???

He blinked, suddenly conscious, and realized that he'd been awake for quite some time: he sat atop a high shelf, staring out into a vast ocean that dropped down into a chilly abyss. Had he been resting with his eyes open?

No. There had been something strange about it... Both his eyes and head hurt, and he was shaking. In fact, his entire body wracked, as though he'd just experienced some sort of painful trauma. And he had. But what was it?

His loved ones. Yes, he'd seen them... Seen them in a way he couldn't quite understand. It hadn't been a dream... It had felt like some kind of violating vision, once forced inside his skull by a malicious force. His loved ones had been in it...and so had the man with the ice. The man had looked directly at him and given a sinister smile, and his mother, chained and beaten, lying heavily in the background of that terrible room, had screamed something at him.

Close your eyes! Close your eyes!

Then it had wound down, leaving him awake, trembling, confused...terrified.

Enough. It was just a dream... Then why was he so scared? Because you left them behind. Because the man with the ice hurt you, and you're afraid he's going to find you. Yes and yes... But no. This was not a dream. Something told him that it wasn't, something his mother had told him long ago... What he'd seen had happened. The man with the ice had seen him. He was looking for him.

His stomach, which had been gently rumbling, fell completely silent as his insides woundsthemselves into knots. He looked over his shoulder, almost expecting to see something on the far horizon, something coming for him... But no. The sea was still and empty. But the dread did not disappear.

Find something to eat. And then surface. He can't find you that way.

Trying to put his misgivings out of his mind, he got up and went. He stopped to graze on a patch of seaweed, and then finally surfaced and took to the air. Flying hurt — he only had the energy to stay aloft for thirty minutes before he had to land again. Luckily, he came across an island, a spit of sand sporting a giant column of sandstone with a single tree growing on top. He landed here and curled up beneath the tree.

He didn't expect to sleep, but he went quickly, and slept like the dead.

***

NERO

Sunday, April 8, 2018

When I woke up, I could barely breathe — the water passing over my gills was hot and tasted like blood.

Groggily, I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but things remained dark. There was light somewhere far above... But I was still in deep waters, still hiding. Pain and delirium had not made me forget — the soldiers, I was hiding from the soldiers, the ones who'd set themselves down out by Litter's Seamount. Hiding, rather than risking leading them back to Jude and Magdalene. A pang went through me, bringing me further back into consciousness. Jude and Magdalene... What had become of them?

No, I couldn't answer that question yet, not without knowing what had become of the soldiers. Where were they? Were they still after me? I couldn't tell — it was too dark, and pain was already beginning to crowd my senses, making it hard to use my eyes and ears. For certain, that hadn't changed — the arrow was still in my shoulder, and my lifeblood was still steadily draining out around it, slithering silently up and away from my body, up to the surface.

But my location had changed — that's right, since I'd descended into this canyon, I'll fallen unconscious twice more, each time after the solders had crept closer to my position. They'd been a lot braver than I'd expected — maybe I was the only one of us who associated trenches and black canyons with past traumas, but these soldiers had had no problem diving down into the deep after they realized that I'd slunk into the dark, pawing around, long-calling to one another as they'd searched for me. I'd been forced to abandon the narrow crevice I'd made my hiding place when they'd gotten too close, and what had followed with a long, two-hour game of hide-and-seek, where my only plan had been to lose them in the dark.

Twice, I'd found good hiding spots, places I could hunker down and go still, and hope that they ran out of patience, and gave up. Twice, I'd passed out from mounting blood loss.

Now I was awake again, and the sea was silent. No long-calling. No heavy vibrations rippling through the water as mermen beat their flukes, propelling themselves through the darkness. Just stillness and silence...and an uncomfortable heat. I was in another small crack in the wall of the canyon, and the naked palm of my deadened arm had turned it into a hot spring. I wished there was something I could do about it, but the desire was fleeting — unless I had my glove, my hand would continue to generate heat ad infinitum.

But more important than my super-heated hand was what I was going to do next. I was somewhat awake and things seemed to be calm. Had the soldiers finally retreated? Had I been given an opportunity to escape?

