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Bless us, Saints, bless us, Winds
May the Winter pass us by
May the Demons turn their eyes
May we live to see Spring rise
“Moooom, do we have to go out for this?”
Toshio’s grumbles filled his front yard, with nobody around but a now-harvested modest garden and several flowers to hear. A lack of any immediate response was answer enough. He loudly groaned before turning around and heading out the front gate, stomping as hard as the wooden sandals would allow him.
Despite his annoyance, he didn’t argue further, especially not after making it far enough into the town to overhear the music carried on the wind. He may not have cared much for being out here in the windy cold, but the pleasant twangs of their traditional hymns—played on suitably antiquated wooden instruments—almost made up for that immediate discomfort. Almost. The handful of coins he got to buy himself snacks helped too, no doubt.
The whole festival felt stupid and old, like something his grandparents’ grandparents grew up with, and like it hadn’t changed at all since then. Toshio remembered being dazzled by paper lanterns and multicolored lights when he was younger, but now they only felt tacky. The thick cotton kimono chafed against his skin, providing a very much unneeded reminder on why he refused to touch it any other time of the year. Beyond it looking so silly and plain, at least.
At least the snacks the people made for the harvest festival were some of his favorites. They brought him momentary enjoyment and long-term resentment at them not being prepared for the rest of the year in equal measure. He often complained about how unfair that latter fact was. The times his mom bothered to listen in the first place, he just got a line or two about them being made more special by being rare. Something he vehemently disagreed with. The snacks weren’t special to him because they were so rare; they were special to him because they tasted so good! How could more of a good thing be bad!?
Stupid, stupid adults.
With his little internal argument laid out and squarely won, Toshio could finally shift his attention to his surroundings. His feet, even when bound with the most awkward shoes imaginable, had successfully carried him to the town square, with the usual fruit and vegetable stalls replaced with a makeshift stage and numerous snack vendors. And, well, a bunch of traveling salesmen of assorted plastic junk. If not for his mom being very direct about what she’d do with any dumb cheap toys he bought, he would’ve considered grabbing a figurine or two. Yes, they were badly molded plastic with a bunch of sharp edges and flat-out incorrect colors, but they were something! Not like she was planning to take them to Mauville, or even just Lavaridge any time soon anyway, and especially not to peruse their toy stores.
A Swellow and several Taillow were sitting on the edge of the nearby roof, as if watching people passing by. More realistically, they were just waiting for people to accidentally drop their food before swooping in to take it. Not that Toshio—or anyone else—really minded. Both because it was funny to watch a silly klutz get his all-natural comeuppance, and because he’d rather have more Swellow and Zigzagoon than other potential wild mons moving into their little town.
As embarrassing as still having a big harvest festival was in the modern age, especially with so many farms around their town closing down, he couldn’t help but hope that at least one of its stated purposes still worked. Namely, making enough of a noisy light show with their fireworks to scare off any encroaching wild mons for the entire winter. There were many scary mons out there, especially here in the mountains. Trainers were here to keep them safe, true, but even then—he’d rather it wouldn’t have to come down to fighting. Mon fights were scary, even those on the TV.
Mostly just for him, though. Not even his younger brother found them anywhere near as intimidating! It was embarrassing! Toshio was twelve—almost an adult in his eyes—he should’ve been more manly than this! And yet, every time he heard the telltale jingle of the station his parents loved to watch, he always tried to slink away. It all looked so, so dangerous, mons looked so, so dangerous. Not all of them, no. He’d never seen a Swellow on any of the professional broadcasts, after all. But many, if not most.
And not all of those were dangerous either! He knew that. His school teacher owned a Combusken, and even sometimes brought it to their dinky little classroom when the administration wasn’t around. Its name was Pochi, and it was pretty cool! But it wasn’t a wild mon, so of course it wouldn’t be dangerous.
Toshio did not like the tiny voice in his head that sometimes told him otherwise.
“Oh, there you are! Already grabbed something for yourself?” his mom asked from the crowd, pulling Toshio’s attention away from the line he was standing in. His little brother was valiantly tugging at her arm after spotting something neat and wanting to see it closer.
“Still waiting, mom. Why’s this line taking so loooong?” Toshio grumbled before looking around the adult in front of him—and spotting the culprit. He groaned, “Oh, it’s the big monk.”
