I don’t like this.

I don’t like that Volo knew of Giratina’s existence to begin with, let alone that he was familiar enough to describe it with such charged language. The information he gave me is invaluable-- that it’s the third being dwelling in the opposite world and, therefore, the one to tear the rift-- but when I contemplate how he might have acquired such knowledge, a chill runs down my spine.

He ascribed his strange behavior to excitement, but I know duplicity when I see it.

There’s something else.

He told me he had dreams of creating a new world, where tragedy didn’t befall victims of circumstance. It’s just… so similar to what we had heard from Team Plasma in their heyday. A noble ideal on the surface, but an impossible one once you look beneath the honeyed words.

I managed to stay his hand for a few hours while I “finish my duties for the day” and prepare a contingency with Sneasler, but that time is nearly up. He’s expecting me at what remains of the Temple of Sinnoh.

The red flag has been raised, and I’m going to attempt to deescalate the situation before it gets any further out of hand.

---

The camera is started by human hands, and for several seconds, a viewer would be forgiven for thinking it accidental. Its frame is completely dark, and all that can be heard from whatever pocket the Arc Phone inhabits is the sound of footsteps on stone. There’s wind, but for once, it’s muffled instead of doing the muffling.

Then, a voice. Not the operator’s. It’s too soft, too far away, but the words still ring through loud and clear.

“The temple lies in ruins now, columns cracked and broken… pillars turned into spears stabbing into the heavens.” The speaker pauses and his tone shifts drastically, faux affability taking the place of muted contemplation. “Well, clearly Giratina isn’t here. Seems I couldn’t have been more wrong!”

“...Mister Volo…”

Voice laden in trepidation, it’s clear that Ingo didn’t activate the recording by accident; it’s a hidden safety measure. Whatever he may have been about to say, he doesn’t get the chance.

“Something’s bothering you.” Volo says, “Did I tip my hand too far when we met earlier? I daresay you know what I’m really after by now.”

Close to the Arc Phone, there’s small, disappointed huff of breath, but no answer.

It’s fine. Volo doesn’t seem to need it.

“Ever since I became convinced that the Original One does exist-- that Arceus really does exist-- there’s been one question that has consumed my thoughts: how can I meet such a being myself?” There’s a smooth transition between the far away, wondering manner these thoughts are expressed into the more streamlined follow up, “It was as an effort to answer that very question that I sought out Giratina, and commanded it to tear open the rift in space and time.”

The admission is almost casual, and the response it garners is taken aback by the brazenness.

“You were the reaso--?”

Volo cuts the other man off before he can derail them from the arranged destination.

“After all, Giratina wanted to make a stand against its creator, to claw back at the one that banished it, but that didn’t do the trick, now did it? So instead, we ran around to gather the fragments of your all-encompassing deity, just as the ruins’ murals directed. Eighteen plates in total.” Cheerfully, he adds, “Ah, no, my math is off. Never did have talent as a merchant, now did I? You only carry seventeen-- so where is the eighteenth?”

Something must happen outside of the pocket’s range, because the verbal response doesn’t follow from that.

There’s something that might be a relieved sigh, followed by a muttered Unovan, “He’s wearing clothes underneath. That’s a step up from the Pink Line.”

Volo seems not to notice the undignified tangent, let alone understand the words being said.

“Now hand over the plates you’ve gathered! I will be the one to bring them together! My desire to meet Arceus cannot be contained any longer! I need to know what it is-- I must know what it is! If I can meet Arceus itself, if I can subjugate the power of the Original One that created the universe, I can create a new, better world!”

There’s a pause, and while the visual component is lacking, his tone changes, dripping with venom-laced honey, “Shouldn’t you, of all people, believe in that? A world where innocent bystanders aren’t plucked from their homes and thrown into conflict on the whim of a glorified Pokemon?”