Even if I had, part of me...most of me didn't want to go anywhere. Unconsciousness had made the pain something distant and dilute. Now that I was back awake, it had once again taken physical form, biting like a razor-edged shard of glass in my shoulder. Moving any part of my body sent agonized ripples tearing through my flesh all the way to my extremities.

I thought of Magdalene, of the two dozen arrows the soldiers had put in her. Great Arceus. How was it that she'd been able to move so deliberately with so many injuries, yet one arrow in me and I was all but dead?

Don't talk like that. I set my teeth. I wasn't dead. Not yet. But with every passing minute I was getting closer. Shakily, I reached up, and the gloved fingers of my good hand brushed the arrowhead. No good — I couldn't even touch it without a blast of searing heat flashing through my body. But I had to touch it — I had to remove it. Sweet Arceus, somehow I had to remove it.

The shock will kill you.

That was true too.

So what do I do?

A loud, huge question, and I couldn't come up with an answer. Instead, fatigue came over me once again, and my eyes began to drift closed. I don't think I slept, but my mind went somewhere where the pain didn't fill my skull, and in that space I thought. I came to a little while later. It was still dark, still hot, still quiet. But this time, I had answers. Many of them.

Get back to Jude and Magdalene.

Surface.

Go to the nearest port, find Seawatchers. They will help you.

It all seemed so simple. But my stomach knotted, incurring the wrath of my injured shoulder, and I felt color leak from my face: find Seawatchers? Stay in Hoenn a moment longer? Long enough to find Seawatchers?

Yes. Kuma and Delphirius were too far away, and I had to do something about this shoulder now. Enlisting the aid of the Seawatchers was the only path I could see out of this, no matter how uncomfortable it made me.

Get out of the trench first, Nero.

I took a breath of hot water. Yes. And that would be a journey in and of itself.

***

My ears and lateral lines had not deceived me: there were no soldiers, and I reached the sunlit stretch of the water column without resistance.

What happened? Had they really just given up? Or had something driven them off? As I climbed higher, slowly and painfully, my breath rasping in my throat, I began to think that it was the latter: when I passed the lip of the canyon, I spotted three large shapes in the water far afield, pacing in wide circles. Shapes I would recognize anywhere: Sharpedoes. Only three of them, but their presence painted a pretty ugly picture of what might've happened: my blood. Just like the soldiers, these Pokémon had seen it pumping up from the canyon after I'd descended, and they'd come to investigate. Instead of an injured, sixteen-year-old merman, though, they'd discovered a large group of equally appetizing soldiers dipping in and out of the trench in their search for me, and the hunt had begun. Sometime after I'd passed out the second time, the soldiers had abandoned their search for me to either flee or drive them off.

Perhaps these three had arrived late to the party. That, or they'd hung around to see if I would show my face: obviously, I was still bleeding. That seemed to be the case: as I rose higher, one of them turned around and headed my way, jaw working as dilute traces of my blood passed over its palate.

But it paused a good way off, turning on its side to study me with sudden wariness. There was blood in the water, but there was also a foreign heat that made the Pokémon suspicious: the hand of my deadened arm was still cooking the ocean, not enough to make the water boil as it usually would, but enough to make the Sharpedo unsure. Thank Arceus. I could move, but my climb up out of the trench had rapidly drained my strength, and I wasn't sure I could combat a Magikarp right now.

Jude. Magdalene. I pointed myself northwest, toward the mainland, towards the pillars. Growing pain stopped me from focusing too hard on my fears: fears that they would be gone when I reached our hiding place, fears that I had no idea of where they could've gone. Mag knows. I said it: Delphirius. She'll figure out how to get him back there. I'll meet them there.

