Novarum, the Dragon of Dreams, did not find itself easily disturbed. It saw into the hearts and minds of humans and Pokemon alike; it was intimately familiar with ebb and flow, give and take. Many sought it out, but few succeeded in their quest, and fewer still found a reward from the fae dragon.

Staring down at the tiny, squalling human it had been gifted, it didn’t know what to think.

This had been its price. The humans who’d found it had requested it intervene so they could start a family, and had balked when it declared that it would cost them their firstborn. Novarum had seen into so many humans’ souls that it hadn’t spared a second thought for what it might do if its condition was met, because that simply wouldn’t happen.

But here it was.

How could they? The child was precisely what their hearts desired, and they’d given it up without a fight, without pleading their case. Part of Novarum respected that they’d honored the agreement, had seen Promise into Truth, but the rest of it cried in outrage that they’d forsaken their Ideal so easily.

The little human’s cries wavered. It was protected from the high winds at the top of Dragonspiral Tower, but not from the cold; the blanket its father had left it wrapped in could only fight the chill for so long.

Despite its inner conflict, Novarum stooped down and gathered the poor thing up in one of its pairs of wings, fur and downy feathers sure to insulate it while the two powerful sets on the dragon’s back carried them away from the world of humans, somewhere… not safer, per se, but softer. Somewhere where the rules were more strictly defined and Novarum might be able to work out the maelstrom of emotions that crackled, icy hot, in its chest.

The Entralink had entrances everywhere, and Novarum coasted over the forest to the north, deeper and deeper into the wilderness, until it found the shaky bit of reality it sought. It adjusted its hold on the abandoned human from something safe for flight to a grip better suited to walking, one set of talons holding the blanket carefully closed as it spirited the both of them away into its homeland: the world of dreams, of the fairy.

They were immediately enveloped by magical energies intrinsically familiar to Novarum-- a balm, both dangerous and consistent. Those of the human realm wouldn’t know to appreciate it, but right now, with its mind and heart tugging in two distinct directions, it was precisely what Novarum needed.

While its domain in the world of men was a high tower, Novarum’s actual home lay nestled near the peak of a mountain, overseeing the dense cluster of trees that separated the realms, and it was there the dragon hastened. The child in its wings wriggled through its blanket, no doubt frightened by the shift in reality itself, but the dragon could do nothing for that, and simply held it tighter until they reached their destination.

Once it reached its den, it set the little thing down in its nest and sat back, staring at it.

What was Novarum meant to do? It hadn’t wanted the child. It had only wanted its parents to fight for it, to prove their Ideal. Its tests were meant to weed out the well-intentioned from the nefarious, but never had it seen one turn around so spectacularly. The thought did nothing to help its situation, but perhaps it was a good thing that the parents had forsaken this one, had relinquished their reward in the very same gesture it took to prove themselves unworthy.

...but what would it have done, had the parents disregarded its claim? Novarum’s heart settled at the idea, but its mind roared in objection. The fae had rules, and if they had forsaken them, it would have been furious.

At no point did the dragon realize that it had damned the couple either way, too caught up in the warring factions within itself. Obey the conditions of the deal. Fight for what they sought. The only decision that might have saved Novarum was a precarious balance between Truth and Ideal that few humans could hope to find.

Novarum felt itself splinter. From its mind it bore a searing Truth, a flash of white that vanished as soon as it tore free. Its heart stuttered at the loss and its Ideal refused to let it flat line, ensuring that life thrummed again before it also fled what had once been its home. The husk of what had once been Novarum’s body lingered beyond the rest of itself, aware of the human presence in a way its siblings hadn’t been, but also dispassionate, unable to muster the will to do anything for it.

It would live, but this being had no responsibility to ensure that survival. The body lumbered away like a wounded creature, with none of the grace its heart or mind had possessed.

Unaware of what it had been the lone witness to, the human child, now forsaken twice over, began to cry anew.

–--

It had been half a year since Emmet had earned a position at Nimbasa Central Station, and he was having a wonderful time with it.