If there was anything Toshio liked less than his town’s old-timey traditions and wild mons, it was the person currently getting a handout directly from the stall. As far as he and his classmates were concerned, his name should’ve been ‘big hairy’. The insightful genius of his idea sprouted from the fact that the monk in question was both big and hairy. He had at least an inch on everyone in the town, in all three dimensions, and his bushy gray hair and beard covered most of his features. Clothes, too, with one notable exception—the faded orange robe wrapped around his body, its spiritual connotations enough to grant him the nickname the rest of the town used.
His mom reacted to his appearance in a notably more cheerful way. “Oh, nice! Make sure to greet and offer something to him if he passes by, for good luck!”
The twelve-year-old had no idea how giving anything to their town’s beggar would bring him any luck. Because that’s what the big monk was at the end of the day—just a beggar! “Why, just so he can eat it too!?” Toshio snapped back, frustrated at the extremely major inconvenience of having to wait a bit longer for his treats.
Mom raised her voice. “Toshio! Don’t say such things, that’s rude!”
But it just made no sense! “But that’s what he’s gonna do! Why else would he be coming here so often to beg for food?”
“For the last time, Toshio,” his mom began, rubbing her temples with her free hand. “He’s a monk seeking Sainthood. Aiding him in that goal isn’t just good manners, but will earn us favors from the heavens.”
Toshio wasn’t having it—he knew he was correct. “That doesn’t make him not a beggar! And nobody even knows where he lives!”
“One, more, word, and I’m grounding you for two weeks, Toshio.” Between the surrounding noise, bright lights, and having to deal with an entire second child going through his hyperactive years, Toshio’s mom wasn’t having any of this. To her relief, her threat worked, making her son drop the conversation with a weak, frightened nod. She headed off soon after, leaving Toshio to continue standing in line on his own. It was finally moving again, now that the alleged religious figure had moved onto the next stall.
By the time his mom had finally turned the nearby corner, though, Toshio was firmly back to annoyance. It was all this stupid ‘monk’s fault, both for making him wait longer and for making his mom annoyed! He had to do something about him, but what? A fair chunk of the town might’ve been ambivalent towards him, but very few disliked the stray beggar anywhere near as much as Toshio. Not even his classmates, firmly cementing Toshio as being the smartest kid in his class on that alone. Especially after he’d figured out who the ‘monk‘ actually was!
At least, figured as much as he could on his own, after a very detailed 40 minute session of research in his local library a few months ago. The librarian even let him see the scans of a couple of old newspapers! Once he spotted the coincidence, though, it was inarguable! Some forty years ago, before his mom was even born, a small plane from another country crashed not too far from their town! Nobody was said to have survived, but that couldn’t have been true, since the ‘monk’ began showing up just a few weeks later. Obviously he was the pilot of the plane who had somehow survived, and has been begging for food from their town since! Because he was actually a foreigner, and lazy at that!
To the surprise of exactly nobody except Toshio himself, his theory didn’t have very many buyers. Not zero, not quite—between younger kids and conspiratorial adults, there were a few handfuls of fertile ground for it—but much closer to that than even to the size of his classroom. He wasn’t as bold as to extrapolate that into him being the smartest person in the whole town... yet. But he wouldn’t disagree with that if asked, either.
And if he could reveal that ‘monk’ for the foreigner that he was, then everyone would see that he’d been right all along! Doing that was where things got tricky, however. Even if he had been from outside of Hoenn, the ‘monk’ had picked up a bit of Hoennian in the meantime, though he remained silent most of the time. Toshio’s mom pointed to silence being considered a spiritual virtue as the cause, but he knew better. Especially since, even when the ‘monk’ actually spoke, it was barely coherent and his voice always sounded so painfully forced.
Toshio didn’t have too many other ideas on how he’d prove he’s been right all along, but one still stood above the rest. Why, he just had to follow the so-called monk to whatever his actual dwelling was, and watch him devour everything the townsfolk gave him like the glutton he no doubt was! Then everyone would believe him! Yes, the plan was coming together! It’d be his time to shine brighter than even this dumb festival—
“Toshio. What are you getting?”