I repeated this to myself over and over as I made my way sluggishly to the pillars, and the sentiment rose in volume when I reached them and found not Jude, not Mag, but soldiers. About fifteen of them floated about the pillars, their red breastplates shining in the sun, and one of them looked familiar. Very familiar... Izri, I realized as I ducked down behind a large boulder on a higher hill, clutching my deadened arm and groaning. Yes, Izri was there, talking with the soldiers, gesticulating enthusiastically. Likely telling them all about the way I'd grilled him, the questions I'd asked him.

What happened? Terror fought against the pain inside me. Obviously, the soldiers had found this place because of Izri, somehow managing to backtrack here despite the fact that I'd blindfolded him... But what had become of Jude and Mag? Delphirius. I honed in on that word, refusing to look left or right, to imagine some other horrifying outcome... Like they'd been captured, and were now being held at that encampment on the other side of Litter's Seamount. Mag wouldn't let that happen. She saw the soldiers coming, grabbed Jude, and ran. They're en route to Delphirius right now, Nero. How long are you going to take before you get after them?

My vision began to cloud as I left our hiding place behind and made for the surface — the waves were choppy here, and every push and pull made red-hot agony swarm down the wounded side of my body. Luckily, there didn't appear to be many soldiers to look out for, but I think I passed out again—the world slurred for some indeterminable amount of time, and when it abruptly shifted back into focus, I had broken through the surface and was floating on my back in the waves.

Red waves.

Rallying my strength, I shifted off my back and searched for land. It lay dead ahead, the mainland, a forested wall of earth floating like a mountain atop the water. Get back to land. Find Seawatchers. They will help you. I tried not to think about the amount of sea that lay between me and the shore — I just got to work, half of my focus on paddling, the other half on not focusing on the pain bludgeoning my side.

During my journey to the shore, time became watery — minutes seemed to shift in shape and length, becoming long, then short, then eternal. Pain kept me balanced between bleary-eyed focus and full unconsciousness — sometimes a spike went out, threatening to make me faint, but mostly it was a dull heat, like putting your hand a little too close to a hot coal. And that razor-thin balance between disconcerting pain and agony slowed my pace immensely — I could do little more than paddle without throwing my shoulder out of whack.

There was good news though — the bleeding had slowed now that I was keeping my injury above the surface. Just as I'd hoped, my lifeblood had no choice to stay in my body, mostly, without the ocean's power of diffusion to draw it out.

The sky was turning orange when I finally got close enough to the mainland to make out individual trees growing at the tops of the cliffs. Cliffs? Yes, cliffs, I realized — soaring walls of blue-gray stone that punched down into the water. No slopes, no hills, no bays...no ports.

I paused, treading water, struggling to focus. Boats, I thought. Ports have boats. Find a boat, follow it.

Arceus threw me a bone with this one: I didn't have to turn in a full circle to spot a waterborne vessel. Three actually, each of tourist stock: small, with engines, and one had a big sail. The closest appeared to be sitting stationary about half a mile from a turn of the mainland, fishing. I was glad — had it been going anywhere, I wouldn't have had a chance to catch up.

At length — ten minutes, in fact — I reached it, and dove just as it started its engine and turned itself around. I panicked as it headed off, leaving a foaming, rippling wake behind — I didn't want to lose it and waste more time waiting for and following another boat back to its home port. Luckily, I didn't have to — I surfaced to get a better view of where it was going, and as I and I turned the corner of the mainland, it couldn't have been more clear: a bay opened up before me, where the cliffs dropped down onto miles of dark beach three or four miles in. I saw no buildings, homes, or roads beyond that, just forest, and even further beyond, a great coal-colored mountain, rising up out of the hinterland like a brooding black pyramid.

Relief gave me strength. Just a little farther.

My boat guide glided straight towards the beach, and I followed at a painful crawl. Whatever human manning the boat had docked and left by the time I arrived at what appeared to be a lonely harbor: there were two sets of piers and a dozen boat launches, but only six vessels sat atop the water, waiting to be ridden out to sea. A very frank and official-looking building stood beyond it, right next to a long parking lot, but both appeared to be mostly empty — I saw a red car and a gray truck, but that was it, and in my long inward swim, no one came in or out of the building. And beyond this bit of manmade civilization was nothing — just wilderness to the north, east, and west. What was this place? Where was everybody?

