond what it would normally.”

“So why on earth did the weavile have it?” Cleo asked.

“Man, I hope Hydreigon isn’t amassing an overpowered army,” said Spark.

“Let me get a word in?” Tinker shook his head and swivelled his chair towards them. “I had the same concerns as you at first. But Melody ran some tests on Mischief per my request. She found that he is actually infected by this form of pokerus, although it’s not contagious. It would seem that this form of pokerus isn’t contagious at all, actually, which makes me think that this isn’t a final result, and Mischief may be nothing more than a beta-test for this virus. If my theory is right, and going off the evidence I am ninety-five percent certain it is, then this pokerus is being created in a Heretic Laboratory somewhere. Most likely the one your friend has come from - this ‘Clean Place’.”

Cleo was speechless. She stared down at her paws, running Tinker’s words through her mind. Tinker was silent, giving Cleo the chance to find her voice.

“So… that explains why he managed to defeat the noivern?” She looked up at the riolu. “And withstand the dragon pulse?”

“That’s a possibility,” said Tinker. “One I am still musing over. But what this has really told us is that the Heretics may be involved with the Darkness in some way. Maybe they’re testing this pokerus to perfect it, in order to boost the strength of Hydreigon’s army? Or perhaps some of his followers have deviated and are working against him? What, I do not know. But something is going on, and I don’t like it.” He paused and sat back in his seat, idly toying with a quill he’d plucked from the chaos of his desk. “It is a good thing this information has fallen into our laps. It means we can research it, and prepare for the worst should it come to light. I just hope Grey can find something in Mischief’s memories that would point us in the right direction.”

Cleo nodded her head as she let this all sink in. It didn’t settle well with her at all. That nightmare roared to the front of her mind, blinding her for a moment.

Tinker’s voice snapped her out of it. “Can you tell me exactly what happened to Mischief during that fight, Cleo?”

She gave a weak shrug. “I’ve already told you about it.”

“In more detail,” said Tinker. “Did Mischief transform in any way?”

She lifted her paws and shook her head. “Not exactly. He just… well, he looked… deranged.”

Tinker nodded slowly and twirled the quill in his claws. “I am starting to wonder if this strain of pokerus can actually drive a pokemon to madness.”

Cleo looked up at him, meeting his eyes.

“Although I could be wrong,” he said. “His reactions during that battle could have been some kind of external influence. A fight or flight response, perhaps. I’d quite like to know what he remembers of that attack, and quiz him on it.”

“You haven’t had the chance yet?” Cleo asked.

“No. He did come to when Melody was treating him, and he seemed as placid and as friendly, even as innocent, as you described. He never even mentioned the fight in the forest. He didn’t even say anything about the fire, and any pokemon who would have been there would have wanted to know if the blaze had been dealt with. This is what makes me believe it is a triggered response. I’d like to run some tests, but I don’t wish to endanger anyone here in New City.” He paused to take in a long breath, and stared down at his quill. “But what I fear is that what we have in our paws is in fact a biological weapon.”

Cleo stiffened and exchanged glances with Spark.

“I don’t like that,” said Spark. “I don’t like that one bit! What are they doing?”

“I’ve no idea at present.” Tinker tossed the quill back onto his desk. “But I’m avoiding relaying any of this to him until I know fully what it is we are dealing with.” He paused and took in a breath. “Melody did, however, find something on your friend’s fur.”

The tone in Tinker’s voice turned Cleo’s blood to ice. “What was it?”

“A tracking device.” Tinker watched her face turn pale, and steepled his paws together. “Don’t worry. It was destroyed, and it wouldn’t have worked underground anyway. It does mean, though, that whoever sent him has been following his every movement. Until he disappeared off their radar, that is.”

“But…” Cleo’s voice wavered. “If it just vanished here in the Moorlands, wouldn’t they assume there was some underground hideout?”

“You brought him here, Cleo.” Tinker sighed and shook his head. “Besides, this place is inaccessible to anyone who doesn’t possess a Guild badge. With so few pokemon freely coming and going, it won’t be immediately obvious that we’re even here. However, as a precaution, I’ll be increasing guards at every gate.”

Cleo lowered her head into her paws. Did Mischief even know he had pokerus, or was being tracked? Was his innocent act nothing more than a ruse? Urgh, how could she have been so foolish?

No… no one would have left a pokemon in his state in the open like that. He’d have been slaughtered.

“For now, Cleo, I don’t want you to speak to Mischief,” said Tinker. “Not until Grey has investigated him. At the moment, we don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“And if he proves to be a risk?” Cleo didn’t look up.

“Then he’ll be dealt with the same way we deal with anyone who works with the Darkness.”

Cleo nodded her understanding. Part of her didn’t like it. He’d fought off a noivern. Surely he wasn’t working for the Darkness? Suddenly, she felt very tired.

“What time is it?” she ventured.

“The sun hasn’t risen yet,” said Tinker.

“Then I think I’ll head back to bed.” She rose and lowered her arm for Spark. “Thank you for explaining all this to me. It was… playing on my mind.”

“I can understand that.” Tinker looked up at her, but there was no anger in his eyes. Instead, he looked concerned. “I just want you to know, Cleo, despite what I said, if I was in your situation, I’d have wanted to do the same thing.”

“Wanted to, or would have done?” she asked.

He shrugged and swivelled towards his table. “That’s a tough question, but I think, without any knowledge of who I believed I was saving, I’d have actually done the same. You wanted to rescue another pokemon, and I understand that completely.” He paused and looked away from her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Cleo slipped from the room, bidding Tinker ‘goodnight’ as she closed the door.

“That was rather humbling,” said Spark quietly. “But I think he’s still annoyed with you.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Cleo gave one glance back at the closed door and made her way back towards their nest-room. “I’m annoyed with myself.”

Yurlik strutted across the courtyard towards Hydreigon’s castle, his talons scraping over the dry earth. The honchkrow’s entire body ached as he struggled to drag the mangled carcass with him. He occasionally clicked his beak in frustration, beneath the odd mutter as he silently cursed whoever had done this to the dragon. More-so because the body was rapidly rendering his glossy black feathers into a sticky mess. He’d need a jolly good bath and a preen after this…



The patter of stampeding feet rumbled through the air, and he looked up just in time to see two deino rushing towards him, snapping at each other with their jaws. The one in front jerked its head up, sniffing at the air.



“I smell blood!”



“Huh?!” The one chasing it seemed to have difficulty getting the message to ‘stop’ from its brain to its feet, and instead crashed right into its brethren.



The pair rolled towards Yurlik in a bundle of fangs and claws and angry snarls, rapidly encroaching on the honchkrow and his ‘bad news’.



Yurlik let out a startled caw and the carcass slipped from his back onto the dusty floor. He lashed out with his wings, sending the two deino away from him towards the lake. After a few moments, there was a satisfying splash, followed by the startled cries of the two dragons.



Being blind was one thing, but being stupid was another entirely. It was baffling to thing that Hydreigon had evolved from such a creature. Yurlik shook his head and lowered himself to drag the mangled carcass onto his back once more. A struggle when one doesn’t have four sets of claws.



The castle was only a few feet away. A huge stone building that towered over the Shadow Lands. Jagged, ebony spines jutted out of it from various angles, arcing up towards the sky like a twisted thorn bush. A herd of deino flocked before it, bumping into and snapping at one another, and stumbling over their dozing siblings. Yurlik marched through them, trying his best not to pay them any heed. Each one he passed lifted its head to sniff the air, and he soon had an entourage of curious, wingless dragons marching after him.



He snapped his head around towards them and barked, “Will you lot leave me alone and go about your day!?”



The dragons muttered to one another and turned, although some bumped their snouts on tails, causing a whole other ruckus that left the smell of blood abandoned for the sake of drawing more. Thankfully the herd moved away from the burdened honchkrow.



When Yurlik reached the first of the stone steps, he lifted his head towards the door and sighed. One clawed foot after the other, carefully. Otherwise he’d send both himself and his unfortunate charge tumbling back down the stairs towards the deino.



“You look like you’re having problems, fatso!”



Yurlik’s red eyes shot up towards the roof of the castle. Grinning down at him was the shadowy form of a banette, sporting a heavy black scarf around his neck. Yurlik had to steady the carcass with his wings before it slipped off his back again.



“You know, Enigma…” Yurlik said through a clenched beak. “Rather than sitting there smirking at me, you could help me carry it?”



Enigma laughed and flopped forward, leaning his head in one paw. Each small movement created a jingle from some unseen bell. “I don’t think so. I’d get my claws dirty.”



Yurlik muttered something incoherent under his breath, and hoisted himself up another few stairs. He could feel the banette’s crimson gaze burning into his feathers as the ghost sat there, clearly mocking him. Yurlik feared if it kept on like this, he’d put a foot wrong and go tumbling back down the stone steps, carcass and all. Right into the deino herd. That would give the stupid banette something to laugh about.



Yurlik clenched his beak shut and kept on going. Just a little further… there. He stopped before the door and shifted his weight left and right as he fixed the iron door with each eye. With both his wings holding his ‘bad news’ in place, he had no other choice than to strike the door with his beak.



“Yes?” Enigma’s grinning face appeared over the edge of the roof.



Yurlik tutted and rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. You’re the one on door duty?”



Enigma nodded rapidly, creating a series of jingles.



“You’re forgetting I have a type advantage, ghost! Get down here and let me in!”



Enigma chuckled and leapt from the roof, vanishing into thin air. He reappeared beside Yurlik and slipped through the door like a grey mist. There was a loud click, and the double doors opened inward.



Yurlik fired Enigma a glare and strode into the hall, the body’s claws scraping over the tiles and leaving an unsightly trail behind it.



“You know…” Enigma fell into step beside Yurlik, his bell echoing off the bare stone walls. “The boss isn’t going to be very happy when you march into his throne room carrying that.”



“I’m aware.”



Enigma chuckled and tucked his paws behind his head. “It would seriously suck to be you right now.”



Yurlik said nothing, marching silently down the hallway listening to that irritating jingle. Where did Enigma even hide that bell? His tail? Yurlik made a mental note to bite it off later and see.



A pair of ebony doors stood at the end of the corner, with an intricate design carved into them. Dragon and dark-type pokemon flew around the image of a hydreigon, posed to resemble a trident.



Enigma cut before Yurlik and threw the double doors wide open, striding in with a phenomenal amount of confidence.



“Boss! The fat bird’s back with a delivery for you!”



“Don’t you dare address me like that, you insolent ghost!” The voice rumbled off the walls. “If you dare do that again, I’ll grind you down into dust!”



Enigma bust into fits of hysterical laughter and shot off towards the far corner of the room, where he blended seamlessly into the shadows. The only sign he was even still there was that irritating jingle.



Yurlik glared into the far corner, wondering how someone could have such pompous confidence to remain in Hydreigon’s throne room. He then looked up at the huge hulking dragon lying by the far wall.



“Come in, Yurlik.” Hydreigon’s voice was softer this time, but carried the warning that this had better be worth his time. “What is it you’re wanting to show me?”



Two candles burned above the door, leaving most of the room in darkness. Hydreigon’s shadow flickered across the back wall, making him look a lot larger than he was (which was already large enough.) Yurlik crept warily into the middle of the room and shed the carcass, where it landed with an unsatisfying splat. He then cleared his throat and spread his wings in a bow as he stepped back from it.



“What is this?” Hydreigon spat.



“This is Boomer, my lord.”



Hydreigon lurched forward, the jaws of his two smaller heads snapping. Yurlik leapt back in a flurry of feathers, letting out an embarrassing caw. Hydreigon paid no notice. He stared down at the body, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed around it, just to be certain what he was seeing.



“This is my top ace?!” he roared. “I thought no pokemon could beat a noivern!”



“I thought I was your top ace!” Enigma whined from the shadows.



Hydreigon’s right pincer-like limb turned towards the banette and fired off a dark pulse. It hit the wall with a splat, followed by a surprised jingle that suggested Enigma had done the wise thing and leapt out of the way.



Yurlik cowered by the door, his sticky feathers puffed up entirely against his will. He watched as Hydreigon took in Boomer’s mangled form before settling back against the far wall.



“So tell me,” Hydreigon began. “Where did you find him? What exactly happened for him to be reduced to…” He waved a pincer at the body, “this.”



Yurlik cleared his throat and strutted back into the room. “I didn’t, my lord. Two murkrow arrived back here in a shocking state. They told me Boomer had been killed just inside the Moorlands Forest, a two day’s flight from here.”



“Two day’s flight?” Hydreigon asked, eerily softly. “He’d been missing for two seasons!” The final sentence was spoken with such ferocity, Yurlik keeled backwards, almost stepping through the door.



“Yes, they… a flock of murkrow found him. He’d been… kept by the Heretics, my lord.”



“The Heretics?” Hydreigon paused, rubbing one of the smaller heads beneath his chin. “What would they want with him?”



