Chapter Text
"Good morning, Akari."
You say it every morning, round about the same time, if you're lucky enough. If you've timed it right. If your chores get to flow in a way that allows you to be just here, sweeping outside your front door, when she passes. And if her schedule is the same. If all the stars align, you get to say good morning to Akari.
It has crossed your mind that, even though you've never had a proper conversation with her, somehow this little world of your morning routine revolves around Akari. And not just that. You think of her whenever you're battling, though you've learned to keep that to yourself now, tired of your family’s and friends' eye-rolling. Akari this, Akari that...
Sometimes she returns your greeting. Sometimes she smiles or nods in your direction. Today, though, you get neither. She seems to be walking on the other side of the street, perhaps too far away to hear you. Are you sure you even spoke the words out loud? Did you feel them vibrating in your mouth, or just in your mind?
You frown and grip the broom’s long handle tighter, as if it could give you any comfort. You like to imagine that this has become part of Akari’s routine by now, just like it's part of yours. Clearly not. It hurts, but you try not to take it personally. You start sweeping faster, suddenly keen to go back inside the house and do something else.
Maybe your family will send you to the shops later. Maybe you'll pass the Wallflower just at the right time, although it hardly seems to be open anymore. You wish could make potato mochi as good as Beni, then you could go and work there, perhaps even take over the place someday. Beni’s quite old, isn’t he? If you ran the place, you'd have more chances. More opportunities to say hello to Akari.
She looked sad today, you think to yourself as you go back inside the house, broom in hand. You barely even saw her, but that was the impression you got. Sad, tired, or like she was in another world. No wonder she didn't hear you. It wasn't her fault.
People are saying that she went back to the mountains, just a few months ago. You’ve never been to the mountains, only gazed at them from the bridge in town, so you don’t know how vast they are. And you don't know whether Akari went back to the place where that terrible thing happened, but you assume so, because some people were talking as if she would never come back. You felt so upset at that, even though you don't know her. You just didn't like the idea of her being gone from the village again. It'd feel like a blessing had been taken away. Like hope had been taken away.
It reminded you of that time when they blamed her for everything and dragged her out of town. You’d heard the word ‘banished’ before, but you’d never understood it until then. When they did it to Akari, that was when you demanded to know what it meant. Your parents explained. They said you were too young to understand, but you’ve never accepted that. Sometimes kids have a better sense of justice than adults do, because they haven’t been worn down by the world yet. You still think that, now that you’re older and not really a kid anymore.
But Akari came back. She came back from being banished, she came back from the mountains that summer, and she came back this time. Each time, you felt like a weight had been lifted.
You're not even sure why. Maybe this world doesn't need heroes any more. You can see the town is growing and thriving, but when you imagine Akari being gone, you see it all collapsing. The clans returning to their old wars. People becoming afraid again. The sky cracking open. It feels like Akari is holding this entire region together, even though that's way too much for anyone to carry, isn't it?
After her most recent trip, you think she hid away for a while – it wasn't just that you didn't see her, but you heard people whispering and wondering where she was – but now she's back doing survey work. Or so you've guessed. In truth, you don't even know whether the work is still continuing.
You do know they're not looking for any more surveyors, because you asked. Maybe they were just turning you down politely, but you don't think so.
But it's okay. The more you thought about it, you realised that you didn't really want to join the Survey Corps. You like Pokémon, sure – you have three of your own, which is more than a lot of people your age – but you don't love them enough to build your whole life around them. You don't know the first thing about exploring or research.
No, you just wanted to see if you could be like Akari. If you could do some of the things she did. And, maybe, you wanted the chance to be close to her. Not as a friend – you know she wouldn't find you interesting – but just someone you could talk to. Maybe. If she didn't dismiss you as a dull kid who can't even battle properly. No, Akari wouldn't do that. She's too nice.
These were not good reasons for becoming a surveyor. Still, it hurt your feelings that they'd turned you down.
It couldn't be anything to do with your age, could it? Just because your parents still prefer to have you help around the house, doesn't mean you're not old enough to be working. You reckon you're about the age Akari was, when she first arrived here.
It's annoying, really. The first few years of Jubilife Village were so rich with opportunity, and you were just too young. If only you'd been born a few years earlier than you were.
Or maybe it wouldn't have made any difference. Even though you have daydreams, you know you can't be exactly like Akari, because Akari isn't like anyone else. She didn't arrive here on a boat. You don't know exactly how she came, but everyone says that she fell out of the sky, or that she came from another time.
You drank up those stories a few years ago, but now you're not so sure. It's not that you completely disbelieve it; after all, you saw the lightning that night, you saw the sky turn red, and you've seen the eerie haze of space-time distortions in the distance. But you have to wonder if those tales were woven later, to explain why Akari was able to do what she did. Why she is the way she is.