I refocused. Did it matter? An empty harbor — a perfect place to climb ashore, after I'd induced a Drought out of cycle.

But my body disagreed — just as I reached the head of one of the piers, blackness blotted out my vision, and my eyes began to roll back. Damn! The long swim inland had kicked my tail, and I was receiving clear signals to rest now, or else.

Hissing, I ducked under the pier. Unlike the harbor in Slateport City, the seabed and water was clean here, if a little tainted by the metal hulls of the boats — I spiraled down to a bed of silt and seagrass, and was almost dead asleep by the time my head hit the earth. Ten minutes, I thought before I went away completely.

I slept for seven hours.

It was close to midnight when I woke up, feeling like I'd been to war — my body was like stone, and I felt slow, old, and confused. But pain brought me back to my senses: the crossbow bolt had started to set into my shoulder, and my awkward sleeping position had twisted it, tearing my flesh anew. I surfaced to discourage the bleeding. Overhead, the sky blazed with millions of stars, and the sky in between them was inky-black — out here, in this human harbor away from an urban center, there were no manmade lights to crowd them out, and so they could shine as they were supposed to. I stared up at them as I tore at my kilt, ripping away a length long enough to serve as an adequate tourniquet. I tried not the think about Jude and Mag, and whether or not they were in a place safe enough where they could stargaze too.

After tying the tourniquet as tight as I dared, I went back under, settling back in my bed beneath the pier. Just wrapping a wound, and I was already fatigued once again. I laid down my head, and my consciousness drained.

I slept for another eight hours.

I was just barely awakened by a metal thump. I sat up in a flash, and hissed as my shoulder screamed in protest. Above me, the hulls of one of the boats was rocking. Someone had come out to go sailing. I tensed as I watched the boat shift and turn and pull out from the launch, but the water was dark, and no one was looking down. Still, my anxiety didn't go away.

Surface. Find the Seawatchers.

But how to go about it? Who did I consult to find them? Would the humans coming and going from this strangely rural place know what I was talking about when I inquired about the Seawatchers, secretive as the organization was? And even if I found out, how did I get there? I had no understanding of Hoenn at large. Should I get a map? Where did I get a map? And, seeing that this place was in the middle of nowhere, would I have to make that journey, however long it may be, on foot?

For a moment, the pressure became too much, and I came to the verge of screaming. Jude and Mag gone, and me here, with no idea of how to proceed. It was enough to make me want to tear my hair out. But I couldn't. What would that do? Put me in more pain than I was already in, and affect nothing else. I grabbed a fistful of silt with my free hand, and winced as a twinge of pain rang out from my shoulder. Ironically, it helped me focus.

You have to start somewhere, Nero. I stared up at the boat hulls as I struggled to keep calm. First step: get out of the water. Second step, find a way to hide your shoulder. Third step, find a human. Maybe someone in that building... Find someone that will answer your questions without bringing up the blood on your clothes, the arrow in your shoulder. Start with that. Then you can figure out the rest when...

My thoughts drained away as a sudden realization came over me, something so miraculous that when I shot up, I almost didn't notice the scream my wound let out. How had I not noticed that the second I'd looked up? The hulls of one of the boats, there was something going across it, something that must've looked like patches of rust to my groggy, bleary eyes. But now I focused, and the markings resolved themselves into deliberate patterns: a drawing. A painting. An eye, surrounded by a vortex of water.

The Seawatchers! Praise Arceus, he was throwing me another bone! A Seawatcher vessel right here before my eyes. What were the odds? Didn't know, didn't care — all that mattered was that I didn't have to ask strangers for directions and figure out how to reach the nearest Seawatcher facility on my own. I had help right here!

Just not right now — after making sure that things were silent and still, I surfaced cautiously beneath the pier and peeked out into the growing sunlight. The simple motorboat bobbed serenely on the listless current, empty. A dark thought crept over me, dampening my sudden joy: how long had it been since a Seawatcher had come to this place and taken this boat out? This harbor seemed secluded from the rest of society, separated from urban centers by that black mountain and a huge glut of woodland... What if it was a week before a Seawatcher came out again? Two weeks? A month...

