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Phainon stared at the gateway to Dolos with trepidation. Well, it’d be more accurate to call it the tunnel to Dolos. Dull, grey, and cold. He pulled out his Rotom phone, the device jolting to life. Bzzt “Hello, Phainon! How may I help you?” In the relative silence of the tunnel, the phone’s robotic shout was deafening. Even Dawnmaker’s ears shot up, the orange Wolf Pokémon scanning the surrounding area with a renewed alertness.
Though he was grateful for Professor Anaxa gifting him this Rotom phone after Phainon had declined the starter Pokémon options, it didn’t mean the boy was used to his technology being so lively. Then again, most people would consider him the odd one.
It’s not like Aedes Elysiae was totally isolated from the rest of Amphoreus, but the quaint little village was far more country bumpkin than even a place like the Grove of Epiphany. Aedes Elysiae had a homely feeling. The vast wheat fields evoked a sense of peace, like one could lie down and just forget their worldly problems. It was a place where everyone knew everyone else by name, and no one really needed to ask for help.
By contrast, even standing just outside Dolos put Phainon on edge. He knew what people said about this city: a thieves’ paradise. Dolos was a place run by outlaws, a safe haven for those who deal in nothing but trouble. It’s a wonder that the Pokémon League even considered putting a gym there, much less actually followed through.
But, checking both the map and the convenient Gym Challenge guide on his phone again, it was true. No matter how much he wished to leave with all his belongings still on his person, Phainon had to enter the city. After all, the world depended on it. He couldn’t obtain all eight badges and keep his promise to Cyrene without the Whimsy Badge. And Cyrene is not someone you want to break promises with.
Phainon took a moment to steady himself, his breath coming out shakier than he intended. “Well, partner, you ready?” Dawnmaker responded by shaking out his orange and white fur before pressing his muzzle into Phainon’s hand. The Lycanroc’s green eyes shone with anticipation.
The moment Phainon stepped into Dolos proper, he felt overwhelmed in a way not even Okhema made him. Where Okhema’s grand architecture and colossal, marbled palaces were tempered by the seemingly ever-present sunlight, the hard-edged skyscrapers of Dolos were shrouded in darkness. Or, maybe that’s because it was well into the evening by the time Phainon actually mustered up the courage to go through the tunnel.
In all honestly, Dolos wasn’t as rough as Phainon had initially assumed. People walked along the streets, storeowners called out to advertise their wares, and wild Pokémon casually filled the empty spaces. Nobody clutched tightly to their belongings or eyed others with caution. At least, not that Phainon could tell. It felt normal. Aside from the abundance of people with animalistic features, Dolos’ inhabitants looked like any other group of people living in Amphoreus. If he thought about it hard—like, really hard, mixed with a dash of delusion—it almost looked like home. Almost.
Still, it wouldn’t do for him to let his guard down. Some regions may let their ten-year-old kids go on journeys and get caught up in life-threatening quests to take down evil organizations, but Amphoreus is not one of them. Even at sixteen with one year of travels under his belt, Phainon was still relatively easy pickings for anyone with bad intentions.
The closest to real trouble Phainon had ever been in was drawing the ire of a gym leader’s son. It wasn’t his fault that he happened to be better at defeating wild Pokémon than that blonde, tattooed boy. Though, Phainon probably shouldn’t have rubbed it in the boy’s face that he got the Fury Badge first. But to see that smug, self-assured grin wiped off his face? Well, maybe it was worth it after all.
Speaking of which, perhaps Phainon could get some intel about the Dolos gym leader. If the League were really as unified as Chairman Lygus claimed, then the leaders must know each other personally. And if being a gym leader’s son granted any benefit, surely it’d be learning the secrets and weaknesses of the other leaders. Besides, despite their rocky start, they’re friends now. Mydei wouldn’t mind helping out a friend, right? Right?
i
“Dawnmaker, let’s finish this with Accelerock!”
The Lycanroc’s fur glinted as it hardened, and the opposing Honchkrow didn’t even have time to brace for impact before Dawnmaker hurtled straight into it. Unsurprisingly, the dark blue bird Pokémon didn’t get up. It remained beak-down on the floor, not a single feather so much as twitching.
With a sigh, the gym trainer recalled her fainted Honchkrow into its Dusk Ball. “Maybe I should invest in some Charti berries,” she mumbled. Phainon wasn’t quite sure he was meant to hear that, a suspicion reinforced when the girl squared and her shoulders and turned to face him. “Congratulations, but you’ll have to do more than just matching type weaknesses to beat the Boss Lady.” As she said this, she dug into her bag and withdrew some Balance Coins. “Since you wagered 50 Balance Coins, your prize money is 100. With how few coins you bet, I was sure you’d be a pushover.”
Phainon let out an uneasy chuckle, not knowing how to tell her that he didn’t exactly have the budget to bet more. Well, at least he hadn’t walked into the gym empty-handed. Mydei may have been a terrible friend and refused to tell him anything meaningful about the gym leader, but he was at least kind of enough to warn Phainon that the gym was inside a casino. To even have a shot at challenging the gym leader, you have to win several bets. All the more reason to doubt whether the Dolos gym is actually League-sanctioned.
If all the bets had been on Pokémon battles, he would have gone all in from the beginning. Unfortunately, this gym leader seemed to find enjoyment in making challengers bet on things like which of these three outlandish statements is the truth or what’s the stitch count of this dress.
Still, Phainon made it through. Somehow. It only cost him thirty-three months’ worth of savings that he could’ve spent on a Power Bracer instead. No, he’s not bitter. Not at all. Why would anyone think that? And now all that awaited him was the battle against the gym leader, and then he could hightail it out of Dolos.
A few Sitrus berries later and Phainon’s team was ready to go. He thanked the gym trainer before heading over to the VIP area. He didn’t know how much of this was simply standard fare for establishments like this or egotistical embellishments from the gym leader. But, as Phainon stared at the jewel-encrusted stanchions and embroidered rope line, he had a feeling it was the latter.
