Rotom remains out cold, listlessly recording the chaos ensuing on the Arc Phone’s every side. The viewer can hear Ingo’s truncated attempts to understand both the Pokemon he’s been partnered with, and to get a surface-level read on their foe-- his natural volume making him audible even in the din’s very heart.

At one point, a massive shadow passes over the device, but nothing can be made of the shapes from so close. As the sounds of battle rage not far off, a hushed but fierce exchange of words can be picked out, culminating in:

“—will help, but I can do that much.” A moment later, a smaller form creeps closer, a hand snaking out to snatch the Arc Phone from the ground.

The man holding it has no concept of what the device does, unknowingly overlapping a portion of the lens, but it’s enough to get a new look at the temple-turned-battlefield and the titans that clash upon it. Beneath Palkia’s feet, the masonry roils as it attacks, guided by the comparatively small figure weaving around the exchange of blows. He calls battle maneuvers and ducks around moves, but in this moment, his attention has shifted to the side-- to the unwitting cameraman.

The second Pokemon, a dark, quadrupedal silhouette against the fragmented sky, lurches toward the human who so unwisely stepped forward. There’s a shout of direction and a nearby yowl, followed by a flurry of motion that ends with the Arc Phone’s holder being deposited at the side of the makeshift arena. It briefly catches a glimpse of two other humans nearby, unable to look away from the struggle playing out before them, and then settles-- momentarily-- on the man’s savior.

Sneasler hasn’t afforded him a second glance, eyes tracking movement on the battlefield, nose twitching as her thoughts race. Her feather flutters erratically in the ever-shifting air currents on the mountaintop, and one massive paw extends to her side, holding the humans back, away from the conflict’s edge.

The man speaks a few short, stuttering words of thanks to her-- recognizable regardless of language-- and she shifts her head just enough to look at him from the corner of her eye. He breathlessly adjusts to his new position, accidentally uncovering the rest of the lens.

In response, the Arc Phone automatically adjusts its focus. While Sneasler grows blurry in the foreground, the raging battle beyond her becomes that much clearer. Palkia swings its tail, driving its foe back, and in that moment, the tableau looks startlingly familiar. To the north, a being of smooth curves and sturdy wings, its armored limbs raised in anticipation for its next move. To the south, a Pokemon composed of edges and points, the shapes grossly distorted, but still bearing resemblance their stonework cousin. It roars to the sky, stamping down with its massive forelegs as the sound distills into an attack.

With an incredible fortitude, Palkia weathers it; its form trembles under the onslaught, but when it’s called upon to return fire, it shakes the mountain itself.

When it seems the other Pokemon is rearing to follow up, the smaller shape breaks away from its titanic protector, into the range of fire. It’s difficult to make the details out from afar, but something glints red-- raging, alpha red, the same red in the corrupted Pokemon’s eyes and in the noxious horizon above-- and impacts against the side of the unidenfitied Pokemon’s head. The peppering doesn’t hurt the Pokemon in the slightest, but it becomes distracted, giving Palkia a short break to recuperate.

Ingo ducks out of the way of a dazzling Flash Cannon and turns on a heel; the red chain wrapped tightly around his right arm begins to shine, and a new balm glows into existence under his palm. It’s swiftly pitched toward the Pokemon, and in the second before he’s forced to move to safer ground, he bellows, “Again, Earth Power!”

As he moves in the opposite direction, he shoots a glance toward the other humans. In the heat of the moment, the exchange is easy to overlook, but Sneasler’s posture changes slightly-- the viewer can see her incline her head under her warden’s gaze-- and he echoes the gesture before committing to his turn. He tears off across the temple, using every chance he gets to throw a balm the Pokemon’s way.

The Pokemon whirls about. It’s not changing course to match, but swinging the blades of its tail so it doesn’t have to look away from Palkia.

Even as he moves to avoid as much of the attack as he can, both of Ingo’s hands raise in an instinctive defense against Iron Tail. His saving grace is that, while the appendage itself may be a brutal weapon, its range is limited, and he’s able to pull himself back without suffering any immediately noticeable damage.

Strangely, he maintains his position at the Pokemon’s back, even once it’s demonstrated that it’s just as dangerous as its front. Even more peculiar, the next order he calls to Palkia isn’t the ground-type move that-- upon recognizing a weakness-- he’d had it favor, but--

“Spacial Rend!” He orders, eyes fixed on how the attack lands-- not against the Pokemon, but the way it tears the space around its target. Without stopping to look at the chain, he flexes his arm, testing what little give exists, and a subtle grimace crosses his features when it bites deeper into his skin. He gives his head a tiny shake and picks up the slack he’d left, dulling the Pokemon’s reaction time with another round of balms.

As he moves away, to the battlefield’s far side, he absently clenches and unclenches his hands, mind working furiously as he observes from any angle he can get.

There’s another cursory exchange of blows-- Aqua Tail for Iron Tail-- and Ingo finally finishes the circuit, stopping to stand at Palkia’s side. He takes the opportunities to throw balms when they present themselves, but doesn’t seem to be seeking them out any longer, focused on getting Palkia through the ever-weakening onslaught. Be it from the battle itself or the disorienting balms, their foe’s attacks grow clumsier.

