Two days ago.
...
Nancy purred slowly, winding herself around Nanu’s leg like an Ekans to the prey. She knew patience, knew how to wear her trainer down. Sure enough, he caved with a curt pat to her head. This was the best he could do at this time.
It wasn’t enough, of course. Not for her.
She shot him a look, slitted eyes sharp with contempt. Kanto’s Persians were known to be proud, but Alolan ones? They were royalty. And queens didn’t take scraps.
She dug her paws into his shin, tail flicking, a hiss curling from her throat like a threat. Ignoring her wasn’t an option.
“I need silence to think, dammit,” he muttered, voice low, tired. But the words were empty, because by the time they left his mouth, he was already shoving the chair back, and she was already in his lap—victorious.
Nancy settled only when his palm drifted over her spine, her purring shifting from demand to satisfaction.
Nanu let his eyes drift shut, then. Let the quiet settle.
The quiet. The memories.
And her voice.
The girl he’d met on Four Island.
It was just a few days ago when he’d heard her voice again.
Snow crusted his boots when he trudged into the station, cheeks raw from the wind, two coffees precariously balanced on a flimsy paper tray. His was black and smoky. His office mate’s… sweet, frothy, and spiced with something seasonal. Pumpkin, maybe. He didn’t care. He just set the tray down and raised a brow at the mess in front of him: Looker, the office mate in question, had tangled himself in a snarl of Christmas lights.
“That what you wanted, Look?” Nanu gestured for the tray.
The fool nearly took a stack of reports with him in his flailing, but he managed to grab his cup first, cracking the lid with a grin. “With a gingerbread man on top? You know me too well.”
Then he dumped in more sugar in the beverage. Like the thing wasn’t sweet enough.
That was Kanto, for you.
Chatter, endless paperwork, and lately, far too much holiday cheer. Not that he minded. Routine was easy. Predictable. If he played his cards right, he could even slack off some. If he played it wrong… well, he might be sent to some annoying mission in the middle of Sevii again.
Sevii…
That had been a wasted week.
Also, it couldn’t have been further from his mind back that day.
He’d done the job at the island. Like always. Talked to the poachers, dropped them off in some dusty prison, squeezed them for intel that never amounted to much. Another dead end on the Team Rocket case. And the kids he met there? He knew they were keeping their meeting with Articuno, for one. League surveillance wasn’t stupid. They tracked the bird’s migration. Knew it had been there.
But Nanu didn’t mind.
The kids were just kids, chasing something bigger than themselves. Getting tied up up in stories they’d tell years from now, maybe to their own kids, maybe just to themselves when the world got quiet.
So he’d told the acting mayor what she wanted to hear: the League didn’t give a damn about the bird as long as it behaved. Much less a bunch of kids.
Let them off with a slap on the wrist, call it a lesson learned, and move on.
He’d even felt good about it, too. Cutting them loose before they got into actual trouble. Even that girl. The one he said he’d keep the file on. Just for the scare, nothing more.
And that was that. Another case closed. Another one for the archives. Back to the office where he could relax...
Maybe he should’ve paid more attention to her. Maybe he should’ve kept her in mind.
But her name never crossed his thoughts when he sank into his chair, raised his coffee to his lips, and took a sip. His gaze drifted to the small, red-nosed Stantler figurine perched next to his monitor. Looker’s doing, no doubt. Nanu let out a quiet chuckle. The damn thing was cute, he’d give it that.
Then the buzz hit.
Urgent. A secure channel. Emergency broadcast flagged to both the League and their Interpol branch. The voice that came through was uneven, static breaking at the edges, but the panic was clear.
“This is Celeste Diaz, on Cinnabar Island. If anyone can hear me… we need help. We’re at Cinnabar Labs and… there’s something wrong here. I think it’s getting worse. They made an entire tram disappear—tracks and all. P-Please. We need help.”
Nanu froze.
Did she say… Celeste Diaz?
The same girl whose file he never kept.
“Did you hear that?” His voice came out rough, more to himself than to Looker, who had his back turned, still fussing with the damn Christmas Lights.
No response.
“Look?” Nanu tried again, louder this time. “Emergency dispatch? Something about Cinnabar? Hey!”
Looker finally turned, blinking like he’d just been shaken from a dream. “Huh? Cinnabar?” He frowned, the name pulling at something distant in his mind. Then he shrugged. “Haven’t thought about it in ages…”
His voice trailed off. The moment passed.
And then he went right back to untangling wires.
It didn’t make any sense how Looker, of all people, barely reacted. But a while later, when their boss came in with some case out of Olivine City, Look was his usual self again. Jumping at the chance to do overtime. Nanu pressed their captain about Cinnabar, but nothing. No recognition. No curiosity. Like the island didn’t exist.
And it wasn’t just them.
No one on the entire floor gave a damn about Cinnabar.
Except for a janitor and his Metapod, grumbling about how the island’s big contest never aired on TV. And the HR lady with the Misdreavus, complaining that her sister from Cinnabar hadn’t called in days. They remembered, but the way they talked about it… it felt distant. Like something half-forgotten, slipping through their fingers even as they spoke.
That set something gnawing in Nanu’s gut.
It wasn’t normal.
So he started testing a theory. He asked questions. Listened. Paid attention.
And it became clear: anyone close to a Dark-type, a Ghost, or a Bug Pokémon could hold onto Cinnabar a little longer before that eerie apathy set in. The janitor had his Metapod. The HR lady, her Misdreavus.
And him? Well, He’d been steeped in Dark-type energy so long, he wasn’t sure he could shake it if he tried.
That’s why he still cared.
He spent the next day working the phones, rattling official channels.
Four Island’s interim mayor picked up first. Launched into a speech about the upcoming elections, expansions to her ice cream shop, plans to go to Viridian. It felt like a report, but he let her talk. Waited for his moment.