The forceful, groaning tone snapped the boy back to reality—a reality that involved the man behind the stall, his neighbor, staring down at him with thinly veiled annoyance. Toshio had no idea how long he’d been standing here for, and was too engaged in his plan to let something as petty as shame get to him for holding the line up. For the most part. With a nervous chuckle, he cleaned the air and reached a hand into his pocket. “I-I’ll have the fried Tamato, please! L-large one!”
One paper plate full of crispy, salty, spicy treats later, Toshio could finally slink off and away from the main plaza. His eyes were peeled for the spiritual pretender while his mouth pounced on one piece of fried berry after another, the two senses combining into a dangerous hunter. Alas, even with his exquisite tracking senses, he couldn’t immediately spot the big monk anywhere, forcing him to make difficult deals with the entities he encountered, each of them driving a harder bargain than the last.
“Did you guys see the big monk anywhere?” he nonchalantly asked, not revealing his hand.
His classmates turned to him, sparklers in hand, their chat interrupted. They eyed him down, searching for an exploitable weakness in his well-composed facade. Until, finally, came the treacherous offer. “Six pieces and we’ll tell you.”
Six!? That was almost half his entire portion! “That’s way too much,” Toshio whined in a moment of weakness. “Two, max!”
“Eight,” the other friend suggested in response, a smirk steadily consuming his face.
“Y-you can have four, just tell me!” Toshio whined.
“Well, if you care that much, how about ten?”
Toshio was a boy of many talents, but bartering wasn’t one of them. “F-fine, you can have six,” he relented, looking away in annoyed defeat as he stuck out the paper plate towards his friends.
“Thank youuuu~,” came a sing-song voice, accompanied by a swift hand. “Last we saw him, he was heading for the school, and probably for the food bank.”
The food bank on top of everything he already got from the festival? Toshio knew the ‘monk’ was lazy, but it hadn’t hit him before just how much of a glutton he must’ve been. No wonder he was so big if he kept eating this much! “The food bank, ugh! Of course! Thanks, guys!”
Right as he was about to follow the monk’s footsteps, though, a question sprang forth. “You got something to do with him?”
Finally, an opportunity for Toshio to make his plan known. “Yes! I’ll finally show you all that he’s just some bum, a-and not even a real monk!” He was used to the sound of groans whenever he brought up his theories about this so-called cultural icon of their little town, but the ones he heard just now were some of the biggest ones he’d seen yet.
“Leave him alone, you dumbass. Come on.”
“You’re gonna make a scene for no reason...”
No, the boy wouldn’t budge, not this time. “No!” he shouted, stomping the wooden sandal against the pavement for emphasis. “Why are you guys even defending him this much!?”
“Because he’s just some guy; he hasn’t even done anything.”
And that was exactly the problem. “Yes, because he’s just a beggar who’s been taking our food for years!” Toshio insisted. “Why don’t you want him to stop!?”
“Isn’t charity supposed to be a good thing?”
“Cause he’s funny! And very wise or something.”
Toshio insisted. “But how do you two, how does anyone even know he’s an actual monk and not just some vagrant?”
“I dunno, but someone would’ve kicked him out already if he wasn’t.”
“Does it even matter?”
That second question wormed its way deep into Toshio’s mind upon hearing it, the sheer absurdity contained therein flabbering his gasts. Of course it mattered! Because if the ‘monk’ wasn’t actually a monk, that meant he’d been lying this entire time! And that they were all wrong! And stupid! They had to be right about this, of course they had to!
The very idea of just not caring about something as monumental as a single person ‘undeservedly’ getting food made Toshio reel back, taking a few tentative steps away from his classmates. They didn’t matter, they were stupid anyway, and they’d definitely apologize and respect him once he’d proved that the big monk was nothing more than a big hairy poser! A faker, even!
With the conversation done, and him no doubt the intellectual victor, he turned away and ran as fast as the sandals would let him, their hollow clacks echoing through the streets. The food bank wasn’t far, but with the distraction of his classmates, Toshio doubted he’d be able to catch the ‘monk’ in the act. He might even have to ask another person for directions, and that would suck because he had just a few pieces left! And he didn’t want to have to buy another portion, because then he wouldn’t have any cash left for the very tall ice cream!
