Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I…I almost never saw my dad in my whole life.”

The first memory Arven had of Turo was blurry and faded, but he knew it took place in that little lab in the lighthouse.

He remembered sitting somewhere- he didn’t know where, couldn’t recall- and he remembered watching Turo work on something at his desk. Typing away insistently at a computer, flashing lights and numbers pouring from the screen as he wrote select equations down. Arven could care less about that. He remembered just patiently staring at the back of Turo’s head.

He remembered waiting. He sat in a little playpen or something (that’s what he assumed it was) and he waited for the moment where Turo would turn around, rub his eyes, look at his son and smile. Call his name. Pick him up and coddle him, maybe read him a story from that cardboard book mom got a while back.

He was waiting for quite a while.

And when Turo eventually did turn around, when he did rub his eyes from the sting of blue-light monitors, when he finally locked eyes with Arven’s own-

The Professor simply sighed.

“Right,” he said, his voice ragged from disuse. “I haven’t made you dinner yet.”

In another twist of fate, that was Arven’s first and last memory of Turo making dinner. He remembered it didn’t taste very good, whether by the dull ham and cheese sandwich served or the cold silence that permeated the table afterwards.

The next week, he left for Area Zero, leaving Arven alone for the rest of the month with a two-sentence note, a well stocked pantry, and an empty heart.

“He was always busy with work. Hardly ever came home.”

Even if it was clear at that point that Turo valued his work above his family, he at least attempted to visit at the end of every month. Arven would wait outside on the lab’s front steps and watch the flying taxi get closer and closer, landing before him in a flurry of dust and Squawkabilly caws. He would watch as Turo stumbled out, hands full of manilla folders and documents, how he’d pay the driver and watch the taxi take off. It was a long and tedious process, watching each Squawkabilly slowly gear up to fly and seeing the driver wrap up pleasantries. Arven’s heart would pound and beat faster and faster with each passing minute, the tension in his veins rising, adrenaline coursing as he waited and waited and waited.

Because only after all that, only after the taxi became a speck on the horizon, did Turo finally turn around and head into the lab.

He always seemed surprised to see Arven waiting outside.

“Arven,” he’d always say, before giving a tight smile. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Mhm,” Arven would always reply.

“Where’s mom?”

“Out. She’ll be back soon.”

“Ah. Alright. Mind opening the door for me?”

And that was the only certain conversation Arven could count on with his father.

Turo would spend the next few days glued to his seat before the monitors, writing and typing and muttering himself to sleep. There would be times where Arven made breakfast for him, the best plate of scrambled eggs or Kalos toast a nine-year old could muster. He’d place the food beside Turo’s sleeping form at the desk and wait patiently for his eyes to flutter open, for him to look at Arven and go, “You made this? All by yourself? This is amazing, Arven! I’m so proud of you.” and then they’d have a normal family breakfast. Maybe mom would eat with them too.

But no. Instead, Turo’d just wake up, look at the food, look at Arven, then say “Thanks.” and scarf it down before returning to his work.

The only time Arven managed to bring the whole family together for any sort of meal was his tenth birthday, and only because he practically begged them to. He made mom sit down and watch him make barely passable souffles, his heart soaring every time he looked back to see that lopsided grin on her face. Maybe it was just the high of having a normal family for once, but even Turo’s tight smile seemed more mirthful than normal. He actually commented on the food for once!

And the day only got better with the inclusion of a birthday gift: a rust-colored Pokeball with a Maschiff inside.

And, of course, it goes without saying that Arven’s little bubble popped by noon, when Sada had to leave for a conference and Turo drifted back to the desk.

But it was alright. He had someone to talk to now. He played with Maschiff along the dirt road until the sky turned a brilliant scarlet.

Every month turned to every other month.

Every other month turned to biyearly.

Biyearly turned to never at all.

“I cooked for myself, cleaned for myself… Mabosstiff was the only one I had to talk to.”

As any ten-year old would be, Arven was ecstatic about getting a Pokemon. After school, he’d race back up the hill and down into the fields, looking for wild Pokemon to fight. Maschiff would bite and tackle and growl at any Rookidees, Igglybuffs, or any trainers along their way, always ending the fight by bounding over to Arven and licking his face.

It was so much fun. And Maschiff was getting stronger too- so Arven only pushed himself further. He stayed outside longer. He pulled out a collapsible picnic table and a hiking bag too big for him from storage, cramming it full of food so he could make meals while training.

(So he wouldn’t have to go back.)

He’d venture further, past Los Platos and into Mesagoza, to the routes branching off into the rest of Paldea. He’d gawk and awe at the grand Uva University in the center of the city, at the place his father studied, before shuffling along to the red rocks of the Artazon route. He’d try his best not to look to the northwest as he trekked through the dry dirt and hordes of Nacils.

He’d stay out longer, waiting until the sky turned orange, then to purple, and finally a deep navy blue with beautiful swaths of stars.

But he couldn’t run away forever. He had to face it eventually. He had to walk back through the shining brilliance of Mesagoza, through the quiet simplicity of Los Platos, up the silent and dark hill that led to the lighthouse that was never on. Maschiff padded beside his stride, content with rubbing against his ankles and looking up at him with concern. Arven would smile, scratch Maschiff’s head, and walk on.

He’d get back home late. Too late. He’d stay up past ten, trying to learn how to make tomato soup while working on math homework, dusting the living room while revising an english assignment. He’d get into bed by around eleven, and if it was any later he’d just collapse on the couch. It didn’t matter either way- Maschiff curled up on his stomach and slept with him regardless.

And the next morning, he’d wake up, go to school, and do the whole thing again.

He was the talk of the school for a year when Maschiff evolved. He has a such a strong Pokemon already, students would whisper. He must train a lot, others conferred. They all came to the same reasoning eventually.

Must be because he’s the son of the Professor.

No one told him these things directly, but Arven didn’t care. Mabosstiff’s Pokeball felt warm between his hands.

Next time, he’ll bring a sleeping bag.

Next time, he’ll stay the night in Artazon.

“So, yeah. I don’t really know him. Even if he is my dad.”

Despite his mother being more present in his life than his father, Arven only had a handful of clear memories of Sada.

She was like dad- always obsessed with research. She attended conferences with other professors, went out into the field daily and stayed out there for weeks, sometimes disappeared with Turo into Area Zero, but she always tried to come home. She always missed Arven, though. She was never good with schedules and timing.

Sometimes, Arven would come home from his training to find the kitchen restocked and a letter on the counter.

Hey, Ven! Sorry I missed you again- I promise I’ll do better next time!

Anyway, I can’t stay for long, but I got you some more food and ingredients. Next time I see you (which WILL happen- I’m getting better!) you should try to make that souffle you made one time! That was really good, and I would be lying if I’m not craving it right now.

Oh, and while I was shopping I found this book you might like. It’s like a fantasy novel or something? Tell me what it’s like when I see you again!

Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll see you again in about a month. Stay strong, Champ! And tell Maschi Mabosstiff I said hi!

Love you XOXOX

Mom

Those always made Arven smile.

But why could Sada only get weekdays off? She knew he didn’t have school on the weekend. Why did she always come back on a Tuesday or Wednesday?

Those thoughts made Arven grimace and cram the letter away in a drawer.

The final memory Arven had of Sada was the divorce.

He came home from one of his late, late- night excursions, patting Mabosstiff’s fur and cooing to him.

“We can sleep in tomorrow ‘cause it’s Friday, buddy,” Arven spoke softly. “And I can make some Kalos toast- how does that sound?”

Mabosstiff’s reply was cut off as Arven opened the door to see Sada standing there.

She was standing in the kitchen, flipping through an old cookbook that was really just magazine recipes Arven had cut out and glued in a scrapbook. Her fingers danced across the pages and she tapped her foot. She wasn’t really reading it. 

Worse yet, she looked tired, thick black circles under her eyes and a thin line in place of her normally relaxed mouth. Her hair was unkempt and messy, and even her shirt and skirt looked haphazard.

“Mom?” Arven called. His voice cracked.

Sada’s head snapped up and she tossed the cookbook onto the counter. Her tired, lifeless eyes warmed up a bit at the sight of Arven, the thin line bending into a pitiful smile.

“Ven,” she said soothingly, though who she was soothing was up for debate. “It’s good to see you again.”

Mabosstiff looked between Arven and Sada, his tail starting to wag. Arven wanted to hug her. Arven wanted to collapse into her arms and tell her all about his day, about the new moves he taught Mabosstiff, about the souffle he managed to perfect.

But he couldn’t. Instead, he swallowed and said, “What’s wrong?”

Sada’s smile faltered. It flattened back out, her foot began to tap, and she stuck one hand into the lab coat she hadn’t bothered to take off.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come home so late,” she said instead. “You’ve been training quite a lot with Mabosstiff, haven’t you?”

Prickles of annoyance seethed under his skin. “Mhm,” Arven replied. “He’s really strong. You should see him in battle.”

“I should.” Sada’s voice was distant. “You’ve been keeping up in school?”

“Yeah.” If barely. Turns out essays written at midnight are not the best work Arven could offer. His teachers were always keen to tell him that.