Feeling ill, I cast my eyes to the sky, a fervent prayer building in my mind: Come on Arceus, come on. You didn't send me these two blessings just to spit in my face at the end. One more bone, one more bone, please. I can do the rest. Just one more...

He answered. Actually answered.

The response came in the form of a dark silhouette circling high above the pier—a flying-type Pokémon, small, with long wings. A Wingull, I realized, and suddenly wondered if there was something to the power of prayer at all. But there was doubt too: couldn't be... What are the odds—

But it was. The Wingull circled slowly and came down, landing on the nose of the Seawatcher boat and preening its feathers. I looked closely. It had a collar, a green one. A collar just like the Seawatcher Wingull that had led me to water the first time I'd gone to land to look for Magdalene.

Sweet, loving Arceus, thank you! My anxiety and sense of caution evaporated — I kicked from underneath the pier and, almost not giving a damn about who might've been close enough to see or hear, cried, "Hey!"

The Wingull went up like a shot, squawking loudly in surprise. The sun was starting to get bright, so I couldn't tell if he was looking down at me, but I waved wildly at him.

"I need help!" I called up to him. "Please. Look." I pointed down at my shoulder, at which the waves were lapping. "It hurts, and I'm by myself. Can you send someone out here?"

The Wingull did not respond — he was circling higher, in fact, out of earshot. Had he heard what I said? That dark, cold doubt returned: what if I'd scared off my only chance at immediate help? What if I was stuck out here, and had to make the long, arduous journey to the nearest Seawatchers by myself after all?

Three hours, I thought to myself as I sank back under the water. Give yourself three hours, Nero. If no one comes by that point...

I went back to sleep so I didn't have to think about that.

***

Two hours later, the Seawatcher boat was gone.

First panic struck through me, and it wasn't until several deep breaths of water later that I realized this was a good thing. This didn't mean that my chance at help was gone — it meant that my chance at help had come, and taken the boat out. It was probably somewhere on the bay right now, waiting to be approached by a merperson for help.

I kicked up from the silt, but hadn't gone ten yards when black stars began expanding across my vision. Damn! Maybe I should've gone ahead and transitioned to landside form, because resting so long underwater had cost me — how much of my blood had gone out to join the sea while I'd been sleeping like the dead? Judging by the amount rising up from my shoulder now, an ungodly amount.

Who cares? Get to the goddamned boat.

But was that wise? Perhaps I should wait until it came back into harbor... But who knew how long it planned to stay out at sea? Time that I couldn't risk waiting. I worked my other arm and beat my tail, risking a javelin of red agony to the shoulder for a burst of speed. I pulled away from the harbor and then cautiously surfaced, peering about. I spotted the boat a quarter of a mile to the east, trolling along the shore of a glut of woodland stretching out onto the water.

I went after it, fighting to stay conscious as my lifeblood continued to drain from my shoulder. When I was close enough to make out the letters on the side, I dove again. How had Cora done this again?

The boat was still moving, albeit at a crawl, but even so, when I swam beneath it I banged on the hull with all my remaining strength, praying I'd be heard over the buzz of the engine. I was — the vessel slowed immediately, shooting out ripples as it drifted to a halt.

A moment later, a slender hand slipped into the water. Remembering Cora's example, I reached up and seized the wrist, giving it a hard squeeze.

The engine gunned back to life, and the boat pulled forward, moving out towards the center of the bay. I followed behind it, gritting my teeth against the darkness creeping in from the edges of my eyes. Almost there. Just a couple more Seawatcher hoops to jump through. Keep it up.

The boat stopped again near the middle of the water — far enough away from any shore that a human would probably need powerful binoculars to see me well enough to notice that I had a tailfin. The engine cut once more, and a voice, dulled by the water, called, "Come up, please."