The drama blooming inside of him was interrupted as he turned the corner—and finally spotted his target. There he was, standing in front of the food bank door, ‘talking’ to the lady working there in the loosest sense of the word. Even from his vantage spot a few dozen feet away, Toshio saw her filling up a large plastic bag with item after item. Vegetables, berries, bread, jam, rice, even tea bags! What was a homeless bum supposed to do with tea bags!? The thought alone made the boy narrow his eyes as he peeked from behind the nearest wall, trying his hardest to remain undetected. The crunchy treats didn’t help, but he was confident in his stealth almost as much as he was confident in his smarts.
“There you go, sir!” the lady finally exclaimed, passing a heaping plastic bag the ‘monk’s way.
“Thank, thank kindly,” the imposter replied with a rough, almost sick-sounding voice. “Winds bless you and yours.” After receiving a dignified bow in return, he was on his way again, holding the plastic bag in one hand, and the hand-woven one he almost carried with himself in the other. Incredible spoils for an hour of begging—Toshio’s mom had to work much harder than that and she rarely ever brought home this much food!
The thought provided Toshio with newfound determination as his little stalk began proper. If he moved slowly enough, he could avoid making almost any noise at all, boosting his odds of success immensely now that he’d emptied his plate of fried Tamato. However, that left the other issue of him ending up too slow to keep up with the ‘monk’, forcing him to walk faster if he wanted to not lose the pretender. The further they got away from the city center, the easier it got, with the grass and dirt not making anywhere near as much noise to walk on. It was getting dark around them, really dark, but Toshio was undeterred—this was worth any discomfort of walking through the unlit, rural paths.
*rustle, rustle*
A-and if a wild mon actually attacked them, then the big monk would obviously protect them both! Right! Right!?
The boy’s heart raced as he followed the imposter down the dirt road connecting their town to the next village over—before hammering even harder as the ‘monk’ took a sudden turn into the tree line, into the darkness that not even moonlight could illuminate. This was scary, b-but Toshio was a big boy, he could do it! He’d find the ‘monk’s actual ID, see that it was in some other language he didn’t recognize, and he’d have his proof! He tried to recall what country that crashed plane was registered in, he’d seen it in one the newspapers he read during his research. Its name was murky and half-forgotten. Kama—no, Kateki—no, something else—
A blinding light erupted from the darkness before him, and alongside it, a roar that rivaled a thunderstorm.
Toshio leaped backwards at the flash and the wave of blistering heat that accompanied it. His breath was caught in his throat as his tearing eyes tried to make out the source of the light—no, the flames!
A demon!
Its crimson face stared at him through orange flames, its fangs even sharper than its horns. Fury twisted its sunken eyes and blue lips, which then parted to unleash another roar, fierce enough to make the surrounding trees croak.
Before Toshio knew it, he was screaming at the top of his lungs as he ran blindly down the rural road, minor burns stinging in the cold air. His eyes could barely make out the street lights in the distance, but he more than made up for that with his terrified cries, catching the townsfolk's attention long before he ran back into view. Ultimately, most of the town thought a frightening, but ultimately harmless, encounter with a wild Fire-type to be punishment enough for trying to harass the big monk. Not his mom, though.
Not by a long shot.
That was more fun than she’d had in a while.
The creature took off its red-hot mask and slid it underneath its cloak, beside the crude steel mask already there. A part of her was surprised that no other villager had tried following her this far before. But, if she had to choose who the most likely human was to pull off a stunt like that, that kid would be her pick far and away. He got his lesson; she got her few moments of amusement. It was time to keep moving.
The two bags were nearly weightless in her grasp, their scents making the remaining journey simultaneously pleasant and insufferable. If that dumb kid knew one thing, was that the fried Tamato’s were far and away the best festival food the town had to offer, and resisting her portion’s call was a mighty difficult task. Still, just like she’d waited all those years before, she could do so this time, too—no reason to spoil her favorite night of the year with greed.
After the longest few minutes of her life, the creature finally made it to the mouth of the cave that served as their den. Retrieving the cudgel from under her cloak, she tapped it against the few plates of corroded metal hanging from the cave’s entrance in a pattern that was, by now, burned into her memory. With their secret code rang out, she waited for a moment, and then another. No response, not even any alarmed shuffling from deep inside the cave’s depths. Sabi must’ve been out, as she was most of the time.