There was silence as the two stared at each other. Mabosstiff whimpered.

Finally, Sada sighed. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. The tapping got faster.

“Listen,” she said. Slowly. Like she was trying to ease a wild Pokemon. “I didn’t want to break it to you like this, but…your dad and I. We’re… going to take some time from each other.”

Arven’s whole world crumpled.

He knew this would happen eventually. He had a feeling, a terrible foreboding feeling that told him this was how things would end.

It still didn’t help the tears festering in his eyes.

“We had a long talk last night, and-” that meant they fought, they argued over something- “-we realized we aren’t happy together. We…never really were. So we’re taking a break. I’ll be leaving for Sinnoh- I-I got a job there now. A research aid. Dad will still be here, but…” Sada’s voice trailed off. She stared at Arven weakly.

Somehow, Arven found his voice, no matter how splintered it was. “Are you taking me?”

Arven wanted her to say yes. To hug him and tell him to pack his things, to lead him away from the lighthouse and far away from Paldea, where he could have a normal life for once in Sinnoh. Sinnoh would be nice. Cold, but nice. Better than Paldea. He wanted to go there.

But he should’ve known he never got what he wanted.

The weakness turned to hurt. Immense, terrible hurt.

“...I can’t,” Sada whispered, her own voice quiet and pathetic. “It’s…the money, there’s not enough…I couldn’t take you, Ven. I’m not…I’m not fit to be a mother.”

Arven's heart jumped to his throat and started pounding.

Sada talked some more, but Arven couldn’t hear her over his hoarse breathing and rapid heart. He could barely think, breathe, stand, he just wanted to fall to his knees how could she-

I can help! he wanted to cry. I can get a job, I can become a real trainer and get prize money, I can be useful! Take me with you! Don’t leave me!

But whenever he tried to speak, his voice died in his throat.

At some point Sada retreated to her bedroom. To give Arven some space, he remembered her saying.

Arven stood in the entrance to the kitchen for a long, long time. Mabosstiff nudged his hand weakly. He softly yipped, staring at Arven and pawing at his feet.

And the dam finally broke.

Arven fell to his knees and collapsed into Mabosstiff’s thick fur. Tears tracked down his face, sobs wracked his voice, and Sada’s tired, saddened eyes infected his mind.

He fell asleep in the kitchen that night. He awoke to a long letter on the table, Mabosstiff by his side, and his mother nowhere to be seen.

He never read her last letter.

“I tried not to think about it too much. Tried to just be proud that he was this famous genius.”

“So, you must be Turo’s son.”

A few years later.

Arven tensed under Director Clavell’s stare, squirming in the frankly too big chair set out for him. He pressed his hands together under the desk, hoping Clavell wouldn’t detect his nervousness.

“Yes,” he replied simply, nodding.

Clavell’s office was warm. The back half of it, at least. The entrance was coated in linoleum tiles and sleek white walls that harbored machines and computers too sterile for Arven’s liking, but the back invoked more of a ‘principal of an elite academy’ feeling, complete with a large, dark, wooden desk with a few scattered picture frames on it, a wall adorned with more pictures and framed awards, and a window that overlooked the schoolyard. Arven ignored the more scientific portion of the room and focused all his attention on the purple-suited man before him.

Clavell smiled and looked back down at the dossier before him. “Ah, I thought so. I haven’t seen your father in… my, it’s been nearly five years at this point. How has he been?”

“I don’t know,” Arven admitted. “I haven’t seen him either.”

Clavell seemed surprised at this reveal. “Really?” he gasped. “In five years?”

More like seven, Arven wanted to correct, but he was worried that would just cause more problems, so he nodded instead.

The Director clicked his tongue and adjusted his spectacles. “Hm. He must spend all that time in Area Zero, then.” He frowned. “He was always absorbed in his work, Turo was. A genius, to be sure, but when it came to matters of the heart…” Clavell sighed, before plastering on an easy smile. “No matter. We are here to discuss you, not your father.”

The rest of the entrance spiel went by easily. Arven signed some papers, Clavell explained briefly the rules of the school, and Arven tried his best not to let his mind wander.

“Now, if you mind telling me where your current residence is,” Clavell offered, pulling out a fountain pen and hovering it over a blank form.

…Well, he couldn’t say he’d been camping for the past few months, could he? That wouldn’t look very good. There was a reason he left his thick yellow backpack at the lab for safekeeping and crammed the essentials in his pocket, after all.

“Just outside of Los Platos,” Arven fabricated instead, the lie rolling off his tongue easier than he expected. “By the lighthouse. My dad’s old place.”

“Ah! I know the place,” Clavell’s eyes warmed with mirth. “It’s such a lovely lab- and with a gorgeous view, too.”

“Yeah,” Arven’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He probably shouldn’t tell the Director that it was all coated in a thick layer of dust by now.

More questions. Simple things, really. Gender, preferred name and pronouns, any medical issues or conditions.

They were getting close to the end. Close to the moment where Clavell would stand up and shake Arven’s hand and welcome him to Uva Academy.

He tried not to think about how this was all because of who his father was. Because it wasn’t. Clavell wasn’t that sort of man. He was honorable, kind, and could certainly overlook Turo’s fame for his less famous, more average son. He wasn’t ‘Turo’s Son’ in Clavell’s eyes. He was just Arven. And Arven was perfectly able to enroll into Uva Academy on his own, with no help from his father’s fortune.

That was what he hoped, anyway.

Finally, Clavell pulled out another document and held his pen over it. “Now then, one more thing. Do you have any Pokemon with you?” he inquired.

“Yeah,” Arven instinctively reached for Mabosstiff’s Pokeball, the metal warming his hands.

“Would you mind showing me at least their Pokeballs and telling me the species?” Clavell pressed. “This is so you’ll be able to have the Pokemon out inside the Academy’s buildings if you so wish.”

“Sure, yeah.” Having Mabosstiff up and around would always be a welcome thing. Arven went about pulling whatever he managed to cram inside his jacket out, setting Mabosstiff’s Pokeball on the desk-

-Before his hand brushed alongside one cold, sleek, and very much in-use Pokeball.

Arven’s mind blanked. He pulled out the Pokeball, staring at its vermillion shell. It looked too pristine for its age, nothing like Mabosstiff’s chipped and worn ball.

And yet it still carried the weight of a used Pokeball. Of a Pokeball that belonged to a Pokemon.

A Pokemon that wouldn’t come back. A Pokemon that ruined his life.

Why did Arven have this? He must’ve put it in his backpack and forgot about it, only to mindlessly bring it with him when he was packing things up.

“Master Arven?” Clavell’s soft voice brought Arven back to reality. “Is everything alright?”

“Ah- yes, sir,” Arven shoved the Pokeball back into his pocket. “I just have one Pokemon, Mabosstiff.”

Miraidon’s Pokeball felt cold and untouchable in his hand.

“But the truth is, I rather would’ve just had a dad who was there…even if he wasn’t anything great.”

A few years earlier. Before the divorce, after Maschiff. Back when Arven only stayed out until late afternoon. Back when Turo visited twice a year.

Arven had come home from school to find a legendary beast standing in his living room.

He screamed at the sight, clutching Maschiff’s Pokeball so tight he thought it would crack. The beast standing- no, floating in his living room turned its head and stared at the boy with dark, automated eyes, its chest pulsating with blue-yellow light. It swung its sharp iron tail back and forth, gears and mechanical bits clicking and whirring with every movement.

Turo looked up from his desk and across the room.

“Arven,” he called. “You’re back late.”

“Wh- Wha-” Arven could barely get a word in. He raised a shaking finger at the beast, breathlessly mouthing semblances of words.

Turo seemed unbothered. “This is Miraidon. It’s from work. Don’t provoke it.”

Don’t - Don’t provoke it? This thing was dangerous!? And Turo just let it into the house!?

“W-Why’d you bring it here?” Arven stammered, intent on melding with the wall at that point.

Some selfish, stupid part of him wanted Turo to say “Because I wanted to show it to you, Champ! Isn’t it neat-looking?”. But calling him ‘Champ’ was mom’s thing, and he was pretty sure saying ‘neat’ was too.

“I needed some things from here. I’ll be staying here for the next couple days to run some tests on Miraidon. Please don’t tamper with anything here. Oh, and don’t tell anyone about it.”

Next couple of days? That was longer than last time. The selfish and stupid part of Arven’s heart swelled with hope.

The hope flickered with another icy stare from Miraidon.

If Turo was consumed by his work before, he was devoured now. Arven barely saw him, and when he did the Professor was typing away at a computer, doing something to Miraidon who simply floated and hummed with electricity. Arven couldn’t get close before being shooed off. Even when he tried to make breakfast or dinner, all he got was a mumbled “Thanks” and a dismissive hand.

Miraidon stared at him, too. It stared as he made omelets, as he dusted around his father, as he tried to make Maschiff nibble on his homework to try and get rid of it. Its liquid crystal eyes mocked him as he watched Turo with dying hope, like he was five all over again, waiting for the Professor to look at him.