A cough jolted Phainon out of his thoughts of whether that one stanchion was more valuable than his entire net worth. He turned to look at the bouncer, a towering figure with broad shoulders, prominent biceps noticeable even through his suit jacket, and a pair of small, rounded ears atop his head. If the guy had brown hair, Phainon could almost mistake him for an Ursaring at a distance.
The bouncer’s voice was appropriately deep and gruff as he delivered the news that ruined Phainon’s entire day. “Sorry. The Boss Lady’s not in this afternoon. Better luck next time.”
Blood rushed to Phainon’s head as an indescribable rage surged through him. After coming to a notoriously sketchy city like Dolos, taking a chance by asking his rival for advice, and then blowing nearly his entire savings on the stupid gym challenge, the one thing keeping him from the Whimsy Badge was the gym leader’s own laziness? Phainon’s hands clenched into fists, and Dawnmaker let out a careful whimper of concern at his side. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. And out. Getting arrested for destroying a casino is not worth it, Phainon. It’s not. In and out. In and out.
By the time Phainon calmed down, it felt like hours had passed. A quick glance at the clock told him it had been only two minutes. With a professional courtesy that surprised even himself, Phainon thanked the bouncer and turned to leave the casino. Along the way, he couldn’t help but give a stink eye to the black and sapphire blue gown that had drained him of his savings. And he didn’t even get to keep the dress! What a rip off. What kind of dress needs that many stitches anyway? Maybe the dressmaker was paid by the stitch. Yeah, that must be it.
The moment Phainon stepped out of the casino, he was blinded by the natural sunlight. Great. What’s one more misery to add onto his growing pile of them? As he blinked the lingering afterimages away, he noticed that someone had followed him outside. It was that one gym trainer with the Honchkrow. The trainer whose name he regrettably did not remember. “Um, hi? Do you need anything?”
“No, but that was some impressive restraint you showed back there. Dimi’s a big guy, and he knows his way around a fight,” the trainer answered. She smirked as she appraised Phainon, probably imagining how quickly he’d fold in an actual fistfight against the bouncer. “You know, just because the Boss Lady’s gone, that doesn’t mean you should just stand there and grumble. If you find her, maybe you can convince her to come back and battle you.”
Well. Now that was actually a pretty good idea. Great, even. Dolos may be a big city, but how hard can it be to find the person who’s arguably its most famous resident?
ii
Hard. Very hard, apparently. Phainon just barely sidestepped the Whirlipede zooming down the sidewalk, a young boy in a school uniform chasing after it with a carefree grin. Whose smart idea was it to put a food stall right on the edge of what must be the busiest street in Dolos? Even Dawnmaker seemed a bit claustrophobic, pressed against his leg and staying low to the ground, tail tucked in.
All things considered, this street stall was fairly unassuming. When the gym trainer told him the leader liked to get lunch here, Phainon was imagining some grand emporium with as much flair and opulence as the casino. Instead, it was basic kiosk, barely three people wide, with bland and unadorned sides. In fact, the only thing identifying the stall at all was the red banner at the top. Not Your Grandma’s Fish. How tacky. And how smelly, too.
Phainon took a step forward, paused for a moment, then took the remaining five steps to get in line. In no time at all, he made it to the front. The perks of selling only one type of food. He scanned the menu, trying to cross-reference the names with the fish skewers on display. He was fairly certain the red one was Magikarp, while the black and pale grey one with a pink stripe through the middle was Finneon. He wasn’t really sure what the thin and long brown one with the big bottom jaw was, though. And he was pretty certain the intriguing purple and yellow and blue one would make him sick from sight alone.
“Are ya gonna order or not, kid? I don’t got all day.”
All at once, Phainon was torn from his musings and dropped back into reality. “Oh, uh, sorry, sir. I was just thinking about which skewer to get,” he mumbled halfheartedly, rubbing his right hand against the back of his head. Then, he seized on an opportunity. “Say, I heard that the gym leader’s a frequent customer. How about you get me one of whatever she gets, and maybe some clues to help me find her on the side?”
The vendor stared at Phainon for long moment, before the man abruptly scoffed. “Sure, kid, if ya think ya can handle it. One Bruxish skewer coming right up.” The color drained from Phainon’s face as he saw the vendor pick out one of the purple and yellow and blue fish skewers. Was it just him, or was the sky beginning to spin and the stall getting blurry?
Phainon took the offered skewer with just the thumb and index of his left hand, his right already passing over a handful of Balance Coins. Well, even if it kills him, at least it’s cheap. Still, he eyed the so-called Bruxish skewer, turning it around as carefully as he could while trying to figure out where he was even supposed to start. Maybe Dawnmaker would like it, or maybe it would poison him. If only Phainon had a cat Pokémon, then he could dispose of this trash treat with ease.
When the teen refocused on the vendor, the man was mid-sentence. “—was just here ten minutes ago. She and that blonde one headed off to the orphanage. And, for what it’s worth, kid, Bruxish is an acquired taste. Hell, the leader’s lady friend won’t even touch the skewer itself.” The man began to chuckle, slowly at first before it grew into a boisterous, hearty guffaw as he remembered what must have been the most exciting moment of his poor, street stall vendor life.
With the vendor distracted, Phainon quickly tossed the skewer into a nearby bush. He wasn’t littering. He was just, uh, doing some charity by feeding the local wildlife. Surely one of those stealthy Meowth or Purrloin would snatch it up. And if not, then a Nickit might accidentally sweep it up into its tail. As long as the Bruxish wasn’t in his or Dawnmaker’s stomachs, then Phainon didn’t care that much. “Thanks for the hint, sir. And the skewer was, um, delicious. Really. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a gym leader to find. See you tomorrow! Not literally, of course!”