“I think I understand now.” Ingo says instead, voice firm as he refuses to rise to or even acknowledge the jab, “It had to be someone who wouldn’t fall for your talk of a perfect world. You might consider it a compliment, after a fashion-- this Original One that you’re so desperate to meet acknowledged the threat you pose. I can’t blame it for seeking help, knowing the danger you’ve thrown Hisui into in the name of your ideals; better men than you have followed them and destroyed all they hold dear.”

“Of course I will-- it’s the entire point! The Hisui region-- everything, everyone in it-- will be undone and returned to nothing. Whether or not you wish to battle is irrelevant-- do or don’t, I’ll simply force the plates from your unmoving hands!”

The fabric shifts and, with it, the Arc Phone escapes containment. Seems it had been stored in an inner pocket, and the act of reaching for a pokeball gave it enough room to slip loose.

Rotom zips off to a suitable distance and shakes itself before finding its preferred vantage point. The broken remnants of the Temple of Sinnoh don’t interest it in the slightest-- old news in comparison to the conflict brewing upon the dais.

Standing at the far edge with a Spiritomb in front of him is, undoubtedly, Volo. As per the earlier comment, his clothes are different than usual, the flairs of a white tunic fluttering with the high altitude’s wind. It’s impossible that his ensemble isn’t some sort of costume given the strange construction and flourishes, but he seems completely casual as he stands behind his opening Pokemon, hand braced on his hip.

Tangrowth stands opposite the ghost, already in motion by the time Rotom decides to park itself-- her first move a daring Sludge Bomb. The damage it does is undercut by her opponent’s typing, but the ineffective offense and the extra time it takes for her to regain her bearings are made up for with the toxic sludge that takes effect in the spirit’s core. She endures the retaliatory Shadow Ball, but in lieu of letting Spiritomb seep in poison, Volo pulls back so she can’t get another attack on it, substituting an Arcanine instead.

The fire type is left wide open with the swap, allowing Tangrowth a clean hit on it, and in spite of the type disadvantage, Ingo barely blinks at the changing circumstances. He calls for a familiar agile Sleep Powder, and swiftly has her follow with a strong Ancient Power.

The attack bites hard into Arcanine’s hide, but the answering strong style Raging Fury quickly downs the grass type. Gliscor takes her place, giving its wings a wide stretch. While Arcanine pants, recovering from its assault, a no-frills Earth Power finishes it off.

Volo eyes it a fraction of a second longer than one might expect and, begrudgingly, tosses out what must have been the Gible he’d caught months prior. Its speed is enough to eke out a lead over Gliscor, testing out a middling Dragon Claw against it.

Attention on his opponent instead of the attack-- trusting that Gliscor could weather it without issue-- Ingo calls the bat back, Machamp taking its stead. With a look of something like relief, Volo capitalizes on the chance to use Earth Power, leaning into the safe typing and trying to cause as much damage as he can in a single blow.

Machamp is able to take it, though he looks scuffed as he charges forward, all four hands glowing ice blue; it’s a unique way to chain an agile and strong move together, hitting simultaneously. Against such a devastating type disadvantage, Garchomp reels. It slashes at Machamp just as the fighting type pulls a similar trick with Bullet Punch-- agile paired with agile creates a flurry of blows that land at the same time as its opponent’s attack in spite of their stat differences, and both Pokemon fall away from one another in tandem. Garchomp is wholly unable to battle under the assault, and Machamp somewhat better off; both are immediately recalled.

Across the newly emptied field, the two humans regard one another for a moment, but neither says anything. They both toss their next choices in without seeing what the opposition might consist of.

On one side is a Roserade, on the other, Probopass. Defensively, neither is at an immediate disadvantage, though by the same stroke, neither is done any favors. The same can’t be said for speed, where Roserade most definitely holds the edge, peppering its foe with small, agile Energy Balls.

Probopass snorts, tosses her head and shoots back with Power Gem, only to bear the brunt of Petal Dance a second later. With its opponent fixated on the move, it would be possible to use it against them, but Probopass simply isn’t mobile enough to dodge, and she goes down after a last-ditch strong Flash Cannon.