And like he was five all over again, that moment never came. When it did, Turo never registered him. He just gave the barest hint of a smile like he was staring at someone he didn’t know and fell back into his work.

Arven grew to hate the beast in the living room, the thing his father poured all his attention over that Arven deserved. He deserved Turo’s sympathy. He deserved his gaze.

He wanted to be deserving, at least.

Miraidon got into trouble.

It was let out of the lab for ‘routine testing’ as Turo put it. It roamed the wilds, played around in the grass, nipped at any berries on the ground. Arven watched it all from the top of the hill, Turo beside him writing on a notepad.

But it went too far. It didn’t hear Turo’s command to return, it was too far away for the Pokeball’s return signal, and it wandered further, further-

To Los Platos. To the wild Pokemon in the area.

To people.

Arven had never seen his father run before. He doubted he ever would again, either.

Miraidon’s secret was out, something Turo never wanted to happen. Arven watched as Turo paced back and forth in front of the great beast, muttering to himself and running his hands through his hair. Miraidon had the audacity to look sorry, its visor pressed into its skull and glow dim.

“...We have to leave,” Turo finally said, halting in front of his computer. “Too dangerous here. We need to go back.”

Back? “B-But you only just got here!” Arven exclaimed. Maschiff barked in agreement.

“It doesn’t matter. Miraidon’s secret is out. The best we can do is head back to Area Zero and hope everyone forgets about it.”

“Why do you need to keep Miraidon a secret, anyway? I don’t see anything weird about it!” Arven boldly lied, jabbing an indignant finger at the Pokemon in question. “There are weirder looking Pokemon in Paldea!”

“It’s not just a matter of looks, Arven. It’s so much more,” Turo said brusquely. “So…much more.”

Arven opened his mouth to retort again, but Turo stopped him.

“Arven. No. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer, but I can’t afford to jeapordize this. We’ll leave in the morning.”

‘We’ll’ meaning him and Miraidon. Not Arven.

He’d be alone again. After just getting Turo back.

…No.

He didn’t want that.

Arven couldn’t let that happen so soon.

And so he made a plan. Arven had seen Miraidon’s Pokeball on the desk, its shiny red exterior marking it like a Tera Den. He waited until Turo had worked himself to exhaustion and, carefully, he plucked the Pokeball and squirreled it away in his backpack.

If Turo couldn’t find Miraidon’s Pokeball, then he couldn’t leave. He’d have to stay. He’d have to talk to Arven.

Miraidon watched this all play out with an unreadable gaze and a flicking tail.

It didn’t work.

Arven awoke the next morning with Turo gone, all the screens dimmed and a cup of cold coffee beside the keyboard. Miraidon was gone too, the faint hum of electrical parts and blue-yellow light replaced by cold, empty silence.

A note on the table, his parent’s preferred means of communication simply said: Gone back to AZ.

Everything was empty.

Arven raced over to his backpack, Maschiff bounding beside his heels. He shoved past all the pots and measuring cups and spices until he found Miraidon’s Pokeball, safely tucked at the bottom.

It was still there.

He gripped it in his hands and raced outside, the salty air tinging his nose and the orange sky heralding day.

No one.

Arven was alone again.

Slowly, dumbly, Arven pressed the return button on Miraidon’s Pokeball.

Nothing.

Miraidon was too far away.

Turo was gone, and Miraidon was too.

Turo didn’t come back after that.

It was all that brute’s fault.

“I haven’t seen him in ages now. Unless you count seeing him in the news or whatever.”

Arven was spending less and less time at the lab, but he still needed to sleep in an actual bed from time to time. Sleeping bags just weren’t as comfortable as actual sheets and pillows. Plus, it was always good to restock on items and food, even if most of the stuff in the pantry was expired by now.

And, besides…there was something else he wanted to look at.

Arven walked up the steep path that led to the lighthouse, the sun shining down and blinding his eyes. He groaned, running a hand down his face. Why did walking have to be so exhausting?

“Skwov?”

Oh. Right. That too.

Skwovet leaned over from Arven’s shoulder to stare at his face. Its cheeks were puffed, full of nuts and berries, and yet the hunger in its eyes was undeniable.

“I know, I know, I’ll make you something once we get inside,” Arven groaned, throwing his hair out of his face only for it to fall back over his eye. “Just hold on a second.”

“Vet, vet!” Skwovet cheered.

Skwovet was the first new addition to Arven’s team in over eight years, joining his posse a total of two hours ago. The encounter had involved a lot of yelling and throwing Pokeballs on Arven’s part, but he finally caught the little guy on his fifteenth try.

And they said you couldn’t catch a Pokemon without battling it.

One thing about Skwovets, though, was that they were insatiably hungry. Something Arven came to know in the following two hours after Skwovet’s capture.

And those were the reasons that brought them back to the lab: a meal, some supplies, and something else.

After Arven got his heart rate steady again, he walked over to the lab and unlocked it. A cloud of dust practically billowed as he opened the door and stepped inside.

Some things never changed. Even in all the clutter and utter disuse of the place, Turo’s computers still remained faithfully asleep. They faintly glowed with blue light, as if awaiting the Professor to sit down and wake them up again.

Something that would never happen.

“Let me make you something,” Arven claimed, shrugging off his backpack and heading to the kitchen. Skwovet hopped off his shoulder and onto the countertop, making itself comfy before looking at Arven expectantly.

He decided on a grilled cheese sandwich. That should be easy enough- he already had cheese, bread, butter… and a stovetop. All the ingredients needed.

Arven took one look at the pantry and decided that none of it was worth saving, especially after he realized the box of mac and cheese he picked out was five years past the expiration date. And, oh dear Arceus, he didn’t even want to touch the fridge.

He made a grilled cheese with aplomb and served it to Skwovet on the fanciest paper plate they had. Skwovet shouted in joy and promptly stuffed the whole thing into its mouth.

While Skwovet was eating, Arven meandered his way over to Turo’s desk.

It felt strange but normal to see it so empty. It was uninhabited for most of his life, yet he could only think about when his dad was busy working away on it. When he’d serve him Kalos toast in a misguided hope for affection.

Arven scoffed at his younger self and got to searching.

He found it soon enough, hidden under a stack of paperwork.

It was a leather bound book without a title, only a rich violet cover with gold trimming to signify what it was. The pages were yellowed and fuzzy at the edges, and Arven could make out faint coffee rings on the back.

But this was it. His fingers thrummed with excitement as he traced the edges. This was what he had heard about.

The Violet Book. A book filled with fantastical ideas, concepts, and scenarios.

Including Herbs that were said to heal any ailment.

He had heard about them before. Strange, powerful Herbs, guarded by strange, powerful Titans. Herbs that could mend malaise, treat the terminally ill, heal the hypochondriacal, whatever other alliterations the book decided to excessively flaunt in the reader’s face. But that didn’t invalidate the Herbs' powers. They were strong, powerful- and real. They had to be.

He stuffed the book into his bag and returned Skwovet once it had finished its meal. He could sleep in a real bed later. Arven’s hand instinctively fell to his side, where a chipped and worn Pokeball rested.

Don’t worry, he told his partner. I’ll get those Herbs for you. No matter what.

Now imagine his surprise when he left, locked the lab up tight, and turned around to see three people standing outside. Two a complete stranger wearing the Academy’s uniform, and one being that annoying student council president girl.

And the Pokemon beside them.

“Why, that little…”

Sleek. Purple. Liquid crystal eyes.

“What’re you doing out here!?”

“Used to at least get emails sometimes. But even those stopped a couple years ago.”

The cafeteria was bustling, despite its size. Students wearing all flavors of the Academy’s uniforms sat at the benches, feasting on lukewarm soup and sandwiches as they chatted to one another.

Arven didn’t expect to be here at any point during the school year, but here he was. Not eating, mind you- he wasn’t hungry. Wouldn’t be for a bit. No, he was waiting. Something that usually didn’t lead to good things in his life, but he still did it all the same.

Those two new kids- Florian and Juliana, Nemona called them- would have to visit the Cafeteria at some point or another. And they might-

-There was a chance-

- Arven couldn’t take on Titan Pokemon by himself. He needed help, support. They didn’t have to meet Mabosstiff, they didn’t have to get entangled in his sad excuse of a life story, they just had to fight strong Pokemon and get sandwiches as a reward. That seemed perfect. Juliana especially had seemed eager to battle, after all. Sort of like Ne-

He wouldn’t ask Nemona. She’d probably ask too many questions and get on Arven’s nerves, and then get on his case for skipping out on school for two years in a row now.

To pass the time, Arven had pulled out his phone and started blindly flipping through his apps. He scrolled up and down his pitiful five-number contacts, he flipped through the calendar, he tried playing a mobile game he installed months ago but found out it needed five updates so he gave up, and this all eventually led him to his inbox.

He didn’t get many emails, as one would assume. Most of the time they were just spam, over-important companies trying to get him to sign up for this or that.

But other times, they were something else.

They were from him.

The last one was four years ago. Arven had slotted it away in the folder marked ‘dad’ and left it there. It was a simple email, as most messages from Turo were.

Merry Christmas, Arven. I hope you have a wonderful time with your friends.