Their den was rough by human standards, but much more comfortable than she once lived. However damaged it was, the filling of plane seats and fiberglass beat dry straw for comfort—the latter more so for Sabi, her skin unperturbed by its harshness. As expected, Sabi’s maul was missing too, making her sigh. Her sister would no doubt be in quite a mood once she got there, but at least she’d be bringing snacks with herself this time. As dad liked to mention, ‘silver linings’. She was curious what the phrase’s literal meaning was, but knew full well she wouldn’t be getting answers anytime soon. If ever.
After she’d stashed everything from the village food bank in the deepest, coldest part of the cave, she took out her masks and laid them beside her bedding. She had no use for most of them anymore, certainly not enough to offset the risk of them being damaged by being brought outside—they were more brittle than they looked. The plain metal mask was the exception to that, keeping them both safe with the disguise it carried.
A disguise she increasingly wanted to keep on forever.
Shaking that thought aside, she turned around and headed outside. She knew exactly where Sabi was—in the same spot as always, knee-deep into her routine. She closed her eyes, letting her feet do the guiding, and instead broke into a quiet, whistled tune, the same one the town sung to itself every year. It was always funny to her, its pleas to higher powers so blatantly clear. She had a hard time not pitying the humans singing it, admitting their powerlessness against the world even in their celebratory hymns.
Were humans in Kitakami also like that? She thought back, trying to recall the time from before she met dad, from before he’d bestowed her current name upon her, from before she had gotten to know any humans. The memories were murky despite being barely a century old, eroding into little more than disembodied scenes and sensations. The only thing she knew with any confidence was that it was a miserable time. Even more miserable than her current situation, a feat in itself.
Anything older than that might as well have been completely gone from her mind. She knew her cudgel and masks were hers, but aside from the latest addition to the latter group, she remembered nothing else about them. Not when she’d made them, not why she’d made them. She’s been around for so long that all this has happened in the past too, no doubt. Just like it would happen again. She didn’t mind—she was just an immortal leaf, plucked from its tree and loosened upon the world. No matter what, she’d be alright.
The awareness that one day she’d forget dad and Sabi hurt, though.
The dim firepit flooded the clearing with all the light it was capable of. Not enough to banish the encroaching shadows back to their dens, but just enough to illuminate the being that sat beside it. In her cream-colored hands, metal ground against metal, sending sparks with each brownish flake that broke off. She hated the sight of rust creeping over the shrine she’d built. It was decay; it was destruction; she wouldn’t, couldn’t let it take root. Not if she had anything to say about it.
“Sabi, it’s me,” a familiar voice rung out from the tree line, lightening the Tinkaton’s spirits.
Not by much, and not for long, but it still helped a lot. Her sister helped a lot. “Any luck with taking more human food, Hoshi?” Sabi answered, focusing back on her task at hand.
“Only took what they gave me, as usual. It’s their harvest festival tonight, though, so I have some snacks!” Hoshi cheerfully shook a few oil-soaked paper bags as she sat down beside her younger sister. No immediate response, the Steel-type lost in her self-assigned duty. “Here, have some fried Tamato.”
“I’m not hungry.”
The Ogerpon wanted to respond with a joke about how Sabi was so not-hungry she sneaked out to eat every time she thought her sister had fallen asleep... but it’d just make things harder for them both. Anything she could say at this point would just make things harder for them both. “Suit yourself!” Hoshi replied with pretend lightheartedness, grabbing a few crunchy treats and shoving them into her mouth one after another.
They were okay.
The constant grinding made it hard to enjoy her meal, as did the annoyed atmosphere that hung over the clearing. At least in the past, Sabi usually cheered up at being brought snacks, but not even that seemed to be effective anymore. “Rust being an issue again, I see?”
“More and more so,” Sabi grunted through gritted teeth as more and more grinding refused to fully clear the mangled piece of metal in her arms. She held it over the fire, not flinching even as it was heated to a red glow, before scraping it against the back of her maul, hoping to get rid of the visible corrosion. To stave the world off just that bit longer. She whacked it again and again, putting in more and more strength, bending the metal more with every strike—
Until the flaps of wings overhead snapped her out of that hateful trance and into another. Without skipping a beat, Sabi tossed the piece of metal away into the nearby grass and grasped her maul, snarling at the night sky as her eyes darted around in search of the offender. “GET LOST!” she shrieked at birds, before grabbing one of the burning pieces of firewood to use as ammo.