“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” said Yurlik. “We don’t know for certain. He was apparently being held there, but not out of malice. Once they were done with him, they asked the murkrow to accompany him back to the Shadow Lands and be his eyes during the day. It would seem he was sent back here with some haste. Apparently he had some information to give you, which wasn’t disclosed to my flock. But of course…” Yurlik waved a wing at the noivern’s body, “he cannot do that now.”



Hydreigon was silent, his red eyes no longer on the noivern but fixed on some vague point across the room as they glazed over with thought.



“If you’re looking for a plan of action, we may be able to track down who did this to him,” Yurlik suggested. “You see, the murkrow stopped by the outskirts for help, since they couldn’t carry Boomer back by themselves. It was Ripwing who brought him back here.” He paused an gave a nervous chuckle as Hydreigon’s eyes flashed. “You know how fast salamence can fly-”



The large dragon lurched towards him, bowling the honchkrow onto his back. He let out a loud caw, which was cut short as his head struck the tiles. Hydreigon’s nose pressed against his beak and he could feel his hot breath on his face.



“Don’t you ever mention that name in my presence!”



Yurlik’s heart hit his throat and he swallowed audibly. He tried to apologise, but all that came out was a strangled squeak.



Hydreigon gestured to the fallen noivern with one of his smaller heads. “Who did this to him?” His warm breath washed over Yurlik, and sent cold shivers of fear through his hollow bones.



“Th-that I can answer,” Yurlik stuttered. “It was three pokemon. A meowstic, dedenne and whimsicott. The… the latter is the one who reduced Boomer to such a state, my lord.”



Hydreigon’s body stiffened and he met the honchkrow’s eyes. Something seemed to pass over his face that Yurlik wasn’t able to place. Recognition? Fear? Whatever it was, it was fleeting. The dragon fell back from him, allowing Yurlik to struggle back to his feet.



“I need to have those three eradicated,” Hydreigon said quietly, almost to himself. Then he looked up at Yurlik again. “I shall send out my next trump card.”



“Ooh!” Enigma jingled excitedly in the corner. “What do you want me to do?”



“Not you!” Hydreigon roared. “I have another tool in mind for this task.” He leant his head on one of his pincers and fixed the corner of the room with one eye. “Enigma, remove this mess and fetch me Harlequin.”



Enigma stepped out of the corner, a disappointed frown replacing his former grin. “You want me to clean this up? Me?”



“Do you have a problem?” Hydreigon’s voice was coated with a deadly layer of ice.



Enigma faltered and his shoulders sagged. “No. Leave it to me.” The banette grabbed Boomer’s body by the legs and lugged it after him. “I’ll find a mop and bucket or something.”



Hydreigon watched him leave then turned back to Yurlik.



“Close the door.”



Yurlik obeyed, bowing before throwing both heavy doors closed with his wings, silencing the rhythmic chime of Enigma’s bell. He turned back to Hydreigon and cleared his throat before saying, “Please pardon me for saying this, my lord, but I don’t understand why you won’t just kill the wretched creature.”



“Enigma is the best at gathering intel,” Hydreigon said through a growl. “You know that.”



“But he’s neither dark nor-”



“Don’t question my motives, Yurlik.”



Yurlik lowered his head and muttered, “Sorry, my lord.”



“Now.” Hydreigon leant his head on one of his pincers, and eyed the other like a child with a sock puppet. “After this little event, I think this is a wake-up call to pick up pace with my plan.”



Yurlik looked back up at him, trembling. “You don’t mean-”



“I want every pokemon with wings in my army to spread out across Estellis.” Hydreigon fixed one eye on Yurlik. “That includes your flying mob. Double up on their duties if you have to. We’re going to find that cocoon before this… incident… expands into a much bigger problem.”





Cleo slept much better that night. The previous day had been exhausting, explaining to Mischief about the state of Estellis. They’d covered everything - Hydreigon’s fierce rule, how only dark, dragon and ghost-type pokemon were part of his vision for Estellis and if you didn’t fall into any of those typings you were wiped out. They’d explained how the world was divided into three: Outcasts, Heretics and Darkness, and what each of them did; how the Heretics were foolish, trying to win over forces that would exploit them, and how they were swiftly disposed of once their use had run out; the gradual spread of the Darkness across Estellis; and the formation of the Guild to protect the vulnerable members of the Outcasts from being eradicated by the Darkness.



By the time they’d finished covering everything, dinner had long since passed and each one of them was exhausted. Mischief had turned a pale colour, staring at the floor between his feet silently for a long, painful moment until Tinker finally dismissed him. He was taken by Melody back to the medical ward for a rest and another check over (although Cleo knew it was to keep a watch on him perchance he decided which of those factions he wanted to belong in, and rejected the Outcasts). Cleo, being too tired to eat, went straight to her nest, while Spark declared ‘explaining stuff was hungry work’ and took a detour by the kitchen to see if she could rustle up something to eat.



It was now morning, and Cleo lay on her back on her nest, staring at the ceiling as she recapped the previous day. She wasn’t prepared to go downstairs to see what happened next. She was too afraid to discover Mischief had turned to the Heretics and was threatening New City. But after hunger gnawed at her stomach for the umpteenth time, she gave in and followed her appetite down to the dining hall.



Spark was already there, tucking into an overflowing plate of berries. Cleo had fallen asleep no sooner had her head hit the hay, and she found herself wondering if Spark had been in the dining hall all night. She took a perch beside the dedenne, receiving a warm smile.



“Good mornin’!” said Spark. “Sorry I scooted off, I didn’t want to wake you. You were snoring like an ursaring during the cold season.”



A large bear-like pokemon looked up, startled, from opposite them, shrugged then returned to his meal.



Spark returned to her plate with all the intensity of a half-starved tyranitar.



“It’s good to see you have an appetite,” said Cleo.



“Well, yeah!” Spark swallowed her mouthful and wiped her paw across her whiskers. “Don’t you?”



“Yes, actually.” Cleo heaped her plate with dried fish and berry toast, coating the latter with cheri jam.



She ate in silence, savouring her meal and trying desperately not to re-live the previous day yet again. She tuned in to the conversations around her, instead, picking up various exploits of the Darkness and what the other Guild Warriors had been up to.



Murkrow sighted in the Moorlands Forest, along with strange noises reported from deep within.



A pair of sneasel apprehended on the other side of the Silent Mountains.



No sign of rain any time soon.



“Good morning!”



She looked up with a start as Tinker flopped down beside her and began piling up his own plate.



Cleo swallowed her mouthful and licked jam off her claws. “You seem cheerful!”



“I have reason to be,” he said. “I was actually hoping to find you both in here, actually.”



“Oh?”



“Yes.” He met her curious gaze and smiled. “Would you both mind joining me in my office again?”



“What for this time?” Cleo returned to her plate. “More experiments? Found out something else new? Or did we forget something yesterday?”



“I actually have a request of you,” he said. “But it’s not something I wish to discuss here. If you don’t mind?” He stood and lifted his plate in one paw.



Cleo watched him for a moment, realising she didn’t actually have any say in the matter. She let out a small sigh and licked her paw clean.



“Sure,” she said. “I’ve finished here anyway. Spark?”



Spark clutched a berry in both paws and her eyes widened so much they took up most of her face. “But… but I’m not finished!”



“Bring it with you.” Cleo picked up Spark’s plate, much to her protests, and turned to leave the dining hall.



“Actually, if you don’t mind…” Tinker lifted a paw to stop her. “I don’t allow food in my office. Berry juice makes an awful mess, and I have important documents everywhere.”



Cleo gave Spark an apologetic look and shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry, Spark.”



Spark threw her arms in the air and wailed. “Aww, you’re slayin’ me!”



Mumbling incoherently under her breath, the dedenne followed them through the corridors towards Tinker’s office.



The riolu nudged his office door open and faltered in the doorway. “Oh…”



Mischief looked up from Tinker’s desk, clutching a few sheets of paperwork in his paws. “Hi there!”



“What are you doing in here?” Tinker swiftly abandoned his plate on his desk to take the papers from Mischief.



“Melody let me in,” he explained. “She said you wanted to see me?”



Tinker muttered something about ‘rules’ and ‘boundaries’ that went mostly unheard by Mischief as he turned to address Cleo and Spark.



“Are you feeling any better?” Cleo asked, somewhat relieved her fears had been nothing more than just that.



“Oh yes!” Mischief closed his eyes and nodded. “I think I’ve understood it all.”



“Good,” said Tinker before Cleo could respond. “Now sit.”



Mischief flopped onto the nearest stool, while Tinker nudged over his seat beside Cleo, sitting - she thought - unnecessarily close to her. He rifled through the papers he’d managed to rustle off his desk and relaxed back in his seat.



“I have a small request for you,” he explained. “All three of you, actually.”



Cleo looked over at a rather curious Mischief.



“Yes, I’m sending him out with you,” said Tinker. “But I’ll get to that in a moment. You see, I need you to do some investigating for me. I’m very curious, and concerned, as to what a noivern was doing hovering around here during the day. As you both well know, noivern are nocturnal by nature and cannot see very well during daylight. Which would explain why you all came off better than expected in that fight.”



Cleo grimaced at that, and decided to push the horrible thought aside. She deeply felt, if not for Mischief, neither her nor Spark would have come out of that battle alive.



“I’m wondering if it was sent to snoop around,” Tinker went on. “My biggest fear is it was seeking out New City, that perhaps a Guild Warrior didn’t keep his vow of secrecy, as you well know that each Warrior in the Guild are sworn to secrecy even to death. This is unlikely, but not impossible. However, I want to make sure this isn’t the case. If word gets back to Hydreigon about New City, then it could spell trouble for each and every one of us.”



“And you need us to take Mischief for this?” Cleo scoffed.



“Yes. I wish to test his skills in this area. If any more of the Darkness are hovering around here, then his ability to combat them is second to none.”



“Does this mean I’m a Guild member?” Mischief asked, a little too happily.



“No, just a tool I am using,” Tinker said bluntly. “You’ll be leaving here blindfolded, and once you are far away from New City only then is Cleo permitted to remove it. And, like everyone here, you must swear never to even breath the name ‘New City’ above the surface. Understood?”



Mischief nodded so quickly little white tufts fluttered from his fur.



“Now,” Tinker went on. “I sent out a search party to recover the noivern’s body. I wanted to be sure of the dragon’s identity, since… well, Hydreigon does have a noivern ace in his team.”



“Boomer,” said Spark.



“Precisely. Of course, no one has fought him and survived, so it would be difficult to discern who he is without the aide of any of the Darkness to confirm. We do have some in custody who would be more than willing to tell us the noivern’s identity given the right incentive. However, once the search party reached the area you gave me, the noivern’s body was gone.”



Cleo felt a chill travel down her spine. Gone?



“I doubt they were in the wrong place, since the floor was a mess of blood and feathers,” Tinker went on. “So either the noivern survived and recovered enough to crawl away, or someone has been to collect it. This deeply worries me, as it may confirm my fears. So I want you to investigate the surrounding area to see if you can find any reason as to what a noivern was doing flying over the Moorlands, and if possible, where it came from.”



Cleo nodded. “Sure. We can do that.”



“I have a question.” Mischief raised a paw. “Who killed the noivern?”



Tinker looked over at the whimsicott, and Cleo braced herself for Tinker to bluntly tell Mischief exactly who killed the noivern.



“It was killed in battle,” Tinker told him. “As you are now aware, this world is a live or die one at the moment. These things, sadly, do happen.” He turned back to his notes, and Cleo stared at him dumbfounded, prompting an explanation. But she didn’t get one. “Now, I would like you three to set off as soon as possible, if you don’t mind?”



It wasn’t a question, it was an instruction.



“Sure.” Cleo rose from her seat. “I’ll just go and grab some extra supplies.”



“No need.” Tinker waved a paw. “All of that has been dealt with for you.” He leant across his desk and pushed a button on the wall that triggered a faint chime in the room.



Within moments, the two guards who had been assigned to Mischief - the growlithe and pikachu - strolled through the door. The pikachu handed Cleo a paper bag.



“You will find everything you need in there,” said Tinker. “Now boys, could you please escort this fine fellow from New City? Don’t forget the blindfold.”



The guards motioned for Mischief to follow them, leading him from the room. Cleo got up to follow them and stopped at the door, closing it silently. She turned her head towards Tinker and bared her fangs.



“Would you mind explaining why you didn’t tell him he killed that noivern?” she hissed. “And why you’re still holding from him the fact he has pokerus?!”



“Simple,” said Tinker. “We told him in great detail what the world is like only last night. That’s a lot of information for him to take in. If we were to tell him now that not only has he contracted a mutated strain of pokerus, but that he also killed another pokemon with no memory of it, how do you think he’d react?”



Cleo blinked a few times and leant back against the wall.



Spark looked up at her sadly then turned back to Tinker. “It would break him.”