Things are going fine down here. Progress is smooth and steady. We might have results before the new year. Speaking of which: Happy New Year as well, Arven.

I’ll email you for Valentine’s Day.

Sincerely,

Turo

Valentine’s Day came and went, and Arven’s inbox remained empty. 

And that was it, Arven concluded. That was when Turo finally stopped caring about him. When any last vestige of a father was consumed by his work, by that brute with the electronic gears.

Arven had tried emailing him over the years too, talking about Mabosstiff or his entrance into Uva. It felt like he was talking to a wall, but he got some satisfaction in imagining Turo working away at some fancy computer to see a notification that his own son had emailed him. He couldn’t ignore Arven forever. He would have to talk to his son eventually.

Arven thought wrong on that regard.

He glared at the last email sent as if that would will Turo to reply after a near half-decade of silence. He settled with just glowering and shutting his phone off, stuffing it deep into his pocket.

“This is the cafeteria? It’s so tiny!”

“Yeah…”

Ah. There they were. Arven looked up to see Juliana and Florian looking around the cafeteria with wide eyes. Surprisingly, Juliana noticed Arven before he had a chance to call them over, and she skipped over with Florian in tow.

“Hey there!” she chirped.

“Oh, hey! So we meet again,” Arven replied, trying his best to work the conversation in his favor. “You remember me, right?”

“...I don’t think we’ve met,” Florian said just as Juliana answered with “Yeah, from the lighthouse!”

Arven blinked. “Really? I gave you Miraidon’s Pokeball…? Fought her, lost?”

“Told Nemona to shove off?” Juliana added as she leaned on Florian’s shoulder. Florian proceeded to look even more confused.

“...Did I not introduce myself? Well, the name’s Arven.”

“I’m Juliana! And this is Florian.”

“Juliana and Florian? Whole school seems to be talking about you. The new kids who showed up with the president of the student council."

Juliana gasped and leaned forward, tugging Florian’s arm. “Really? We’re school gossip already?”

“How terrifying,” Florian remarked.

"You know, I normally wouldn't even bother showing up for class, but I came all the way to school today just to talk with you guys—our new celebrities.” Arven closed his eyes.

This was it. He better sell these guys on this.

 “You've gotta help me out so I can finally make my dream a reality!"

“Last time I came to the Great Crater, I was trying to go see my dad…”

A few days went by, and the Treasure Hunt officially began. Arven didn’t attend the opening ceremony, too busy rubbing the edges of the Violet Book’s pages to care. He was probably going to fail the year anyway. He barely attended last year, and he didn’t have plans on sitting down in a Biology classroom with Mabosstiff in his condition. Arven had to do something. He had to find those Herbs.

And that’s what led him to the route leading to Artazon, the familiar red rocks and pale sand rising up to meet a cloudless sky.

Arven examined the Pokeball in his hand, which housed a newly caught Shellder. Since most of the Pokemon around the area were Rock and Ground types, it only made sense to bring a Water type along. No doubt the Titan Pokemon was…he didn’t know, a big Nacil or something.

He looked out over the tiny outcropping he had set up camp on. The shining brilliance of Mesagoza was clear in the distance, as well as Artazon further off. And, of course, there was the Great Crater to the northwest. Arven didn’t know how, but he always felt the mountain was mocking him whenever he looked at it, taunting him. I’m keeping your father here, it seemed to say. He’s much more fascinated with me than you.

His Rotom Phone buzzed and flew out of his pocket, knocking Arven out of his crater-founded stupor. He (nearly) jumped, before taking in the caller ID and panickedly hitting call.

“Florian!” Arven called with glee. “...This is Florian, right?”

“Yup,” Florian’s muted voice replied. “And this is…Arven?”

“Got it one, little buddy!” Was he being too forward? How did you talk to underclassmen? Was he being too positive? How did you talk to people in the same age group again?? “So, does this mean you wanna help out with the Titans? Or are you just calling to see what’s up?”

“Um…The Titan thing. Juliana was going to help out, but she wanted to challenge Cortondo’s Gym first,” Florian elaborated. “And, um, since I wasn’t going anywhere in particular, she asked me to go… I’m right outside the Route Gate. What’s this Titan look like?”

Okay, so he wasn’t too willing, but it didn’t matter. Just as long as Florian was able to defeat the Titan, it’d be fine. Arven would make everyone a nice sandwich, then he’d head for the Open Sky Titan next and patiently wait.

“So, from what I can gather, the Stony Cliff Titan likes to lurk somewhere in this rocky area. I had a look around, but I couldn't find any trace of it! Maybe it's way up high on a cliff or something?"

"...Nah, that's impossible!” Arven laughed to himself. Was he explaining too much? How do you talk to underclassmen!? “I don't think it'd be hiding somewhere that tricky, so don't go falling off any cliffs or anything trying to search it out somewhere too strange. Maybe just give your map app a look if you're feeling stumped? It's pretty handy!"

“Mm. Got it.”

Arven’s plan worked without a hitch. Florian found a giant Klawf clinging to a wall (surprisingly), Arven and him chased after it, and with his Shellder and Florian’s Quaxly they sent it scuttling away. The only wrinkle was that Florian brought that brute along with him, but as long as it didn’t get anywhere near the sandwiches Arven didn’t mind-

Miraidon ate Florian’s celebratory sandwich. The main incentive for the Titan Pokemon.

Worse yet, Florian gave it to the brute.

“Hey! I went through all the trouble of making that for you, and you just give it away?!” Arven exclaimed, pointing to Miraidon. “ I hope you realize that's all there was, so now there's none left for you, Ian…”

“Wait, really…?” Florian looked dejected. “I thought there was…more…”

Arven swallowed and looked at the sandwich on the picnic table for “him”.

“Alright, alright, don’t look at me like that! Fine, I’ll make another one…”

After Florian and that brute left, Arven spent the rest of the morning carefully feeding Mabosstiff his sandwich, bite by bite.

He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but Arven swore his paws got warmer.

“You’re getting better, buddy,” Arven said in a hushed tone, smoothing out Mabosstiff’s mane.

Mabosstiff didn’t reply. He just breathed deeply, in and out, with hoarse and raspy lungs. Water and sleep leaked from his eyes and sealed them shut.

Arven tried not to cry as he returned Mabosstiff.

It didn’t work.

Another Titan, gone. Arven frowned as he saw Florian speed ahead of him on Miraidon’s back, deftly dodging around the somehow perfectly circular boulders raining down the mountainside. Florian had offered to carry Arven, but just the thought of touching that brute made his skin crawl. So he just brushed it off and dealt with the chance of possible death instead.

Apparently at some point between Gyms, it became Florian’s ‘job’ to hunt down the Titans. Juliana wasn’t interested anymore. Which hurt, yeah, but Arven couldn’t let it get to him. Not everyone wanted to help him.

(Not to mention that they didn’t know they were helping him. Arven had given them an excuse that sounded more selfish than anything.)

Anyway, one Flaaffy and Nacil later, Bombirdier flapped away indignantly and revealed the second Herb Mystica to them. Arven made three sandwiches for them (One of which was definitely not for Miraidon absolutely not) and everyone settled down to eat.

Things were going well. Great, even. Just three more Herbs. They were almost halfway there. And they were working, surely! Mabosstiff was getting better.

But, of course, that brute just had to be greedy. One sandwich wasn’t enough, no, it had to try and take two. It leaned forward, clockwork jaws unhinging when it thought Arven wasn’t looking-

“Don’t touch that! That isn’t for you!”

The cavern fell silent as Arven glared at Miraidon, who was halfway to digging its metal teeth into Mabosstiff’s sandwich. Florian watched with wide eyes, glancing between the two beings in the cave for some sort of explanation.

“...Arven?” he finally decided on.

Such an outburst demanded an explanation. He couldn’t just brush it off at this point. And Florian would eventually realize Arven wasn’t eating the sandwiches he made.

He better say it now.

“Oh, uh…sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted like that…”

Agh, this is what he didn’t want to happen! Florian didn’t need to learn about Mabosstiff, about Arven’s terrible father and pathetic sob story. Arven was already miserable enough- he didn’t want another person feeling just as bad.

…Maybe he didn’t need to say everything.

He swallowed the bile in his throat and pulled out Mabosstiff’s Pokeball.

“I guess I should tell you the full story.”

“I got about this far, and then I got attacked by some kind of creature I’d never seen before.”

Arven had had enough.

He stood in front of the gate that led to Area Zero with determination set in his face. Mabosstiff stood beside him, similarly glowering at the tunnel.

It was the day after Director Clavell had announced the Treasure Hunt, a school project meant to send students out in the world to discover their ‘treasure’, which could mean anything.

Arven decided his ‘treasure’ would be talking to his dad after seven years.

Emails weren’t enough- those standard, cookie-cutter, well-wishing emails would never be enough. They were always sent at the same time: Christmas, Valentine’s, Summer Solstice. Each said the same thing. They didn’t feel like something a father would send their son. They felt like an email an employee would send to their boss.

Well, Arven was done feeling like an employee. Even if the emails stopped three years ago.