Predictably, her threat accomplished nothing, and the telltale sound of nearby birds continued. She screamed and hammered the burning piece of wood into the skies, hoping to at least scare any more intruders. Regardless of whether it was her sudden display of aggression or the flock of birds just finishing passing overhead on their own, they were gone now. The lit piece of wood fell back down a few meters away, right beside the very structure Sabi has been trying to protect.
Hoshi barely reacted to her sister’s antics anymore, only interrupting her snacking to grasp a handful of sand from the firepit and toss it towards the discarded red-hot piece of scrap metal, extinguishing any fires that might’ve been building. She watched as Sabi dropped her maul and limped towards where her projectile had landed, terrified of having accidentally struck her makeshift shrine. Thankfully, just a near miss, leaving the structure unharmed. Just as it was to remain.
Forever.
The pile of metal and composite materials was taller than either Sabi or her sister. The outer parts were the sturdiest, laminated ones, mostly pieces of the fuselage. That didn’t mean they were immune to corrosion—and more often than not, by the time said corrosion became visible to the naked eye, it had spread too deep into the material to simply be ground away. Whenever that happened, the Tinkaton would panic and simply shift the mound that once used to be an airplane around, stuffing the corroded parts deep inside, and replacing it with a less-corroded piece of scrap.
Aside from the few parts Sabi could account for—the ones she’d used to make her maul, the ones her sister made her human disguise mask out of, the ones they used for their den—the pile of junk had every single piece of the wreckage. She was quite sure of that, at least. It was the only piece of reassurance she had left in the world. That, with her dad gone, she could watch over him in the afterlife. Make sure that no beast of land and sky would ever disturb his ultimate resting place. Not again.
Hoshi didn’t understand, refused to understand. Sabi might’ve been too little to protect her dad when they crashed here, merely a Tinkatink at the time, but now she was strong enough! She’d make up for that, make up for losing him, for losing almost the only person she ever knew and loved! She had to!
Because there was nothing else she could do with him gone.
The Ogerpon watched, silent, as her sister tossed the piece of firewood back into the flames. She then grabbed the glowing chunk of scrap metal and carefully shoved it into her makeshift shrine, making sure it wouldn’t topple over. At the moment, at least. It fell apart all the time, hard to avoid that with a literal pile of junk. Hoshi knew, deep down, that all this was her fault. That she could’ve prevented this, prevented Sabi from ending up like she did. But she didn’t.
She still remembered the crash decently well. Her dad was piloting; she sat in the seat behind him with Sabi on her lap. It was a long, unusually hurried flight. Dad was much more restless than usual before they took off that night. One moment, they were well above the trees, sunrise looming over the horizon,
And the next thing she remembered was waking up from a puddle of blood and gasoline, the world around her cloaked in flames. Sabi was badly injured, her d-dad—in pieces. Hoshi had no idea what had happened exactly, whether a wild mon attacked them or dad ended up flying into the mountain in exhaustion. Or why they had left Kitakami that night in the first place. Maybe he was running away from something. Maybe that something was others learning he had taken her in from her mountainous cave, and was treating her like a daughter and not a demon. She didn’t know.
She just knew that she missed him.
And that they should’ve run away after they ended up here.
Maybe if she’d done that, not lingered on the site of the tragedy, not let Sabi witness their dad’s remains and what the local birds were doing with them, then her sister would still be mentally here. Here, instead of being lost those forty years in the past, determined to never let that happen again, giving her life for someone who could never love or thank her again.
And maybe, if she’d had a spine, she could’ve tried to argue her away from that even now. Remind Sabi that she was her own person, that their dad wouldn’t have wanted her to remain here forever, fixated on the site of their tragedy. That he would’ve wanted them to live. She tried reminding her sister of that a few times, but not in a while now—she wasn’t keen to get into another violent confrontation with her, even if she’d handily win. But maybe she should’ve kept trying.
Hoshi shuddered, pausing in her snacking motions at the thought. Sabi didn’t notice, instead grabbing another piece of metal to polish and sitting back down beside the firepit. Her sister stared, emotions building behind her detached, easy-going facade. All the anger, dejection and resentment, pushed away for years, finally gathering in one spot once more—
And then; they stopped. The Ogerpon blinked, took a deep breath, and went back to snacking. What she could’ve done, what she could still do—none of that would matter in the end.
She’d just forget it anyway, after all.