Chapter Text
A confusion of thoughts, questions, and fears cluttered the chiropteran’s mind like an endless spring of documents flowing forth and streaming over a PI’s desk. No matter how much he racked his brain, how many files and sheets he frantically leafed through and tossed over his shoulder, he was incapable of solving his most pressing query: Who am I?
He was able to recall sundry general details about his world. Namely, it was a world of humans and Pokémon; one where the vast majority of the latter was speechless and animalistic; one where humans were the dominant species, having erected edifices, cities, countries, civilizations, having created artificial life and intelligence, having gained mastery over their superpowered co-inhabitants through the momentous invention of the Poké Ball.
But he could not remember who. He. Was.
Profession? Nothing. Family? Zilch. Friends? Nada!
He could recall the forty-third champion of his region, but he could not, to save his life, remember if he had a pet, a wife or even children that he might have left behind!
“Hey, hey!” hollered the naked Applin, inching towards him as fast as his wormy body would allow. “Quit it, you’re hurting yourself!”
“Huh?” The bat snapped out of his mental lather, the cavernous, crystal-lit room and the sole other living being therein resolving before his eyes. Stinging on both of his cheeks fixed his attention immediately, and he realized that he had been clutching the…fur there. He brought his p—hands. He brought his hands before his eyes and noticed that there were tufts of hair on them. He must have rent them off his beard in his distress.
“You’re seriously worrying me, bud,” said Applin while continuing his approach. “It’s one thing to blackguard others, but hurting yourself? Let’s just get you some fresh air outsi—”
“D-Don’t come any closer,” sputtered the chiropteran, backstepping with every inch gained by the Pokémon before him, arms splayed forward. His head snapped here and there in search for a weapon or an exit; but the grotto was barren, and the only exits he saw were the cleft he had sidled through earlier and an aperture behind the grass-type.
Applin stilled, then inclined as he enunciated carefully, “Buddy, I’m just assaying to help here. You’ve got nothing to fear. I’m shell-less, and you’ve got the type advantage.” Then in a dry tone he mumbled to himself, “If anything, I should be the one with my bristles on end.”
The chiropteran’s ears twitched. Despite the undertone, and the barrier between Applin and himself, he was able to discern what the other had said; and prickles ran down his spine as he realized it was not meant for him. He shook his head, for he did not wish to dwell on it and court the implications, and a single question quivered out of his mouth: “Wh-Who…are you?”
Applin’s eyes registered confusion. “You said it earlier—Applin,” he answered matter-of-factly.
“No.” He shook his head. Was the worm avoiding the question? “Your real name, not what your species is called,” he demanded.
“Rather presumptuous, don’t you think?” said Applin with a note of offense, then shook his head. “Fine. If it’ll get you to calm down, I’ll divulge my true name: Amargoro.”
The name was alien to him, but it was a name. It humanized the Pokémon in his eyes and, miraculously, roused his mind enough to be able to recall his. “Mine’s Constantine,” he sighed with relief rich in his voice. Introductions—human introductions. No scenting or calling or dancing or whatever other rituals Pokémon do in the presence of each other.
“What a queer combination of syllables; you really must be a comeling,” said Amargoro with a tinge of amusement. Constantine supposed that it only made sense for the sentiment to be mutual. “Will you come now?”
“Where to?”
“The Safety Guild in Nexus Commune.” Then, as if realizing that that combination of words was meaningless to the bat, he added, “To an infirmary in a city hereby.”
That certainly made more sense to Constantine, but he protested, “I’m not sick nor injured.” Amargoro gave him a doubtful look that rubbed him the wrong way.
“Still, better safe than sorry. Plus, would you rather tarry in this dingy grotto?” The rhetorical question shed light on the asininity of Constantine’s mulishness, so he shook his head. “Then follow me.”
Applin wheeled around then crawled into the hole. Constantine examined its size, tentatively sticking his oversize head in to see if it would even fit. It was claustrophobic and his ears bent uncomfortably, but through the worm’s highlighted silhouette he could see sunlight peeking through. Psyching himself up, he lay prone and dragged himself up the slant tunnel.