He fished out a long-forgotten key from his pocket and unlocked the gate, the rusting bars creaking as they were unwillingly pushed aside. He left just enough space for him to squeeze in and Mabosstiff to trail after, before he pressed it shut.

“There,” he smirked, dusting his hands off. “Like we were never here.”

“Boss!” Mabosstiff barked.

The strange lab-station thing that looked like a space shuttle was empty. The only thing that greeted the two was cold steel and the electrical hum of machines. The door to the right just led to a sheer dropoff, but the left door led to a shaky lift that descended into the foggy depths below.

Arven spent a few minutes poking around, but everything in the shuttle was meticulously clean. It almost upset him, but he forced himself to place a cap on his anger until he found his dad.

The lift shuddered as Arven and Mabosstiff got on. It was really nothing more than a glorified metal crate with clear-plastic windows and a set of cords attached to the side of the shuttle. It swayed back and forth in the wind, it jolted whenever Mabosstiff shuffled his paws, and Arven’s stomach flipped over when he looked down.

Even still, he pressed the button and let the lift descend, shudders and tremors and all.

He rested a hand on Mabosstiff’s mane as the cloud cover got ever closer. When the lift started to shake, he held on with both hands.

When it halted and shook, Arven forwent posterity and fell to his knees.

Mabosstiff pressed his nose into Arven’s cheek as the boy clutched his neck, muttering mantras under his breath as the lift resumed its descent.

This is all for me. This is for me. I have to do this. I have to.

The lift cut through the cloud cover easily. White fog and condensation clung to the plastic windows, and the lift grew dim.

But then the clouds dissipated, and at once the air felt alive.

Arven couldn’t describe it. The air felt different, somehow- it bubbled and sparkled like soda. It thrummed with energy, with life, like the very heart of Paldea pulsed inside it. It filled his chest and expanded his lungs, clearing his head and absolving his fear.

He looked out to see faded sunlight dancing across his face. Wisps of crystals flashed and twirled through the air, gone as soon as they appeared. The land, lush with verdant grass and trees whose roots were encased in crystal, criss-crossed itself with narrow natural bridges that encompassed a spiraling crater that went down, down, down…

“So this is what it looks like,” Arven breathed, standing up with Mabosstiff’s support. “The…Great Crater.”

“Stiff. Maboss…” Mabosstiff nudged his trainer’s hand and flashed his teeth.

“...It’s beautiful.”

The walk started alright.

There were wild Pokemon around, like Raichu and Glimmora, but Mabosstiff scared them off with a sneer. Arven’s hand never left Mabosstiff’s back during the whole walk, occasionally digging his fingers into his Pokemon’s fur for reassurance.

This is for me. I have to do this.

He passed another space-station looking thing, only to find it empty again.

“He must be further down,” Arven had said to no one in particular. “Deeper in the crater.”

If he was expecting a response, the silent station offered nothing.

And so deeper he went, walking along the narrow trail that led deeper into Paldea’s heart. The air’s energy only grew the further they fell away from the sun’s grace, the closer they got to him.

More Pokemon started appearing. Arven swore he saw a Delibird, though he couldn’t get a good look at it.

He kept walking. He kept falling down, down, down. He was getting closer to his father- he could feel it. It pushed him to keep going, to keep walking, to keep falling-

Silver sheen.

Mechanical wails.

Liquid crystal eyes, narrowed into a vivid, visceral pink.

A lance with a holographic edge. A body made of metal.

Silent, impossible footfalls as it walked closer to Mabosstiff, raising its lance up high

It attacked quickly. Efficiently, like a computer executing a program. It lunged from the shadows, hitting Arven with the blunt of its lance and sending him sprawling. Mabosstiff snarled, bit down on the beast’s arm

but it was faster still. Sent him crashing to the ground. Arven screamed, and the wo

rld melted away he co

uld barely think as he watched the metall

ic beast tea

r

in

to hi

m

A silver sheen that clawed its way into Arven’s brain.

Digital screams and wails that mimicked a human all too well.

Liquid crystal eyes, eyes full of vitriol and hatred, narrowed into a visceral pink that tinged red.

A lance that shone and shimmered just like the air. A slender, human-like body built out of metal.

It hurt him.

It hurt Mabosstiff.

It was all Arven’s fault.

“It wasn’t even like a Pokemon- And it hurt Mabosstiff real bad, so it’s not like I’d just forget!”

The story Arven told Florian was simplistic in nature. Just the footnotes, really. He didn’t mention his dad, he didn’t mention Area Zero, he didn’t mention the robotic beast. It was nice, cut and dry, and left a good amount to the imagination.

Florian’s eyes grew wider still as he stared at Mabosstiff, curled up on the floor and barely responding.

“And you’ve…tried potions and stuff?” he asked quietly.

“I tried all sorts of things, but they didn’t work,” Arven sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was told it isn’t a normal kind of injury. It’s…more severe.”

But he was getting better. His eyelids pulled apart to stare at Arven with sad, pitiable eyes. Arven nearly cried from just that alone. Florian was close to tears himself.

“There’s three more Herbs to go! I hope you stick with me to the end!” Arven grinned, but Florian could see the emotional strain behind it.

“Yeah,” Florian nodded. “Of course.”

After that, Florian quietly said his goodbyes and left Arven alone in the cave, making his way back out to the mountaintop.

Miraidon nuzzled his hand as Florian stared out at the horizon before him. He didn’t really know what to think- he thought this was just supposed to be a quest to get herbs. For culinary skills, or whatever excuse Arven had come up with back at the Academy. Florian just thought it would be a fun enough distraction from the Gyms or taking down an evil(?) institute of teens.

But apparently it wasn’t. Apparently it was all for Arven’s Pokemon.

…

Florian pulled out his phone and went to his contacts. After a few moments of ringing, Juliana finally picked up.

“Hey, Florian! How’re things?” she replied.

“Um…alright. How’s the Gym Challenge?” Florian gulped. Curse him and his inability to get straight to the point.

“Great! It’s really, really fun! I met this chef guy, which was neat! Ooh, and I got a winning bid at the auction! I won a bunch of seaweed for the guy! But he was kinda a pushover because he was a Water type trainer and Floragato’s Grass, so… Oh, oh! Then I took down that Atticus guy- he’s the Poison kid for Team Star? Met Clive again, uh…yeah!”

Florian had a hard time connecting any of that in his head.

“Anyway! You went on Arven’s Herb-hunting quest or whatever, right? How was that? Was the sandwich any good?” Juliana asked.

“It was…good…” No! Florian! That wasn’t what you were supposed to say! “L-Listen, Juliana, about that.”

“Hm? What’s up?”

“I think…I think you should come with me to the next one.”

“Really?” Juliana’s voice took on more of a teasing tone. “Is the sandwich that good?”

“It’s- It’s not that. It’s…more serious,” Florian frowned, though he knew his sister couldn’t see it. “I know you asked me to go because you didn’t want to but you didn’t want to upset Arven, but this is important. I think you should go.”

“Why?” Juliana asked. “How’s making sandwiches that important-?”

“It’s not the sandwiches!” Florian finally yelled. “Arven’s Pokemon is injured and possibly dying and those Herbs are the only thing that can save it!”

…Silence.

“...What?” the shock in Juliana’s voice was evident. “Arven’s Pokemon is…what?”

“Look- I-I can’t explain everything right now-” Especially since it’s not my place to- “-Where are you?”

“...Zapapico.”

Florian checked his map. Oh, she was close to the third Titan.

“Great. Can you just stay there for a day or two? I’ll catch up with you then,” he stated.

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll do that.”

“See you soon.”

When Arven called up Florian to give him information on the Titan Pokemon of the desert, he didn’t expect to hear two voices on the line.

“Put it on facetime!”

“Wha-? Juliana, I don’t have enough data for tha-”

“Oh come on, of course you do!”

“J-Juliana?” Arven exclaimed. “That you?”

“Heeey, Arven!” Sure enough, Juliana’s voice came in crystal clear. “Been a bit, huh? How have things been?”

“Uh, fine? What about you?” Arven asked in confusion.

“Great! Just been tackling Gyms and taking down delinquents. You know, the usual.”

That’s…that’s not the usual.

“I asked her to help out,” Florian’s calmer voice elaborated. “I thought we could defeat the Titans easier with three people.”

“Yeah! Don’t worry- we’ll get your Pokemon healed up in no time!”

Arven winced at the sheer bluntness in her tone. “So you…know about Mabosstiff already?”

“Not too much, only that he needs those Herbs!”

“I told her…I’m sorry. She wouldn’t really…pay attention otherwise?” Florian hesitantly apologized. Arven bit his lip and was this close to going on a spiel about how important Mabosstiff was to him and that he didn’t really like people just talking about him to anyone, but Juliana was faster.

“And I’m all for helping! I’m gonna be honest, I thought you were just getting those Herbs because you wanted to be a Michelin chef or whatever! I mean, that’s what you told us, so… I didn’t realize it was so important!” Juliana exclaimed, and Arven felt a familiar, prickly annoyance seep into his skin.