Her place is taken by Alakazam, who emphatically does not share her mobility restrictions. He outpaces the Roserade by a mile, lashing out with Psychic and handily teleporting out of the way of an already-unsteady Petal Dance. With its eyes on its opponent’s back, it psyches itself into an agile style Calm Mind, and then takes the grass type down. In the aftermath, it’s very little surprise that Alakazam finds itself pitted against Spiritomb, but the ghost’s speed is still abysmal, and its senses ravaged by poison. Before it can get a move in with either of its super effective typings, Alakazam ruthlessly cuts it down with two precisely-timed Dazzling Gleams, rendering the threat null and void.

Volo’s hand twitches over the last of his two pokeballs-- eyes flicking to where he’s seen Gliscor tucked away for a later appearance-- before sending out a Togekiss.

Without a word of instruction, Alakazam teleports back to its own pokeball, leaving the field clear for that very bat. The last minute swap means that Togekiss gets in an Air Slash meant for Alakazam, but Gliscor is unmoved, cackling in something like gleeful anticipation.

With an arsenal of otherwise ineffective moves, it doesn’t even have to wait for a command before striking. While super effective, Stone Edge isn’t inherently capable of downing a full health Togekiss, even boosted with a strong technique-- but maybe it’s something vicious left over from his days as a wild alpha Pokemon, or there’s something fearful in the Togekiss that makes it vulnerable to this particular opponent. The fairy is simply unable to weather, stricken by that single blow. Gliscor crows, tail thrashing proudly.

Expression tight, Volo sends out his last Pokemon: Lucario. Transparently trying to claw victory back from the jaws of defeat, he goes on a self-sabotaging offense, using the natural pause in Gliscor’s rhythm to use his most powerful move first-- even when Close Combat is known to take a toll on its user.

The bat shakes its entire body, quite visibly worse for wear, but it's able to shrug it off for the time being. It trades its first Earth Power for two comparatively feeble Bullet Punches, and then wastes no time drawing the battle to a close, wavering ever so slightly in the air.

As it glides back to its human, grateful for the reprieve, something in Volo snaps.

He turns to the side and laughs for a moment, but then abruptly stops, pressing a hand to his head. In one jerky motion, he flings the hand back to his side and whirls forward once more.

From so far away, it’s hard to see the subtleties of his expression, but his grin is wide and menacing.

“To stop me? That’s why you have the blessing of Arceus? I’ve devoted myself to it beyond any other! Worshiped it as the creator of our entire world! All of my passion, all of my attention, I gave it everything I have. All the time I’ve spent poring over the legends-- you’re right, aren’t you? You’re only here to get in my way!”

At the blatantly aggressive display, Gliscor hisses and wraps itself protectively around its trainer. It means that Ingo’s unable to respond when he has the chance, busy dealing with a sudden faceful of bat; he wrestles it down just in time to see something spark to life behind Volo-- a flash of purple that quickly deepens into an ominous cloud.

Two pitch-dark wings emerge from its depths, blowing a black fogbank across the ruined temple, where it lingers at ankle-level.

The Pokemon pulls itself to its full height, neck craning high, and screams into the heavens, purple energy crackling from the void that frames its form. Volo holds out his arms as if in presentation, head tilted down, his visible eye narrowed in a dangerous crescent as his hair whips around him.

“GIRATINA!”

He screams, and then raises his face to the sky, leveling that venomous grin to whatever may reside above.

“STRIKE HIM DOWN!”

Gliscor is forced to spend precious seconds untangling itself, and so Magnezone is sent out instead. It’s not a terribly speedy Pokemon, though, and against a Pokemon like this, it’s no surprise that it strikes second, well after Aura Sphere has left a deep mark. The Thunder Wave is a good start-- and with the Pokemon unable to react in time to get a second attack off before its foe, Ingo turns his attention elsewhere: to the one at his side.

The potion is easy to apply, the potent mix of berries and herbs sinking directly into Gliscor’s hide. As a downed Magnezone is recalled and Alakazam reenters the battle, Ingo mutters something too quiet for the camera to pick up, and both of his active Pokemon nod.

