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The leaves at the Bellchime Trail are the rich colors of sunset year-round. Most residents of Ecruteak say the soil was blessed by Ho-Oh itself when it was first born and descended from the heavens, claiming the land that the Bell Tower would be built upon as its home. Razed by the fire of Ho-Oh, new life sprang forth from the ashes, forever changed. It’s poetic, he’ll admit. A nice parallel to the Burned Tower and the legendary beasts and all the other tidbits of history that haunts the town. Maybe that’s why Morty doesn’t quite believe the stories about Bellchime Trail: it just fits in a little too perfectly. Besides, the story draws tourists. That’s the only real reason it’s kept in circulation; maybe that was the reason it was first told.
Bellchime is one of those places that’s oozed with tourists since the city council decided that they would open the trail to the public for viewing. “It’s not like they’ll be allowed into the tower. It’s still sacred,” they said to try and convince him. Morty said no at first, but that didn’t last very long— not when Miki spent the entirety of their lunch together fretting over the dwindling numbers in the crowds at the dance theater.
A lot of the tourists complain about the curfew, and he can even recall a woman who handcuffed herself to one of the trees in protest of it. But for the most part they just drag their feet and complain, some of the more rebellious ones finding a way to sneak in and visit the trail at night. And If his Gengar takes issue with it and busts out of its pokéball to handle those delinquents, well… that’s not really any of his business, is it?
But for the most part, the tourists don’t even seem to care about the Bell Tower, instead choosing to ooh and aah at the golden trees that surround the path. They like the leaves so much that a lot of tourists will take one with them as a keepsake. It started happening so often that a lot of the shops in town started to sell little glass frames, the perfect size to preserve a leaf from Bellchime. He’s glad they don’t hover too long, that they take their pictures and pluck their keepsakes off of the path and leave the sacred ground to rest. But at the same time, a foul cocktail of anger and disdain churns within him any time he thinks of how little they care. Most days, he manages to keep it subdued. On the days he can’t, Morty opts to hunker down in the gym and avoid the crowds.
Right now, he’s the only person left at Bellchime, the sun a mere sliver peeking out from over the horizon line growing ever smaller as it continues to descend. His only company are the Hoothoot that roost in the surrounding trees, and even then they keep mostly to themselves, hiding amidst the thick foliage as they hoot to one another softly. He should really be heading back home. It’s been quiet at the gym recently but an entire herd of trainers just managed to get past Whitney and should be coming in from Goldenrod first thing tomorrow morning. That’s what Bugsy told him, and even if he was busy chasing around a Spinarak for the entirety of their call, Morty doesn’t feel like doubting him.
With a sigh Morty casts one last glance over to the Bell Tower, which stands silhouetted against a swirled backdrop of sky, a rainbow of colors swirled across the clouds.
It’s by the light of the dying sun and slow-growing moonlight that Umbreon and Jolteon find him. They weave between his feet and paw at his pockets, looking up at Morty with pleading eyes until he relents. Morty digs into his pockets and fishes out a pair of treats, tossing one to each of them— Jolteon leaps up to snag his straight out of the air, while Umbreon’s hits him square in the snout and leaves him to snatch it up from off the ground.
Satisfied with their haul, the two scamper off down the streets back towards the dance studio, Umbreon’s golden rings lighting the way. Really, he needs to have a few words with Zuki and Sayo about spoiling those two. With a shake of the head, Morty dismisses the idea. Not like they would listen to him anyway. He strolls past the Burned Tower as he tries to remember if what he has in the fridge is worth eating or if he should stop for takeout.
“Excuse me, but you’re the gym leader of this town, aren’t you?”
He stops, twisting his head to get a better look at the man. He’s obviously a tourist, but from where Morty doesn’t know. He has deep set eyes and a strong nose, and stands just a few inches shorter than Morty himself. He’s dressed for much warmer weather, in light fabrics with bright colors. Deep lines carve their way across his face at his mouth and eyes and forehead; that and the graying hair are the only real things that show his age. The man carries himself with such confidence and youthful passion it makes him seem twenty years younger than he actually is.