“Well, I couldn’t lead with that, could I? I barely know you guys,” Arven snapped. “Talking about the only thing I care about to a bunch of strangers? Not exactly my cup of tea,” he paused. “I never wanted to bring it up to you in the first place.” 

It’s all that brute’s fault, he added in his head, because he was pretty sure Miraidon was with them right now and- Hold up, when did he start caring about Miraidon’s feelings?

“...Why…not? Y-You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Florian began backpedaling before he even finished his sentence.

Arven sighed.

“It’s…It’s my problem. My fault, too. So I need to deal with it. The thing that attacked Mabosstiff- everything about that is too dangerous. I didn’t want to get anyone else involved in it. It…It was just supposed to be fighting strong Pokemon and getting sandwiches in reward,” he explained dejectedly.

“...So the sandwiches were important-” Juliana muttered, followed by a grunt of pain that Arven could assume was Florian elbowing her.

“Juliana! Mind your manners!” Florian snapped. “Now is not the time for jokes!”

“Ow…Come on, I was just curious…”

Arven wondered if he should hang up now.

“Anyway. Arven,” Florian stated firmly, drawing Arven’s attention back to the conversation. "No matter what reasons, we’re both going to help now. Three more Herbs, right? So, what’s this third Titan like?”

And Arven smiled so wide it hurt.

Juliana joined them for the last three. She completely trounced Orthworm and Iron Treads practically by herself, the last one especially with her Floragato.

“There’s no time to waste!” she had said at Arven’s bewildered face when the (familiar looking) Iron Treads Titan roll away into the greater desert. “We gotta get that Herb for your dog!”

It was terrifying how intense she was. Arven’s thoughts were a jumbled blur as he raced into the cave, one step closer to Mabosstiff’s terminal treatment.

And when Mabosstiff’s malaise was finally mended, Juliana was right by Florian’s side with a beaming smile and tears in her eyes. She caught Arven in a bone-crushing hug and spent the rest of the day with him and Mabosstiff, making sure the Pokemon was alright and celebrating his recovery with an excessive picnic with Florian, making terrible sandwiches while refusing Arven’s advice.

It was perfect.

Even if Arven finally heard from him after all these years and was relegated to nothing more than an errand boy in the end.

“And after all that he appears, out of the blue, and tells me we gotta come to Area Zero? Tch.”

Arven couldn’t deny he was nervous.

He didn’t like how the air sparkled and thrummed around them. How the crystals clambered up the bark of trees and infected the ground. How stardust danced in the air, captured in the faded sunlight that should’ve been impossible.

He didn’t like how carefree Nemona was, or how the brute stayed tucked inside its Pokeball. He didn’t like the glares wild Pokemon sent his way. He half expected to hear Mabosstiff snarl at them, but he had to remind himself that this wasn’t a year ago, that Mabosstiff was in his own Pokeball, safe and sound.

He didn’t like the way the Professor sounded. Robotic, stilted. Lifeless.

He didn’t like the conclusion his mind came to.

Even still, they descended. They walked across the narrow paths that snaked out into bridges across the gap, they spiraled down, down, down into the heart of Paldea once more. Florian and Juliana led the group, with Penny or Arven more often than not taking up the rear.

They fell further into the crater.

They met those mechanical beasts. Paradox Pokemon, Turo called them. Pokemon from the far-flung future, practically unrecognizable as lifeforms as they knew them.

They met the Iron Valiant.

Arven’s blood froze when he saw that thing stalking along the walls of a cave. After a year of lucid nightmares and horror, he finally had a name for the machine that nearly ruined his life. He seized up- he couldn’t think straight. All he could think about was the last time he was down here with Mabosstiff and how precisely it loomed over them and struck.

He couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt when he saw Florian decimate one with his Salazzle and Juliana take another down with her Talonflame.

He didn’t like the lab. He didn’t like the hordes of Paradox Pokemon that streamed from its doors.

He hated what he had concluded about his dad by that point.

Consumed, devoured, and spat out as a robot. He had become the thing he obsessed over for all his life.

Congrats, dad. You found your treasure, he said bitterly in his mind as he gave the signal for Garganacl to punch a cybernetic Hydreigon out of the air. It did so with pleasure.

He hated seeing him. Seeing him, yet knowing that it wasn’t him. Seeing him, knowing it wasn’t him, but still hearing his voice and how it praised him. Hearing it say he was proud of him. Seeing it smile at him as it twitched and malfunctioned, eyes flickering black and blue and crystals snaking up its body. Feeling the hate he had carried all those years melt away at those simple sentences and causing him to break into tears. He felt five all over again. He felt five, and unlike the last hundred times, Turo looked at him.

He watched it fight Miraidon. He watched it lose.

He watched it deactivate the time machine. He watched it say its final farewells and well wishes and watched it rise up into the spinning vortex, the far-flung future pulling at him.

And so Turo left for good this time, leaving Arven with nothing more than an empty heart.

He didn’t even have the decency to write a letter this time.

“Some family, right?”

“This is the longest way to Mesagoza I’ve ever taken.”

At Arven’s (very serious) remark, Nemona tilted her head and laughed.

“That’s the point!” she beamed, raising her index finger like she was making a statement. “We’re taking the long way home!”

“Yes, but Porto Marinada’s nowhere close to Mesagoza,” Arven pointed to the seaside city in the distance. “Not even remotely. There is no correlation between the two cities.”

“They both start with ‘M’,” Juliana hummed. “If you cut out the ‘Porto’ part.”

“They both don’t have Gyms,” Florian offered.

“Yeah, see? There’s tons of correlations!” Nemona nodded earnestly.

“That was only two! And one of them is stretching it,” Arven frowned.

“Geez, stop complaining,” Penny groaned. “If you want to get back to Mesagoza that quickly, just call a taxi.”

But I don’t want to be alone, Arven’s brain readily supplied. But that was a little too vulnerable for his tastes, so he scoffed and folded his arms. “What, and let you guys starve out here?”

Penny rolled her eyes and muttered something.

“His sandwiches are pretty good,” Juliana hummed.

“Except for that one,” Florian offered.

“One. What is your fascination with sandwiches, there are other things I can make,” Arven pointed to Juliana, before moving to Florian, “Two. You made that sandwich and it was bad on purpose because you thought pickles and mayonnaise was a good combination.”

“But you didn’t stop…me?”

“I tried!”

“O-kay guys, how about we set up camp?” Nemona chirped, skidding to a halt and turning around. “We can get lunch going and all our tents set up!”

“By ‘we’, you mean Arven and I, right?” Penny sighed, though she sounded more tired than annoyed.

“Eheheh…yeah. I feel like I’d be a safety hazard, so…I’ll stay far away from you guys! Promise!” Nemona beamed.

Arven grimaced as he remembered their first night camping. They tried to make soup. Nemona thought it would be a good idea to use Skeledirge’s flames to heat up said soup. She somehow managed to char said soup.

She also set Juliana’s tent on fire.

They were glad they were next to Levincia at the time. (Yes, they had managed to make a semi circle around the region while avoiding Mesagoza and no, Arven wasn’t going to explain how.)

“I can head down to Porto Marinada,” Florian offered, extending a hand out to Juliana. “I can get some supplies.”

“Sure! Get something good from the auction, would you?” Juliana casually handed him a bright vermillion Pokeball.

“I’ll see what I can find.” Florian looked to the rest of the group. “Do you guys want anything?”

“Potions! Lots of Potions,” Nemona declared. “And maybe some berries?”

“I’m alright for now,” Arven decided, and Penny hummed in agreement.

“...Okay. See you guys later,” Florian turned around and set off. Arven watched him walk a few feet before releasing Miraidon, settling on the Pokemon’s back before speeding down the hill and out of sight.

“Hey, Juliana! I think I saw some Tera Dens over there,” Nemona grabbed Juliana’s arm and started pulling her away. “Let’s go challenge them!”

“Wha-? Oh, okay!” Juliana complied (too easily, in Arven’s opinion).

“You two can join us when you’re done with lunch!” Nemona called, already halfway down the hill. “It’ll be loads of fun!”

“Um. Okay,” Penny replied.

“...Sure,” Arven called back.

It was clear neither of them had any intentions on joining anytime soon.

“Nemona said we should make lunch, but…it looks like it’d turn out to be dinner, huh?”

Arven and Penny had already set up their tents and the foldout picnic table, and by that point the sky had turned to a thicker bluish-orange. A few stray Fidough watched them from afar, and the faint cawing of Wattrel could be heard in the distance.

“Looks like it,” Arven sighed, looking at the distant figure of Porto Marinada. “You hear anything from Ana?”

“Hm…” Penny pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. “Nope. Nothing from Florian, either.”

“Well, guess it falls to us to make dinner again,” Arven declared, already kneeling down to dig around in his backpack.

Penny snorted. “Don’t try to sound sad. You’re practically shaking in excitement at the thought of cooking by yourself.”

“I am not shaking,” Arven snapped back, and proceeded to shove his (shaky?) hands deeper into his bag. “Plus, this isn’t going to be a solo thing. You’ll be helping.”

“Oh? When was that decided?” Penny folded her arms.

“Just now. By me,” Arven pulled out a stack of measuring cups and a stack of cookbooks, setting both on the table.