He’d adored trains since he was a small child and only grown to love them more as he understood their mechanisms and the system through which they functioned; while he’d taken some time to wander the region, as many teens did, he’d always known how he wanted to spend his adult life. Admittedly, the pull of battling was an enticing one, but he just didn’t feel the same driving force behind it. He had three Pokemon he loved and who fought beautifully, but saw no reason to leave a dream for a delusion.

They didn’t see a great deal of battle any longer, but Eelektrik, Galvantula and Durant were each a boon when Emmet went about his duties, and great company besides. Though none of them were allowed out on the actual trains, in corralling commuters at the station or sweeping tunnels, their help was always welcome.

Between the fact that he got to work on something he loved and with dear friends, Emmet had very few complaints. Nimbasa was a far cry from Lacunosa Town, which was only to be expected from the Unova region’s fastest growing city, and he reveled in it. There were no quiet, superstitious nights or uncannily cold winds to blow right through a person-- quite the opposite, in fact, given the desert that lay just to the south.

When he’d first moved out here, his parents, bless their souls, had been concerned about Nimbasa’s proximity to the Lostlorn Forest, and it had taken all of Emmet’s scant restraint not to remind them that he was twenty, not twelve. He wasn’t about to go wandering through a liminal space littered with known gateways to the Entralink. He’d managed to bite down on that impulse and remind himself that it was natural for them to be worried; they’d always been overprotective, so why would they decide to stop now?

Truthfully, hand to Reshiram, Emmet hadn’t possessed any hint of desire to delve into Lostlorn Forest.

The Pokemon ahead of him hesitated at the woods’ threshold, watching, waiting for him to draw nearer and follow. It was something unlike any other Pokemon native to the region, and its appearance weeks ago had caused quite the stir. Until today, it hadn’t allowed anyone near it.

Emmet had no idea why it seemed to have taken a liking to him, but it had spotted him on his way home from the station and darted into his space before anyone could intercept it. The sensation of its short puffs of breath against his skin as it delicately sniffed him were fresh in mind, not even an hour old, and it had seized his hand in one of its paws, surprisingly dexterous under the foot-long claws it boasted. He’d managed to wrest himself free, but still trailed after, curious where this might lead... so long as he still had the option to remove himself from the situation.

And now he knew where it was headed. The odds of the Pokemon being a Zoroark’s fae-warped illusion skyrocketed, but weren’t guaranteed. Short lived though the contact had been, it didn’t support that idea; the Pokemon’s claws were solid and really did stretch as long as they seemed. He watched it score a mark in the bark of a tree-- distinctive in the three parallel slashes-- and then tilt its head, stepping back to mark another several steps in.

It moved to look at him, gauging whether or not its accommodation might be acceptable.

Emmet hesitated.

Maybe it was the coddling he’d endured throughout childhood, or maybe it was the low-lying desire for just a bit more excitement out of his day to day life, but he decided he wanted to know what it was trying to accomplish. It was a risk, but he was an intelligent, full grown adult. He could handle this.

Just in case, though, he kept Durant at his side, an easy counter to any curious fairies.

The Pokemon eyed his friend with a plain indifference, shrugged its presence off and turned, claws readied to score another tree along the path.

The connection between the human realm and the fae’s-- the Entralink-- wasn’t well understood, nor was it a booming field of study. Research had been done into the matter, but for many, it was an unexplained fact of life: there existed hotspots in the region that stole people and Pokemon alike into another world entirely. As they lurked through the trees, Emmet kept a sharp eye out for any of the known hallmarks of a weakness in reality: rings or any semblance of a doorway, pockets of silence, unexplained lights.

He found none of it, and when the Pokemon stopped, he could still hear civilization bustling beyond the forest’s walls. If he so chose, he would have no problem following the marked path back the way they came.

The Pokemon held up its paws, signaling for him to wait, and pulled itself completely upright. Its reason for doing so became painfully clear as it drew a deep breath and yowled into the yet darker depths of the forest.

Emmet had just enough time to reconsider staying put when something answered, far enough to be muffled, but a muted crashing through the trees promised that it would be there soon enough.

It was large, he realized, as a pink shape began taking form-- far larger than Durant. Even Eelektrik, just under four feet long, couldn’t compare.