“Precisely,” said Tinker. “He may also decide to abstain from any mission I wish to send him on, and despite his condition, he is a very capable fighter and one of very few chances - if not the only chance - we have of turning this war in our favour. Perhaps even going so far as to defeat Hydreigon! I want Mischief to find his feet before I tell him any of this.”



Cleo made a thoughtful noise, but she wasn’t convinced. “And what of him being a Heretic? No one has told him that yet, and I think it’s within his right to know.”



“You really think it’s wise to impart that?” Tinker scoffed. “What if he decides to return to them in a bid to discover more about himself, and turn on us?”



“Yeah!” Spark snapped. “What if he does turn on us, Tinker? Like when he attacked Cleo? And you’re sending us off on some quest with him!”



Tinker smiled at that and leant against his desk. “Spark, my friend, if he does happen to lose control again, I think you two are more than capable of handling him. Just like you did the last time.”



Cleo and Spark exchanged glances and sighed.



“Fine,” said Cleo. “We’ll comply with you this time. But I think you’re being cruel not to tell him everything, Tinker.” She turned to leave the room.



“There’s such a thing as being cruel to be kind, Cleo.”



She faltered with her claws on the doorknob, and her fur bristled along her back.



“He’ll find out in due time,” Tinker went on. “I won’t keep it from him forever. Now take care, and I’ll see you all back here soon.”



She glanced back at him, but he’d returned to his desk, scratching away with his quill and ink. Dismissed. She motioned for Spark to get onto her shoulder, then she closed the door behind her and followed the corridor towards the exit.



The two guards were stood waiting with Mischief at the end of the corridor. Mischief was sporting a red blindfold which he appeared to be willing his paws to keep away from. The pikachu clutched his arm firmly and nodded when he saw them.



“This way,” he said.



The guards didn’t lead them towards the market hall. Instead, they followed a winding tunnel that was only used as an exit. It was narrow, forcing them into single file, and was lit up every few feet by a candle held in an iron beam. They walked in silence, to Cleo’s surprise. She’d expected at least some questions from Mischief.



The tunnel wasn’t alien to Cleo. She’d used it once before. It led to one of New City’s many exit hatches that was set up in such a way it could never be used as an entrance. Only two of New City’s gates could be used as both, and the general rule was that you never left the same way you came in. If one of Hydreigon’s soldiers saw you vanish and reappear again in the same place, then they’d likely assume that something was hidden there and New City may be found. So leaving by a different point greatly reduced that risk.



The pikachu stopped at the end of the tunnel and reached up to unlock the stone slab in the ceiling with his badge. It rotated to the side on its timed mechanism, and they helped Mischief through onto the surface. Cleo followed behind, setting Spark on the ground before clambering out just in time. The slab slid back into place, almost invisible in the stone floor.



Cleo stood and dusted herself down. They were now in a cave lit up by a trickle of daylight ahead of them. A faint drip echoed from deep within, the only sound save for the odd rustle of dry leaves from the wind outside. She took Mischief’s paw and led him out of the cave onto a mountain path.



She stopped to take in her surroundings, squinting against the dazzling sunlight. It was a lot brighter than initially lead to believe. She strained her ears, listening for any sounds on the wind, but as she expected there was nothing. They were called the Silent Mountains for a reason. The pokemon that had inhabited them had long since left, save for those who inhabited New City well beneath the surface. Even the wind made very little noise, and no pokemon had been sighted in the mountains for many years, save for the very occasional Guild Warrior. Cleo hadn’t marked it as a red cross on her map, since it was still safe for the Outcasts to step foot on. None of the Darkness had been sighted there… yet.



She moved them along until the cave mouth was well behind them. The mountain path was treacherous, littered with loose rocks that threatened to throw off their footing. A few slid away to clatter down the mountain side, making more noise than Cleo felt was necessary. Once the ground had widened out onto flatter land, they could finally spread out, and Cleo stopped to remove Mischief’s blindfold.



“Wow!” he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes with both paws. “It’s so bright!”



Cleo stiffened, glancing around them. Mischief’s voice echoed through the emptiness and she snapped back towards him, shushing him harshly.



“Keep it down!” she hissed. “We don’t want any unwelcome visitors.”



He nodded his understanding and placed a claw over his lips.



Cleo sighed and shook her head, continuing to lead the way along the path to the forest. He barely made any sound behind her, treading lightly… and a little slowly.



Cleo groaned inwardly and balled her paws into fists. This was going to be a long mission, if not a potentially fatal one.

"Seviper," said Tinker. "Definitely seviper."



The riolu leant over the dry gorge, using Spark like a torch. Her light reflected off the damp, decomposing remains crushed beneath the rocks, making the jagged red spikes and pointed fangs shimmer in an unsettling fashion. It made the scene feel a lot more real than it initially had.



Spark's little face scrunched up, repulsed by the foetid smell that seemed somehow stronger. "Great. Can you put me down now?"



Tinker seemed reluctant to comply as he raised Spark higher to see behind the dam.



"I have one question," said Cleo. "Who did this to these pokemon? To build a dam out of their remains…" She shook her head and settled back against the wall, exchanging worried glances with a stout marshtomp. The aquatic pokemon gave Tinker a look that suggested the same question was on all their minds.



"I agree, it's abhorrent," said Tinker. "It will also have severely polluted the water supply. I dread to think of the damage it could have caused."



Could have? Cleo grimaced and looked back at the cave entrance. One of the first things she'd said during their trek back from New City's belly was that the plants along the river had died. But she'd never guessed it could have done more damage than that. The mountains were empty, save for New City.



There was a chance Tinker hadn't fully taken it all in. He'd been more occupied with finding a water pokemon who could investigate the dam, and had immediately recruited Skipper. Although Cleo was baffled as to why, since surely, like Tinker had said, the water would be filled with poison?



Skipper scratched his head fin, nudging aside a pair of swimming goggles. "No idea who done it then, Tink? 'Cos I'm outta ideas meseln."



Tinker finally set Spark back on the bank, getting a quick 'thanks' from the dedenne before she scampered away from the rotting mound.



"My first guess is an assassin," said Tinker. "Hydreigon does have a poison user in his ranks."



"Och, aye, that Harlequin." Skipper nodded.



"You think it's them?" Cleo gasped. First the noivern, and now Harlequin? "So it could be a direct attack from the Darkness?"



"It could be. I'm not ruling that out, and the thought is very unsettling." Tinker rubbed behind his ear in thought. "I mean, all rivers run away from the Shadow Lands, so to get rid of the remaining Outcasts en-mass, poisoning a major water source would do a pretty efficient job. But it would also mean Hydreigon's own soldiers wouldn't be able to use it if they were in the area, and a take-over would be delayed while the poison was given time to fade away. So it's a pretty counterproductive strategy, and not one I think Hydreigon would resort to unless he was desperate."



"So… you have doubts it might be Harlequin?" Cleo suggested.



"Not entirely," said Tinker. "But it could just be someone who has a grudge against the pokemon that live in this area. Anyone could move in at any point, and these snakes had to come from somewhere, so I won't rule that out either. But pretty much, whoever did it is clearly a vindictive soul." He gave the dam a sorry look and leant against the wall beside his friend. "I can only imagine the horror those poor seviper would have felt. I didn't even know such pokemon lived in these mountains. The poison-type pokemon are having a difficult time right now. They're being tracked and chased far away from their home in the Border Woods, and there are very few swamps to accommodate them this far south. If I'd known, I would have put some means in place to protect them."



"Could it have been a zangoose?" Spark asked, with some hope in her voice.



"While it's true the two species have some deep-rooted hatred for one another, I highly doubt it," Tinker explained, and Spark visibly deflated. "It's not like a zangoose to do this to another pokemon, no matter how they feel about them. Not to mention it could destroy an entire eco-system. No…" Tinker nibbled on a claw as his eyes turned distant. "This feels personal. Like whoever did it had a specific target in mind."



"Not New City?" Cleo asked.



"No." Tinker shook his head. "We've tapped into mountain springs and draw the water straight from them into an underground lake. It would be very difficult to taint those, although not impossible. And going off the state those bodies are in, I'd say this has been here for a few days at least."



"Aye," said Skipper. "An' this water ain't even risin' any higher. I'd say it's bein' sent elsewhere."



Tinker looked up at him with some surprise. "You believe it's being diverted?"



"Aye, right enough." Skipper nodded. "If our mysterious assassin wanted t'poison someone, I think it's safe t'say it ain't us, nor anyone livin' along this river."



"Then why poison it?" Cleo spat.



"Collateral damage," Tinker said before Skipper could reply. "The water would still have been running while this dam was being built. Whoever did it clearly didn't care, otherwise why not block the water first then poison what was left?" He sighed and looked back at the dam. "I'd like to call it a sloppy job, but the damage has been done."



"So how do we find out who the target is?" Cleo asked. "Mischief could follow the sound of the water, but…"



She gave a glance back to the whimsicott. He was sat against the wall with his paws clasped in his lap, trying to look anywhere but at the dam. It had been an awful shock to him. He'd only just re-learnt about the world, but to see this… it was like a wake-up slap. Reality dumped on him. She tore herself away to come back into Tinker's explanation half-way through.



"-someone into the water and have a look around." He stopped to tap his chin, but he had one eye fixed on Skipper. "This is where you come in."



"Hang on!" Cleo raised her paws. "Won't he be poisoned? He's not exactly immune to seviper venom."



"Sure enough, aye," said Skipper. "But I do resist it. Jus' keep a pecha berry handy, aye? Jus' in case I swallow any." The last part had been said with jest, but that didn't rule out the likelihood.



The marshtomp tugged his swimming goggles down over his eyes and jigged them about until they were resting comfortably in place. It hit Cleo then that Tinker had clearly understood the situation before he even summoned Skipper. The goggles would help to keep any toxic water out of his eyes, one of his weak points to absorb any. However, that didn't mean he wouldn't be at risk of filtering it through his gills. She quickly checked her bag to make sure she had a pecha spare.



"So I'm jus' lookin' fer where it drains off then, aye?" Skipper asked.



"Yes," said Tinker. "And for any sign of who might have done this."



"Alright, then stand back. I'll try not to splash, but ye cannae be too careful."



Tinker joined Cleo, Spark and Mischief against the far wall. Skipper slipped head-first into the water, sending no more than a little surge of water over the rocks and dam. Cleo waited with baited breath, her heart racing. But the soft sounds of splashing reassured her that Skipper was still moving around nimbly beneath the surface.



"It's good you found this," Tinker told Cleo. "Not only does it raise a potential member of the Darkness to our attention, but if there are pokemon living in these mountains then they may need our help."



"Unless they're all poisoned," said Spark.



"Try to be a little more optimistic," Tinker told her. "All it takes is one poisoned party to alert the rest to the danger. And there's a distinct possibility they will have been cured. But if they're out there, I want to find them."



Skipper's blue head popped above the surface, cascading water over his face. He swiped it away with a clawed flipper and nodded to the far wall.



"I can see where it's goin', sure enough, but th'hole's too small fer me."



"Don't worry about that, Skipper," said Tinker. "Can you see what made the hole?"



"Nay." Skipper shook his head. "It were made too long ago. Any claw marks've been washed away."



Tinker sighed and ran a paw over his snout. "Oh well. We've enough evidence for now. We can find out where the water is being sent and see if anyone needs our help."



"We should clear th'blockage n'all." Skipper clambered out onto the bank, careful not to splash as he was doing so. "That'll get th'river movin' again, an' away from where it's bein' drained out."



"We can't do that!" said Spark. "If we get the river moving again, all the poison will just flow into the lake!"



"While that's true, Spark, we do have pokemon fit for the job," said Tinker. "Skipper, I need you to recruit all breloom and shroomish living in New City. They can draw the poison out. I'll round up the excadrill and durant to dismantle the dam, and I'm sure Grey could lend a paw to hold back the water."



"Can we do anything?" Cleo asked. "Maybe look for who the targets were? Any survivors? We might find clues."



"You can continue your original assignment to find any evidence concerning that noivern," Tinker told her. "I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, but it's in my paws now. You don't need to concern yourself with this any longer."



"What if this has something to do with the noivern?" said Cleo. "We could follow the drain while you busy yourselves down here. Mischief can-"



"My orders are clear, Cleo," said Tinker. "That noivern poses more of a risk to us than this tainted water source, and I'm not going to have you deviating away from that to satisfy your curiosity. I have enough Warriors at my disposal to handle this particular task. You stick to your original assignment. Dismissed." He turned his back on her to head back into New City.



Cleo sighed and pushed herself back from the wall. Sure, they needed to know more about that noivern, but countless innocent pokemon could have been affected by this poisoning. She tried to push it to the back of her mind and turned towards the exit, but it incessantly nagged at her. Noivern, poison, a blatant attack… the pieces fell into place like a complicated jigsaw, each one not quite fitting when they felt like they should.



She paused beside Mischief, who was staring at his paws. He'd not made a peep since they'd found the dam. Not even when they'd gone to find Tinker.



"Mischief?"