Then he slipped in the name.
Celeste Diaz.
Mayor Olga repeated it, almost absentmindedly. Then kept on talking, like she’d never said it at all.
Next, he called Leader Blaine at Cinnabar. Unreachable. Phones refused to ring through to anyone on that island.
And somehow no one thought that was strange?
Then, finally, he caught a break.
Ugh, he was beginning to even sound like Look.
A kid named Luan. One of Celeste’s companions picked up the phone, not from Cinnabar, but from Vermilion. He’d been training his Lunatone for an upcoming gym match. At first, the boy fumbled his words, rambling about how he was keeping his head down, staying out of trouble.
Then Nanu asked about Celeste. About Cinnabar.
Luan hesitated.
Said he remembered the mist. Thick and unnatural, swallowing the coastline whole. Said Celeste and the others had gone into it.
And after that?
Well… Luan admitted he hadn’t thought about them once since the day they left.
Nanu let the words settle. He checked satellite images, scoured the news, combed through every report he could get his hands on. He did everything short of stepping foot on Cinnabar himself.
The island was covered by something. And whatever it was, it kept anything from getting out.
And somehow… no one seemed to care.
Which brought him to today.
A weekend. The office was empty except for Looker and a handful of workaholic detectives, all too buried in their own cases to notice what Nanu was up to. He found an isolated meeting room, plugged in the drive with Celeste’s message, and endured Nancy’s needy purring as he worked.
Finally, in the silence, he heard footsteps approaching.
Just one set, accompanied by the clatter of a wooden cane. But he knew there were two people coming.
This meeting had been a pain in the ass to pull.
With a slow breath, Nanu stood and opened the door.
His guests were exactly who he expected.
Agatha. Creepy grandma of two. Elite Four. Ghost-type specialist. She smiled at him like she knew his deepest secrets—and would hang them over his head. And Taro. Ninja. Elite Four. Dark-type specialist. Moved like a shadow, silent, like he wasn’t even there.
Agatha’s smile twisted on her face, the kind that could’ve been warm or could’ve been wicked. Hard to tell with the way the deep lines on her face curved. She wore her age with pride. Pride enough to make Nancy jealous.
“So…” she tilted her head. “Did you figure out what’s wrong with Cinnabar, detective?”
Nanu stepped aside, letting them in. His gaze flicked to Nancy, who flicked her tail right back, unimpressed and annoyed at the lack of attention.
He gave her a look. Pleading with her to behave.
She didn’t.
Not until Taro peered into her eyes.
Nancy stilled, finally. Thank the Tapus.
Satisfied, Nanu gestured toward the chairs and hit play on the recording, Celeste’s voice crackling onto the screen.
“This is Celeste Diaz, on Cinnabar Island. If anyone can hear me… we need help.”
He let it play out, let them hear the panic in her voice, the way the words wavered. Then he leaned back, crossing his arms.
“I believe it’s some psychic Pokémon,” he said simply.
Agatha’s grin stretched, and at that moment, it looked too much like a Gengar’s. “Aren’t you a clever one?”
Nanu didn’t respond. He was the League’s Interpol liaison, but dealing with the actual League? That was above his pay grade. And worse, it was a pain in the ass.
He sighed, already dreading it. “So… about Cinnabar…?”
Agatha exhaled through her nose, folding her arms over her cane. “Yes, I do hate going to that dreadful island.”
He squinted at her. “Going…?”
—*——*—
The Unown Dimension
...
Hahaha.
HaHEHAHaha.
HAHAHAHAhahaha.
Celeste’s laughter burst forth, wild and untethered, ricocheting off spiralling letters that drifted like lost punctuation marks in a cosmic sentence. In the very heart of Amber’s wish-turned-reality, she felt herself unravelling. The threads of her existence spilling loose, unmaking the person she’d become.
And who exactly had she become?
A worrywart.
A nervous Nellie.
Someone… eww… Someone angsty.
Celeste was never any of those things.
What she was…
Was silly.
Silly, silly, silly.
And—boop!
She reached out to catch a floating C, only to watch it skitter away, its big-bugged-eyes following her every move.
“Come on, I said boop!” she lunged forward, only to draw in more eyes shaped like letters… or were they letters shaped like eyes? “Well, if you think that’s gonna affect me…” she blew a raspberry. “I’m like famous. I know what it’s like to have all eyes on me!”
She smirked, almost as if she had any control.
The Unown peered on. Through her? Beyond her?
Heh.
She found the absurdity of it all kind of amazing. To see beyond the flimsy veneer of reality, to stare straight into the tangled mess of threads she was somehow made of. She could see the threads, too. And, Arceus! No wonder everyone said she was wrong. The threads twisting out from her were a mess. A knot in the shape of a person. An existential hairball with more split ends than Aria’s fur.
Celeste spiralled—plit, plat, plot—tumbling toward one of those threads. A thin, but relatively uncomplicated one. It tugged her toward something.
She saw that detective then. With a cat. He had threads spinning from him too. Many of them jumbled with hers. A tapestry of whatevers.
But she didn’t want to see the noir detective right now.
She—
She needed to find Amber!
Gods, she needed to keep her head straight. Just a little bit longer. Just—
Hahaha.
Had she always been such a worrier?
HahahaHaHAHA!
Who cared about a kid’s wish in a place where everything was so absurdly delightful, anyway?
(She did. She always had. She cared. She worried.)
Hahaha.
Her stomach ached from all that laughing.
Except… she wasn’t laughing.
Was she?
Was she screaming?
She needed to keep her mind together.
Think.
Focus.
She’d just seen something important in that vision of the detective.
What was it again?
Celeste pressed her hands against her head, trying to make sense of it. She’d followed her own voice. The one she’d broadcast out from Cinnabar Labs weeks ago. She didn’t think that went anywhere, but it did. And now she knew that someone, somewhere, was coming.