While Giratina is nimble, Magnezone’s contribution to the battle bears its mark, slowing it well past Alakazam’s base line and allowing the psychic type to send off a Dazzling Gleam before its opponent vanishes. Unable to target it in the interim, the best Alakazam can do is augment its abilities, sneaking in two Calm Minds before Giratina rears its fearsome head again.

The Shadow Force hits so hard that Alakazam is immediately brought to its knees, conscious, but only just.

“Hold the line.” Ingo says to Gliscor, which steels itself and takes up Alakazam’s place.

Before it can react to having a new foe, Giratina doubles down on its previous strategy and sets another Shadow Force into motion. With the lull it provides, Ingo takes the time to treat Alakazam, and then retrieves Machamp’s pokeball to bring it back into the fray, too.

Without such a devastating type advantage, Gliscor is able to weather the Shadow Force from full health. It’s left shaky in the air by the end of the second attack, but through sheer grit, it endures the Dragon Claw that follows, giving its trainer the time he needs to fortify their ranks.

Perhaps seeing no reason he shouldn’t stick with his most physically overwhelming move, Volo orders another Shadow Force, and during the interim, Gliscor returns to its trainer, Machamp hopping in in its place.

He’s too slow to block or dodge the attack, but it’s no matter; as it connects with him, he leans in to make his own move, all four of his fists rapidly super chilled. The circumstances make it too risky to try for a combination of agile and strong just yet, so, ambitions checked, he levels one swift Ice Punch at the dragon and another standard attack while he’s got its face point-blank. Machamp doesn’t let go once he’s made contact.

Giratina screeches and tries to toss its head to dislodge him. The claws of its wings rake against Machoke’s back with Dragon Claw, but he’s laser focused, thrusting his second set of arms into either side of its head in a strong Ice Punch that simply can’t be dodged.

The second time this plays out, Machamp is forced to let go, but sticks close to the strategy.

As the battle begins to wear on it, a wordless shout tries to summon it back to the sidelines. Its trainer’s head jerks to the side, indicating that it should swap out with the freshly-treated Gliscor, but its fatigue has become too much; it only hesitates for a moment, but that’s all it takes for Earth Power to knock it prone, finally down for the count.

In light of this development, Ingo holds a hand up to stay the bat and, when Machamp has been returned to the safety of its pokeball, it’s Alakazam who takes up the fight. When given the opportunity, it sets back up with an agile Calm Mind, and then lets loose with a boosted, strong style Dazzling Gleam.

Giratina stumbles backwards, black smoke scattering in the breeze its momentum creates.

Its eyes flash red.

It wasn’t enough.

The smoke doesn’t disperse, it grows thicker and thicker, an otherworldy fire feeding on any oxygen it touches. Within seconds, the entire temple is blotted out, and Rotom has to frantically push through the smog to avoid being lost within it. Somewhere in the distance, but still perilously close, a serpentine streak whips through the gloom. Gliscor’s head snaps to one side, reacting to the displacement of air, and Alakazam’s whiskers twitch.

It’s hard to see it through the miasma, and certainly not what one would focus on in the moment, but the Arc Phone captures a strange shadow on the ground, growing darker by the moment. It twitches unnaturally, out of sync with the person who casts it, a pace away from where it should rest. In an ironic echo of the silhouette against Palkia’s iridescent hide, it stretches beneath the all-encompassing fog, and instead of willingly stepping foot into the unknown, the lot of them are dragged through a hole in reality.

Rotom shudders in the air and pans around, looking for its friends, but nothing is beneath it.

Not empty space.

Nothing.

When the Arc Phone focuses, all it finds is a swirling blue absence. The way the void folds in on itself can only be conceptualized as a nauseating fishbowl effect, compounded by the lack of scale. It feels like the camera zooms out past the limits of what the human eye can perceive whilst simultaneously honing in, searching for a scrap of solid detail amongst the whorls of darkness. When it doesn’t find a subject, the image, mercifully, begins to blur.