He looked up at her, his orange eyes wide and fearful. Something inside her twanged, but she didn't let it show. If he was in her care, then he needed a strong leader who wasn't swayed so easily. But it was becoming increasingly obvious he wasn't cut out for this kind of work. Putting him through all this was just emotional torture.



"Come on." She moved past him towards the cave mouth. "We need to investigate the forest."



She didn't look behind her, but the soft shuffle of paws over stone told her he was following. And that the former spring in his step had been brutally beaten out of him.





Enigma could hear the rushing water long before he saw the river. He still continued along with Harlequin, enjoying the zorua's entertaining company before their path would part ways.



The voices of the river pokemon rose over the rush of water as it smashed against rocks, careening its way long the treacherous, winding rapids. Away from the Shadow Lands, like every river in Estellis. A mob of black-furred rodents milled about the riverbank, hoisting cargo from a narrow ship and onto the wooden docks. Several feet away, a huge, fat raticate barked commands to his smaller kin. Nothing was going onto the boat, but it wouldn't be long before the rattata found themselves with an unexpected assassin on board.



Above them, perched in the branches of an oak, a morpeko watched the oncoming pair. Taut as a tightly coiled spring, the rodent's cheeks began to spark. But he didn't need to say anything.



Harlequin skipped over to the raticate, head held high. "Ahoy!"



Several of the rattata looked up as the zorua approached, and the raticate raised an eyebrow. The mob turned slightly on the defencive, tails raised, and a couple of them freed their paws as subtly as they could manage. Harlequin noticed, obviously. They wouldn't have become one of Hydreigon's aces if things flew so frequently under their radar.



"Nice boat," Harlequin went on.



"Aye," said the raticate. "Riverclaw's one of me best." He paused and twitched his whiskers. "Took a long time to build after a bunch o' weavile sank me last one."



Enigma chuckled under his breath. Oh, this was going to be good. He warped up into the branches of a tree, his bell just audible over the roar of the river. One of the rattata's ears twitched and he looked up into the branches, face pale. Then he pointed a claw and squeaked something the banette didn't catch.



Hundreds of eyes followed, fixing on the ghost. The raticate bared his sharp incisors and lowered his head at Harlequin.



"What are you two doin' over here?" he snapped. "We ain't done nothin'!"



"I was actually hoping I could travel on your boat," Harlequin explained. They gave a nod towards Enigma. "Can't speak for him, but I can assure you he won't hurt you."



Enigma examined his claws, saying nothing. The trembling rattata below him flocked around their boss, keeping their red eyes on the ghost in the tree. The morpeko looked ready to bound across to him at any moment, sparks sizzling over his patchwork fur. Enigma settled down with his back against the trunk, each jingle pushing the rat-mob's fur on end.



The raticate fixed a glare back on the zorua. "You want to travel on my boat?" He spat each word with disgust.



"I can pay?" said Harlequin. "I never expected a free trip. I need to get to the Moorlands quickly, and I know how fast and efficient your boats are. Being able to travel in this river? Most pokemon who tried to swim in it would end up dead."



An attempt at flattery.



The raticate's eyes narrowed. "Aye, that they would."



A threat.



Enigma tucked his paws behind his head and grinned. At this rate, Harlequin would need to steal that boat in order to ride it.



Harlequin looked up at the boat and clicked their tongue. "How much? Ten gold?" They turned back to the raticate, who's glare had widened into a look of utter bewilderment. "Ten gold to ride this boat under the protection of your crew?"



"Ten gold?!" the raticate wheezed. "I barely get one per crate!"



"Okay, ten gold and my word," Harlequin went on. "I won't harm a single member of your crew or any other outlaw on board, nor relay your journey, plans or location back to Hydreigon."



The raticate spat at that, but there was a glimmer in his eye. "Sparin' us outlaws surely means your own death?"



"You'd be aiding me on my quest to avenge Boomer." Harlequin shook their head. "I hardly doubt Hydreigon would care?"



The raticate puffed air from his nose and gave a curt nod. "Very well. Get on me ship. We set off as soon as every crate is unloaded."



Harlequin looked up at Enigma and smiled. "I guess this is where we part ways?"



Enigma waved a dismissive paw and settled back against the tree.



The raticate nodded in his direction. "What about him? I've not exactly had his word he won't say nothin'."



Harlequin looked up at Enigma again, meeting his eyes. It was only brief. The zorua tucked a small pouch of gold into the raticate's paws, then turned to head towards the ramp onto the ship.



"I can't speak for him," Harlequin explained. "But I highly doubt he's going to betray me."



The raticate muttered something inaudible and returned to stacking the crates on the docks. Money in paw, he was a lot more placated, yet still clearly disgruntled at giving a lift to one of Hydreigon's assassins.



Enigma toyed with the hem of his scarf, watching the ship curiously. Harlequin stood on the deck, paws on the gunwale, as they looked over at the racing rapids. Rattata moseyed around the zorua, stepping carefully, as they unloaded the remaining crates.



Already, Enigma could feel the boredom setting in. As soon as that ship left, he'd be travelling the rest of the way solo. Harlequin would most likely make it to the Moorlands before he did, and complete their mission, leaving Enigma to travel both ways alone.



How boring that would be.



He dragged his claws through his mane and groaned. Oh, he was going to regret what he was about to do. With a quick flourish, he manifested before the raticate.



The large rat screeched, keeling backwards with his stubby paws flailing. Enigma stifled a chuckle, but he couldn't hide the smirk. He leant against one of the crates and wiped his claws on his scarf.



"Room for one more?" he asked.



The raticate smoothed out the fur between his ears with both paws as he regained his composure. "And what are you gonna pay me? Eh?"



"How about I spare you and each and every one of your crew?" Enigma fixed the rat in a crimson glare. "You are traitors, after all."



A tremor ran through the rat from his ears to the tip of his tail. "V-very well."



Enigma nodded and kicked back from the crate, his scarf billowing around him. "That's what I like to hear."



He warped onto the ship, landing neatly beside Harlequin. The zorua looked up, their eyes twinkling with amusement, and inclined their head on one side.



"I thought you hated ships?"



Enigma scoffed and folded his arms along the gunwale beside them. "It would be boring to travel alone."



"When are you going to just admit you get lonely?"



"I don't get lonely," Enigma said bluntly. "I get bored."



Harlequin laughed and shook their head, turning back to the rushing rapids. Beads of water clung to the black fur of their face, sparkling in the noon sun.



"Whatever," said the zorua. "It'll be nice to have a bit of company, anyway."



"I don't know what company I'll be." Enigma eyed the water warily and turned his back on it, leaning against the cool, damp wood and glaring out at the outlaws. "But it'll get me there faster."



"You never know," said Harlequin. "Maybe you'll find your river-legs."



Engima felt there was a much bigger chance he'd suddenly sprout fins.





Hydreigon's library had been burned down a long time ago, taking any manuscripts with it. Yurlik didn't remember any of them. He wasn't a reader. But there'd been rumours of what it had contained. History. Folktales. Stories told to hatchlings. The library had been older than the Shadow Lands, but had been left to stand for years out of interest. Until Hydreigon had instructed the Wildfires to destroy it.



Regardless, Hydreigon remained focused on finding something that he'd discovered in that library. There was no record of its location, just a vague description. Yurlik had lost count of how many times he'd had to explain this to the various troupes scattered around the Shadow Lands.



"If we don't know where it is," said a noibat, "or what it looks like… then how can we find it?"



Yurlik glared up at the army of upside-down faces peering at him. Every small bat in his swarm had clamoured around, blocking the entrance to their shared cave.



"I told you, Echo," Yurlik spat. "It glows red. Hydreigon said you'll know it when you find it. That's all I can tell you."



"It could be under the earth, and we don't dig," said the noibat. "Even worse, it could be under water!"



"We have pokemon for that," said Yurlik. "You keep an eye open, and feed back to us if you need help uncovering it. Understood?"



"We can't take anyone else with us?" Echo asked. "No ground forces?"



"I need to spread them out as much as I can," Yurlik explained. "Estellis is huge, and this cocoon could be anywhere."



"And what would stop the Outcasts finding it first?" one of the other noibat asked.



Yurlik clicked his beak at that, and met the bat's large eyes. "I've been told if they find it, they'll die."



The swarm rustled their wings, a faint buzz growing in intensity as the noibat grew excited.



"Such power!" one of them said. "Does it really exist?"



"Of course it exists!" Yurlik snapped, plunging the swarm back into silence. "Do you question Lord Hydreigon?!"



Echo turned his head to glare at the smaller bat.



The noibat who'd raised the question looked shrewed and cowered back behind his allies. "Of course not…"



"Good," said Echo. "Watch your mouth, Rumble, or you'll find yourself cleaning the guano pit."



Yurlik cleared his throat, drawing Echo back to him. "So I can trust you with this task?" It wasn't a question.



"Well, if it will really help us take over all of Estellis…" Echo spread his wings and yawned. "Fine. We'll take off at sundown."



"Split into four groups," said Yurlik. "Your army is big enough to spread out over Estellis without weakening your forces too much."



Echo waved a wing, which Yurlik felt was meant to be a salute but seemed rather dismissive. The honchkrow's oily feathers stood on end along his back. He had to remind himself, despite the noibat's size, since Boomer was out of the picture the smaller bat had taken over the swarm. It wouldn't be long until he evolved. Yurlik might be his superior, but he didn't want to find himself on the receiving end of a boomburst just for riling up the noibat who was still adjusting to his new position of authority.



Echo turned to head back into his cave, but paused as he let out a small 'oh!' He turned his head back towards Yurlik.



"What about Boomer?" he asked. "Any news on his murderer?"



"Lord Hydreigon has sent Harlequin to deal with those pokemon," said Yurlik.



"Really?" Echo raised his eyebrows. "I heard it was a whimsicott who killed him?"



Disgust laced the noibat's words, along with a hint of disbelief.



Disbelief… it was safe to say that was the growing trend throughout the Shadow Lands. A whimsicott… one of those little grass-types couldn't fell a dragon, let alone a full-grown noivern. Not on their own. Even Yurlik was beginning to doubt the words of his own flock who claimed to have witnessed the massacre. Only two pairs of eyes, and two beaks to speak of it. The cowards had fled. Surely there could be some mistake?



But the evidence was there. Blunt trauma wounds marred the noivern's body, reducing him to a bruised and sticky pulp. And then there were the tell-tail tufts of white fluff stuck to the dried blood that coated his body.



"Yes," Yurlik told Echo. "It was a whimsicott."



Echo's lip curled and he pulled his ears back. "Really? I wonder what it could do to the rest of us?"



What, indeed?



Echo ducked back into the cave, and the swarm closed in behind him before they were swallowed by the darkness within.



His words lingered long after he'd gone. Yurlik stood there, shuddering.



What on earth was wrong with that whimsicott, that it could take down a dragon? Hydreigon had his concerns, but he hadn't voiced them to Yurlik. But the large dragon was definitely afraid. Enough so to put emphasis on finding that cocoon.



A cocoon that may or may not exist. Yurlik's own concern, one he dared not speak out loud.



He deeply hoped Harlequin could make swift work of that whimsicott, before it became a huge problem.

The Riverclaw whizzed along the wide river, frothy spray licking her sides and clinging to Enigma’s fur. He hunched over the gunwale, groaning at every sudden lurch as the narrow boat dodged rocks and tore through river weed. His stomach had long since evacuated its contents over the side, but that didn’t stop it from trying again. He wound his claws in his mane and turned, before sinking down as far as he could against the port side.

Harlequin chuckled from beside him, and he looked up to see the zorua shaking their head.

“Really can’t handle a boat, huh?” Harlequin gazed out at the trees whizzing by, dark sentries against the fiery sunset sky. “The things you’ll do to ‘ease your boredom’.”

Enigma scoffed and tipped his head back against the cool wood.

“You’ve gone the colour of an oran berry,” said Harlequin.

“Don’t mention berries,” Enigma groaned.

He scrambled back to his feet and leant over the gunwale again. It was fruitless. He screwed his eyes shut and lowered his face into his paws.

“You’d have been much better off travelling on foot,” said Harlequin.

“It would have taken too long,” said Enigma. “You had a point. This is much faster.” Then he added under his breath, “Just a little longer now…”

Harlequin had heard it, and let out a single laugh. But they didn’t say anything, instead watching the water whip up against the port. The evening breeze whirled through the zorua’s fur, and their muzzle relaxed in a contented smile. Enigma turned his own gaze to the water, and he caught a glimpse of a school of wishiwashi cleaving a path upstream through the froth before vanishing beyond the stern. The only other life he’d seen. The Outcasts and outlaws were all in hiding, the latter of which had been left far behind in the Border Woods.

It hadn’t taken long for the crew to relax around the two assassins. They soon realised they weren’t their targets, and they busied about behind the pair, making sure the boxes were strapped down and the deck was free of hazards. The rodents nattered among themselves above the sound of the racing water and the sails whipping about in the fall breeze. The raticate hadn’t joined them, instead sticking back with a number of his mob to deal with the supplies the Riverclaw had brought back.