The League was coming!
And—
AND THERE WAS NO NEED TO WORRY.
HaHAHAhaha.
The outside world was miles away now. Distant. Fuzzy. Unimportant.
Here, in this place of endless letters and half-remembered dreams, everything was just another story.
Uhh Celeste like stories. She really, really like them.
“Maybe you can write one for me?” she asked the eyes spinning around her.
—*——*—
Hoenn.
The past.
...
Once upon a summer, back when Celeste and her parents were sailing through Hoenn, she would sprawl across the deck of their boat, watching the clouds drift lazily overhead. Her family was after some legend of a lost sea temple, an adventure that kept everyone busy. Everyone except her. The afternoons at sea stretched long and uneventful, a blur of salty breezes and the endless rhythm of waves.
She sighed, lifting a hand to trace the sky. “This cloud looks like a Tauros… and that one… definitely a Pidgey.”
She had no one to talk to then. Those were the days before she’d met Aria, but loneliness was an old companion, and it had never stopped her from filling the silence.
“A Pidgey, huh?”
Celeste flinched, not expecting an answer. Her mother’s voice was bright with amusement. Tia was always the busiest of all. Always planning, always studying, always working. But today, for whatever reason, she sat down beside her daughter, squinting against the sunlight.
Celeste blinked, then pointed back up to the clouds. “There. See? The wings, the head, and that little curve is the beak.”
Tia tilted her head, considering. “I suppose… but I don’t quite see it.” She smiled. “You always notice things no one else does.”
Celeste glanced at her mother, their hazel eyes mirroring each other in the afternoon light. Tia’s gaze, however, burned golden with purpose, always focused on the future, always moving forward.
“That will make you a great scientist someday,” she said, running a hand over Celeste’s hair.
A scientist... Just like them.
Yeah…
Celeste shifted, brushing the thought aside. “Do you think real Pidgey ever get up that high?”
Tia exhaled, thoughtful. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was warm and easy, like the lull between waves. “Pidgey have small wings. They can fly, but they’re built for short distances. The higher they go, the harder it gets.”
“That’s… kind of sad,” Celeste muttered. “A bird that can’t fly wherever it wants.”
Her mother smirked, a knowing gleam in her eye. Celeste knew that look. It meant a story was coming.
“Tell me, Celly, do you think they should fly higher?”
“Of course!” Celeste sat up. “If I were a bird, I’d go as far as I could! Maybe even to the stars.”
Tia chuckled, pulling her daughter into a hug. “Then you’ve never heard of the Pidgey who flew too close to the sun.”
Celeste wriggled free, giggling. “That’s not a real story.”
Her mother simply raised a brow. “Oh, but it is.” And with that, she began.
“Far, far away, on an island lost to time, lived a small Pidgey. It watched as Pidgeotto and Pidgeot soared over the sea, returning with berries and tales of distant lands.
But Pidgey could only watch from the treetops, its wings too weak, its body too light for the strong ocean winds. ‘One day,’ it thought, ‘I’ll fly farther than all of them. I’ll find places no Pokémon has ever seen.’
So it trained. Every day, it fought against the wind, hopping from branch to branch, beating its wings harder, faster. The elders warned it to be patient. ‘You are not ready,’ they said. ‘Even the strongest fliers know their limits.’
But Pidgey refused to wait.
One morning, just as the sun touched the waves, it leapt into the sky. Higher and higher it climbed, past the tallest trees, past the watching eyes of its kin. It felt the wind, the thrill of the open sky.
It was flying! Truly flying!
The Pidgeotto and Pidgeot called out in admiration, but Pidgey barely heard them. It wanted more. It wanted the heavens themselves. Higher still, it rose, past the highest clouds, where the world below blurred into nothing.
But the sun blazed fierce. The air thinned. Pidgey’s tiny wings burned with exhaustion. Its strength faltered. And then… its wings locked. It tried to glide, but there was no air left to carry it.
It fell.
The ocean below stretched wide and merciless. The waves swallowed it whole.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
And so, Pidgey was never seen again.
Though its passion burned bright, the unbridled flame consumes.”
For a long moment, Celeste was silent. The sea rocked gently beneath them, and the boat creaked in time with the breeze.
“So… it’s bad to have dreams?” she asked, her voice quieter than before. “To reach for something more?”
Tia shook her head. “No, love. It’s only bad to forget the world around you while chasing them. And to not know when to stop.”
—*——*—
The Unown Dimension
..
Celeste reached out, stretching her fingers toward the sun. Towards the clouds. And to her mum. Back then, everything had felt warm. Real. She missed that. She even missed her mum.
But there was no sun here.
No sky.
She wasn’t on a boat, she wasn’t even sure she was anywhere at all—yet she was still drifting.
Drifting, drifting, drifting.
Towards Amber’s wonderland?
She doubted it.
Palms still stretched, she peeked through her fingers to see question marks staring back at her.
Or were they just questions without the marks?
This place really was too confusing.
One moment she was laughing, another she was seeing the whole of reality and in the next she was falling.
Falling, falling, falling.
Falling seemed like a running theme in her life. She’d fallen from that ferry to Pallet, right when all this started. She’d fallen head on into Cinnabar’s nightmare, and now she was falling endlessly here.
Here, there, everywhere.
All over, she could see a million hers falling. As if the thought of falling itself had brought forth the action.
She fell in a lake. She fell across the sky. She fell… on a mirror?
She could see herself in that mirror. Distorted. Disturbed. She wasn’t alone there.
“Once upon a time, there was a fair princess in a castle. And then one day an evil Florges gave her a poisoned Applin and… hum… a knight and a Charizard saved the day in the end?” Celeste could hear her own voice telling whatever this was to the woman accompanying her.
She shook her head. This wasn’t important now. She didn’t care.