There’s a dampened screech, and, uncertainly, Rotom thinks to shift up.

Above lies a craggy patch of dry earth, and three familiar figures are collapsed upon it. As if questioning itself, Rotom peeks downwards for a second-- and last-- time, before hastily moving back to its group. The internal gyroscope complains, but it flips itself to align with the others, and gives a small, relieved warble. Alakazam opens one eye to look at it, the other nearly covered by the hand pressed to its skull, and offers a short nod.

While its face isn’t visible at first, Gliscor’s ears swivel unceasingly, head continuously tilting as it tries to regain its bearings. It’s found its trainer, at least, and clings to him as its anchoring point. When its massive head pushes into the crook of Ingo’s neck, it becomes clear that it’s seeking comfort just as much as the means to right itself.

Ingo himself is unnaturally still, unresponsive to his partner Pokemon’s bid for reassurance. Where he sits in a rumpled heap, he blinks forcefully, over and over, as if to clear smoke from his eyes, pupils pinpricks against his pale irises. His breathing is nearly unnoticeable, and what can be made out escapes into the aether in staccato bursts, lingering as a colorless halo of vapor.

To the side, Alakazam floats upright, gradually extending both of its hands, and psychic energy pulses between them. It’s not how Calm Mind is generally utilized, but a welcome application nonetheless, and some semblance of alertness is restored. Ingo blinks again, but his brows furrow this time, and he draws a rasping breath; it seems labored in a way its shallow predecessors hadn’t, the very act of filling his lungs a struggle. His hand finds Gliscor’s head while he’s still processing, and he spends several ragged inhalations with the bat pressed to his shoulder, the reciprocal pressure a comfort to them both.

When he finally looks around, after a handful of seconds that seem to stretch much, much longer, there’s not much to see. They’ve got a small chunk of land bobbing in a sea of nothing.

“My, my, not as well adjusted as you liked to believe?” Says a familiar, self-satisfied voice. It would be difficult to pick the directionality out, if not for the glimpse back into their world, a screaming beacon of light even with evening settling over the temple. Though the portal lingers in front of them, Volo looks down upon them, where they’d fallen into the shadows.

The self satisfaction doesn’t last, however. His grin wanes, both as confusion settles in its place, and as miasma chokes the window out of existence.

“Giratina—!”

Giratina isn’t listening. It dives up into view, a sprawling, sinuous giant coiling in defiance of the inverted gravity. What had once been its wings fan out behind it, strands of darkness waving in a nonexistent breeze.

Gliscor spreads its own wings and hisses from the depths of its chest, steady enough to put itself into the line of fire as Giratina lunges forward. Its tendrils make a potent Dragon Claw, but Gliscor barely flinches. He takes the initiative and swings his tail into the ground, using the debris to retaliate with Earth Power, and seeing the rapidfire exchange, Ingo snaps back to the lack of reality.

He offers Alakazam a short nod as he pushes himself to his feet and then jerks his head, ordering it onto the field. Gliscor doesn’t retreat; it’s not a substitution, the rules have changed. With the world quite literally turned upside down, he’s adopting a different style, giving them the best chance they have. Two on one.

Giratina’s eyes fix upon Alakazam; it can recognize the greatest threat and easiest target, and it readies an attack, phasing out of existence beneath Gliscor’s Stone Edge. It’s not frenzied, but neither is it acting with a clear head. Having abandoned its partner in this battle, it has to make a decision, move to enact it, and then react all within the span of a few seconds-- and right now, it’s chosen poorly. Type advantages mean nothing if a move doesn’t connect, and Shadow Force has already demonstrated its fatal flaw.

“Prepare for departure! Hold a Teleport!” Ingo calls, and practically has to force the second half out around the coughing fit that ensues. Alakazam freezes as it hones its senses, trying to find the right moment. Its brow pinches in concern at what it hears, but its focus doesn’t break; it trusts its trainer to conduct the lot of them through this, and if he hasn’t called for its assistance, it won’t risk his strategy.