Here we go. I had to fight against an instinctive urge to not go up, but dive further, hiding myself in the shadowy depths of the bay. Had I been in top shape, with Jude and Mag at my side, I definitely would have. But now, though that sense of caution was strong, it quickly eroded beneath my mounting pain. Gritting my teeth, I rose and surfaced.

Staring down at me from the boat was a middle-aged woman in a wide-brimmed sunhat and a Pokémon — a Bulbasaur, a neon-green one sitting on a bench near the prow. Both of them studied me for a moment — rather, they studied my shoulder, concern darkening their eyes.

"We're about five miles from our Sea House," the woman told me. "We don't have a doctor, but it's a place we can care for your injuries until your Drought cycle comes on. Then we can take you to the hospital in Lilycove City. Is that all right?"

Going into Drought out of cycle so many times had screwed up my regular cycle so much that I had no idea when it naturally occurred anymore, and that was a problem — I wasn't sure I could stand to wait as long as it would take to naturally transition to human form. "I can transition out of cycle," I said with gritted teeth.

This struck her, but only for a moment: "If you can go out of cycle, then we can take you today. Can you do it now?"

"Yes, but I don't know if I'll be able to swim back up."

"Norman will lift you." The woman indicated the Bulbasaur, who unleashed a flurry of vines and sent them slithering down in the water — quickly, they lashed around my hips. "Give a hard pull when you're ready to come up."

"All right." I went down, and didn't come up for a couple of minutes — my body seemed to be in a violent life-saving mode, and didn't appreciate my attempts to inject water directly into my lungs. Luckily, Norman was strong and fast — when I tugged on his vines, he yanked me up so hard that I was surprised some section of my neck didn't break.

The Bulbasaur set me next to him in the boat, and the woman set to work immediately, appraising my injury before tipping open a large red box sitting next to her handbag on the deck.

"That will have to come out," she told me as she started laying out medical supplies: gauze, disinfectant, wipes, until she found what she was looking for: a great pair of pliers. "The medical staff are going to have questions, and it's best not to add to the list." She came to sit on the other side of my bench, squeezing me between her and Norman. "I'm going to break this in half, and then we'll pull either end free. It'll hurt, but it's the only way. Are you ready?"

"Yes." Anything to get this damn thing out of my shoulder.

She didn't prepare me, just set the pliers and cut it. There was a white-hot bolt of pain, and then two more as Norman pulled out one end of the arrow with a vine, and the woman the other. Those black stars in my eyes grew bigger, and beyond them I could see even more of my blood dripping to the floor between my feet.

"What's your name?" The woman's voice echoed in and out, and I was only vaguely aware of her cutting down the front of my dive suit with a pair of scissors. My home-made tourniquet went a second later.

"Nero," I rasped.

"Kara. Lift your arms, Nero." I managed to get my good hand up, and she pulled my arms free of the top of my dive suit. Then she spun a roll of gauze around my leaking wound and banded it hard. A minute later, she was pulling something down over my head, a giant gray T-shirt. She had sweatpants too.

"Can you put these on?" she asked.

"Yeah." Though it took most of the rest of my energy: by the time I finished, I felt myself draining towards unconsciousness once again. Kara had moved to the other side of the boat and was punching something into her phone. Norman had armed several of his vines with towels and washcloths, and was sopping up the blood I'd spilled onto the deck.

Kara finished on her phone and snapped it shut. "Your name is David," she said. "You're homeless. You're the victim of a hit-and-run, and you were attacked from behind. You don't remember what happened because you quickly fell unconscious from blood loss. You were near the museum when it happened — that's a seedier part of Lilycove City. I found you and took you to the hospital. Understand?"

"Yes."

"That's the best we can do until we get a mindwasher on the scene. If you can't answer the question, you don't remember. All right?"

"Yes."