More question marks crowded her vision, tilting curiously.
“Why aren’t you making me laugh anymore?” Her voice sounded flat, hollow, even to her own ears. Around her spun more visions of the world. Things that were, things that might yet be. If she looked closely enough, she could see—
Luan, nervously chewing his lip, holding a pen above a dotted line. The Razzo Cosmetics logo loomed over his shoulder.
“I d-don’t know, Mia,” he hesitated. “Shouldn’t I wait until after I get my first badge? Try the… the normal sponsorship?”
Mia shook her head. “Trust me, something big is coming. You’ll get noticed faster if you jump in now. You can always train on the side. Pay’s good, anyway.”
Celeste turned her head, indifferent, spiralling away.
Elsewhere, in some woods, Ray was surrounded by Zigzagoon. His voice boomed loudly. And mockingly.
“Oh no, I’m in mortal danger! Whatever shall I do?” His hands theatrically reached toward the sky, never once nearing his Pokéballs. One Zigzagoon growled adorably. Another wagged its tail.
Celeste cared. Deeply. She knew she cared—about them, about what happened to them—but right now, in this strange, drifting nowhere… she just couldn’t feel it.
She sank further. Question marks and exclamation points multiplied, crowding closer like a flock of curious birds.
“What exactly are you asking, anyway?” Her curiosity broke through, just barely.
No answer came, but Celeste already knew.
She spun deeper into herself, following tangled threads into visions more distant and obscure. Her parents, lecturing together in the Crown Tundra. Opal and her five-year-old self, giggling as Alcremie swirled icing atop a cake. Diantha—her friend Diantha who never once dared to put her little Ralts to battle—standing tall stadium beneath brilliant moonlight with this… dressed up Gardevoir.
Threads. There were threads everywhere. Reality woven into possibility, possibility woven into impossibility.
Celeste’s existence was a knot.
And this knot was far too tangled to be possible.
And the Unown, with their curious eyes and silent questions, pulled her.
They pulled and pulled and pulled.
Toward something buried deep in the centre of it all.
An answer.
For why was she wrong?
Or was this simply another question?
—*——*—
Ilex Forest
Years from now.
...
Celeste scowled at the Rotom phone, its holographic screen shimmering against a dense, sun-dappled canopy. It was so bright that the reflections blurred every detail of the caller’s face. She didn’t need to see his stupid face, anyway.
“You know Eusine is an idiot, right?” she muttered.
A crackly voice piped up on the other end. “Yes, but what if Suicune really is nearby? He insists there were sightings close to Azalea.”
Celeste waved dismissively. “Yeah, legendary doggo bad, I know. I’m already checking it out. Just wanted it on record that he’s an idiot. Last time he cried Suicune it was just some lost Luxio. Imagine being dumb enough to mistake a Luxio for Suicune.”
“… Legendary beast,” the voice corrected. “And a Luxio isn’t even a—”
“Arceus, you’re insufferable.”
“…Will you report if you find anything?” the voice asked.
“You’re not the boss of me, Birdy,” she smirked. After a beat, she added, “I’ll report. If there’s anything, I’ll even set a curfew in both Azalea and Goldenrod. Happy now?”
The signal fizzed as she ventured deeper into the forest, and the voice coughed through static. “Don’t piss… it off, Cele—”
Then the line went dead.
Celeste popped open her jacket so her ghost-infused phone could float into an inner pocket. “I’m the boss of me, not you.” She stuck her tongue out, meandering deeper where no phone signal could reach her.
The supposed sighting had been near a lake on the forest’s southern edge, but Celeste knew these legendary beasts rarely stayed still. That was fine. She liked an excuse to wander somewhere with lousy reception, anyway. Where the League couldn’t pester her with… with everything.
...
Maybe she should take Lori up on that Four Island vacation offer.
She wandered deeper, breathing the air crisp with springtime, listening to leaves crunch softly underfoot. She didn’t know exactly where she was going, and that felt amazing for once. The forest here was untouched… timeless even. Like a memory from before humans—well… mostly her—screwed everything.
Drawn by the scent of fresh water, Celeste soon came upon a small, crystal-clear lake. Pokémon played around the banks, their laughter and splashes echoing in the quiet. Without a care, she settled on a smooth rock, pulled a water bottle from her bag, and noticed a solitary Golduck idling on the far shore as she filled it up.
“Bet he saw something blue and thought it was Suicune,” she giggled, taking a long, refreshing sip of water. She should really come out to hike more often. Nowadays it was always teleportation and rushing, flying around like a busy busy Combee.
Then a gentle snap of a twig jolted her.
She spun around immediately, Aria’s Pokéball already spinning from her fingertips—only for it to clatter down, failing to open.
She stared at it for a few seconds, then around, towards the lake, now strangely still. Empty. Even the Golduck had vanished without a sound. A rookie might’ve dismissed it… She made a sudden movement, startled the Pokémon. Her Pokéball was coincidently faulty. But her senses were sharp, and Celeste was no rookie. She noticed how the breeze had stopped, and how no bird chirped anymore.
She crouched slowly, retrieving Aria’s Pokéball.
“Show yourself,” she commanded calmly.
Nothing moved. She clenched another Pokéball, fingers itching with impatience.
“I said,” she repeated, louder, “show yourself.”
And finally, something appeared.
It fluttered from the trees like a stray leaf, hovering playfully. An onion-shaped fairy, deceptively harmless yet deeply unsettling in its casual cheer.
Celeste frowned. She’d studied threats to humanity well enough to know exactly what hovered before her.
“Celebi,” she said, cautiously smiling, like the presence of a deity didn’t bother her in the slightest. “The Voice of the Forest.”
The Pokémon giggled musically. “Celeste. Frightening.”
“Frightening?” She raised an eyebrow.
“History says you’re frightening.”