If it wasn’t for the gnawing, churning sensation in his stomach, the journey would admittedly be quite peaceful. The air was cool, and the splash of the water was soothing enough to fall asleep to. Something he desperately wanted to do, and sleep didn’t come easily to the banette. Still, he found his eyes drifting shut as he leant over the gunwale, the cool froth soaking through his grey fur.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained like that. Harlequin barely made a peep, save for the odd snuffle and the scrape of claws on the woodwork.

Enigma’s heart lurched as a sudden yell shocked his eardrums. Both he and Harlequin leapt back from the gunwale. Rattata raced back and forth along the ship, steadying the cargo and unleashing the anchor. The chain clattered through its feed in the side of the ship before letting out a loud splash as it smashed its way through the water. At the helm, a morpeko barked orders while violently steering the ship towards the bank.

The creak was deafening, drawing the to assassins’ eyes towards the woods ahead. A huge, ancient tree tilted sideways, picking up speed as it flopped across the river. A huge, knotted barrier of bark and rope-like ivy. The anchor was down, but the chain was still clattering away as the force of the rapids propelled the Riverclaw onward, towards the fallen sycamore.

Harlequin stared, slack-jawed, their fur on end down their spine like a startled mighteyena.

Enigma gave himself a mental shake and leapt towards the helm, shoving the morpeko aside. His claws radiated shadowy energy, and, with a graceful flourish, he sent a shadowball into the side of the tree. It shattered, raining down splinters into the water and across the deck. It had carved a jagged gap just big enough for the boat to squeeze through.

Just.

The splintered stumps scraped against the hull, creating a deafening hollow screech. A series of worrying cracks resounded above it, and, unable to get the wide tail end the rest of the way through, the ship finally came to a stop.

The crew calmed, staring at the shattered tree aghast. Two of the rattata clambered over the gunwale to check on the damage, but Enigma was more interested in the tree. Something didn’t smell right. A tree that size? He hopped off the stern to walk along the thick, gnarled trunk.

“That’s never happened before,” said one of the rattata. “But I guess like landslides and floods, these things can be pretty hard to predict?”

Like landslides and floods? Sure, trees fell from time to time. Especially if they’d rotted, or been caught in a strong gale. But the winds had been minor, and they weren’t blowing in the right direction for the tree to have fallen across the river. There were no slopes nearby, either. The ground was flat.

Enigma perched near the tree’s base and trailed his claws over the wound. Warm sap clung to his fur. No, the edge wasn’t jagged enough for it to have snapped. Smooth, as if it had been cleaved. Not a clean cleave, either. Part of the trunk had cracked beneath the tree’s weight, leaving a jagged splintered end on one side. The weight had snapped the ivy, leaving a ropey trail of green in the tree’s wake.

“Is there a problem?” Harlequin perched beside him.

Enigma rubbed the sap between his claws and stood back, gazing off into the trees. “This was no accident.”

Harlequin glanced over the damage and hopped off the tree, landing softly in the grass. “No, I’d say not.”

Then what? It didn’t leave many culprits. The Outcasts had been warring with the Darkness for years. A desperate cheap shot wouldn’t be against them. Unless the ship was their target?

The Riverclaw crew were scrambling over the ship, examining the damage while several of them perched on the ship’s gunwale and the river bank, searching the woods with frantic eyes.

A voice came from the other side of the boat, “We’ve got a breach! Water’s just flooding in!”

At that, those still on the ship either leapt to help or bailed onto the bank in a panic.

Enigma stood sharply to sound his bell. A few of the rattata froze, their fur bristling. It was the morpeko who turned to him, his eyes narrowed in a warning leer.

Enigma was unfazed, examining the sap in his claws. “Do you have any enemies out here?”

The crew exchanged baffled glances, and the morpeko snorted, meeting Enigma’s eyes.

“Of course we’ve got enemies,” he said. “More than you do. But no one’s tried to crash our ship before. If I were to guess, I’d say you two planned this whole thing.”

Enigma narrowed his eyes at the morpeko and twitched his claws. A soft tug at his scarf drew his eye back onto Harlequin.

“Leave them.” Harlequin’s voice was muffled around the heavy fabric. The zorua dropped it and stepped aside. “They got us this far. It’s not much further now. We’ll just have to be on our guard.”

That was fairly normal.

Harlequin sniffed the air, and a funny look Enigma couldn’t decipher crossed their face. But it swiftly vanished. They jerked their head back towards the Riverclaw and gave the crew a nod. Not that the crew noticed. They were too busy trying to rescue their sinking boat and its cargo.

“Thank you for getting us this far,” said Harlequin. “I hope you manage to recover Riverclaw.”

If it was meant to placate the crew, it did very little. But a majority of them were too shaken to show any aggression, and several had already begun to prise the hull free from the fallen tree’s death grip. The boat jerked towards them with a groan, and one rodent unfortunate enough to be on board flopped against the port side before tumbling into the shallows.

Keeping one eye on the outlaws, Enigma smoothed out his scarf and turned to follow Harlequin into the trees. If they weren’t the target for that tree, then that meant he and Harlequin likely were. A cheap shot to be rid of two of Hydreigon’s top assassins, and sink a group of dark-types, too. If the ship had been shattered by that huge tree, very few of them would have survived. His crimson eyes flitted over the shadows, trying to spot their assailant. But the woods were as barren as he’d expected them to be.


Harbinger cowered behind the knot of brambles, squinting at the two figures as they wound through the trees. Two assassins. Harlequin and Enigma, both on high alert, searching the shadows for their assailant. For him. He’d been right. They were aboard that boat, he’d not imagined it.

The pawniard twins crouched beside Harbinger, their yellow eyes wide and fearful. Not so much as a scratch came from the pair, neither of them wanting to draw attention to themselves. They’d tried to talk Harbinger out of it. But he couldn’t have passed up a chance like that. He just hadn’t calculated the banette’s ability to destroy that tree. It was too thick. It shouldn’t have worked. The boat should have shattered against it, if not been crushed beneath the sycamore’s weight.

Destruction. That was all the banette was good for. Everything he touched died. Why couldn’t he smash his way through a tree?

No… it was a miscalculation. That was all. If Harbinger had thought things through, he could have felled the tree a few seconds later. Then both assassins would be out of the picture.

He narrowed his eyes at Harlequin’s retreating tail, anger bubbling up inside him, threatening to overflow. No… he had to keep cool. One wrong move and he and his two friends would be dead.

He’d have to think this through. No putting a paw wrong. No acting on the heat of rage. For now, he’d have to keep a close eye on the assassins and strike when the time was right.


The sun was rapidly setting, painting dramatic black clouds across a backdrop of orange and red. Normally, the dry river would be moving away from the crimson sky. Fleeing it. At sunset, the sky was always red over the Shadow Lands. A warning to any wandering Outcasts to go the other way.

Cleo looked back at it over her shoulder, and a cold chill raced down her spine. They’d been out too long. Their minds lost in the search for pokemon that possibly no longer lived in the mountains. They’d either fled or been killed by the poison, leaving behind only one. An oversight? It was beginning to look like it.

“Cleo, I really think we need to get back.” Spark’s voice was steady, but her twitching back and forth in Cleo’s ruff was enough of a sign she felt the same unsettling feeling.

A feeling the sunset always brought. The fire before the storm of shadows and claws.

Cleo gave a stiff nod as she stared along the river into the darkening trees. “You’re right. We can always come back out here tomorrow. Get an early start?”

If there was any confidence in her voice, it didn’t show. They’d already searched. What were they even looking for anymore?

“Cleo, we already found the pachirisu,” said Spark. “If there really were pokemon living here in peace, then it’s big news. It’s not a lost cause.”

It was as if the dedenne had read her mind. Cleo nodded again and turned back to return to New City. “You’re right. The pachirisu is enough evidence, for now at least. Tomorrow, we can go and investigate the noivern site.”

“Are you sure?” Spark asked. “You don’t want to come back here?”

“My curiosity is kind of sated,” said Cleo. “And we really do need to finish what Tinker asked of us.”

“I can help him.” Mischief’s voice stunned Cleo into silence.

She looked up at the whimsicott. He’d been following them silently, and now stood facing her, trailing a foot-paw in the dried grass.

“You want to help Tinker?” The surprise in her voice reflected on his face. She waved a paw at their surroundings. “After seeing all this?”

“Yes.” He gave a single nod. “I was unsure at first. To be honest… after seeing those poor seviper, and all the damage it’s done, I just wanted to run. But we found that little pachirisu, and… Well, seeing what you guys do, looking for survivors… Sure, we haven’t found any. But I want to help you.” He looked up and met her eyes, all spirit returning in an instant. “I want to join the Guild, like you two.”

Cleo’s jaw went slack and she stuttered for a moment as she processed all this. Earlier, this pokemon had been so shocked by everything that the wind had been taken out of his sails. Now it was back with a perseverance Cleo found both admirable and foolish.

Shock could make someone do one of two things - fight or flee. Mischief had not fled. He’d been given the option to, but he’d stuck by them.

Now he wanted to join them.

“You want to join the Guild?” she finally managed to stutter out.

“Yes. I’ve been thinking. I want to help other pokemon, like you do,” he said. “If there’s so much evil out there, then I want to help stop it. It’s not fair that so many pokemon have to suffer like this, and it’s not fair to run from it either! If I can help in any way at all, then I want to.” He closed his eyes and balled his paws into fists. “Please… let me help.”

“I’m afraid it’s not up to me.”

Mischief looked up and his face fell.

Cleo gave him a small smile. “But I can talk to Tinker.”

Mischief returned her smile. A somewhat more solemn one than the cheery one he’d worn just earlier that day.

“Great,” he said. Then his smile melted away to be replaced by confusion. “So… I guess he’s in charge, then?”

“By default,” Cleo explained. “The Guild’s leader went missing years ago, before we joined. No one has seen him since. Tinker never speaks about him either, so everyone else keeps it hush-hush.”

“Yup!” Spark leant her head on one paw. “One of the Guild’s many mysteries.”

They strolled back up the river with haste, desperate to get back before the sun finished setting. The sky had been dyed an angry red, turning the mountain peak into a black silhouette against it. To keep their spirits up, the trio chatted. Mostly about the Guild, since Mischief seemed to have thought up a million and one questions. But they kept their voices low to avoid attracting attention to themselves. The mountain might be silent and seemingly devoid of life, but the forest was a different matter entirely. They didn’t feel dangerous, but when night fell, dangers followed.

They’d made good progress when a soft rustle reached their ears, freezing each one of them in their tracks.

“Did you hear that?” Spark whispered.

“You heard it, too?” Mischief responded.

Cleo swallowed dryly and crept towards the source of the sound. The fall breeze stirred through a thick fern on the edge of the tree line, but it created a different sound to the one that she’d heard. The rustle had sounded more like someone moving over the dry leaves. Or had it been her imagination?

She squinted through the shadows, urging her night vision to kick in and bracing herself for an attack.

None came.

Maybe it had just been the wind after all?

“C-Cleo…?”

Mischief was stood a little away from her, staring at the ground by his feet. She hadn’t even noticed Spark leave her shoulder, but the dedenne stood beside him, her long tail swishing through the air with agitation.

“It’s gone,” said Mischief.

Leaves lay scattered around the trees, recently disturbed as if the wind had whipped through them, revealing a spray of tiny, dainty little flowers. But there’d been no strong winds, not enough to cause that. Amid the leaves, the grass was flattened as if something heavy had been lying on it.

Her eyes widened. Something had.

“The pachirisu,” she said. “Someone took the body?”

“Well he clearly didn’t get up and walk,” Spark quipped.

“Why would…” Cleo swallowed around a lump in her throat. Her fur was standing on end down her spine, and her twin tails began to look like a pair of brushes. “Come on. We need to head back. I’m starting to feel very uneasy right now…”

“Seconded.” Spark bounded back onto her shoulder.

Mischief glanced back at the trees before falling into pace behind Cleo. The sun was nothing more than a red sliver tracing the mountain peak, plunging the valley swiftly into darkness. Time was definitely against them. Cleo feared they wouldn’t make it back before dark.

And whatever was in those trees, whatever had taken the pachirisu, could very likely be watching them. Stalking them. She could almost feel their eyes burning into her back. Was it all in her head? A trick of the dark? A psychological response to the noise and the missing body?

No… someone was there. Someone had moved the pachirisu.

Was it really worth rushing back, potentially endangering all of New City?

They needed to make a swift and drastic decision. Endangering three lives was certainly better than endangering the largest population of the remaining Outcasts.

“I think,” she said quiet enough for only Spark and Mischief to hear her, “that it might be safer if we don’t head back at all.”

Spark wound her claws into Cleo’s ruff. “I’m with you, but I dunno how I feel about this…”

Exposed.