“Oh, leaving already?” the vendor questioned. “What about yer change, kid? Kid? Hey, kid! Ya forgot yer change!” The man’s words fell on distant ears, the white-haired teen and his orange Lycanroc long gone. “Kids these days,” he sighed. “Always on the run and never stopping to enjoy the moment.”
iii
The orphanage was hard to find, and the matron was even harder to convince that he wasn’t some kind of creep. It probably helped that Phainon was still a teenager himself, and that he had five other gym badges to verify his League challenger claims. His good intentions didn’t make that much of a difference anyway, since the gym leader was once again not where Phainon was told she’d be.
He had thought it was strange for a gym leader to live in an orphanage, but it wouldn’t be the first time he jumped to the wrong conclusions about someone. From what the matron had begrudgingly shared, the gym leader was a donor of both time and money. She came over to play with the kids every week, and now every single one of them wanted to catch a Purrloin so they could be like the leader and her partner Pokémon.
This week, the orphans wanted to surprise the gym leader with a play. Since the play was supposed to be a grand spectacle, one of the other orphanage caretakers even set up a stage at the Rogue’s Promenade.
Phainon wasn’t really sure what he expected the Rogue’s Promenade to look like. Okay, that was a lie. He had expected it to have looming trees with branches and leaves growing uncontrollably, blocking out the sun. Perhaps there’d be a single rusted swing-set, and a dirt path overgrown with shrubs and vines. It would be hidden in the backstreets, surrounded on all sides by skyscrapers, accessible by only a dark and totally-not-safe alleyway.
Instead, the Promenade was a large, open-air public park near the city center, just a five minute’s walk from the orphanage. There were looming trees, sure. But ominous was not the word he’d use to describe them. Mid-Creation Season the trees were an explosion of deep reds, amber hues, and sun-faded gold. The trees felt warm and inviting, like a friend who’s waited decades just to see you again and be the first to welcome you home after a long journey.
And there, in the middle of the open stretch, was a decently sized stage and a respectable crowd. It seems like the play was nearing its end, based on what he could hear. Two girls were front and center, each accompanied by a Pokémon. One girl sat leaned against a cardboard wall, wearing a pair of grey, fake cat ears on her head. She had a Purrloin at her side. Standing across from her was a girl with a crudely crafted blonde wig, a Sewaddle curled up in her embrace. Phainon watched as the blonde girl reached out a hand, declaring the cat-eared girl the unsung hero of Amphoreus.
Phainon felt he was missing far too much context for any of this to make sense. But, he was also that young once. The play probably wouldn’t make sense even with context. Nevertheless, when the two girls joined hands and bowed with their Pokémon, he felt inclined to join the crowd in applauding.
Near the front of said crowd, a pair of women rose to give a standing ovation. From his vantage point, Phainon couldn’t really see who the taller of the two was, only that she had blonde hair. The shorter one, however, had grey hair with some white streaks. The ends of her hair were even braided on one side. She wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a black hoodie. But what really caught Phainon’s attention were the pair of grey cat ears on her head, and the the white tail that flicked leisurely behind her, fading into brown at the tip.
As the cat-woman turned around to gather her belongings, he caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were a striking, lake blue with a hint of yellow at the edges. Phainon saw those eyes for just a second, but that second was all he needed. This cat-woman was clearly, undeniably, without a doubt the gym leader he was looking for. And now he had to stop her before she could leave.
Almost as if the universe were smiling favorably upon him, the crowd began to disperse, leaving a path directly to the gym leader. Phainon immediately launched forward, running faster than when he’d tried to get his kite to fly back in the wheat fields. He made it all of four strides before he suddenly scrambled to halt, tripping over his feet in the process.
With a pained groan, Phainon lifted his head. His vision was promptly filled by pink as a large tongue swiped across his face. “Gah! Dawnmaker, I get you’re concerned, but you didn’t have to do that,” he scolded. Gently nudging the Lycanroc away, Phainon pushed himself back up into a sitting position. He gave his head a little shake, a few red and yellow leaves drifting to the ground.
“Oops. Sorry, mister!” Wow. The voice of Phainon’s unintentional assailant was a lot squeakier than he imagined. Turning to the left, he found himself face to face with a young boy with sandy brown hair. Said boy couldn’t have been older than five. His white shirt had what was clearly a kid’s drawing of a Pokéball. The shape’s outline was all squiggly and the circle was more pear-shaped. Someone had tried to color it, but—.
Before Phainon could get too engrossed in judging a five-year-old’s art skills, or lack thereof, a second voice chimed in. “I’ve never seen a Lycanroc that color before! Is it shiny like the seamstress’ Pokémon? Does it have a name, mister? Can we pet it? Please!” Dawnmaker answered the girl’s question by giving a playful bark before flopping down in front of the kids. His white tail wagged happily as the boy and girl began petting it, one focusing on his head and neck while the other gave him a belly rub.
While it’s not like Phainon was going to say no, he would’ve preferred if Dawnmaker could put up at least a little bit of token resistance. Pokémon League champions don’t fold like a house of cards at the mere prospect of a belly rub, after all. Plus, now that the kids were fully engrossed in showering Dawnmaker with love and attention, it’d be a little mean to leave now. It’d be like taking candy from a baby.
Phainon glanced back at the stage area, scanning the tops of what heads remained with a growing desperation. He took back what he thought earlier. The universe was not smiling favorably upon him. It was smiling maliciously as irony set up yet another cruel prank to dash Phainon’s hopes and dreams. That cat-eared gym leader was nowhere in sight. With a sigh, he resigned himself to his apparent station in life as the servant for the world’s most content Lycanroc.
Once Phainon finally freed Dawnmaker from the clutches of those fiendish kids—who turned out to be from the orphanage—his consolation prize was getting to interrogate those brats for information about the gym leader.
Said interrogation went a lot a little awry, as the kids mistakenly thought he wanted to ask the leader for a date. “Hmph! The Boss would never go on a date with a stinky boy like you,” Phainon recalled the, frankly hypocritical, boy saying. “But even if she would, you’d have to get through us first!”