“Are you frightened?”
“Of you?” Celebi twirled in the air. “You’re just a human.”
Was… that meant as an insult? “Care to unfreeze time and let me use my Pokéballs, then?”
Celebi darted around her head, examining her like a weird artefact. “If I do that, we won’t chat.”
A laugh escaped her. “I do like chatting.”
“I know,” it said. Its voice was silvery, and to Celeste it sounded like the ruffling of leaves. Also, somehow, very annoying.
She squinted at the creature, trying to recall what else she knew of Celebi. It was a protector of nature, and also a time traveller of some kind. She never considered it much of a threat, and its sighting were very sparse.
Meh. This was probably enough for her to work with.
She tilted her head, pretending to be at ease. “Do future history books say that about me, too?”
“Bold of you to assume there are history books in the future,” Celebi said, then clutched its tiny mouth as if it’d let a forbidden secret slip.
It was a very bad actor, though.
“You mean, there are no history books about me… or…?”
“History books.”
Celeste frowned. She didn’t like to play games with gods. And this one was particularly infuriating.
Still, she indulged it a little more. “No books because… we go digital?”
Celebi darted close, perching above her. “I like this time,” it sang. “So many humans. So full of potential.”
“Cut the crap.” Celeste really didn’t like this game. Or this onion god.
“Quick on the draw, champ?” It said, sounding like something very puntable. “How’s that working out for you so far?”
Celeste’s smile grew almost madder, her fingers dancing over another Pokéball. “Wanna find out?” she tensed again, making herself sound dangerous.
The onion exploded into high-pitched laughter, twirling into the trees branches. Celeste’s irritation flared. Gods, Pokémon like this were always infuriating.
She hated them.
…
Well… she didn’t hate hate them.
She actually found them wonderful and amazing. But long gone was the time when she could wonder into a forest hoping to make friends with something whimsical and fantastic and—
“Ahh! What the hell?” Celeste yelled as Celebi teleported inches from her face.
“Where’d you go?” it asked.
“What?”
“Your mind—it drifted away for a moment.”
Celeste sighed, exasperated. “Can you just try to kill me already so I can go about my day?”
“Kill you? Hah. Humans are so funny. I’m the guardian of time. You should know better,” Celebi chided.
With a heavy huff, Celeste turned back toward the lake. “Alright, guardian. Lemme guess. This means you guard can’t interfere, or some shit like that, right?” she forced her mind to recall some of her mother’s books. “So you’ll just… annoy me to death. Is Suicune still around? I’d really rather be mauled.”
Celebi spun forward, swirling flower petals and pollen all over her face. “The North Wind has not blown over these trees recently.”
“Dammit, Eusi—ah-CHOO!” Celeste sniffed, wiping pollen from her face.
For some reason, that sneeze delighted Celebi, who immediately tried to mimic the sound—badly, and with way too much enthusiasm.
“Okay, have a nice day. And, uh, if you can unfreeze time later, that’d be awesome,” she added, grabbing her bag and water bottle. She turned to leave, and Celebi trailed behind.
“I thought you’d push harder for a fight. History says you’re… fighty.”
“Maybe if people kept writing history books, your history would be a bit more accurate.” She sniffed again, rubbing her nose. And with that, the onion stopped following. Which would be nice, had she not hesitated herself.
“What?” Celeste asked warily.
“I…shouldn’t tell you,” Celebi murmured.
Celeste shrugged. She knew the tiny guardian wanted nothing but to talk. But she rather not indulge it that much.
“Fine,” she said, taking another step away.
Celebi obviously fluttered quickly into her path. “History knows you as the one who upset nature. You upset the balance of the world. Of humans and Pokémon. But…you’ve already done that, and you don’t seem bad or evil.”
Of course, that’s what this was all about.
When was it not?
She pressed her lips together. “Good people sometimes fuck things up even worse than the bad ones.”
“You came here to hunt the North Wind, right?” Celebi asked, hovering close as she resumed walking. “That’s bad—He protects the forests, you know?”
“And I protect the people. And the Pokémon that decided to stay with the people.” Celeste muttered. And though she tried to sound indifferent, the guilt she kept well hidden in her heart seeped through her voice. Then she sighed. “Look, I don’t like it… my Pokémon don’t like it… But I made my choices, and there are no… no do-overs.”
She stopped, turning to the tiny onion whose eyes had somehow swollen. And she saw it then. Fully, and in all its potential. This was Celebi. She didn’t know much about it, but she knew it was the Mythical Time-Travelling Pokémon. A living passkey to the past and future.
“…Cause and effect,” Celebi whispered, strangely resigned.
Why resigned?
Celeste studied the guardian floating quietly beside her. She couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t entirely happy with the future it was supposed to protect, either. A spark flickered in Celeste’s chest. Hope. Reckless, dangerous hope rose through her throat and tugged a smile onto her lips.
“Why are you really here, Celebi?”
It paused midair, blinking its large eyes at her. “Curiosity… about the person behind all the stories.”
She smirked at that. “So you come here, tell me the future sucks—”
“I didn’t tell you anything!” Celebi fluttered its wings.
“You might as well have,” Celeste pressed. “You said the future’s even worse than this hell we’re living. And what? Am I supposed to believe you’re just here out of curiosity?” She laughed. “Sounds a lot like meddling to me.”
Celebi’s gaze darted away. “W-what?! No! I wouldn’t dare meddle—I thought you understood. I’m only a guardian—”
“Yeah, yeah,” she interrupted, eyes gleaming. “Big-time guardian. Bet you’re not even supposed to talk to me. How many rules did you break already? How many futures have shifted just by you being here?” Her smirk widened. “You already told me humanity’s fucked. Feels like I need to do something about it.”
Celebi flitted about. “I’m only talking to you because you’re too stubborn to change your ways.”