Such is price of a frenzy. No rage can live on indefinitely-- it’s simply a matter of whether it’s calmed or burns out from within.

But this Pokemon, like an alpha Scyther or the Lords and Lady before it, only grows more desperate as it feels its strength wane. Its roar radiates outward, a tangible shockwave that ripples through reality.

The mountain peak is simple, undeveloped stone. It’s filled with ancient, weathered rubble. The pillars are brand new, pristine and white. They’re ruined, age-dulled teeth biting into the sky. Simultaneously, all of this is true, even when none of it is the lived reality seen only moments prior.

The man holding the Arc Phone stumbles, his hold on the device going slack, and voices gasp out under a force mortals were never meant to endure.

Though the angle does the viewer no favors, the recording itself remains viable; even as The Jade Crown – The Temple of Sinnoh – The Spear Pillar – The Highest Platform – blinks through the ages, it dutifully captures the unstable world around it.

At the center of it all, two Pokemon remain unmoved. The same can’t be said for the lone human among them.

“Once more,” Ingo bites out, head ducked and shoulders raised as he weathers the effect from so near. He forces one eye open to look at his partner in this battle, and the subtle turn of his head is a visible strain, “Spacial Rend. Now you guide me to the destination.”

Palkia turns its armored side to help divert the overwhelming might of their foe and stares down at him with calculating red eyes. It looks one way-- toward its raging counterpart-- and then the other, up into the heavens. Whatever it’s thinking is a mystery, and it uses the time it’s bought deep in deliberation.

Eventually, it raises one arm, and swiftly slashes through reality.

A tear lingers, dark on the end the Arc Phone is capturing, but light shines through on its opposite side, casting a long, humanoid shadow across Palkia’s lustrous hide. The actual gesture is hidden, but the allegory squares its shoulders, bracing itself, and then vanishes.

An identical gash splits existence before the second beast, and so near the source, Ingo reels, hunching inwards to protect himself. Half-hidden beneath the edge of his high collar, he tilts his head and just barely manages to look all the way up at the Pokemon. The hand trembling on his right arm tenses and pulls; with a terrific tearing noise, he rips the red chain away. As soon as it’s freed, the chain is drawn-- inexorably-- up and forward, as if bound by Coronet’s magnetic impulses, and the same way it had coiled around a human arm, it constricts the Pokemon’s neck, each crimson point digging deep.

The roar chokes into nothing, its originator little more than a Lillipup reaching the end of its leash, muted as it strains against a collar.

For a moment, the world is silent, deafened in the aftermath-- and then sound rushes in all at once, a collective, gasping breath to fill the void. The Pokemon itself heaves, breathing in after a small eternity of screaming to anyone who might hear, and the chain relaxes, allowing it. It stays like that, head lifted to the sky, breathing in and out. In and out.

Before it is an inversion: Palkia shuffles nearer, its neck craning down, looking to its chosen ally. The small human form is braced against what had once been their adversary, staring forward in blank disbelief. His arm is raised to hold him upright against one of the Pokemon’s forelegs, gouges tearing clear through every layer of cloth and no small amount of skin. Blood drips down, a shallow imitation of the tool that had drawn it.

In unison, the Pokemon trade off. Palkia slowly pivots to look at the other, and the unidentified Pokemon lowers its head. With no small amount of trepidation, Ingo moves to meet its gaze, hand curling back to shelter against his chest. They spend several seconds staring at one another, each frozen under the mutual attention.

The red chain, lax around the Pokemon’s neck, shines white and phases into its hide, and in response, the behemoth’s very shape begins to change. Any doubt that this is the Pokemon depicted in the Celestica Ruins is completely dispelled; these two terrifying creatures are the Sinnohs revered by the Diamond and Pearl Clans.

So it’s strange that it isn’t a native Hisuian who utters its name.

“Dialga.” Ingo says. It’s an awed hush, but the sound carries on the wind, perfectly audible when no one else dares to utter a word.

He wavers on his feet as he half-turns to look at Palkia, as if appreciating the totality of his ally for the first time. It returns his attention, lingering on the arm he cradles, and places one massive clawed hand over it. He doesn’t flinch, in spite of the wounds that lay beneath. It’s unclear whether he’s confident where he stands in regards to the pair or scared past the point of trying to get away, and his face betrays none of the thoughts that must churn beneath the surface. As Dialga before, they spend a handful of seconds silently looking to one another, and then Palkia straightens to its full height.

The opposing forces finally meet eye to eye.

Palkia tilts its head up, crooning into the night-- the clear, dark, pristine night-- and Dialga harmonizes with it. There’s unexpected movement from next to the Arc Phone as Sneasler starts forward, answering their call. When her paws meet her warden, the two titans move away from one another, neither turning their back.

They disappear into their own pockets of reality, and like that, the world begins to turn once more.

A flash of pink charges forward before the man holding the Arc Phone can react, but he follows shortly thereafter. The nearer he draws, the clearer it becomes: for the first time in years, the weight on Ingo’s chest is gone. Finally, he breathes freely, in and out.

In and out.