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Phainon had apparently also lost this hypothetical battle for the gym leader’s affection before it even began. After the boy’s threat, the girl tacked on another for good measure. “Yeah! And even if you did beat us, you don’t stand a chance against the seamstress! She’ll beat you up with her bare hands, and she’ll do it gracefully!”
Phainon couldn’t get away from those orphans fast enough. But, their threats did at least give him an idea of where to go next. “Alright, Dawnmaker,” he began. “Sounds like the gym leader is strongly connected to a seamstress. That means all I have to do is find the seamstress, and she can take me to the leader.” The Lycanroc merely tilted his head in response before standing up and circling in place for a few moments. Once Dawnmaker finally satisfied his inner demons and sat down again, he took a playful swipe at Phainon’s shoe. He had to quickly hop backwards, lest his bank account incur a negative balance suspiciously shoe-priced in amount.
Right. Pokémon are excellent companions and battlers, but they aren’t built for strategy meetings. Not yet, anyway. The breeders will probably have that one figured out by the end of the decade, just in time for him to start defending his newly obtained title of Amphoreus Pokémon League Champion.
iv
With a soft jingle, the door chimes announced Phainon’s arrival at Annas’ Weave Shop. In his opinion, it had to be a deceptively simple name. What kind of person in the fashion industry would go with such a bland, direct name? Had they never heard of the art of subtlety or intrigue? It had to be a front for some sort of money laundering scheme, he just couldn’t prove it yet.
Phainon looked at the available garments with feigned disinterest. His clothes were perfectly fine. No, that wasn’t his wallet or bank account speaking, thank you very much. He couldn’t tell whether these clothes were supposed to be high quality or rapidly churned out, but he couldn’t deny that they looked comfortable. He expected a lot more frills and belts and random pieces of flowing fabric that served no purpose but to look visually appealing while running. These clothes were designed for function over form, it seemed. Or, maybe they were for homebodies like Castorice and her sister.
As he reached out to feel a pair of Crobat-purple sweatpants, another, wrinkled hand joined his. The way Phainon let go of the sweatpants, fell back, and screamed was purely instinctual. It was a good thing he’d left Dawnmaker in his Pokéball this time, since he wasn’t sure how the Lycanroc would have reacted to his outburst.
“Oh dear. I’m sorry, child. I didn’t mean to frighten you like that. If you’re interested in these pants, I can see if I have a pair in your size.”
Breathless, Phainon’s head whipped around in the direction of the voice. There stood an elderly woman, back slightly hunched and haired greyed with time. Yet, her voice was deceptively steady, belying her age. “Th-there’s no need to trouble yourself, ma’am,” Phainon stammered while trying to sound as polite as he could. “I was just looking around. I wasn’t planning to actually buy anything.”
“I see.” The judgment in this woman’s voice was palpable. “I suppose not everyone was raised with good manners like Cifera’s girlfriend.” Phainon grimaced. He hadn’t lied, but only now did he realize what it must sound like for him to be touching merchandise without having any intent to purchase it.
His mind raced as he tried to find a way to clear the now awkward, slightly tense atmosphere. Given this woman’s words, Phainon could surmise that she must be the storeowner. Which, in turn, means she must be Annas. But, if this was the seamstress those brats were talking about, he’d have to question the gym leader’s taste in women.
“Sorry, I—“ Phainon bit his tongue, taking a moment to shut up and think through his words first. “Ahem. My name’s Phainon. I apologize for any misunderstanding, ma’am. I’m just a little. . .broke right now. You see, I was doing the gym challenge but the leader left before I could battle her,” Phainon rambled. “I’ve heard that she’s got ties to a seamstress of some sort, though I admit I thought you’d be. . .” Goodness. He really wasn’t good at this, was he?
Fortunately, Annas seemed not to take offense, or at least not visible offense. Instead, her wrinkled eyes squinted and her lips drooped into a slight frown as she pondered his words. Then, her eyebrows flew up. “Oh, you must be talking about Aglaea! We’re both seamstresses, so it’s understandable a child like you would get us confused. My Cifera sure knows how to pick them. Perhaps I should be flattered by the comparison? After all, I was just as beautiful back in my prime.”
Oh. That made things clearer. And less awkward. Phainon should really stop drawing conclusions when working with incomplete, second-hand information. “As long as you’re not offended, ma’am,” he replied. “If it’s not too much trouble, do you know if the gym leader is here?”
“Hmm. No, she’s not. My granddaughter’s been gone all day.” A moment of silence followed as Phainon’s heart broke yet again. He went through all that trouble to find the one seamstress in Dolos, only for her to be the wrong one. Annas’ next words did ignite a little spark of hope, however. Not for his search, mind you, but for his wallet. “Now that I’ve gotten a closer look at you, child, you could do with a makeover. I’ll tell you what. If you can find Cifera and remind her that I’m making her favorite honey cakes so she needs to be home by the third quint of Curtain-Fall Hour, then I’ll let you pick out a new outfit.”
Phainon felt like a kid again as he swiped those purple sweatpants off the rack and beelined for the Drowsee-yellow t-shirt he spotted at the back of the shop. He’d have to remember to ask Annas to find those different-sized sweatpants she mentioned. With his treasures in hand, Phainon ambled over to the counter. The moment the elderly woman saw what he’d picked, she burst into laughter. He could feel his cheeks grow warmer the longer the woman laughed. Was she playing a prank on him after all? That offer did sound too good to be true.
“Sorry, child. I don’t mean to be rude,” Annas managed in between bouts of laughter. “It’s just that, if I sold these clothes to you, Aglaea would pitch a fit. Then Cifera would sulk because I upset her girlfriend.”
Well, if this Aglaea person were truly so judgmental, maybe the gym leader did have a questionable taste in women after all.