“Not if the future depends on it,” Celeste shot back.
“It’s too late now.”
“Then help me before it is.”
They both stopped in silence, staring into each other’s eyes.
Celeste’s voice softened. She could reach it. She needed to. “Help me fix my mistakes, Celebi. Before I make them.”
But in a blink, the silence broke. Golduck quacked softly across the lake. Birds twittered above, and Celeste’s phone vibrated in her pocket, somehow with reception again. She hesitated, eyes searching the empty air for Celebi.
Nothing remained but leaves dancing in the breeze.
Maybe it wouldn’t—couldn’t—help.
But still…
The past. Changing the past.
It sounded a lot better than fighting for a future already doomed. She’d just have to find a way to do it herself.
Rolling her shoulders, she grabbed her phone. “No Suicune in Ilex, Lance,” Celeste said before the man could even greet her. “But you know what? I think I need a vacation. Lori offered me her place on Four Island. Mind telling her I’ll take her up on that?”
—*——*—
The Unown Dimension
...
Celeste fell further, past the questions, past the memories, even past herself. Every thread of her existence unravelled slowly, spinning and spilling out into forever. Around her, the Unown, dissatisfied with the answers they’d found, hummed wordlessly.
Wouldn’t it be kinder if this tangled knot of possibilities and broken rules stopped here and now?
Celeste wondered it too. Wouldn’t it be better to become just an echo? To let herself vanish quietly, like morning mist beneath the sunlight of another perfect day.
Wouldn’t it be better to just…let go?
That was always the question, wasn’t it?
When to act and when to wait.
When to listen and when to speak.
When to fight and when to simply… let go.
You’ll never learn. You are stubborn. You’ll never change. You push and you push, never considering the consequences. We see it clearly—there is never going to be paradise with you in it.
Celeste smiled at that, though she didn’t want to. The smile stretched on her face, matching the dream of paradise the Unown held onto. All this, because a little girl had made a wish? Did these strange, otherworldly beings truly believe this was kind? And… were they really so different from humans? Who wouldn’t bring out smiles if they had such power?
Sadness and worry…they weren’t comfortable.
Celeste just wanted to be happy, too. There was nothing wrong with it.
…was there?
…was that really all she wanted?
She continued falling, drifting deeper. Visions began to float around her—futures that would never be. Lives unlived, dreams untouched. Celeste saw Detective Nanu and the League pushing through waves and the thick mist surrounding Cinnabar.
Those Elite Four members were powerful. They fought bravely. Their shadowy Pokémon battled the Unown’s nightmares in endless, meaningless conflict. She saw clearly the Dhelmise from her restless memories striking against a Gengar, while a Greninja rose above crashing waves, wielding darkness like a shuriken.
But what was the point?
Entropy unravelled Cinnabar’s paradise at its edges. The Unown struggled, their desperate movements revealing how hard they fought to hold on the growing complexity of it all.
And yet… They didn’t let go. Neither did the League. Neither did the trapped people, who even unconsciously fought to break out.
If Celeste could still care, this might have made her sad. She wanted to be sad. She wanted to fight, wanted to joke to scare the ghosts away. She wanted laughter to mean something.
And she wanted answers.
Oh, how badly she wanted answers. Answers about so many things.
But the sadness wouldn’t come. Instead, she merely smiled, letting out that hollow, meaningless happiness.
And she drifted.
Further and further away.
Until—
A single tear escaped her eyes, hovering crystalline and still in midair.
The Unown crowded closer, spinning, silently insisting there was nothing to worry about.
But she… she did worry!
A lot.
Her heart was suddenly thumping on her chest.
And between the heartbeats, she saw a shadow zipping through the nothingness.
“I-Is that…?” she whispered, the tears now flowing freely.
The shadow flickered, shifting, slowly taking form. Two eyes came to light first. They were hazel like her own, and warm as lanterns guiding her home. The figure’s body—vaguely human-shaped—was made of wisps and ink-black shadow. And around their shoulders and curled into a helmet-like hood was something like smoke, or a fluttering cloud.
Shy looked at her softly, hesitantly, before more Unown circled them aggressively.
“Watch out!” Celeste shouted, suddenly feeling everything—fear, courage, determination—rush back.
The ghost flinched but swiftly rallied, punching one Unown away with small fists ignited by shadowy flame. Celeste reached desperately for her friend. Alone, the Unown weren’t strong, but their sheer number overwhelmed.
Shy stretched out one trembling hand. More Unown pressed closer. But now, with Shy near, Celeste could care again, could fight. She swatted letters aside, stretched her fingers desperately, and Shy did the same.
Their hands finally touched.
The shadow was solid and soft, like a cloud in a dream. Celeste pulled Shy into a tight hug.
“Thanks!” she whispered, feeling their tiny arms wrap carefully around her neck and the wisps from their helmet brush gently against her cheek. She had no idea what Pokémon they were—certainly not a Banette, nor a Mimikyu—but it didn’t matter.
This was Shy, and they were friends.
“Thanks for coming for me,” she said. “T-Thanks for letting me see you.”
Shy looked up, eyes blushing brighter red in embarrassment. Celeste laughed at that. Genuine happiness at last. But the moment shattered as more Unown crowded around, psychic auras burning with intensity.
She glanced quickly at her friend. “Was that Fire Punch just now?” she asked. “Mind doing it again?”
Shy’s expression hardened, and their eyes blazed brighter. Edges of their form flared, turning vivid yellow and green. Pumped with newfound determination, Shy punched forward, clearing a path through the swarm. The shadows spilling from them reached back toward Celeste, guiding her forward.
And together, they pushed onward through dreams, nightmares, and impossible threads—straight toward Amber.
—*——*—
Cinnabar Labs
About a month ago.
...