Heaving himself out, he raised an arm to screen his dusk-accustomed eyes from the glaring, noonday sunlight. He at once shut them close, however, as it was impossible to ignore the red, webbing blood vessels from membranes that were not his, made clear by the damnable sun aloft. He craned his neck down after rising to his feet, cracking his eyes open to a squint that eventually enlarged into two amber ovals as he acclimated to the brightness of the aboveground world.
He lifted his chin and surveyed his environs. They were oddly quaint—a knoll behind; vibrantly diverse grasses and ferns underfoot; trees interspersed about, some of their fruits beneath their boughs at different stages of decomposition; psithurisms of leaves, the only melody in the air. It was hard to believe that a city stood at walking distance—or crawling distance for the particularly laggard Applin—without any form of pollution marring the beauty and tranquility of these woods.
“You coming?” hollered Amargoro from several paces away, already wearing his characteristic shell, eyestalks twisted to look back without needing to turn his body even an inch. Constantine took no time to draw level with him, and while Applin undulated forth at a brisk clip (he presumed), the walk was nothing more than a sightseeing stroll for the bat. As he appreciated nature afresh, his mind wandered off to appellations that Amargoro had mentioned earlier that struck him as archaic or even hippieish now that he was (mostly) at peace.
“What kind of name is ‘Nexus Commune’ for a city, anyway?” he broached.
“What do you mean?” Amargoro’s eyestalks twisted to him, registering confusion.
“If it’s a city, why not calling it ‘Nexus City’? That’s standard for the cities that I know of.”
“How many cities do you know of?” Amargoro’s gaze turned searching.
Several came to mind, though Constantine knew not if he had ever stepped foot in them. “Well, there’s Lumiose City”—he flicked one digit out to count—“Castelia City, Hearthome—” A chill exploded throughout his body, as he realized he could not continue the tally with one hand anymore. At once he swept down the grim reminder of his predicament, eyes downcast and tense and one arm stressfully scratching the other.
Amargoro waited expectantly for a while before shaking his eyestalks and saying, “None of those names ring any Chingling—but then again, I’m not the worldliest ‘mon either.” He arched his eyestalks in a shrug-like gesture. “I’ve only known Nexus Commune and this grove, but perchance the Explorers might know of them.”
Constantine would have asked about these ‘Explorers’ next, but his roiling mind did not allow it. Even as the grass beneath his feet shifted to trodden earth, he kept warding off the consuming thoughts that put into doubt his humanity.
“Hey, quit scratching like that, you’re going to ruin your pelage,” Amargoro’s voice pierced through his trance, only because of that abominable word.
“It’s hair,” he insisted firmly, but heeded his words. Hefting his trembling hand to his face, he both saw strands of hair and felt throbbing where he had been scratching. Out of worry, he instinctively moved both hands as if trying to tuck them into the pockets of a trenchcoat, but felt his heart rise to his throat when they clicked together instead of being nestled in place by fabric. He shook his head and lifted it, hoping that the sight of nature would perish these stomach-churning thoughts.
But before him stood the vista of a picturesque settlement mantling a gradual hill—buildings, roads, and ramparts (like the fortifications of old?) alike flowing alongside the contours of the eminence, with the occasional edifice of awe-striking make and stature standing out from the quainter, smaller ones. It was beautiful…but was this truly the city Amargoro had spoken of? No skyscrapers, factories, or even highways? His eyes followed a sinuous path that led down to a dale and widened upon seeing farmlands. This is a mere village!
“I thought we were going to a city,” said he.
“That’s it before us—Nexus Commune,” answered Applin matter-of-factly. Suddenly the choice of words and unmolested environment made perfect sense.