“Oh, I haven’t had such a good laugh in ages,” Annas wheezed as her laughter finally began to subside. Wiping tears from her eyes, she carefully took the shirt and sweatpants, setting them behind the counter. “How about I tell you some stories about Cifera’s childhood instead?” A chance to gain some leverage against the gym leader? Well, sign Phainon right up!
Phainon eagerly nodded his head, a toothy, boyish grin stretching across his lips. He wondered what kind of embarrassing shenanigans the cat-woman had gotten up to when she was younger. Maybe she accidentally slammed the door on her tail? Perhaps she got caught stealing in front of her friends and cried? Or, what if she boasted about how amazingly talented a trainer she was only to lose her first battle without landing a single hit? So many possibilities! So many potential weaknesses!
“Well, there’s that time when she had just learned to walk and some trainer mistook her for an Alolan Meowth and tried to catch her in a Pokéball. There’s also that time she first brought Aglaea home from the trainer academy. I asked her if that was one of her friends. She got so upset because she hadn’t asked Aglaea if they were friends yet and thought that meant they weren’t friends.” It was like Annas was lost in her own world of memories. Phainon couldn’t have interrupted her if he tried. “Oh, and I remember after they began dating and Cifera invited Aglaea over for their first family dinner as a couple. My granddaughter was so tense, as if I didn’t already know her girlfriend and hadn’t already shared most of my sewing tricks with her.”
Phainon gulped. His super smart, super secret scheme to get a leg-up on the gym leader backfired. There was no clock in the main part of the store, and pulling out his Rotom phone would be both too noisy and too obvious. Maybe if he just quietly, calmly walked out the front door without a fuss, Annas wouldn’t even notice? But, he’d already made a bad first impression and gotten chastised for being rude. What kind of role model would he be if he earned a reputation for being mean to elderly women?
Did the gym leader know her grandmother was telling all the store patrons all her childhood episodes? Or was Phainon just specially unlucky today?
v
Phainon gulped at he stared up at yet another large, looming structure. Only this time, it wasn’t because of the building itself. Rather, he looked down at his outfit. A long-sleeved, cotton shirt with alternating blue and orange stripes. Green fleece sweatpants with a graffiti Rockruff emblazoned on the right leg. Yellow slides with black socks.
Then, he looked at the building in front of him, Dolos’ contest hall. Specifically, he looked at the people who went in and out of the hall. Men in perfectly tailored three-piece suits, handkerchief in jacket pocket and slacks without a single wrinkle. Women in gorgeous gowns, some form-fitting and others flowing behind them with every step. Boys in ironed dress shirts, immaculate ties, suspenders and expensive-looking shorts, feet adorned with penny loafers. Girls in frilly dresses, sleeves patterned with embroidered flowers and other insignia. Even their Pokémon were perfectly groomed and meticulously accessorized.
Maybe he could pass himself off as an avant-garde model? Phainon gave Dawnmaker a quick pat on the head, more for himself than the Lycanroc. He took a deep breath. Three. Two. One. Okay, I can do this.
With faux confidence, Phainon pushed open the door to the contest hall.
It didn’t move.
Okay. He probably needed to put more strength into it. With greater faux confidence, Phainon shoved open the door to the contest hall.
It didn’t move.
Dawnmaker joined in on the effort, head-butting the door as best he could even with that one rocky part of his mane jutting out above his forehead. Phainon hoped that those small scratches could be removed later.
It didn’t move.
What in Kephale’s name is wrong with this door? Phainon turned around and walked about ten feet back. He lowered his torso, leg muscles clenching and arms lifting into a charging stance. Dawnmaker followed his lead, crouching down and hardening his fur, preparing an Accelerock. Ignoring the odd looks from those nearby, Phainon began another mental countdown. Three. Two. On—.
“This door requires one to pull,” a smooth, low, and feminine voice gently advised from his left. Phainon froze for a moment, before he suddenly stood up, back ramrod straight. He could feel the flush on his face as he coughed into his arm and walked mechanically to the door.
“Right. It’s pull, not push. I totally knew that,” he lied through his teeth. As this mysterious voice said, when Phainon pulled on the handle—had it always been there?—the door gave not one ounce of resistance. Sheepishly, he turned to hold the door open for his savior.
His savior was tall, with leafy yellow-green. . .leaves for hands, attached to more leaves for arms, which connected to a thin, darker green mesonotum. His savior framed her round, yellow, bug-eyed head with a larger yellow-green leaf, sort of like a collar. His savior had a pair of antennae atop her head, which swayed slightly with every step. His savior was a strangely desaturated Leavanny. Phainon didn’t know those could talk.
“Thank you,” the smooth voice sounded again, this time coming from a tall, blonde woman. Her hair was short, though clearly styled with some longer, twirly strands at the front. Under the sunlight, it glowed with a warm, golden hue. Nestled on either side were halves of a bronze laurel wreath. Around her neck was a large, heavy necklace with too many details that Phainon didn’t know the name of.
Though her shoulders were mostly bare, the blonde woman wore a long, white gown that he was willing to bet guess was woven from only the finest silk. The inside looked like it may have been lined with a fabric of similar bronze color to her head ornament. The outside was embroidered, and across her back hung what he could only describe as half scarf, half cape. The dress bore a thigh-high slit on the right side, revealing unblemished skin and a thigh garter.
Phainon swiftly averted his gaze, lest he be called rude by yet another woman on the day. The woman’s feet wore simple, yet elegant heeled sandals. “It’s no problem at all, miss,” he mumbled with his gaze still trained on the ground. “And thank you. For help with the door.”
A quiet chuckle drew Phainon out of his stupor, sounding just as elegant and refined as the woman who uttered the sound. The woman and her Leavanny gave a small bow before turning to head further into the contest hall. Her garments made her fit right in with the rest of the busybodies inside the place. No. Her garments, paired with her even, confident stride, made her look like she owned the place.