They’d be incredibly exposed. There was no sense in setting up a tent. Sure, it was blue. A colour that would allow them to blend into the shadows. But if someone was following them, then it would be a beacon. Not to mention a burden if they had to suddenly flee, finding themselves tangled in its folds.

No. They’d have to find somewhere to hide and hope they weren’t spotted.

Cleo led them towards the tree line, searching for anything they could hide under or inside. A hollow in a tree, a shrubbery, a little igloo formed of leaves. They could cover themselves over like the pachirisu.

None of those options stuck around in Cleo’s head for long.

Mischief tugged at her paw and she looked up as he dragged her away from the fern she’d been investigating. He’d found a large pomeg bush a good few feet away from the river bank. Its leaves were yellow and sickly, but it hadn’t shed them. A sign it was probably recovering. He parted the leaves to reveal the bare branches within, enough space for two pokemon of their size to comfortably settle down inside.

Well, it was the best option they had so far.

He held the branches aside for her to climb into the bush, then followed her in, keeping his paws on the leaves to cushion them so they didn’t snap or rustle.

Cleo’s heart was pounding against her ribs with such ferocity she could hear the blood whooshing in her ears. This was probably the single most foolish thing she’d done in a long while. If they survived, she would undoubtedly be on the receiving end of a scathing rant from Tinker.

The three of them sat silently, trying to keep their breathing as quiet as possible as they watched through the gaps in the leaves. Nothing moved. Not so much as a rustle. Yet that feeling of being watched didn’t leave. If anything, it grew worse.

Something shimmered to Cleo’s right, and she jerked her head around to spot it. Nothing. She was certain she’d seen something. The light reflecting in a pair of crimson eyes, or the fading light bouncing off a pokemon’s shiny hide.

Scales?

A dragon… no, not another one.

She turned her head left and right slowly, searching the shadows for any other hint that something might be there. Anything to confirm that it was just her imagination. But that feeling of being watched was becoming too much to bare. Instinct was kicking in, and it was starting to win. A primal urge screaming at her to flee. To get away from whatever danger was encroaching upon her. Any urge to fight back had been sucked right out of her. If it were a dark pokemon then she had no attacks to take them out. Fighting back would be pointless. She should just run.

But that was where her friends came in.

She took a few deep breaths to steady herself and tuned in to Spark shifting around on her shoulder. Trusty Spark and her discharge. A small rodent who packed enough power to take down three weavile at once. Who can stun a flock of murkrow with one attack.

And then there was Mischief.

She had to remind herself that the whimsicott beside her had taken out a noivern, whether or not he remembered it.

She let out a long breath, feeling her heart calm down a few paces. Whatever was out there, waiting to attack them, Cleo and her friends would give them the run for their money.

The sun had well and truly set. Soft moonlight lit up the bare canopy, yet barely penetrated the thick shadows. Cleo couldn’t see much past the small patch of ground just outside the pomeg bush. The shadows were beginning to play tricks on her, causing her to think up various scenarios. But that wasn’t going to get them anywhere. She needed her wits about her if they were going to come out of any battle in one piece.

Snap!

All three of them tensed, and Spark leapt from Cleo’s shoulder to land between her and Mischief. Her whiskers fizzed with electricity as the dedenne tried to repress it. A sudden shock would be like a beacon, drawing in any lurking Darkness.

The dead, dry grass rustled behind them, and Cleo twitched her ears towards it. Behind the bush? Her skin crawled and she turned her head slowly towards it.

Crack!

They jerked back towards the front, eyes wide, claws spread. Cleo’s ears unfurled slightly, and the energy hummed away as she braced herself to blast whoever it was with a powerful psychic surge.

Then something rushed towards them, their feet shattering twigs and dried leaves. Cleo leapt sideways, narrowly missing a pair of cleaving claws. They reflected the moonlight briefly, slicing through the bush’s slender branches and snicking off a few hairs from Cleo’s tail. Spark discharged electricity, lighting up the pomeg bush and shimmering off the red and silver hide of their shadowy assailant. But they were gone before Cleo could get a good look at them.

She blinked dazzle spots from her eyes, trying to spot their fleeing assailant. But they leapt out of nowhere, slicing through the bush once more. Mischief dived to the side as they zipped past, sending up a flurry of white downy cotton. It clung to their attacker’s gleaming body, the moon reflecting off jagged metal. But as quick as they had appeared, they were gone.

The trio stood taut as coiled springs, bracing themselves for another attack. They desperately tried to calm their frantic breathing, straining their ears to listen for any movement. But it was deathly quiet.

Whatever that pokemon was, it was gone.

None of them dared move, but they were all likely wondering the same thing. Stay or go? It might be too dangerous to remain there. There was no saying their assailant had really left. Were they simply trying to lure Cleo and her friends out of hiding? If the latter was the case, then they were better of staying where they were.

All of them were shaking. They huddled together, keeping a watchful eye open. None of them dared sleep, not that Cleo had planned to.

It was much too dark to check for any injuries. She didn’t hurt anywhere, but whatever had attacked them had sharp claws. Too small for a weavile, however. A sneasel? She wasn’t ruling it out. Whatever it was, they were clearly adapted to hunting at night. Blending into the shadows, with incredibly quick, agile movements. It was a flawless strategy. One suited for any assassin.

You can’t hit what you can’t see.

Mischief bobbed along ahead of Cleo and Spark. Harlequin’s satchel swung from his neck like a pendulum, encased in a bubble of purple energy. Cleo trudged after him, her ears unfurled and humming away like a swarm of beedrill. Harlequin’s bag wasn’t light. After jigging things around several times, hanging it from the unconscious whimsicott had seemed the best decision. Sure, if the zorua awakened and found enough strength to retrieve it, Cleo’s psychic wouldn’t exactly be a formidable barrier, and Mischief in his current state wasn’t exactly much of a formidable guardian. But none of them really had much choice.



Spark skipped along beside Cleo, acting as Cleo’s ears. With her psychic humming away, she was at a disadvantage to listen for any small noises that could signal a further threat. Harlequin wasn’t known to work alone very often. They were famous for travelling with another assassin. One who was often heard before he was seen. The thought alone made Cleo’s heart race, and she found herself checking every small shadow - the flutter of a leaf, a small wispy cloud passing the sun… anything.



They’d long since passed where the noivern had fallen, turning west and heading deep into the forest. Tinker hadn’t been clear about how far west they needed to head. Just that somewhere in the forest was a large tree. A large tree that would get them into New City’s cells.



Cleo was beginning to grow impatient. All she could see around them were your standard trees, with no opening into New City at all, save for the occasional vent hidden away near the top, unseen to the untrained eye. This deep in the forest, the canopy grew close together, branches intertwining and knotting together, blocking out most of the light. It left them with a very uncertain sense of time. It could easily be evening, bringing with it more threats.



Cleo forced her way through a thick sea of stinging nettles, wincing as her paws crunched over the prickly stems. Spark had no trouble, slipping between each one as if she did it every day. Thorny bushes and prickly ferns grew among them, each plant trying to strangle the other out to no avail, forming an unpleasant barrier across the unused path.



A low growl resonated by her right ear, and Spark looked up from amid the leaves of a razz bush.



“Cleo?” The dedenne’s voice wavered.



Cleo glanced to her side, catching the glint of sharp canines as Harlequin struggled to raise their head. Great. They’d regained consciousness. A bite at this range would be wildly unwelcome. The zorua was still sluggish, fighting off the effects of the paralysis. Their claws twitched against Cleo’s shoulder as they strove to do as much damage as possible in an attempt to break free. They weren’t much of a threat in their current condition, but a risk was still a risk. It was also not feasible to render them unconscious again, either. Not without potentially dealing fatal damage. They needed the zorua alive. They had to know what was going on, and Harlequin may very likely have that information.



Cleo turned and pressed onward, and Harlequin hissed as they were dragged through the stinging plants.



“Cleo!” Spark squeaked. “What are you doing?”



“I’m asking myself that same question.”



“Put her down!” Spark scampered ahead of her and waved her paws. “We can ask for help, and-!”



The foliage thinned, and Cleo stepped through it with Spark at her heels. Whatever she’d said had either faded or been cut off as the pair of them stared out at the burning forest. Thick black smoke curled up from the blazing foliage, stinging Cleo’s eyes. She slapped a paw over her muzzle to block out its bitter suffocating smog. Houndour swarmed through the inferno, torching everything in sight. Just beyond them was a huge tree, guarded by a formidable houndoom. The sleek, black dog threw his head back and let out a blood-curdling howl that made Cleo’s heart freeze.



Harlequin lifted their head and their claws tightened around Cleo’s shoulders. The zorua’s breath came out as a low, pathetic whine.



Cleo trembled from ear to tail as she took a step back into the nettles. The houndour zipped past her, and the lead one sent a flamethrower right over her head into the canopy. Harlequin slipped from Cleo’s shoulders, landing in a crumpled heap behind her. Harlequin let out a scream of protest which fell on deaf ears. Cleo stared at the desolation for a fleeting heartbeat before her senses kicked in and she twisted away and bolted, dropping to all-fours. She didn’t even feel the nettles. Spark scampered on ahead of her, pausing to check the feline was following. The small dedenne lead the way through the tangle of prickly stems. On the wind, Cleo heard Harlequin’s frantic cries as they pleaded desperately for their life.



Cleo ran until her lungs were fit to burst, burning with a cold fire. It wasn’t until the pair finally came to a stop inside the thorny branches of a razz bush that she realised she’d made a fatal error.



She’d dropped Mischief in all the chaos.





The grovyle milled around the office, dwarfed by the expansive shelves that swarmed over the walls in a chaos of organised paperwork. Loose papers littered the lone desk that she filed into various colourful binders in a methodical fashion that bordered on the obsessive. She muttered to herself incoherently, the odd word coming out louder than the rest, although she seemed oblivious to it. ‘Wrong!’ and ‘Nonsense!’ were frequently voiced as she placed the files back on the shelves, or glanced between the one she was holding and the one that had clearly offended her before violently switching them. If she noticed her own variating volume she didn’t show it.



Her mutterings only ceased when a soft jingle emanated from the corner of the room. Her entire body stiffened and her eyes became impossibly wide. Just like many other pokemon before her, she wished she’d only imagined that sound. The fear spread across her face as a shadowy figure emerged from beside the potted palm.



Her reaction elicited a chuckle from the assassin and he sank back against the door, grinning at the quaking grovyle.



“Enigma?” she stuttered. “What… what are you doing here?”



The banette tutted and shook his head slowly. “Oh my. You don’t seem too happy to see me?” He paused and inclined his head on one side. “Mint, right?”



The grass-type’s jaw went slack and a brief silence passed between them. “How did you-”



“The rockruff on watch duty told me.”



“Oh.” Mint licked her dry lips and hugged the folder to her chest tightly. “Why are you… I mean… I’ve not… have I? I don’t understand.”



Enigma stared at her coldly and she shrank back further against the desk. He almost expected her to start begging for her life. Instead she took a deep, steadying breath and ran a paw over the long leaf trailing down her back.



“Why would Lord Hydreigon send you here?” she choked out. “To me?”



“Hmm… why, exactly?” Enigma looked up at the ceiling and scratched his mane. “I’ve been sent to find out which Heretics were visited by a noivern. One passed by here recently.” He locked his crimson gaze on hers. “Were you visited by a noivern?”



She shook her head sharply. “No. No, we’ve not been visited by a noivern.”



He continued to stare at her and a sly grin tugged at his lips. “Are you lying to me, Mint?”



“No!” She shook her head again, more violently, causing the long leaf to sweep some papers off the table. “No one has visited us from the Shadow Lands in months!”



“Allow me to narrow it down for you, see if we can ring any bells.” He warped from the wall and appeared before her with a loud jingle.



Mint squealed and stumbled back from the desk into the shelves. One of them came loose and rained its contents down upon her. She lifted her arms to shield herself and screwed her eyes shut tight as folders pelted her slender body. Enigma stretched out a paw and plucked one of the binders from the air before flopping down into the little desk chair. He idly flipped through the contents, barely taking it in.



“It was Boomer,” he said flatly, looking up to meet her stunned expression. “Does that name clear away any fog?”



“I know who Boomer is.” She gazed at the paper spewed over the floor, and with a defeated sigh she sank against the wall. “We’ve not been visited by any dragons. You have the wrong base, Enigma.”



“Well isn’t that a pity.” He closed the folder and tossed it onto the desk. “I was hoping to finish this little task quickly. Searching for all of your hidden bases is rather dull.” He stood and approached her, taking her head leaf in his claws. “I was rather hoping to play with you a little longer.”



He let the leaf trail through his claws, watching as she turned from a deep green to a sickly lime. She let out an audible gulp. He returned it with a sinister grin and twirled with a flourish to march back towards the door.



“I can tell you where they are if that helps?”



Enigma quirked an eyebrow and looked back at her. “Oh? You’re in contact with them?”



“Of course…” She wasn’t looking at him, instead gazing from the small window.