“I am.” Even to his own ears, Morty’s voice sounds hollow and disinterested. He doesn’t bother to try and fix it, mistrust still coiling around in his stomach. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“How is it that people pay their respects in Ecruteak? I haven’t been here very long and I’m not sure how to just yet.”
“I— We tend to use incense,” he says, unable to stop a single eyebrow from raising at the question.
“I see…” The man hums. “I don’t suppose you know a place where I could get my hands on any?”
At that, Morty’s interest is piqued. He walks over and joins the man by the stoop of the Burned Tower, reaching into his bag and fetching a stick of incense and a lighter.
“Oh, don’t feel like you must. I’m sure you have places to go.”
“Nothing that can’t wait.” After a few tries, the top of the lighter flickers with a small flame, which he holds to the tip of the incense stick. “And I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to.”
“I thank you, my boy.” The man laughs, rich and powerful.
Morty sets the burning stick of incense into the small stand resting on one of the steps. He’ll need to replace it soon, or clean it at the very least. The aromatic smoke curls this way and that, forming entrancing patterns as he steps back.
“I’m Morty, by the way,” he introduces. “Leader of the Ecruteak City Gym.”
The man nods. “Hala.”
“Not many tourists tend to come for this,” Morty says as he looks to the Burned Tower. “What brings you?”
“Well, I am getting up there in years. Never too early to scope out where I might end six feet under!” Hala laughs again, nose wrinkling at his own genius and mustache wiggling about. But then his expression quiets, taking on a pensive serenity. “No, no, I simply try to pay my respects to those passed whenever I’m given the opportunity.”
“So you do know a bit about the tower?”
“Ah, yes yes. A nice girl with an Espeon told me about it when I first arrived, not too long ago.” Hala scratches at his chin. “Maybe a week?”
“Naoko?” Morty guesses.
“That’s her name! You know of her?”
“We grew up together.”
The man nods solemnly, and Morty turns his gaze back to the tower as silence falls between them.
A strange cocktail of emotions well up inside him and begin to churn around in his chest as Morty stares at the dilapidated building. There’s going to be another council meeting at the end of the month, barely a week away from today. He just knows someone is going to bring it up, probably Veronica, with her ideas of a grand hotel and an Ecruteak expertly churning out hordes of people from all around the world.
Just the thought of it makes Morty feel sick to his stomach. He’s been to places like that before— back when he was invited out to those tournaments all the way in Unova. The battles were good and the people were interesting, but the sounds of the city kept him up all night; the stench of pollution soured the air; everyone was so close together it made his skin crawl.
He’d sooner eat glass than let that happen to Ecruteak.
“What troubles you?”
Morty startles, embarrassment turning his ears bright red. “Ah, I apologize. Just lost in thought.”
“Come now. It won’t do you any good to keep all of that bottled up inside.” At Morty’s protests, Hala dismisses him with a wave of a wrinkled hand. “This old man is always happy to lend an ear.”
“It’s sort of funny. Just about everyone on the town council is scrambling to come up with a solution to save a pile of rubble from wasting away.”
“And what about you?”
Morty gives a guilty sort of half smile, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “I suppose I’m the same way.”
“And why exactly are you all so keen on saving it?”
“The history it holds. What would people think if we were to let it completely rot away? And if we cleared it out for being a hazard, that would be even worse.” Morty shakes his head. “What would we put up in its place? There’s nothing we could… nothing could replace it without sending some kind of message. I can’t allow our history to get covered up like that.”
“But if you keep repairing it, none of the structure will be of the original. Does that not send a message on its own?”
Morty sighs. “That’s the issue.”