Silently, Phainon eyed the rest of the interior. Just as fancy and opulent as everything else on the exterior. The high rollers walked past him without sparing even a single glance. Even their Pokémon paid no mind to Dawnmaker, as unkempt and unadorned as he was. Phainon approached one suited man standing near the front desk.
“Excuse me, sir. Can you help me find someone named Aglaea?” The man turned to him, running an appraising eye from Phainon’s head to toe. With a scoff, the man turned back to his Pokémon, an equally pompous Furfrou with a ridiculous-looking top hat cut into its fur. “Fine, don’t talk to me, then. You could at least be nice about it,” Phainon grumbled.
He walked away, dragging his feet in hopes that he’d kick some dirt onto the man’s black penny loafers. He stopped only when a pair of sandal-wearing feet entered his field of vision. Phainon’s head flew up, nearly striking that blonde woman from before in the jaw. “I could not help but overhear that you are looking for Aglaea,” she started. “May I inquire as to why?”
Well, if she’s the only person in this contest hall willing to talk to him, he might as well see if she knows anything. “Yes, I am, miss. Well, in a roundabout way, I suppose. I’m actually looking for the gym leader, Cipher. I tried that one fish stall outside the gym and the orphanage and even her grandma’s shop, but she wasn’t at any of those places. Her grandma said her girlfriend Aglaea is in town for a Pokémon contest, so I’m hoping to find Aglaea and finally challenge Cipher to a gym battle. If you have any idea where I can find either of them, I’d be eternally in your debt,” Phainon begged.
A wry smile bloomed on the woman’s face. “You should be careful to whom you pledge a lifetime debt,” she teased. “As for your predicament, I believe I may be of assistance.”
“Really?” Phainon gasped.
“Yes, really,” the woman reassured. “Aglaea is indeed in Dolos for a Pokémon contest. In fact, this contest will begin in precisely one hour. If you stay for the show, I am certain you will run into her. And wherever she is, the kitty is sure to be nearby.”
vi
After the longest hour of his life, Phainon settled into his seat. Since the Dolos contest hall had only one level of seats for the stage, he chose one as far back as possible. From this vantage point, he could see every audience member, as well as both entrances on either side. He even managed to get a seat for Dawnmaker. With Phainon’s keen eyes and the Lycanroc’s superior sense of smell, there’s no way Aglaea could slip in undetected.
Right on the hour, the lights dimmed and the crowd reacted by falling into a hush. It was so quiet he could even hear the echo of the host’s footsteps as she walked onto the stage to introduce the first contestant. But none of that mattered.
“Alright, Dawnmaker,” Phainon whispered. “We’re looking for a woman named Aglaea who’s a seamstress and involved in contests. She possibly smells like a cat and bratty orphans, but probably not fish. Your job is to—“
“Shh!” The man next to him hissed.
Dawnmaker’s head snapped toward the sound, fangs bared and a snarl on his lips. Phainon quickly slammed his hand over his partner’s muzzle. He might have to rethink letting Dawnmaker stay out of his Pokéball for now. The Lycanroc had always been allergic to arrogance and over-inflated egos, after all. It’s why he and Mydei’s Pyroar never got along.
By the time Phainon finally returned his attention to stage, one of those girls in frilly dresses was performing. Her pink pigtails reminded him of cotton candy, especially because they transitioned into a tealish blue at the ends. Her flavor of frilly dress was raspberry pink, apparently. She looked visually attuned to her Pokémon, a Galarian Ponyta with its distinctive purple and teal mane. For some reason, this girl had opted to put a gold crown on Ponyta’s head and fake wings on its back. Except, the wings were so comically small in proportion to the rest of the Pokémon’s body that the costume wouldn’t fool even the blind. That Ponyta was absolutely incapable of flight.
Rolling his eyes at the farce on stage, Phainon resumed his search. At several points, he nearly leapt out of his seat when Dawnmaker turned his attention onto someone. But those were always false alarms. It got to the point where Phainon actually recalled the Lycanroc into his Pokéball. He could’ve sworn the Wolf Pokémon was laughing at Phainon’s misery and embarrassment as he did so. At least the ordeal took him up through the end of the contest. All that was left were the awards.
“And now, presenting the special judge’s award, is a contest star and renowned seamstress. I know her. You know her. And Dolos’ own gym leader definitely knows her. Please join me in welcoming to the stage, the Goldweaver—“
I’m so stupid. It didn’t matter that the crowd’s over-eager applause drowned out the host’s announcement of the judge’s name. It didn’t matter that the annoyingly tall man and Electivire in the seats ahead of him blocked his view of the stage. It didn’t even matter that he now realized what a fool he made of himself earlier.
In his gut, Phainon knew that the Goldweaver and Aglaea and that beautiful blonde woman from before were one and the same. He could’ve gotten Cipher’s whereabouts without having to sit through this stuffy contest. He could’ve been walking out of the casino with a Whimsy Badge in hand right about now. He could’ve been cozied up to the fireplace at the Pokémon center, charting his course to the next closest gym. Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. Isn’t that the truth?
Phainon stood up and began to weakly push his way through the still-standing crowd. He followed the velvet ropes back to the lobby, found a relatively inexpensive looking bench, and promptly collapsed with an exasperated, over-exaggerated groan of defeat. He remained like that for a while, face smothered by the plush cushion, arms hanging listlessly as he kneeled on the ground.
At the sound of a familiar, even stride, Phainon felt a sense of hurt and betrayal bubble to the surface. He exploded to his feet with a shout, turning toward the blonde woman. “You! You lied to me! I told you I was looking for Aglaea and you said nothing as I spilled my heart out to you!” He paused to gasp for air before continuing his venting. “Was it funny? Did you find some twisted sense of amusement from watching me splash like a Magikarp? Why? Why did you do this? To me?”
“Can you really blame Agy for being careful, Stalker Boy?” a cold voice cut in. While still feminine, this one carried an air of mischief and an edge of deadly sarcasm. Phainon swung around to face the newcomer, intent on giving her a piece of his mind as well. But any protests and choice words died on his tongue as he took note of her grey cat ears and white, brown-tipped tail.