Blainey set the big box down on the kitchen table, then reached for Amber’s hand to guide her gently to the nearest chair. She sat down, swinging her legs, staring curiously at the box. That lady—she said she was called Babs—told them there were fireworks inside. Amber wondered if opening it would send bright colours shooting across the ceiling, like the ones she’d seen through her window during summer festivals.
She’d asked Daddy so many times to take her to watch them up close. The sky would burst with fiery Pokémon shapes and glitter and magic. But she was always in the hospital back then, and even after she came home, Daddy said there were too many people. Too many germs. He said the world wasn’t safe for her, so she could only watch from far away.
It was why she didn’t have any friends at school, either.
She could go to school now. Mommy had insisted, told her it was important. But none of the other kids came near her. Daddy had scared all their parents. She wasn’t angry, not really. She knew Daddy loved her more than anything in the world.
“Blainey,” Amber tugged at his sleeve, “can I fly on Charizard again?”
Blainey smiled, his moustache twitching gently. He peeked nervously down the hallway. “Maybe later, kiddo,” he promised, patting her hand. “I’ll be right back. Just give me one minute, okay?”
He slipped quietly into the corridor, pulling the door closed behind him as if that could keep their voices out.
“You brought her here today, Blaine? Today, of all days?” Daddy’s voice was loud, angry.
“You promised her mother,” Blaine’s voice was softer, calmer. “Come on, Ren…”
“My wife should understand how important this research is. It’s for her!”
“Ren, she’s not your wife—You really need to sign those divorce—Hey, hey. Calm down. I’m always on your side, but think of Amber. This... this can’t be good for her.”
Their voices turned louder again, and painful. Amber quickly pulled out a Pokéball, squeezing it until Whitey popped out. The little Scorbunny hopped into her lap immediately, pressing close as Amber covered her ears, shut her eyes tight, and waited for the yelling to stop. Whitey was warm. He always was, especially when Daddy yelled with people in the corridor.
Seconds passed, then minutes—maybe forever—until suddenly Blainey was crouched before her again, his eyes gentle, but hiding something sad too. Daddy stood behind him, but he wasn’t smiling at all.
“I’ve got a gym battle, so I’ve got to go,” Blaine explained softly, glancing briefly at her Daddy. “And your dad has a really important meeting. But guess what? Afterwards, he said he’ll bring you to the gym. You can meet all the Pokémon and play with them as long as you want.”
Amber’s eyes widened, her smile hopeful. She turned quickly to her father. “Daddy, will you play too?”
He hesitated, only a second, but she saw it: his eyebrows bunching together like they always did when Mommy made him sad. Amber felt her smile fade. Was Blainey making him sad, too?
“Yes, honey,” Daddy said finally, forcing a small smile onto his tired face. “I’ll try my very best to finish early, so we’ll have plenty of time to play.” But before Amber could reply, he turned away, muttering quietly to Blaine about being late. “I’ll send someone to stay with you soon, Amber,” he called from the doorframe.
Then they were both gone.
Amber waited.
And waited.
But no one came.
She swung her legs back and forth, boredom quickly replacing patience. Whitey flopped dramatically onto his side, sighing loudly in his bunny-fashion. Amber giggled softly, but her attention soon drifted back to the mysterious box on the table.
It didn’t look big enough for fireworks, but maybe…
With one quick glance toward the hallway, Amber climbed carefully onto the chair and then onto the table, her small hands peeling the box open.
No bright sparks flew out. Inside there were just some little tiles, each painted with odd, squiggly shapes. Letters? Weird letters! Amber dug through them, fascinated by how they felt smooth and cool under her fingertips.
Could she spell her name?
A-M-B-E-R.
She found the right shapes and arranged them carefully, beaming proudly at her work.
Then the tiles shivered.
Amber blinked, thinking her eyes were playing tricks. But then, one by one, the strange little letters rose into the air. She could only gasp in delight as the floating shapes unfolded from each one, each revealing a blinking eye.
They stared at her, silent, waiting.
And at that, her heart skipped. She scooped up more tiles and tossed them gently upward. Those too rose gracefully, opening like a storybook come to life. More eyes appeared, shiny and curious, watching her kindly.
She laughed, stretching her tiny fingers toward them. They flitted around her hand, playful yet elusive, whispering like wind-chimes. Their voices sang so softly around her, it was almost like a dream. Or like she was Alice, making new, strange friends in Wonderland.
“You’re silly!” Amber giggled, spinning fast enough to fan out her hair in a wave of teal. The Unown spun with her, matching her movements like shadows. Whitey hopped eagerly below, sparks dancing from his paws as he tried to join their magical dance.
Amber moved her hand slowly around the letters, spelling out small words she remembered from school—words like “Skitty” and “sun” and “happy”. Each time she finished, the letters hummed, rearranging themselves and echoing her words back in soft whispers.
It was like the world was filled with music, and that the songs were her friends.
It was wonderful.
But when Amber spelled “happy” again, something shifted inside her chest.
The Unown paused, humming quieter.
“Happy… Amber, happy?” the voices asked her, rearranging to reform the words.
Her smile slowly faded. And the kitchen, so happy just now, felt very empty. Amber’s lip trembled, and she looked down at her feet.
“Are you lonely, too?” she asked, rubbing her eyes quickly, trying not to cry in front of her new friends. “No, of course not… There’s so many of you…”
The Unown drew closer, their eyes and bright.
“Sad… Lonely… but we are here…” they whispered gently. “Tell us what you need.”
Amber twisted her sleeves tightly. “N-need?”
Their whispers layered over each other, never growing too loudly or startling.
“The world is yours to shape…”
“We hear you.”
“We see you.”
“What do you wish for?”
Amber took a deep, shaky breath. “I wish…” she began, struggling with the words. “I wish Daddy wouldn’t worry about me anymore.” Her voice broke slightly, and she wiped another tear from her cheek. “I wish Mommy didn’t either. Or Blainey. I don’t want anyone to worry.”