“Hey now. I never agreed to anything.”

“Well, Mabosstiff’s usually my sous-chef, but there’s a lot he can’t do without opposable thumbs,” Arven raised his brows. “...I’ll let you decide on the meal,” he offered.

Penny mirrored his expression. “Well, you’re going to have to settle with my terrible knife skills.”

“I think I can manage.”

“...Fine,” Penny’s frown morphed into a small smile.

Arven gestured to the stack of cookbooks and went back to setting things up while Penny flipped through the different recipes.

“...Woah, what’s this one? Looks like a kid’s scrapbook.”

Arven looked up after just releasing Mabosstiff to see Penny holding a notebook with magazine articles stuck to the lined paper, the cover of the book so worn it was practically falling off.

“‘Twenty Recipes to Impress Your Inlaws’...Do you even have in-laws?” Penny stared at Arven in disbelief.

“No, but the recipes are still good,” Arven shrugged, before realizing Penny had asked something else earlier. “That’s a…a cookbook I made as a kid. From cutting out recipes in magazines and stuff.”

“Oh…huh,” Penny looked back down at the book. “You were…really addicted to this. Even back then.”

“It’s not an addiction!” Arven defended.

“That’s something an addict would say,” Penny hummed.

“It’s- Hnnngh.” Arven ran a hand down his face.

Mabosstiff pressed his face into Arven’s cheek in solace.

“Anyway. You ever make these things?” Penny switched the subject, leaning against the table while still flipping through pages. “Ever impress your non-existent in-laws with a pot roast?”

“Never had time for the pot roast, no,” Arven stood up and patted Mabosstiff on the head. “...Oh, but the souffle was pretty good.”

“Souffle…Souffle…” Penny gazed over the articles before finding the one she was looking for. “Oh. The ‘Good Morning Souffle’?”

If Penny noticed Arven’s scribblings of ‘Mom’s favorite!’ around the recipe, she was kind enough not to bring it up.

“That’s the one, yeah,” Arven nodded. “Took me forever to get it down, but it was really good when I finally did.”

“Hm,” Penny pursed her lips, before continuing. “...Hey, are you one of those snobs who only makes breakfast food for breakfast?”

“Well now that I’ve been called a snob, I can’t say yes, can I?” Arven replied sarcastically. “...Not really. Why?”

Penny blinked at him and held out the recipe. “This looks good,” she said slowly. “Can we make it?”

“...Souffles need ovens, Pen.”

“...Oh. They, uh, won’t work otherwise?”

“I mean…we can try?” Arven frowned. “We can just put…I dunno, a box over a tray and make a make-shift oven.”

Penny’s eyes widened. “That sounds like a Nemona plan,” she whispered in mock-horror.

“Yes, but it will be better than a Nemona plan, because I will not use my fire alligator to cause a bushfire,” Arven reasoned.

“I can’t believe it…you two are more similar than I realized…”

“Do you want the souffles or not!?” Arven exclaimed. “It’s either this or potato and cheddar soup again, Pen!”

“Hey, you said I got to choose what we made!” Penny retorted. “As your sous-chef or whatever it’s called!”

Arven sighed dramatically. They could both tell there wasn’t weight behind it.

“Then we’re making souffles without an oven. And we’re employing a Nemona-adjacent plan.”

“So you don’t deny the absurdity of it.”

“I said adjacent, not like. There’s a difference.”

Penny smirked back.

“Not much of one.”

Mabosstiff barked. Arven couldn’t tell if he was agreeing or not.

Turns out: Souffles kind of needed to be in an oven.

They turned out fine enough, but they weren’t light and fluffy like what souffles were supposed to be like. No, they were more like omelets, like something ten-year old Arven would make. I.e, they were not good.

Not that anyone else in the group seemed to think that. They all kept going on about how delicious it was or whatever.

“Have you guys never had souffles before?” Arven had the audacity to ask once they had all settled around the campfire. The sky was a beautiful violet by that point, with faint pinpricks of multicolored stars peeking through already.

Nemona shrugged and shook her head. “Never knew they existed until now, honestly,” she admitted, taking another bite. “They sorta taste like omelets.”

“They’re not supposed to, though,” Arven pointed out, and Penny groaned for the tenth time that hour.

“Arven, shut up and accept the compliments,” she sighed, poking her own ‘souffle’ with a plastic spork. “It’s good, alright? Especially for making it without an oven.”

“Mhm,” Florian hummed in agreement. “‘ts really good.”

“Yeah! You two did great!” Juliana exclaimed. She was already reaching for another souffle dish, one both Mabosstiff and Miraidon were eying. Even if they already had their own little dishes of omelet souffle.

Arven made a show of scoffing and rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “I guess I’ll just have to make you guys  real souffles when we get back to Mesagoza. So you can all agree that these ones are objectively not souffles and are awful .”

“That’d be awesome!” Nemona clapped her hands together.

“I’ve never heard a more egotistical way of putting yourself down,” Penny commented, leaning down and feeding her Umbreon a piece of egg. “Just accept that we all think it’s fine.” She smiled as Umbreon happily devoured the piece. “Including Umbreon.”

Arven made another show of being dramatic for dramatic’s sake, but everyone could see the grin on his face.

After dinner.

Things were slowing down. Penny had already retired to her tent, though the light flashing across the walls suggested she was doing anything but sleeping. Nemona was off training while Juliana watched, and Arven was left to clean everything up. Mabosstiff helped by nudging bowls over to him and supporting him morally, so he honestly couldn’t complain.

“...Um. Arven.”

Arven looked up. Florian was there, fidgeting with something in his hands and an uncertain look on his face.

Arven stood up and dusted off his pants, giving Florian a warm smile. “Hey, bud! What’s up?”

Florian looked off to the side, pressing the thing in his hands together. It looked like an envelope.

“I…have something for you,” he said at last.

“I…can see that,” Arven pressed his lips together. “What is it?”

“It’s. Um. Something I got…in Area Zero,” Florian slowly, tentatively held out the envelope towards Arven. “It’s. For you.”

Arven raised his brow and took the envelope. “A letter?” he surmised, flipping it over in his hand. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach and the rising bile in his throat.

Instead, he smiled again and looked back at Florian. “What’s so important that you can’t say it to my face?” he joked.

He sort of hoped that Florian would go along with it.

Instead, Florian only looked more guilty.

“I…It’s not from me,” he admitted, taking off his hat and wringing it in his hands. “Um…I wanted to give it to you for a while, but I…never found the right time, so…sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Arven sighed, before forgoing posterity and ripping the envelope open.

There it was. The thing he was expecting. The thing he was dreading.

It even had Turo’s handwriting, huh?

Arven retreated to his tent to read it alone. Mabosstiff had laid his head on Arven’s lap, tangerine eyes slowly sliding shut with sleep.

Arven’s hands were shaking as he read the first line. His eyes were already starting to blur.

Apparently he was wrong. Turo had left him with a letter this time, after all. Well, Turo’s AI did, at least.

Dear Arven,

By the time this letter finds you, I am most likely already gone. I would've liked to talk to you in person, but I fear we wouldn’t have enough time. My memory banks indicate your parents often communicated to you in letters, so I revived the trend for old time’s sake. Though, to be fair to my biological counterpart and yourself, his letters weren’t as…robust as one would expect.

He was never good with words, and in turn neither am I. It is a strange feeling, to harbor feelings and memories for a person you’ve never met- understand as I am writing this, Arven, my latest memory of you is several years dated. On top of that, it is not one I have experienced myself.

Based on evidence, it is highly probable you do not see me as your father. It is alright- in scientific terms, you’d be correct.

Arven’s lips curled into a snarl. “Scientific terms”? “Highly probable”? Even when talking to his son, he couldn’t afford to break the Professor persona for one second?

Based on other evidence, it is also likely you detested that prior sentence for being too scientific and not personal enough. For that, I apologize.

Oh. Arven blinked. At least he was aware of it.

Regardless, to the matter at hand. I am not truly your father; I am a machine fortunate enough to be imbued with his memories and research. And seeing as how your father never was able to, allow me to say this in his stead.

He cared for you. He truly did. He may not have shown it, he may not have said it, but he did love you. I carry memories of you making breakfast for him, and how his heart swelled with gratitude even if he could never display it. I carry memories of his heart splintering when he left for Area Zero with Miraidon in tow, wanting to say goodbye but never finding the words to.

That does not excuse his actions, I must admit. The allure of Paradox Pokemon and Terastalization was too strong to resist, it seems. Despite carrying these feelings in his heart, Turo was eventually consumed by his work and ceased to be the person he once was. I believe there is a reason he made an AI version of himself, and not a faceless entity or someone else.

Arven didn’t know what to think. He buried a hand in Mabosstiff’s fur and continued reading.

…If I may break this facade for a moment. I talk as if I have never experienced these events, if my mind did not feel these emotions, but that is simply not the case. I was built in Turo’s visage, and so I carry everything he carried: his memories, emotions, etcetera. I feel compassion for Sada. I feel the allure of research pulling at me. I feel pride for you.