Whatever the truth might be about Akari, you know you're not that special. Your biggest adventure was crossing the sea to get to Hisui. You remember that the waves were rough, the journey felt long, and along the way you saw a Gyarados or two. But you weren't afraid. You think you're brave, really. Or you could be. Even if you haven't had much of a chance to show it yet.
Everyone's talking like the time for bravery is over. The clans aren't fighting anymore. People are learning, slowly, how to live with Pokémon. How to live with each other. If people don't need to be brave anymore, that would be a good thing, right?
But there's one loose thread. You're sure of it, even if people don't talk about it. The ends of the thread might have been lost, kicked under the dust of everyday life, but you kept hold of it, somewhere in your mind. It was never your thread to pick up, but you kept hold of it.
It's about that man, Volo.
You're not supposed to talk about him at all, which feels strange, because his poster is still displayed by the village gate. It’s not that often that people get barred from town, but when they do, their pictures tend to be everywhere for as long as it takes for them to wear away in the rain and snow. After that, they’re forgotten. From what you understand of banishment, it’s because people don’t usually survive that long out there. They’re probably dead long before their pictures have melted away.
But, two years later, there’s still that one poster of Volo. Yes, it’s sheltered by the overhang of the guard tower, which might explain why it’s lasted. But you’re sure it’s deliberate. Someone could have taken it down by now; instead, you could have sworn that it’s been replaced more than once.
And why is it only him? No other transgressors have ended up with their faces on that particular wall. Nobody else has been remembered and forgotten so strongly, at the same time, than Volo of the Ginkgo Guild.
You remember him, too. Your parents gave you some coins and sent you to buy something from him once. All those travelling merchants are tall, you’ve noticed, but he was even taller than the rest. When he'd looked down at you, all you could see of his face was his wide smile. The rest was hidden under the shadow of his cap, just like his paper image is hidden in the shadows of the guard tower now.
Since you couldn't see his face, instead you'd watched his hands as he'd carefully wrapped up your purchases along with an extra little sprig of Pep-Up flowers. You remember thinking that his skin looked a little rough and scarred, but his hands were cleaner than you'd expected, for someone who spent all his time travelling around and handling goods. His fingers looked too delicate for that.
You remember that he didn't count the money when you told him it should be correct. He just smiled, nodded, trusted you. You remember how he bowed a little as he took your coins, and again as he handed over your purchases.
And then he tried to kill Akari.
You knew that something had happened to her. There was so much noise in the street and around the town gate, that humid summer afternoon. You’d caught a glimpse of her being carried to Galaxy Hall with blood on her face, you’d called out her name, and then someone ushered you back into the house. Like it was forbidden. Something you weren't meant to witness.
It took over a week for the bare bones of the story to reach you, and you had so many questions. Why had Volo done that? Was Akari really sure it was him? Wasn't he a nice person, after all? How could someone hide themselves that much...? There were some things you didn’t understand, things about ancient Pokémon and the hole in the sky, but you weren’t interested in that. You only cared about Akari.
Most of your questions still haven't been answered. When you floated the idea of asking Akari herself – or finding someone to do it for you – your mother hushed you with something that sounded like a hiss. You need to learn how to mind your own business, she said.
You tried asking your father, thinking he might know more, as a member of the Security Corps. He has even been on expeditions with Akari – which makes you jealous, of course, though he always insists he never got time to talk to her very much. But his reaction was much the same. Mind your own business.
You’re sweeping indoors now, still feeling wounded. Your gaze lands on a pointed woven hat, where it hangs near the door. It’s part of your father’s uniform. The Security Corps. All these names and factions are slowly fading away, but the town still needs guards, even if they're a lot laxer than they used to be. That's partly because people aren't so afraid of Pokémon these days. And it's partly because some of the guards got these new weapons.
They work from a distance. Like cannon, only smaller. Small enough to fit in your hand, some of them. Your father showed you how to use one. How to load its strange-smelling powder and those pellets that looked so harmless, like little metal marbles, but which were the very things that would hurt a person. Yes, a person. Not much use against most Pokémon, your father told you. You wondered who was left in Hisui to fear, and you could only think of one person.
You didn't like the noise the weapon made, or the way it recoiled painfully against your hand, as if it was punishing you for using it. You said something about that to your father, and he said that perhaps we should get hurt by our own weapons, so that we never take them lightly. He often says things like that, your father. You sometimes think he’s too gentle to be a guard, but he’s wise.
He keeps it locked away, but you know where it is. In the trunk, with its powder and pellets. You’ve been thinking about this for a while. You just need to find the right moment. A day when your family are out or busy. A festival night when people have been drinking. A time when you won’t be noticed.
Maybe you’ll leave a note to explain where you’ve gone. Or maybe you’ll say nothing, until you come back. Until you come back as a hero.
It’s just a daydream. But some days are so boring, all you really do is daydream. That's how things begin to take shape.