At that, she started up the boat again, and we headed for shore. This woman knew her business: it was early, so there was really no one around to watch us with suspicion, but even so she gave me a pair of large sneakers to slip on, and then threw a giant coat over me, despite the growing heat, so that I looked like nothing more than an oddly-dressed human who'd just enjoyed a trip on the water with someone that could be his aunt. She helped me to the parking lot, and loaded me into the back of a minivan, one of the only cars to be found. Norman got into the front seat and peered back at me, and then used a vine to extract something from Kara's bag: a candy bar. He peeled it with another vine before depositing it in my lap, along with a bottle of lukewarm water.

I swallowed it, even though my wound made it taste like ash. I was fully aware that the pain had been the one thing suppressing my appetite, and I didn't know when I might be able to eat again.

Even so, that uncertainty was fleeting. As Kara pulled out of the parking lot and followed a thin road sweeping into the woodland, it occurred to me that this was the first time I'd felt safe since we'd left Delphirius.

***

It was a lot less painful than I thought it would be.

If there was any pain to be had, it occurred after they put me under. They did some sort of appraisal of me first, after wheeling me back to an empty room down several stretches of sterile halls. There was discussion, and someone mentioned the need for a small surgery — that certainly wound me up, but Kara, who insisted on being at my side the whole time, gave me very firm assurance that it was safe, and that even if it wasn't, her Sea House's mindwasher was on the way, and could smooth things over if there were any problems.

I didn't have much of a choice anyway if I wanted my arm treated properly, so I packed my raging discomfort into a ball and stored it in my stomach, and let them knock me out for the procedure. Five hours later, I woke up in a clean hospital bed, feeling sluggish and free from pain for the first time in what felt like an age.

But try as I might, I couldn't hold on to consciousness for long — there were two tubes in my arms, one red, one clear, and I suspected the clear one was something that both dulled the pain and kept me tired. So I rocked in and out of sleep, images of the hospital room ceiling inter-spicing with dark, nonsensical dreams of Jude and Mag, Izri's two headless comrades, the trench and even Alto Mare. They swirled inside my skull in a thick, grim soup, and once or twice, I also saw Titus, floating in the background with a blade of ice forming above one hand...

Or was that the shard?

Eventually, I regained enough strength to stay conscious, and found the room mostly unchanged, save for two things: Norman and Kara had appeared, taking seats in the chairs near my bed, and the day had given way to late afternoon — there was a window to my right, and I could see the dark shadows of the trees printed against the wall standing right outside.

Kara noticed that I'd come to and leaned forward, closing the book she'd been reading. "How do you feel?" she asked.

I groaned, trying to rally my strength. My body was trembling under a partial flaccid paralysis, and it took all I had to lift my head a fraction of an inch off the pillow. Eventually, I gave up and said, "I'm not in pain anymore. But I can't really move."

"That'll wear off soon: the doctor mentioned that you might feel quite weak after waking. He should be returning in a little bit to check in. You don't want to move too much anyway — you've got stitches in, and you want to give them time to set before you begin stretching."

I grunted. Arceus, two sentences and I already wanted to sleep again.

Kara leaned forward. "I should warn you. The police are here."

I thought of Officer Stanson and stiffened. "When are they coming to talk to me?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it won't happen. I gave them my statement, and they seemed satisfied, but they still might want to hear what happened from you. You remember what I told you?"

"Yes."

"I'll go look for them, then. Better to get this over with quickly. Norman will stay with you." She rose to her feet and went to the door before pausing. "Oh, and you have another visitor as well."

A scowl twisted my lips. I had no energy for this. "Can they wait?"

"Better not put this off either. He's just one of the liaisons from our Sea House." She tilted her head. "A Sea House is..."

"I've been to one," I said tiredly.

"Then this'll be painless. He just wants to talk to you about staying." She pulled open the door and stepped outside. I closed my eyes, wondering if I could just pretend to fall asleep to spare myself from having to hold a conversation with another stranger.

"Nero?"