“What, you think we didn’t notice?” Cipher taunted. Her tail flicked harshly back and forth. She’d also changed clothes, now wearing a black dress with sapphire blue accents. “You really weren’t subtle, were you? You might’ve gotten away with the fish stall thing if you didn’t tell Agy, but going to the orphanage was kinda creepy. Good thing I taught those wild cats well, and they reported to me how you asked around for little old me.”
Phainon attempted to interrupt and excuse his behavior. Really, he was ready to get back down on his knees and grovel for forgiveness. But the gym leader was relentless.
“And then you had to go and disturb my dear, old Granny. Now that was a step too far!” With tears welling in his eyes, Phainon turned to Aglaea, hoping she had a secret weakness for pitiful teenage boys with puppy-dog eyes. But, alas. “Imagine my surprise when Granny texted me, asking if I knew a white-haired boy was looking to challenge me to a gym battle.”
Finally, Aglaea took mercy and intervened. “Now, now, Cifera,” she soothed. “This boy has surely learned his lesson.” Turning her gaze to Phainon, she asked, “What is your name?”
Her eyes were a mixture of green and yellow, covered in a cloudy haze. Phainon couldn’t tell where her pupils were, if she even had any. “You’re blind,” he whispered. He then immediately slapped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide and dying inside. He could barely make out his thoughts over the frantic pounding of his heart.
It’s official. He was going to die, whether from his own conscious or a cat-woman’s claws. Cyrene would revive him, only to then kill him again for breaking his promise. Professor Anaxa would probably break out into maniacal laughter over his gravestone, and Mydei would declare himself the final victor of their competition. Castorice and Polyxia would choose to stay home with their comics over attending his funeral.
“Hello, You’re Blind. You have an unusual name but not the strangest I have heard,” Aglaea acknowledged his reply, sounding completely serious.
“No, that’s not—. I’m so, so sorry, Miss Aglaea! I didn’t mean to—. I mean, my words, they came out totally wrong,” Phainon bumbled through his sentences, the sounds honestly just pouring out willy-nilly now. He closed his eyes in an attempt to center himself. Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t panic, Phainon. You can come back from this. “My name is Phainon. I’m from Aedes Elysiae, and even though it’s in the countryside, I swear my mother raised me to be polite. My friend—her name’s Cyrene—she’d be mortified by what I’ve done, and I—.“
“Okay, Stalker Boy, we get the idea. You don’t need to give us your whole autobiography,” Cipher complained. “You seem too goody two shoes to mean real harm, anyway.”
Slowly, cautiously, Phainon took a peek through his right eye. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Phainon,” Aglaea greeted with that calm, reassuring timbre of hers. “You are correct in that my eyes do not work like they used to, but I have other ways of ‘seeing’ the world. I do hope it is under more light-hearted circumstances that next we meet.”
“Plus, it’s not really your fault anyway,” Cipher grumbled. “I told Xenia and Dimitri that I was spending the rest of the day with Agy. They should’ve turned you away at the door the moment you declared for the gym challenge.”
What a mess this situation had become, though Phainon was somewhat relieved that Cipher didn’t seem mad at him anymore. He could only hope she wasn’t the type to hold grudges.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Aglaea’s Leavanny weaving something with its leafy appendages. The project was too early in development for him to tell what is was, but no one else seemed to pay the Nurturing Pokémon any mind. By contrast, Cipher’s ace, a Liepard, slunk back and forth between both women’s legs. It’s sleek, dark purple fur brushed smoothly against Aglaea’s dress.
The trouble came from the Liepard’s tail, which quietly slipped under Aglaea’s garter, hooking around the buckle. In no time at all, the Pokémon had relieved the seamstress of her accessory. “Hey, Bartholos, what are you doing? Give that back!” Cipher hissed, her own tail puffed out.
Once the gym leader raised the alarm, Aglaea’s Leavanny sprang into action. A line of silk shot out from its mouth, the previous project abandoned in favor of defending its trainer’s dignity. In no time at all, Cipher’s Liepard—Bartholos—was trapped on the ground by a silky prison. The Cruel Pokémon couldn’t even open its jaw to hiss in annoyance as its fun was spoiled.
The Leavanny offered the garter to Aglaea with practiced reverence. “Thank you, Garmentmaker. You may free Bartholos of his restraints now,” she commanded as she reaffixed the article to her person. Just as swiftly as Garmentmaker had created the silk, the Leavanny sliced through the webbing with one arm. Bartholos leapt to his paws, taking a fruitless swipe at Garmentmaker’s leg as he retreated to Cipher’s side.
“Listen up, Stalker Boy. I’ll give you that battle you so desperately want, and you forget that any of this happened.” It was ostensibly an offer, but the way Cipher had forced the words out of her mouth with a hiss and how her ears were pinned back against her head, Phainon knew he had only one choice. He gulped, mouth feeling dryer than a desert, before giving a slow, exaggerated nod that the leader couldn’t possibly mistake for a no.
“Great!” Cipher purred, already pulling out her Rotom phone to prepare the gym challenge interface. “Oh, and while we’re at it, since I’m taking precious time out of my day with Aglaea, there’ll be one more condition. If I win, you have to pay for our dinner!”
Aglaea stirred her glass of white wine with a straw, observing as Cifera dropped into her seat with a flourish. The skirt of her lover’s dress ballooned from the impact before settling down again. The black fabric blended into the night, while the sapphire blue accents were as attention-grabbing as the dress' wearer.
“How can they be out of grilled Bruxish?” Cifera whined. “I thought you said this was a five-star restaurant, Agy. You spent way too much on this reservation for them to just run out of all the good stuff!” Her tail twitched a few times, thumping against the padded seat before settling down. An over-exaggerated frown took center stage as she flopped forward, chin landing on the china saucer.