I am unable to ascertain how you will take these words, Arven, but I shall say them anyway.

I am sorry. I am sorry for leaving you alone all those years. I am sorry for never trying to connect with you, for letting my research take over. I am sorry for never saying these things, for simply avoiding them and letting them fester. I am sorry for being a coward, I am sorry for never communicating these feelings to you in person, for never being able to show you compassion and love like a true father would. I am sorry for hurting you.

I doubt you can forgive me at this point. And that is alright. I am not sure I would be able to forgive myself.

So, for now, I leave you with a gift. My biological counterpart left this in his office before the accident, and I would like you to have it.

I can see you entering the crater as we speak. I must go now.

Goodbye, Arven.

I love you.

Arven didn’t have time to register the signature at the bottom before he completely burst into tears, collapsing into Mabosstiff and clutching the letter with unsteady hands.

Why, why, why? Why did he have to wait so long to hear that? Why could his dad only apologize in a letter, and not to his face? Why did it have to be his robot who did it?

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, and Arven hated it.

But he barely got what he wanted, so he might as well have expected it.

Mabosstiff whined and pressed into Arven, uncaring of the tears leaking onto his fur. Arven’s whole body shuddered as he sobbed, whimpering and crying and soundlessly wailing.

He stayed like that for a while, slowly letting his mind come to a standstill.

He lifted his head from Mabosstiff, whose response was to lean more into Arven and yip softly.

He stared at the envelope across his sleeping bag.

A picture was poking out of it.

Arven reached forward and pulled it out, and his heart shattered.

The picture was in the living room, with Arven standing front and center. He had the widest grin on his face, and in his hands he cradled a small Maschiff with an equally joyous expression. Sada was next to him, her lab coat missing and in more casual wear for once, wearing a lopsided grin that showed off her pointed teeth. And on the opposite side was Turo, wearing his purple suit and lab coat, smiling as bright, if not brighter, than anyone else.

Arven didn’t even know this picture existed. One of the few days they managed to be a normal family.

He doubled over against Mabosstiff again, already feeling tears rush in and start to race down his face-

“Arven? You in there?”

Arven, for lack of a better word, screamed. He tried to jump back, but was hindered by Mabosstiff sprawled on his lap, so he simply fell over and hit his head on the ground. Mabosstiff whined and moved to help sit him back up.

“Arven?” Nemona called again, this time more worried.

“I-I’m here! Y-Yeah, come in,” Arven hated how weak his voice was, but didn’t have time to worry as he scrubbed the tears off his face and prayed the dim light obscured his bloodshot eyes.

One unzipped tent flap later, and Nemona poked her head inside.

“Hey! How ya doing?” she grinned.

Arven opened his mouth, and a second later his voice responded. “...Alright.”

He could feel that familiar prickly shield start to reapply itself. He wanted Nemona gone. He wanted to be alone. Surely anyone could see that?

Nemona wasn’t anyone, apparently.

“I just wanted to check in, you know…” Nemona looked off to the side, before reasserting her gaze with a grin. “Maybe see if you want to do some Tera Raids with me?”

“...Nemona, it’s 9 at night,” was what Arven’s voice came up with.

“So? A little dark never hurt anybody!”

“...No. Leave me alone.”

Arven nearly recoiled at the harshness of his words, but he felt too tired to do anything. It’d be fine. He’d just apologize in the morning, or not bring it up at all. It’d be fine.

Nemona frowned, an expression rarely seen on her. She sighed and stepped fully inside Arven’s tent, sitting down at the edge.

“...I’m not good at this sorta thing,” she explained, folding her hands together.

“What sort of thing?” Arven bit back.

“You know, heart-to-hearts! Deep, personal conversations!” Nemona tossed her hands into the air. “Talking about feelings. Stuff like that.”

“Then don’t,” Arven sniffled, stroking Mabosstiff’s mane. “You don’t have to.”

“Agh, but here’s the thing. If I hear my friend bawling his eyes out in his tent all alone, I have to help him. That’s the rules.”

Arven groaned and felt his face go red.

“A-And there’s nothing wrong with that!” Nemona quickly backpedaled, waving her hands around more. “C-Crying’s good from time to time! But, like, maybe I could show you a place more secluded? so you don’t have to worry about people hearing you?”

“Like you did just now?” Arven deadpanned, rubbing his eyes. “Great. I-It’s fine, Mona, really, the damage’s already done-”

“No, no, de ninguna manera!” Nemona rushed. “It’s not fine at all! Your feelings are important, Arven! And you need a healthy outlet for them!”

“But not right now,” Arven insisted. “It’s late. Too late. I can deal with them in the morning or whatever.”

“No, because I know when I leave you’ll be crying yourself to sleep!” Nemona hissed back. “C’mon, Arven, let me try to help!”

“You- You can’t help me, Mona!” Arven exclaimed, reaching for the letter unconsciously. “I-I appreciate it, I really do, but this sort of thing can’t be resolved in a single night! I, I mean, I just got the closest thing to a final farewell my dad every got to, but it was written by that robot and, whoops, turns out my dad’s been dead for the past five years, that’s great, and hey, that robot version of him’s off gallivanting in the future or whatever and I’m just stuck with this.” He held out the crumpled letter. “A stupid letter. Neither of them could be bothered to say it to my face, so they took the easy way out. And now I can’t talk to either of them, because one’s dead and the other’s as good as dead!”

A thick silence fell between the two of them. Mabosstiff whimpered and pawed at Arven’s leg.

…

“...I’m not saying I can resolve it, Arven,” Nemona sighed. She drew her knees to her chest. “I just want to lessen it.”

Out of energy to do anything, Arven simply listened.

“It’s- It’s a pretty terrible situation all 'round. I’m not gonna act like I know your whole life story, but from what you’ve told us…” Nemona’s frowned deepened. “...And after all that, your last connection to your dad leaves? That’s really rough.”

Arven soundlessly chuckled. Really rough. Quite an understatement.

“But you don’t have to deal with it alone. You have all of us. I…I remember back when the Treasure Hunt first started. Not to be rude or anything, but I kinda thought you were just some jerk who wanted to use Juliana and Florian to get some Herbs for cooking? T-That’s not the case, obviously, but that’s sort of what you gave off?”

Wow, huh, this really wasn’t helping Arven’s mood. He sort of knew he was harsh to some people, but it seemed everyone thought he was some self-absorbed brat. Great.

“I-I know different now, but…” Nemona swallowed. “I remember what Juliana said to me when we made it to the Crater. About how you put all this blame on yourself. Tried to push everyone else out. Didn’t want anyone else to know about the real reason for getting those Herbs because you didn’t want to get anyone else involved.

“And while that might’ve been how things were back then, that was, what, like a month ago? Things are different,” Nemona shook her head. “You can talk to any of us, you know? About anything. We’ll hear you out! And help you, too!”

Slowly, Arven let the letter fall from his hand and back onto the floor.

“You’re not alone, Arven. I can promise you that!”

Hah. And she said she wasn’t good at this. Arven felt ready to cry all over again.

“So!” Nemona held out a hand. “Want me to help in the best way I know how?”

“...I-It involves Tera Raids, doesn’t it?” Arven asked, and Nemona tossed her head back with a laugh.

“Yup! Come on, they’re so much fun! Great for getting your emotions out, too- we can just do one small, three star one? Por favor?”

Arven smiled, Mabosstiff’s tail started to wag, and Nemona’s eyes lit up.

“Sure. Just one, though.”

They got back at three in the morning.

Speckled with crystal dust and constantly hushing one another, Nemona and Arven trudged back to their tents while trying not to wake anyone up. Arven liked to think they succeeded.

As he crawled into his sleeping bag, mind dancing with afterimages of bright crystals and Terastalized Pokemon, he felt himself untethering and drifting off into sleep.

Mabosstiff yawned and laid down beside him, clearly worn out from their late-night excursion. Arven smiled and tried to soothe him, but words were difficult. He ended up just slinging one arm over his Pokemon and mumbling incoherent ramblings.

Arven finally got what he wanted, and it looked like it was going to stay, too.

Arven’s old family was cold and empty. A mother and father who wanted to love him but never had enough time. Who let work dictate their life, who left their son alone to grow up too fast.

Arven’s new family, however, was veritably insane. A student council president who was a bit too obsessed with battles and had a tendency to ignore the forest and the trees. A social shut-in who had probably spent more time in front of a computer than she had outside, who had already hacked the government and could probably do it again. And a pair of siblings both titled Champion, one who went along with anything mildly interesting regardless of consequences, and the other one who pretended to be the reasonable member of the group but was just as reckless as the rest of them.

A group of five that all came together in the heart of Paldea. A group of five so mismatched and disorganized it was a miracle they had only set one tent on fire so far.

And Arven fit right in. Arven, the soon-to-be cook with a sleeve that barely covered his heart and the best dog in the world.

He felt right at home in this absurd, chaotic bundle he had been blessed with, this strange treasure that glittered and glistened at obtuse and beautiful angles. This family that, if assumptions were correct, would take three more weeks to get back to Mesagoza, nearly commit arson two more times, and slightly aggravate Arven to no end.

Some family, right?