My eyes flashed back open and went to the door: a familiar face stood in the threshold, staring over at me openmouthed. I didn't know whether to be relieved or exasperated... But I was glad to see someone familiar. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Working," Simeon said. "I rotate — the Lilycove Sea House is low on staff, so I bussed out here this month to help them out. But in Arceus' name!" He stepped in, kicked the door shut, and strode to the side of the bed. He stared at me a moment, his brow furrowed, and then yanked Kara's chair over to the bed before sitting down. "What's happened to you? I thought you..." He frowned. "I got a letter from Kuma a couple of days ago. She said you'd gotten your Sharpedo back, and left Hoenn. What are you doing in Lilycove City?" Before I could answer, his eyes widened, and he cast a gaze around the hospital room. "Where's Jude?" he asked.

Again, I wished I could fall back asleep; I closed my eyes again, wondering if I could pull off the façade of a sudden faint. But no, the fatigue suddenly deserted me now — thoughts of Jude and Mag kept my eyes open. My shoulders drooped a little.

Simeon waited, but when I didn't answer, he said quietly, "Is he safe?"

I didn't answer.

He tried again: "Is he alive?"

I flinched. "Last I saw," I said through gritted teeth. But what about that concussion? Had Magdalene gotten him to Kuma in time? Or had his life drained away like sand in an hourglass? I was horrified at the thought of him dying somewhere out of my reach, and it struck me that if I'd brought him with me, he could've gotten treated in this hospital just as easily as I had. My hands began to shake. Had the decision to separate been another mistake?

You didn't have a choice. You would've brought the soldiers right to them.

But if I hadn't—

"Nero." Simeon's hand closed down over mine. "Kara told me about how she found you. Will you tell me what happened?" He scrutinized me intensely and said, "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

My teeth bit together. How far away was Litter's Seamount from this place? Simeon mentioned coming out here this month... Would he know anything about the soldiers nearby? Would Kara? Would the other Seawatchers in this area?

And if they do? What can they do for you? Worse yet, what if the Seawatchers and Simeon were friendly with the Litter's Seamount soldiers? What if Simeon scavenged for them, traded with them, same as the other merfolk in the area? And if I told him about the soldiers, he would want to know why they'd attacked me... And I'd in turn have to explain the water-shaping to him. And possibly more.

And even then... What can he do for me?

I looked to the ceiling, and for a moment I was taken back to right after Jude had gotten his concussion, to that dark, thick night in the atoll, where I'd stared up at the surface waters and finally realized that I had no idea of what I was doing. The feeling came flooding back, stronger than it had been the first time, so strong that I felt tears stab at my eyes, and I clenched Simeon's hand with sudden need. I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm doing. Jude and Mag, gone again, and soldiers everywhere, soldiers that knew about my water-shaping abilities, soldiers that I'd barely outrun with a lot of luck, soldiers that would run back to Titus to tell him what they knew, soldiers that could possibly still be looking for me, spreading about the seabottom, maybe coming onto land...

Simeon closed his other hand around mine. "Easy," he said quietly. "Easy, Nero. We can take our time here, there's no rush. Can you start at the beginning? Kara said you were impaled by an arrow. How did that happen?"

I looked at him. Were we friends? Cora... She'd wanted me to confide in her, just like Simeon. She'd wanted me to know that I could trust her. Could I trust Simeon with this? Trust that he would tell no one else?

A very simple answer came to me: It doesn't matter. You know that Captain Festus will have already sent word to Titus. And someone has to know. If they don't know... How can they help?

"Soldiers," I said. My voice came out harsh, almost serrated in the air. "They had crossbows. They were chasing me, and shot me."

"Soldiers," Simeon repeated. His brow had furrowed. "Like Aaron? Sentries?"

"More dangerous than that. They're well-trained, and have better weapons and armor. And there're many of them. They're camped out by Litter's Seamount."

I could tell that this answer brought up about two dozen more questions, and Simeon's eyes shifted to Norman the Bulbasaur and then to the window as he sifted through them, trying to find the most pertinent.

"Why were they chasing you?" he asked.

Here it is. I closed my eyes; I didn't want to see his expression at what I said next: "Their leader is a merman named Titus. He wants to resurrect Kyogre... And I'm one of the people who can help him do it."

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