The instant Giratina emerges from the omnipresent shadows, Alakazam blips away to dodge the actual attack, its psychic abilities keeping it afloat even as it abandons the patch of ground to hover beyond their foe. The warped sense of scale makes it difficult to pick out from behind the loops of Giratina’s body, but it’s there, patient and still, eyes calm as it looks to Ingo for direction.

“Hold! Aerial Ace, Gliscor, agile! And again, if you can! Don’t let up!”

And Gliscor can. Its natural agility weaves it through the currents that Giratina itself has created in the dead air, outpacing it and peppering it with razor sharp wingbeats. Giratina is left to make a snap decision: focus on the Pokemon that’s hovering idle, a sitting Ducklett that isn’t even looking at Giratina, or deal with the bat actively slashing into its hide. Without anyone to think better of it, instinct chooses its priority; it’s had enough of Gliscor whittling away at it, and sets its tendrils into motion, half attack, half restraint.

Gliscor catches one in between its teeth and chomps down in a vicious grin as Alakazam finally receives its orders. The breath Ingo draws to call for the decisive move is audible, not only because of how eerily silent it is here, but because it comes as a wheeze. “Strong style Dazzling Gleam-- put everything you can into it!”

Alakazam is already in motion by the time ‘strong style’ echoes into the darkness, glowing with a buildup of psychic power.

Ingo’s hands curl into fists as he judges the Pokemon involved-- Giratina’s back left wide open, the excess of energy wreathing Alakazam, Gliscor gnawing into the limb holding it immobile-- and he jerks his head down, mentally calling the match.

In hindsight, the trail of facts is there to follow: though Giratina represents both an illegal seventh and eighth participant, the battle never drew to a close. Their arena may have changed, but there was never a moment where tensions were allowed to ease; the adrenaline that carries a Pokemon’s stat boosts or debuffs hasn’t faded, and, in fact, Alakazam’s senses have only grown sharper under the last Calm Mind. Its power has risen to incredibly potent levels, and its teammate has given it an unobstructed path forward.

Giratina may be a force to reckon with, but the unifying rule of Doubles and Multis is this:

You win or lose by your partner.

In that moment, it’s abundantly clear that Giratina is alone, and doomed to failure because of it.

It screeches under the force behind Dazzling Gleam, then wails again, from something greater than pain. Its barbed tail convulses, and where there had once been nothing, it tears a gash back to reality. Light pours in, and it immediately slips through, Gliscor still stuck tooth-deep in its shadowy limb. A hand snaps out to snatch Rotom up and, at that exact moment, Alakazam fills the screen. For the second time, it’s caught on camera, a yellow blur pulling its friend to safety.

The darkness below dims rapidly, the path to the other world dwindling in milliseconds. Gliscor lands on the Temple of Sinnoh’s cracked floor, jostled loose by the shifting of Giratina’s wings, from six back to two, but the dragon isn’t waiting for its form to settle. It coasts eastward, and as their paths cross for what might be the last time, it shoots a look to Volo.

Volo’s expression is locked in a grinning, apoplectic rage.

“Turning tail and running? From this wreck of a man? PATHETIC! I was the one who fed you that power, so you might dethrone Arceus!” He whirls to watch it go, limbs trembling with untapped fury. “I was the one who gave you the chance to claw your way into this world! To drag its creator out from hiding! You’ve betrayed us both!”

All at once, his energy seems to escape him. His charade is up, Pokemon defeated, and his fair weather ally has blown him off. His gaze draws up, to the sky well beyond the temple’s boundary. “How? How could this happen? Almighty Arceus, if you have any heart within you, then tell me… what is it that you find so lacking in me?”

The plea goes unanswered. There’s a soft, sudden intake of breath-- of recognition-- marred with a lingering wheeze. The hold on Rotom redoubles.

Unaware of what’s going on behind him, Volo’s voice trembles. “...do you mean to tell me that this world doesn’t need to be remade?”