“Then maybe you can cut my quest short? He was sent back with a message to Hydreigon. One he was meant to deliver with some haste.”



“I don’t know about any message.” She turned her head towards him. “Besides, if he had a message for Lord Hydreigon then why do you want it?”



“Because it didn’t reach him.”



The grovyle’s eyes widened and she looked away from him again. Silence. She hadn’t expected that. Maybe she did know something?



“There were some… complications,” Enigma told her. “So the message never reached Hydreigon. If you know what it is, then it’s in your best interest to tell me.” He leant back against the door and examined his claws, feigning a somewhat bored expression.



It had the desired effect. Mint trembled from head to foot until the feathery leaves adorning her arms rustled.



“I can assure you, Enigma, I have no idea.”



“Well the answer is believed to be in this vicinity.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You said you’re in touch with the other bases. Are there any more around here I should know about?”



“Not… a base.” She swallowed and glanced away from him. “Just a lab.”



Enigma’s eyes widened. “A lab you say?”



She nodded stiffly, as if giving away such knowledge pained her.



“I’ll visit this lab. But if I find out you’ve been keeping any information from me…” He examined his claws again and a huge grin spread across his face, “then I’ll be back to deal with you.”



She grimaced and placed a paw on the desk to steady herself. “Please… I’ve told you everything I know.”



Enigma smirked. “I hope so, Mint.”



“The lab isn’t far from here.” She looked up and fixed him with watery eyes. “You’ll hear it before you see it.”



Well that was interesting.



“Anything else?” he crooned.



She screwed her eyes shut and shook her head, letting a lone tear leak over her scaly cheek.



“Very well.” Enigma lowered his claws and wiped them on his scarf. “Then you’d best hope deeply you never meet me again.”



He phased through the door, leaving the grovyle to sink, sobbing, to the floor.





Cleo barely breathed. She crouched, braced to run, peering through the thorny branches. No sign of Mischief. No sign of Harlequin. Not a single bark from the houndour. Had they gone? Had they really not noticed her? She’d expected them to give chase. Her heart hammered at her ribs, urging her to flee. But she couldn’t. She’d left Mischief to an unfortunate fate amid that inferno.



She crept forwards, her nose twitching at the air as it rustled the bitter razz leaves. Not so much as a hint of smoke. What was going on?



She exchanged puzzled glances with Spark, who shifted on the spot with unease. “We need to go back for him, Cleo.”



“I know.” Cleo’s voice was barely a whisper. She strained her ears, but there was nothing. “I can’t see any smoke or fire.”



“Maybe the Guild put them out already?”



“You really think the Guild has seen off the Wildfires?” Cleo scoffed. “No… Something isn’t right. Why would Hydreigon send them this way?” She grimaced at that. He’d already sent Harlequin, hadn’t he? “Maybe… maybe there’s something here he wants after all.”



“I really think we should go back and warn Tinker,” said Spark. “Sitting here isn’t helping.”



Tinker!



Cleo’s eyes widened and she reached into her bag. Her claws fastened around the cold plastic shell of Tinker’s communicator. They weren’t outside the boundaries of New City. If it really worked, then they could contact him from where they sat.



She pushed the red button, and Spark hopped onto her shoulder for a better look. Almost immediately Tinker’s voice responded, crackling. A little too loud for Cleo’s liking. She gave a wary glance back towards the invisible inferno.



“Cleo?” A trace of worry marred his voice and she realised she’d not responded yet. “Is everything okay?”



“Ah… Tinker.” She fell to her haunches and clutched the communicator in both paws. “No… I… we found the tree. But… Oh, Tinker. The Wildfires are there!” Her voice tapered out into a strangled whisper and she stared wide-eyed back up the path of nettles. “I lost Mischief when I panicked. I couldn’t… we just ran!” She screwed her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry.”



A throaty chuckle came from the speaker and she opened her eyes again to glare at it.



“Are you laughing?” she growled.



“I’m sorry, Cleo.” She could almost picture him wiping a paw across his eyes. “I should have warned you. What you saw is merely an illusion.”



“An illusion?” she gasped.



Spark shook her head slowly. “No. I’m afraid we’re gonna need a better explanation than that.”



“Remember, girls. I told you that the entrance is secure,” Tinker explained. “What you encountered is a complex barrier Grey created. It plays on the fears of those that encounter it, playing it out as a vivid illusion in an attempt to drive them away.” He paused. “As you can see, it works quite well.”



“So what we saw… was just an illusion?” Cleo hissed. “I find it rather convenient that you forgot to tell us that.”



“I needed you to see it for yourselves, since you doubted me.”



Cleo closed her eyes and sighed. “Tinker… not only did I drop Mischief, I also abandoned Harlequin.”



“Pardon? You dropped Harlequin?!”



“I wasn’t going to carry a pokemon that size while fleeing from the Wildfires, was I! She’d slow me down!”



Tinker sighed, a static buzz filled with accusation. “Cleo… never mind. Just meet me at the tree. Maybe Harlequin is still there? In fact… I can almost count on it.”



The communicator cut off and Cleo glared at it before stuffing it into her bag. “Come on, Spark. Mischief might have come to his senses by now and be looking for us.”



She ducked from the razz bush and sniffed the air cautiously. Definitely no smoke. If it was an illusion like Tinker had said, it was incredibly life-like. She couldn’t even begin to hope to create something like that. Grey’s skills were incredible.



She crept back through the nettles, keeping her wits about her perchance Harlequin was waiting in ambush. But the zorua lay just outside them in a sprawled heap, one paw stretched out as if they’d been scrambling to get away. Smoke curled up from the grass, and the chilling howl came from the houndoom once more. Cleo froze, fixing it with wide amber eyes. Her gut instinct told her to flee, and she ducked back into the nettles.



“Come on, Cleo!” Spark dived from her shoulder. “He said it isn’t real!”



Cleo watched Spark’s tail as it vanished beyond the nettles. She forced herself after the dedenne, finding her stood beside Harlequin, gazing up at the howling flames.



“Whew boy, it’s really life-like.” Spark trembled slightly and forced herself to look away to examine Harlequin.



Cleo crept into the blazing inferno, feeling the heat lick over her fur harmlessly. It gave her peace of mind that it definitely was nothing more than an illusion.



“You see the same thing, right?” she asked Spark.



“Of course I do,” said the dedenne. “Blazing fires… those dogs… all the screaming… you just have to close your eyes and tell yourself it ain’t real.” As if to demonstrate, Spark squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head.



Screaming? So it did play out differently for each pokemon. All Cleo could hear were the howls and the horrible crackle of burning wood.



“Well… first things first,” said Cleo. “We’d better find Mischief. Maybe he’s hiding?”



She searched around her, finding the whimsicott lying a little way away from Harlequin. Still out cold. It was an inconvenience she’d just have to deal with. She left him to return to Harlequin. Once the zorua was back on her shoulders then she could lift Mischief.



Harlequin didn’t respond to her presence. Their ribs rose and fell quickly, almost as if they were gasping for breath.



Spark twitched her nose at Cleo. “I think she’s fainted.”



Cleo made a thoughtful noise and hoisted the zorua onto her back. “I wonder what she saw?”



“Makes you wonder,” said Spark. “I often think the Darkness aren’t scared of anything. They wouldn’t cause all this suffering if they were scared, right?”



The pair turned towards the flames, and Cleo’s blood turned cold. Spark gave her ankle a reassuring pat.



“Just do what I do,” said Spark. “Close your eyes, lower your head and run. Don’t even look up!” With that, the dedenne sped towards the tree.



Cleo swallowed bile and pushed herself on, staggering under Harlequin’s weight. When she was close enough to Mischief, she lifted him in a bubble and picked up pace, screwing her eyes shut like Spark. It did nothing to block out the noise swirling through her mind. She half-expected the houndoom to lunge at her at any moment, to feel his hot fangs fastening around her neck.



A pair of paws fell on her shoulders and she screamed, dropping Harlequin and Mischief once more. Tinker flinched back from her and looked between her and the two unconscious pokemon.



“Cleo!” he said, lifting his paws. “It’s just me.”



Cleo suppressed a growl as it rose in her throat, and stooped to gather Harlequin. Tinker stopped her and took the zorua almost effortlessly, slinging them across his back like a shaggy cloak. Cleo, silently thankful for his aid, scooped up Mischief in another bubble.



Tinker looked up at the big tree and let out a long whistle. “You almost forget it isn’t real, don’t you?”



“Really?” Cleo glared at him. “Tell me… what do you see?”



“I suppose we’d better get inside,” he said. “Harlequin might wake up soon, and I’d much rather not be on the receiving end of an assault.”



He carried Harlequin with alarming ease towards the opening in the base of the tree. The houndoom reversed towards it, fixing Cleo with crimson eyes that seemed to burn right through her. Cleo gulped and screwed her eyes shut, moving Mischief ahead of her towards the tree.



Tinker stood just inside the opening with Spark, patiently waiting for Cleo. Once she was safely inside, he popped his Guild badge into the stone slab and it rolled aside with a soft grating sound. He let Cleo in first, and the slab closed behind him.



A dark staircase wound down into the shadows, and the smell of mildew wafted up on the cold air. Tinker took the lead, his paws slapping over the damp stone. It was a far contrast to the fresh and earthy smell she’d grown familiar with in New City.



Candles dotted the walls, their orange light flickering and shimmering over the stairs. They seemed to grow more wet the further down they went, and Cleo had to watch her step for fear she might slip and send Mischief tumbling down the rest of the way. A move she was sure he wouldn’t appreciate.



The stairs ended in a wide room with heavy iron doors barring their way. Muffled angry voices came from the other side, along with cries and sobs. The fur bristled along Cleo’s spine and she wasn’t sure why. The atmosphere? No… it was deeper than that. Some psychological response she struggled to analyse.



Tinker pulled out a large iron key and unlocked the door, releasing the muffled sounds into the hollow room. Slurs and insults, shouts of profanity. Each one warring to be heard above the other. Cleo stepped into a tunnel lined with smaller iron doors, each one sporting a barred window with a view of its occupant. She was surprised at how many weren’t empty. Weavile, sneasel, scraggy, nuzleaf… so many faces looked back at her. She noted an umbreon curled up in the back of one of the cells, glaring at her with tired, red eyes. She hadn’t seen any eevee or its evolutions in years. Each cell was darkened with thick layers of mildew that spread up the stone walls and congregated on the ceiling. Other sharp smells mixed with it - fear, sweat and ones Cleo didn’t even want to think about.



“This,” said Tinker as they filed through the noisy cells, “is where we keep the dark pokemon that are currently being interrogated for information. Some of the Guild’s best soldiers work here, so it’s a place of high security, as you’ve already seen.”



Spark peered over the walls and her nose crinkled. “Wouldn’t hurt to brighten it up a bit, though, eh?”



“That’s not necessary.” Tinker stopped at another door. Painted on it was a red triangle with an exclamation point. He fumbled the key-chain while juggling Harlequin about his shoulders.



“Need a paw with that?” Spark asked.



“I’m not sure you could reach,” said Tinker.



“Oi!” Spark’s whiskers crackled. “If you weren’t my boss I’d give you a good shocking!”



A smirk spread across Tinker’s muzzle, but he didn’t look up from the key chain.



“What’s this room?” Cleo asked.



“High security cell,” he explained. “I feel it’s more fitting for this one.”



“She’s one small zorua.” Cleo stepped forward to steady the zorua on Tinker’s back.



“Harlequin is notoriously known to be an escape artist.” Tinker swiftly unlocked the door and shoved it open with his foot. “Besides, this is a private room. I don’t really want the other prisoners listening in.”



He led them inside, and Cleo was surprised to find the room was a lot wider and quieter than the corridor of cells. Once the door was closed behind them, most of the noise was nullified. A huge cell adorned the far left wall, a wall of iron bars set close enough together that the wiliest of sneasel couldn’t slip between them. They were also thick enough not to be bashed to smithereens by a tyranitar, or gnawed through by a persistent raticate.



Tinker set Harlequin in the cell then, leaving the door open, left the zorua to rummage through the lone desk in the room. Cleo stared warily at the open cell door, but Tinker wasn’t long. He returned to Harelquin and snapped a strange white collar around their neck.



“What’s that for?” Cleo asked.



“Security reasons,” said Tinker. “Would you please join me for a moment? I can show you what I mean.”



Cleo exchanged a shrug with Spark and set Mischief on the floor before joining Tinker’s side. In one fluid motion, the riolu twisted and swiped at Cleo’s ruff. She let out a shrill mewl and raised her paw to her neck. Tinker didn’t seem to care. He finished fussing with the collar and stood up.



Cleo met his eyes and growled. “Would you mind telling me what that was for?”



“I told you,” he said as he shooed her from the cell so he could lock it. “Security. I needed some of your hairs for your own protection.”



Cleo leant back against one of the cell’s bars. “I think I need a bit more of an explanation.”



