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Carracosta had first found his child—though back then she hadn’t been his child yet—under inexplicable circumstances on a cold winter day. He’d been taking an evening stroll on the path between the mountains to get away from all the loud voices and constant conversations in the village. Out there beneath the frigid sky, one could have only heard the wind whistling, the trees rattling, and a quiet sigh coming from a tiny bundle next to the trail. The little one, barely more than a newborn, had been sleeping silently in the snow on the cold forest floor, wrapped in a pair of old scarves.
After scooping up the little one into his flippers, Carracosta had searched for hours up and down the path, seeking the child’s parents—or any relatives, really—only to find nothing but dead grass and bare trees, stripped of their leaves by the freezing winter. Eventually, the setting sun and an oncoming snowstorm had forced him to head home with the child for fear that they would both freeze to death.
To think that he would find a tiny little baby alone on a forgotten trail, and that the baby would grow up to run away from home and save the world. It was unbelievable; nevertheless, Carracosta welcomed her back with open arms when she arrived home yesterday, triumphant.
In the morning, mere hours ago, Vallea had rushed off to her beloved hill, the one with an ancient tree digging its roots into the soil, to chase after a strange golden light. A few minutes after the Riolu had left, her friend had gone after her too.
It was evening, and they were still gone. At first Carracosta had thought they were out on one of the little adventures that Vallea loved to cook up whenever she was bored, but now he was getting concerned. He’d already checked the hill with the big tree; neither of them were there, or anywhere else in the village. And he’d asked everyone he could find about their whereabouts: the schoolteachers, Raticate, Lombre, Kangaskhan, even little Budew. Nobody had the slightest clue where the children could be. Not even the village sheriff knew, but he assured Carracosta that he wouldn’t stop searching until he found them. Carracosta found himself pacing back and forth before his house’s front door, waiting for his child to burst through it and tell him all about the strange and wonderful things she’d seen outside. He tried getting started on dinner, but the growing worries in the back of his mind kept him from focusing on anything at all, never mind cooking. Then he tried reading a book he’d been meaning to get around to; it reminded him that Vallea would greatly enjoy a story like this, and he was back to worrying again.
Finally, a little knock came from the front door. Carracosta rushed over, heart in his throat, and opened it expecting to find his child armed with dozens of stories about everywhere she’d been today, and he would ask her if she had gone anyplace dangerous, then he would scold her for being out for so long, and finally tell her to get ready for dinner because she hadn’t even had lunch so she must be hungry.
Vallea wasn’t at the door. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Carracosta found her friend—Aster, was it?—standing stiffly, staring at the floor. Carracosta’s anxiety only worsened as a small, traitorous part of him reeled with disappointment.
“Where have you been?” Carracosta snapped. The words spilled out of him all at once, punctuated by sharp gestures. “You two have been out for the whole day without so much as a single word! Nobody knows where you are, nobody knows where you’ve gone, it’s as though you’ve disappeared!”
Aster flinched at the last word, tensing up as though he expected Carracosta to attack him. “I was…at Nuzleaf's house,” he murmured.
“And Vallea? Was she there too?”
“Vallea is…”
Aster trailed off and covered his face as his shoulders started shaking. Horrible thoughts grew on the edges of Carracosta’s mind: Vallea was injured, or kidnapped, or lost, or trapped somewhere dangerous. “Where is she? Where is my child!?”
The Treecko finally looked up, lowering his paws to reveal dead eyes and a broken stare. After a shuddering breath, he whispered, “Vallea disappeared.”
It took Aster an hour to explain everything: Vallea was a reincarnation of Mew; she only existed to stop Dark Matter; she needed to vanish so that Mew could come back. Every few words he would trail off, staring into space with glassy eyes, and Carracosta would have to repeatedly prompt him to continue. It was as though the Treecko were replaced by a broken-down automaton that needed to be restarted every few seconds.
With every word Aster forced out, the world receded further and further from Carracosta. He couldn’t—no, wouldn't believe it. Vallea hadn't vanished into golden sparks. The idea was preposterous. The boy was wrong or he was lying or he was simply delusional, and Vallea would arrive any second now. Everything went numb and silent. A high-pitched ringing droned in Carracosta’s head as he grew suddenly dizzy.
She couldn’t be gone.
She couldn't.
“Stay here,” Carracosta said. “I’m going to go look for her.”
The Treecko said something in a world far away, but his words couldn’t reach Carracosta, who was already rushing out the door and into the summer evening. It was too bright; the sunlight beamed down, rendering Carracosta's surroundings a smeared orange blur, and all the voices and conversations of the village were reduced to incomprehensible sounds. He couldn’t get enough air, regardless of how heavily he breathed. Slow inhale, deep exhale. His chest still felt like a vice was crushing it. A small, distant part of him recognized this as shock. He didn’t care.
Carracosta had first found his child under inexplicable circumstances.
How fitting, then, that he should also lose that child under inexplicable circumstances.
As he hurried down the road past houses and gardens, scanning every nook and cranny for his child, the neighbors all called out to him. Their voices sounded concerned.
He didn’t know what they were saying.
It didn’t matter.
She wasn't in the plaza, or the orchard, or the school, or the café, or the hill, or anywhere in the village. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find her bright smile and cheerful eyes.
So she wasn’t in the village. Then she had to be somewhere nearby, right? Maybe in the surrounding woods, or by Revelation Mountain. It’s been less than a day; she couldn’t have gone far.
Carracosta made a promise, then and there. He would find her. He would find his child and bring her home, no matter how long it would take or how far he’d have to go. Vallea was too young to die. She didn’t deserve to have her life cut short so early. He refused to accept it.
Because if he did, then he would never forgive himself.