The thought was put on hold as he realized that it had the head of a Gligar, albeit a ridiculously large specimen, and-- more to the point-- that it wasn’t moving the way it should have. Instead of gliding through the trees with its wings spread, it held its pincers loosely in front of its chest, wings sagging to either side. Its ambulation made absolutely no sense.

“Lady Sneasler?” Asked a young, clear voice, and for half a second, Emmet was convinced it was somehow the Gligar speaking.

As it moved nearer, he realized it was actually two individuals, only one of which was a Gligar. Its head rested over a smaller frame, wings cloaking the body walking toward them, making it look like it was hovering vertically.

The second figure, he realized with some alarm, was a child.

Was that why the Pokemon had caught his attention? It was trying to help a child left adrift in the Lostlorn Forest? That was… far nobler than Emmet might have guessed. He was happy to help a faelost child find home.

At their call, the Pokemon screeched back, quieter this time, a greeting instead of summons. That was its name, then. She was a Sneasler, whatever that might be?

The kid stopped short of stepping into the clearing, hidden from the dappled sunlight that could still work its way through the trees here. Atop their head, the Gligar poked its tongue out and chirped, eyeing Emmet and then Durant with an unknown intention. Emmet got the impression that it didn’t particularly like what it was seeing.

At Sneasler’s further prompting, the child finally drew nearer, into the light, and any thought Emmet had spared for their Pokemon partner vanished. Halfway hidden between Gligar’s head and the dark hat smushed down over his hair was a little boy whose face Emmet had only ever seen in photographs-- or, once upon a time, in the mirror. Grey hair or eyes he could have passed off as coincidence, and even both at once wasn’t too hard to rationalize, but the features unmistakably belonged to his family-- had belonged, more specifically, to him.

Emmet revised his guess. Perhaps still a child, but a fae? What purpose would a changeling have for copying him so far after the fact? There was no way anyone would mix them up like this, no way for it to work its way into human society in his place. Maybe it was some new attempt at a trick? A way to play on his sympathies?

It shrunk back under his gaze, into the protection of the shadows, and the Gligar hissed.

“L-lady Sneasler, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Its voice shook and one shoe inched back further, as if ready to bolt away. Interesting. Emmet didn’t know why it thought it was on the wrong end of this confrontation when its partner held an indisputable advantage over Durant.

Sneasler turned to look at him-- not threatening, but far from happy-- and then stalked into the shade, reaching beneath Gligar’s wing to take the fairy’s wrist and gently pull it forward again. Looking at it properly, Emmet wasn’t sure if it was just tiny, or if the Gligar was that big. Heedless of its protective behavior thus far, Sneasler detached the scorpion and picked its partner up under the arms, holding it up the way one might present a Lillipup.

It… looked terrified. If its goal was to appear as a scared little kid, it had certainly succeeded. Sneasler hefted it up further, to Emmet’s eye level, and insistently looked between them.

This Pokemon was just as lost as he was, wasn’t it?

“I am sorry for the confusion. That creature has nothing to do with me.”

She bristled and, in a complete turnaround, snatched the fae back, bundling it protectively into her arms. There was a small cry as she did so, and it clapped one of its hands over the other. Sneasler stiffened and poked her nose against the beaten up hat to a peep of, “It’s okay, it’s just a nick.”

Sneasler growled softly, and when her eyes trailed back to Emmet, she jerked her head toward the path, all but dismissing him. Disgruntled, she followed the gesture by trilling to Gligar, and turned to leave the direction the pair had emerged from.

Unwilling to linger in the forest without the company, but also unable to bring himself to follow, Emmet hurried out, Durant dutifully keeping pace. Truthfully, the thing that raced the fastest was his mind.

When he emerged into the sunlight, he allowed himself to acknowledge the fact that, whatever had just happened, he had made a horrible error and done nothing to amend it when given the split-second chance.

As Sneasler turned away, her charge cradled in her arms, a trickle of red-- not blue-- had trailed down his wrist.

Emmet had just watched as a human child was spirited deep into the Lostlorn Forest.