“Later,” he said. “Right now, I want to see what this zorua has in his bag.”



Tinker untangled the bag from around Mischief and set it on his desk.



“And what about Mischief?” Cleo asked. “Are we just leaving him to come round on his own?”



“No. I have a nurse on site,” Tinker explained. “I’ve asked her to collect him, but she appears to be running a little late.” He opened the bag and the first thing he removed was the large purple horn. “A nidoking horn?”



“Yes,” said Cleo. “She attacked us with that.”



Tinker turned it in his paws, examining the wooden handle it was mounted to, and the intricate tribal pattern painted along the horn’s surface.



“So I guess when you picked it up you used the handle?” Tinker asked.



“Yes, I’m not stupid, Tinker.”



“That’s reassuring,” said Tinker. “Because if you were poisoned by this, you’d be in a lot of trouble. The anti-venom is as rare as the item itself.”



Spark scratched behind her large ears. “You can’t just use pecha berries?”



“While pechas are good for curing poison,” said Tinker, “they aren’t a fail-safe. Some poisons are too potent to be neutralised by a mere berry.”



“Huh!” Spark blinked, dumbfounded. “The more you know.”



“Then what would you use?” Cleo waved a paw at the weapon. “Say one of us did get nicked by this thing. How would we cure it?”



“It needs a very specific anti-venom,” said Tinker. “One designed to counter that of a nidoking.”



“So… the opposite?” asked Cleo.



“Yes. And what is the opposite of a nidoking?”



“A nidoqueen,” said Spark.



“Precisely.”



“Wha’?” Spark looked up at Cleo and shrugged. “I was joking.”



“Well you are right on this account,” said Tinker. “Nidoqueen venom can counter that of a nidoking, and vice versa. It would at one time have been rather easy to come by, but when the poison-types rebelled against Hydreigon, they were wiped out. Nidoking and their evolutionary lines have been eradicated, and none have been sighted in years. They used to be quite populous in these mountains. It’s a wonder this assassin here has managed to acquire such an item.”



“Does she have the anti-venom in there?” Cleo reached for the bag but Tinker swatted her paw away.



“She wouldn’t be a very good assassin if she didn’t, Cleo. What if she accidentally poisoned herself?”



Spark scoffed. “Wouldn’t be a very good assassin if she poisoned herself, either.”



“Exactly.”



The voice had come from the cell. A high voice that now, no longer muffled by the nidoking horn, had an aggressive undertone. It seemed to contrast with the zorua’s sparkling eyes and small, pointed features which were blanketed in an oddly shaggy coat that looked like it needed a good groom. Add to that the over-sized ears and Cleo found herself questioning the zorua’s age and gender. All of Hydreigon’s assassins were male, so Harlequin had taken Cleo by surprise at first. Now she was doubting herself. Was this zorua merely a cub? A formidable cub? No… that was impossible. The name ‘Harlequin’ had been circling for many seasons.



“Oh. You’re awake.” Tinker turned back to the zorua’s bag. “That’s convenient. We have some questions for you.”



Harlequin rolled over onto their stomach and pushed up into a sitting position. They lifted their right paw and flexed their claws. “Looks like the little squirt’s paralysis is wearing off.” They grinned at Cleo and her friends. “I’ll be out of here before you know it.”



“Squirt!?” Spark spluttered electricity, sending a stray jolt into Tinker’s fur. “I have every right mind to shock you again!”



“Don’t.” Tinker smoothed the fur around his shoulders and cast Harlequin a glare. “He can’t do anything. That collar represses all his special attacks, and the bars on that cage are designed to restrain a dragon-danced salamence.”



“Oh really?” Harlequin opened their jaws wide, then a look of bewilderment crossed the zorua’s features. They snapped their jaw shut again and licked their lips, lowering their head.



Tinker raised an eyebrow. “Trying a dark pulse? Try all you want. It’s pointless.”



Harlequin pawed at the collar with a back leg, shoving it to force it past their ears to no avail. “What on earth is this?”



“Science.” Tinker returned to rummaging through the zorua’s bag. “Now… am I right in assuming that one of these bottles is an antidote for the nidoking horn?”



“I don’t carry an antidote.”



“Really?” Tinker looked up at Harlequin with some surprise. “Seems rather foolish.”



“What would be foolish is poisoning myself on my own weapon,” Harlequin explained. “A good assassin doesn’t make it to my level by poisoning themselves. And, if you know my reputation, you’ll know that I’m an elite.”



“An elite who is now trapped behind bars.”



Harlequin’s fur bristled along their back and their hackles rose. If Tinker noticed he didn’t react.



He looked up at the door. “Where on earth is that nurse? Now…” He reached into the bag and pulled out a long string of black thong. A heavy golden ring swung from it, and inside it a strange orb twirled back and forth on a pin. “What is this? I’ve never seen anything like it.”



Harlequin’s eyes widened, blazing with a sapphire fire. “Put that back!”



“Here, Cleo. Have you ever seen one of these?” Tinker handed the necklace to Cleo.



“Put it back!” With what strength they had left, Harlequin launched a full-body tackle at the bars. Their jaws fastened around it, snarling and snapping, scrabbling with their claws.



Cleo feared for a moment that the zorua might slip through the bars, but that was impossible. She watched as Harlequin gnawed at the metal bars, leaving a streak of bloody saliva along the rough metal. She tore her eyes away to examine the strange item in her paws. It was heavy, and the orb appeared to be made from glass. A black and white shape coiled down the centre of it, which seemed to warp as the glass ball rotated in its golden prison.



Cleo shook her head and handed it back to Tinker. “I’ve no idea what it is. But going off her reaction, I’d say it’s pretty important.”



Tinker nodded, glancing a the zorua. “I’d say so. Harlequin! What is this?”



Harlequin lay with their jaws still fastened around the bar, breathing heavily. Their eyes were wild and fierce, almost insane.



Tinker nodded again and handed the item back to Cleo. “Keep hold of it. I want to make sure it’s well out of Harlequin’s reach, while we work out what it is.”



“No!” Harlequin barked. “Put it back! Give it back, right now!”



“Are you going to tell us what it is?” Tinker demanded.



“Not yours! Now put! It! Back!” With each word, Harlequin thrashed their paws against the iron bars.



The door to the room opened and an audino poked her head around it. “My. What a racket!” She stepped into the room and pointed a wary claw at Harlequin who was once again gnashing at the bars. “Is he the one you want me to treat?”



“No, no.” Tinker waved a dismissive paw at the whimsicott, who was now starting to stir. “It’s him. He passed out with exhaustion.”



The audino crouched down beside Mischief. “He seems to be waking up, but I’ll give him a check over. Can you stand?”



Mischief sat up and rubbed his fluffy head. He grimaced and removed his paw, looking at it as if it had morally offended him. “Why do I hurt?”



“Because Cleo dropped you,” said Spark with a grin. “Twice!”



“What?” He looked up at Cleo, who flushed and diverted her gaze. “Why?”



“Come on.” The audino looped her arm around him and helped him to his feet. “I’ll get you some fresh oran juice.”



“Where am I? It smells funny.”



The pair left the room, their voices soon drowned out by Harlequin’s frantic screams.



“Cleo.” Tinker drew the meowstic’s eye. “Let’s finish this conversation in the staff room, where it’s quieter. No one will be in there right now, so we can go over what I want you to do.”



Cleo pursed her lips. That didn’t sound reassuring. “But… we’ve not asked-”



“Later.” Tinker waved a paw. “He’s not going to tell us anything in this state, is he?”



Harlequin’s cries had finally come to a stop. They lay panting with one paw stretched through the bars of their cell. Their eyes lacked that fierce fire, now angry and wet with unshod tears.



Tinker ushered Cleo from the room, and Spark hopped from the desk to Cleo’s shoulder as she turned to leave. Her mind was swirling with questions, and she was silently grateful that Tinker wanted to relocate them elsewhere. Without Harlequin as a distraction, nor listening in, Cleo could voice them without concern.



The staff room was located a short distance from the private cells, two doors along. She assumed the other door lead to another private cell, and she briefly wondered if anyone was occupying it. The staff room was pleasantly less musty than the other rooms, with a sharp clean, clinical scent that stung her nose as she entered. The lack of mildew marring the walls suggested it had been scrubbed clean recently.



Tinker closed the door behind them and Cleo turned to face him.



“So what do you want to discuss?” She picked up a glass of hot berry juice from the table and warmed her paws with it. “Do you think Harlequin worked with that absol to poison the river?”



“The thought crossed my mind, and I won’t rule it out.” Tinker leant back against the table and sipped his own drink. “But that’s not why I brought you here, Cleo. The absol situation is being dealt with by a different Warrior team. But I do have a request of you.”



“Oh?” The note in his voice unsettled Cleo.



“I’m a little concerned.” Tinker swirled the contents of his glass. “No. Make that very concerned. This turn of events has set off my alarm bells. Since that noivern showed up in the area, Harlequin’s appearance has… raised some flags. Either there is something huge that Hydreigon is after in the Moorlands, or you three have a price on your heads.”



Spark mirrored Cleo’s wide-eyed expression and lowered a razz berry she’d harvested from the table. “Hang on! What are you suggesting?”



“I didn’t see the noivern’s body,” said Tinker. “So I can’t say for certain. But I am beginning to wonder if it was Boomer, one of Hydreigon’s aces, as you know. That would be the easiest explanation. Did Harlequin have a particular target in mind during your fight?”



“Yes.” Cleo’s mouth turned dry. “Mischief.”



“Oh yeah!” Spark nodded and took a bite of her berry. “Didn’t pay much attention to us two.”



“That cinches it then,” said Tinker. “If you’ve ticked off Hydreigon by killing one of his top aces, then this is huge. He is one ace down and will stop at nothing to exact revenge. This would be a prime opportunity to start thinking about moving in on Hydreigon and finally getting rid of him.”



Cleo’s glass shattered to the floor, and she leapt back as hot, sticky liquid sloshed over her paws. She fixed Tinker with a livid stare. “Are you crazy?! Move in on Hydreigon?! His army is… fifteen times the size of ours!”



“An over-exaggeration, Cleo.”



“I’d say its an under-exaggeration,” said Spark. “He outnumbers us a lot!”



Tinker waved a paw at the dedenne. “Allow me to continue, girls, please.”



Cleo bit her lip, but her glare never left the riolu.



“Since we’ve found Mischief, I’ve been doing some thinking,” Tinker explained. “If we found more of that new type, our armies would increase in strength significantly. We’d have a huge advantage and could turn things in our favour! Let’s face it, Cleo. Mischief’s glittering attack could likely take Hydreigon down in one hit! Imagine what an army could do?”



Cleo let out a flustered sigh and leant her paws on the table. “Okay, Tinker. You have a point. But where do we even start?”



“I haven’t a clue,” said Tinker. “But I’d start with seeking out where Mischief came from. If there are more of his type there, then you could find out where they originated. Perhaps even recruit them.”



Cleo’s livid glare returned and she flashed her canines. Spark spluttered out her berry.



“The Heretics?!” they snapped.



“You seriously have some questionable ideas, Tinker,” Cleo growled.



“This is only a suggestion,” said Tinker. “But given Mischief appears to have come from a Heretic laboratory, there’s no saying the bio-weapons they create are being turned into such voluntarily. Don’t rubbish it before you’ve uncovered anything. There’s every possibility Mischief is merely a victim. Now…” He gazed into his glass, choosing his words carefully. “This brings me to the next part of my request. I want the three of you to take Harlequin with you.”



Cleo’s jaw fell open and she found herself at a total loss for words.



“Yeah…” Spark frowned up at Tinker. “You’ve completely lost it.”



“Harlequin?” Cleo spat. “You want us to take an assassin with us?! She should remain behind bars! It’s dangerous to drag her around with us! There’s no way she’ll co-operate!”



“Yeah, she could kill us!” Spark squeaked. Then she paused, thought briefly and added, “She’ll definitely kill us!”



“I’ve considered all that,” said Tinker.



“What, in the five minutes you’ve had her here?” Cleo’s tails bristled like a pair of cacti. “Why on earth should we be expected to drag one of Hydreigon’s most dangerous murderers with us?”



“As a hostage.” Tinker fixed Cleo with his good eye. “Let’s face it, Cleo. If Harlequin has been sent after you, and doesn’t report back, then it won’t be long until Hydreigon sends out his other aces to target you.”



A chill ran through Cleo’s body, and she felt the blood leave her cheeks.



“Exactly,” Tinker said, reading her perfectly. “That means Enigma, Ripwing… and Howlinger and the Wildfires.”



“Howlinger…” Cleo put a paw to her head. Everything began to spin and turn fuzzy, replaced with the image of a blazing forest and hundreds of black, howling shadows racing through her mind. A blazing inferno of death and destruction.



And it would be coming for her once more.



“Cleo?” Tinker rose to his feet, but his voice sounded echoey. Disjointed from reality.



The last thing Cleo remembered seeing was the room on its side.