The seamstress simply looked on with an affectionate smile. What better way to spend the evening than at a fancy restaurant, a rooftop all to themselves, and a cat-eared girlfriend with an adorable pout? Especially when the moonlight framed her beloved in such a radiant silver hue, each strand of flyaway hair illuminated against the backdrop of the night. The wind signaled its concurrence, a soft breeze carrying the salty scent of the nearby Dolos Sea. The wispy fragrance of fish was sure to appease Cifera’s temper, even once she learned that this particular restaurant had never served Bruxish on the menu.
“Cifera,” Aglaea called for her lover’s attention. She won it easily, the other woman's head popping up, an inquisitive gleam in her blue eyes. “Do you remember that day we first met at the academy?”
“Huh? Course I do!” Cifera exclaimed, ears and tail perking up. “I’ll never forget the look on your rich little face when you realized we were roommates. Heh heh. I thought you would pass out on the spot!”
“Well, you can hardly blame me,” Aglaea rebutted, frowning as she recalled the clothes strewn about haphazardly, the cookie crumbs on the bedsheets, and the cat toys she'd found in her desk drawer. “I thought a Tornadus had swept through the room with the state you left things in.”
“Oh, please. It was chaos, sure, but it was organized chaos! Besides,” Cifera continued with a smug, cat-like grin, “it didn’t stop you from falling for my charms anyway.” That charming smile grew even wider as the gym leader prepared to continue. However, the pair were interrupted by the waiter bringing out their appetizers. For Aglaea, a plate of boiled Shelmet. For Cifera, a basket of buttered rolls and Smoliv oil. Carefully, the seamstress pried open a shell with her petite fork, taking care to blow on the hors d'œuvre before bringing it to her lips.
“Since you’re in a nostalgic mood tonight, why don’t you remind me when you realized you love me?” Is what Cifera probably meant to say, though her words were near incomprehensibly muffled by the roll she’d shoveled in all at once. It’s a good thing that Aglaea had long passed the point of needing words to understand her partner. If Cifera thought she was getting a one-up on her, she was sorely mistaken. In fact, this kitty had unknowingly spun herself right onto Aglaea’s web.
She reached across the table, napkin in hand, to wipe off the bread crumbs on Cifera’s cheek. “Have I not told you to finish chewing before you speak?” Aglaea chided, though there was no bite to her words. “To answer your question, as you know well by now, it was when you brought me to the orphanage for the first time. You have always been sweet and selfless at heart, but the way those kids sung your praises reaffirmed everything I knew to be true about you.”
An uncharacteristic blush spread across Cifera’s cheeks, her head lowering bashfully, unable to meet her girlfriend’s eyes. “Okay, you can stop now, Agy. You’ve told this story before, but never so mushy!” Her bristled tail curled and twisted around her wrist, and she began to lightly run her thumb up and down the tip. Evidently, Aglaea had not showered her beloved with enough praises and compliments if this was the way she still reacted to affirmations of love.
“Why should I stop when I speak only truths?” Aglaea crooned, setting down her fork and napkin. She turned to face Cifera properly. “I believe it was Xenia who told me how you would stay late into the night helping them with their homework. And was it Dimitri whom you fought boys twice your age to defend.”
Leaning closer, Aglaea reached out, taking Cifera’s trembling left hand gently into her own. “You have a noble heart that loves so purely. From that moment, it become my only desire to be the mirror which reflects and amplifies that love.” Slowly, steadily, Aglaea brought Cifera’s calloused fingers up to her lips, pressing a single, chaste kiss onto the back of the knuckles. “Cifera,” she exhaled, “you are the true heart I have given to this world. And you deserve nothing less.”
By this point, Cifera more resembled a steamed Clauncher than a person, an endearing visage enhanced further by the tears beginning to gather at the corners of her eyes. Ears pressed flat against her head, she almost looked like she’d die if Aglaea uttered another word. But the Goldweaver wasn’t done yet. She had at least one more thing for Cifera to hear before her lover could lay down in her gilded coffin.
Thankfully, Cifera was so caught up in her own emotions that she didn’t seem to notice the slight tremble in Aglaea's legs. Likewise, the cat-woman made no comment on the seamstress’ newfound pallor. As the one who handwove both of their garments for the evening, Aglaea had both the power and luxury to add a small pouch to her garter, hidden beneath the laurel plating. Bartholos had nearly spoiled the surprise earlier that evening. He did always have a nose for precious gems.
Unclasping her right hand from where it sandwiched Cifera’s, Aglaea reached for her garter. Opening the pouch and, thankfully, finding the round object still inside, she stood up and walked the few remaining paces that separated the pair, ending right where she yearned to be. Right by Cifera's side. Slowly, Aglaea dropped down on one knee, bringing her right hand back up, cradling the ring as carefully as she would the entire world.
Though there was no doubt Aglaea could afford whatever ring she so pleased, the price tag was inconsequential compared to the intangible value for this one. The band was fashioned from pure Dolosian silver, reinforced by Okhema’s finest gold alloy purified in the waters of the Marmoreal Basin. The ends of the band took the form of a cat tail and a laurel, intertwining to complete the promise of eternity. Along the edges were inlayed six exquisite Ocean’s Tears, one for each year they had been officially together. At the center of the ring was the capstone for this masterpiece, a cut from the Gem of All Worlds.
“Cifera,” Aglaea began, pausing to take a breath and steady her voice. “Will you m—?” She never got to finish that question. Not in this lifetime, anyway.
One moment, Aglaea was on her knee, holding both the world and a ring in her hands. The next, she felt a splitting pain in the back of her head, and all she could see was the starry night sky interspersed with flashes of grey and white. She faintly registered the feeling of something damp pressed into her tattooed collarbone, while something furry wrapped possessively around her right thigh.
But, cutting through the mental fog was the unmistakable sound of her heart. “Yes, Aglaea! Yes! Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot seamstress!”