When this, too, finds silence as its answer, he looks over one slumped shoulder to stare balefully at his adversary. “You. Answer me. When you spoke of chasing ideals, of destroying all one holds dear… is this what you meant? Not the world, but myself?”

It takes a moment for Ingo to answer, between his attempts to reorient himself and what must be racing thoughts. With the Arc Phone still caught in his iron grip, the specifics can’t be seen, but it’s clear on his Pokemon: Alakazam sways in the air-- still stubbornly upright, still able to battle if the traitor forces its hands-- and Gliscor has opted to scuttle across the temple on its claws and hind legs instead of working out which way is up. It does its best to scale its human, as evidenced by the way the camera sways and the edge of a wing that pokes into frame, folding protectively around Ingo’s shoulders.

Ingo's voice wavers at first, but, with the practiced skill of a guide and authority figure, he forces it smooth.

“Tunnel vision is a trap. If you hold one goal up to the exclusion of all else, you’ve already set yourself up for failure.” There’s a quirk to his voice that suggests he’s not entirely convinced he’s doing the right thing-- that he shouldn’t be saying this, but the conviction rules out, and he continues without pause. “I understand chasing a dream with everything you have, but that alone won’t take you to your highest state.”

Volo stares at him for a long few seconds and then closes his eye. It opens again as he turns in full and strides over to close the gap, sparing the slightest, dispassionate glance for Rotom when it manages to wiggle free. While it’s possible he’s readying an assault, there are still two Pokemon there, flanking their trainer, and he’d surely be on the losing end if he made any attempt at it.

“Here.” He says, defeated, and holds out something blocky and purple, “Take it, but know this: someday, I’ll stand before Arceus at last. No matter how many centuries it takes me, I will conquer it. As its chosen envoy, you deserve to know that you’ll be ripped from this home, too, to face me again.”

Ingo studies the item for a second, hand shaking as it raises up, but doesn’t take the offering just yet. He studies Volo’s face, like he’s committing it to memory, and then sets his hand down to accept the final plate. “You’re a historian, someone who uncovers and learns from the past. While I see that you’ll accept no terminal called end, you might consider what’s happened today and whether this truly is the destination you mean to aim for.”

As the slab eases from his grip, Volo also eyes the other man up and down. He gives a single guffaw and shakes his head. “I can’t begin to guess at where Arceus plucked you from.”

And, with that, he departs.

No one has the energy to give chase; they stay standing until Volo has departed down the mountainside, and then collapse in a heap of Pokemon, human and technology. Gliscor pushes his face against his human’s arm, craning to get a look at the plate. Eyes smiling-- if nothing else-- Ingo humors the bat and tilts it toward him.

“Thank you. Thank you both, for everything-- for trusting me, for taking the wheel when I derailed, for…” He chokes on a laugh, “For winning. You won! You beat Giratina twice over!”

He’s breathless by the end of it, his gasping disbelief stemming not from a lack of confidence, but the nature of what they’d just endured.

“I’m so proud of you. Of all of you.” He says, and lays his head back against Alakazam. It snorts, whiskers fluttering wildly, but seems perfectly fine with the arrangement.

Ingo stares up for a moment, into the darkening sky. One hand works into the fur behind Gliscor’s ear, and with a sigh of relief, he closes his eyes.

“You’ve done so much already. It’s selfish to ask for more, but… please. Be it weeks or years, please, when I depart from this station, will you align with my tracks?”

He can’t see the way Gliscor’s face contorts in confusion, or how Alakazam rolls its eyes, but the physical sensations say plenty. Gliscor drops bonelessly on top of him and begins to nibble at his hair, and while Alakazam is all but tapped, a gentle glow comes across, where its fingers lay upon the exposed skin of its human’s hand.

Seems it was never actually in question.

Rotom drops down in full, losing its precarious view of the others in favor of watching dusk spread. Every now and then, the edge of a spoon drifts into view, riding the rise and fall of Alakazam’s chest.

The recording ends without fanfare, set to the soothing lull of steady breathing.