She sniffled again, but something inside her chest burned brighter.
“I wish…” Her voice gained strength. “I wish no one ever worried about anything. Ever again. That the world could be perfect, and happy, all the time. And sunny… Like it’s summer vacation every single day. And—and I’d spend all day playing with Daddy, Mommy, Blainey, and my Pokémon friends. And we’d never, ever have to stop.”
Her words floated softly into silence.
Then, slowly, carefully, Amber’s new friends began to hum once more. A song impossibly beautiful and pure. Like angels blasting off their trumpets. It grew deeper, louder, resonating through walls and glass. It vibrated through the metal forks resting in the sink and the wooden floor beneath her feet. The song swelled and swelled, shaking the foundations of Cinnabar Labs, and outward to the very edges of the island and to the ocean itself.
They spiralled around her. Dancing to their rhymes. Their bodies glowing softly, as reality rearranged itself. As if dreams and starlight were nothing but play-doh.
Softer now, they spoke.
“…Someone who worried…”
“…Someone who cried…”
“…Endless summers… Endless smiles…”
“…Togetherness…”
“…Paradise…”
Their voices unified, gentle yet absolute.
“A wish from a pure heart.”
Then—
Then the sun shone. And reality became a dream.
—*——*—
The Unown Dimension
...
Celeste finally understood.
As she and Shy drifted toward the distant glow of Amber’s dream, the ache of a lonely child’s wish rippled through her chest. Amber hadn’t wished for paradise to hurt anyone. She’d never wanted to trap an entire island in a nightmare.
She just wanted someone to hold her hand.
Was that really so different from Celeste herself?
Around them, reality fractured. Celeste knew out there, the Unown strained against the League’s relentless push, their perfect illusion splintering at its seams. Ironically, paradise had become a ticking clock, and now everyone was in danger: Amber, her family, Blaine, Detective Nanu, the league… and Celeste herself. The Unown had woven paradise from kindness, but perfection couldn’t exist.
Reality demanded balance.
Maybe Celeste was stubborn. Reckless. Impulsive. Maybe she really was wrong, tangled up in threads of futures that didn’t make sense. Perhaps she wouldn’t ever fully change. But wasn’t life itself a beautiful mess of tangled knots and broken threads?
She’d spent her whole life pushing blindly forward, bottling her problems away, running in every direction but her own. She never stopped to breathe. Yet here, floating in this impossible place, she finally saw clearly just how incredible it was to simply exist as a messy, contradictory person.
And now? Celeste would fight—with every bit of passion she had—for the privilege of feeling every uncomfortable, wonderful emotion along the way. Sure, that might still sound like the same old same old. But this time, she’d pause. She’d listen. She’d take her time and slow down so thoroughly, Pat would become the proudest Slowpoke in the world.
Heh. When this was over, she’d Slowpoke so hard he wouldn’t even recognise her.
Just like the little Pidgey from her mother’s story, Celeste could—and, let’s be honest, probably would—chase the sun, soaring bravely toward her dreams (whatever those turned out to be). Maybe her wings would burn. Or maybe, if she wasn’t burned by her own desires, she could course-correct. Her mother’s story had never been to let go, but simply to take the time to look around and find the path.
“Take one breath,” Blaine had just told her that. She could see him adding, “Listen to the tailwind, little Pidgey.”
Fly boldly, sure, but don’t be afraid to stop and glide into the shade if you need to. See things as it was—not just as she wished it would be.
Olga had said it once, too.
Accept things as they are. Only then can you change them.
And now Celeste needed to help Amber and the Unown understand this as well. That the answer wasn’t paradise or perfection.
Paradise meant nothing without chaos to shape it, and tears only made laughter sweeter. Sunshine needed rain to wash the world clean. And a lonely child’s wish could only ever truly be answered by someone who stopped and listened.
Celeste tightened her grip on Shy’s hand, feeling her friend’s gentle, shadowy warmth guiding her through the thinning veil. Behind them, the Unown’s rhyme faded. And ahead? Ahead lay clarity, purpose, and hope.
Together, they passed through the final shimmering threads of the liminal.
The tunnel dissolved around them. The strange glow of an impossible sun and the scent of sweet tea awaited.
“Ready?” Celeste asked softly.
Shy squeezed her hand tighter.
And onward, they went.
Toward Amber’s tea party. Toward her wonderland.
Toward one final chance to wake up before it was too late.
A/N:
Sooo buckle up that I'm rambly today. This chapter has been a long time coming.
1 - The big reveal
Let's start with the biggest thing. Surprise, surprise... Shy's a Marshadow! Let's pretend absolutely no one guessed it right and it's actually a surprise??? Please :D Seriously though, I got comments back in Book 1, when I said "there were eyes in Celeste's Shadow" saying it was a Marshadow, you're all too good at this. Also sorry for pretending it wasn't I guess?
Regarding the Marshadow, I don't think that's super needed, but from the moment I started this fic I had a whole justification to why Celeste was getting a Mythical. Short answer is, I really like Marshadow, and after Aria they were the second Pokémon I decided for her. The long answer is I created a whole extra lore for it, that will be explored in the future. But here in this fic, it's Mythical in the sense not a lot is known about it, not as in, it's god-like, as other mythicals such as Celebi or Mew are. In fact, back when Celeste's mom first shows up (Ch 23. Mother and Daughter) this happens:
2 - Callbacks
“Once upon a time, there was a fair princess in a castle. And then one day an evil Florges gave her a poisoned Applin and… hum… a knight and a Charizard saved the day in the end?” Celeste could hear her own voice telling whatever this was to the woman accompanying her.
Next Chapter: Mad Tea Party
Artwork of the Day - Shy...
“Thanks for coming for me,” she said. “T-Thanks for letting me see you.”