“I don’t know too much about this city, so forgive this old man if he says something out of line. But most of the time, the thing itself isn’t what really matters. It’s just as you said, it’s the history of the tower that makes you stop to think. Because it starts with the tower, but what if it spreads? Soon enough if you’re not careful, we lose that part of us.” Hala shakes his head. “If we don’t protect our culture, who will? Our children and grandchildren won’t, if they never learn who they really are.” He sighs deep and long, and when he continues again Hala sounds as if he’s aged another decade. “But if we don’t evolve and grow alongside the world, it will move on without us. And we’re left to rot away.”
“Bit of a dilemma, isn’t it?”
“That it is, my boy.”
Morty studies Hala’s face, a little more than intrigued. His words were too visceral, too raw to be anything but experience. “What brings you to Johto? You’re obviously from out of town,” he asks instead. No need to push where he obviously wasn’t wanted.
“My grandson. He needed me to… get out of the way for awhile.”
“Oh.” Silence falls between them, and Morty coughs into his fist, unsure what to say.
Hala chuckled, sounding a bit embarrassed himself. “That sounds much worse than it really is. Back home, I was a kahuna. They’re a bit like the gym leaders here, if I had to make a comparison. My grandson’s taken over my role— these old bones just couldn’t handle it anymore, but with me still there in the village or on the island… He always knew, subconsciously, that I would be there to help pick up his messes if need be. He can’t afford to live like that, especially not as a kahuna.” He sighs, lost in thought. “So I left to let him know I believed in him. That I knew, that I do know, that he can handle any storm that may blow his way.”
“It’s good of you to have that confidence in him. Last year one of our leaders finally retired, and for six months he was camped outside of the gym making sure things were running smoothly.” And that’s not even to mention what Lance had done with the Elite Four.
Hala laughs. “I raised him myself: if I don’t have faith in the boy who will?”
“But you’re sure to know all of his flaws.”
“And I believe in him despite them all.”
Morty isn’t too sure what to say to that, so he just sits and thinks on it. He wonders what it would be like to have a grandfather like that. He was so blunt, so resolute— Hala said it like it was a fact of the very world itself.
“He’s lucky to have you. People like that are hard to come across.”
“Believe me, I know that all too well.” Hala’s eyes take on a glossy sheen. “We must throw ourselves into those situations head-on. Love fully and completely for those who weren’t given the chance.”
He thinks of Zuki— all five of the girls, really, and finds himself agreeing. Their dedication to a long-lost deity, to their art, to Morty himself even.
“We’ll never know exactly what someone wanted most out of life, or what exactly they thought of you or anyone else. Things like that… they blur with time, as memory slowly begins to fade. My daughter, she…” Hala’s voice trails off. “I’ll never know truly what she thinks, but I try my best to stay the man she was proud of when she was still with us.”
“That’s quite kind of you.”
“Nothing revolutionary.”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
“Still, sometimes I worry I dwell too long.”
“There’s a difference between dwelling on the past and loving those that have left us. I’ve found that if someone stops to wonder if they’re doing one or the other, you tend to be on the right track.” Morty hums and looks upward to the stars. They wink down at him, mischievous. “You’ve already made it so far, gone on however long without her. It’s not a crime to reminisce.”
“You’re too kind.”
“I don’t think so.” Morty can’t help but chuckle under his breath. “A lot of people don’t think so.”
“I beg to differ. You’re quite a grounded young man.”
A shrug. “Just sort of a byproduct of living in this town.”
“Humble too, eh?” Hala chuckles and looks back to the incense, the smoke curling off it a bit slower than before. He startles, heavy brows raising. “I didn’t realize we’d been here so long!”
“It’s alright. I enjoyed it.”
“Still, we both ought to be calling it a night.”
With a nod, Morty steps forward and extinguishes the incense, the last few embers falling off and losing their gentle glow.
“Thank you for the conversation,” he says as he sets the half-burnt stick aside.
“I should be the one thanking you.” Hala bows his head, a soft smile gracing his face. “Have a safe trip home.”
“See you around.” Even as he says it, Morty knows he probably won’t. Still, he’s learned that sometimes it's the sentiment that matters more than anything else.
The two part ways, likely to never meet again.