As they neared the first buildings, Constantine felt in his stomach a whirlpool of emotions that he could neither make heads nor tails of. The houses were exceptionally imperfect, almost unfinished to his modern tastes. Those constructed from wood still retained the bark, knurs, and branches of the trees that were felled to make them, with uneven thatched roofs and paneless windows to boot; whereas those erected from stone were craggy and almost caveman-like, with moss splotching the façade with an abandon that made Constantine wonder whether these people cared about their dwellings. But the inhabitants were no people—they were Pokémon! Pokémon going about their lives, doing mundane, human—albeit some antiquated—activities like scrubbing wash against a washboard or hanging it on twine clotheslines, chopping firewood with tools (and some even with moves!), or simply trifling time away by conversing with neighbors above their porches. One particularly gregarious Pokémon waved at them as they ambled uphill, and Constantine returned only the most limp-wristed wave in his consternation, mouth agog.
“You’d think you’d get used to the grandeur with all the cities you’ve apparently been to,” commented Amargoro dryly, eyes trained bemusedly on the chiropteran.
Grandeur? Constantine laughed internally—perhaps because of the irony of the word, perhaps because he felt he was losing his mind the more he explored this land he had inexplicably wakened in. I should’ve stayed lost in those tunnels.
Eventually the dirt paths turned cobblestoned, domiciles grew wider but not much taller (three stories at most), workshops began cropping up among the regular buildings, and the mushrooming din became headache-inducing for the big-eared Pokémon. Most pertinent to the runts, however, was the flux of Pokémon much, much bigger than themselves, who threatened to unknowingly stomp the two—and especially Constantine, who in his gut did not recall as many Pokémon being this comparatively larger—were Amargoro not as vocal around their feet.
“Watch it, you ponderous dunces! Peewees coming through!”
While closely trailing a Nidorino that was serendipitously walking in the direction they were heading, for no one would dare to step on, bump against, or shoulder a Poison-Pointed Pokémon, Applin twisted his eyestalks to the chiropteran and spoke. “You know, I appreciate your sticking by my side, but you needn’t fasten yourself to the ground just for me. If you take to the air”—Constantine’s stomach suddenly ached with discomfort—“you won’t have to worry about getting stomped. I know how to maneuver around these streets; you clearly do not.”
“I can’t fly,” the bat replied shortly—not just to reassure his humanity to himself, but also because he simply did not know how. Thankfully, he did not need to, for he bore a perfectly good pair of legs that lent themselves to the muscle memory he retained from his life as a human. In a way he was lucky for the transformation that doom or demons had allotted him, for he could have easily stirred in that underground as a limbless Voltorb or a helpless Goldeen; but he also could have roused as a far more agreeable Sawk or Machoke…
“No?” Applin said with a note of surprise and incredulity, then his eyes and voice registered uncertainty. “Might you be a hatchling?”
“A child? No,” he rapidly turned down the notion from gut feeling alone. He could not recall his exact age, but he deemed his mental faculties as that of a mature adult.
“That checks out; you don’t have the voice of one, although I’ve technically never heard someone of your stock speak before.” Then, “Although it’s hard to believe that amnesia would bereave you of your flight; that stuff stays with you through instinct and practice, I’ve heard. Maybe no one taught you it, or you just believe you can’t fly. You could give it a sh—”
“I’d rather not try here.” In truth he did not want to try at all, but Constantine deemed this answer one that could end the line of conversation here.
He was correct, for they did not converse for the rest of their trek uphill, the only sounds coming from Amargoro being growly barks aimed at careless passersby once Nidorino had veered from their path. But soon they found themselves queued up before a battlemented wall reminiscent of days of yore (of course they did); and when their turn came to stand before a pair of mailed and armed Pokémon, Amargoro explained their reason to enter, and they were allowed to cross underneath the raised portcullis.
Inside bustled what seemed to Constantine like a military encampment in times of peace. Upon the rolling land stood barracks and training grounds, but also cafeterias, workshops, and even one of the hulking edifices he had seen from the fruitive woods earlier—all with Pokémon of sundry shapes and sizes sauntering here or hurrying there. Applin conducted him to that last building, admittedly impressive and beautifully chiseled even to his stressed mind, until they were within its more audibly tolerable premises and before a wooden desk twice his height, knots and grain lining its surface.
Wiggling his tail in preparation, Amargoro sprung himself onto the desk, startling the campaniform-eared secretary who had been leafing through files behind it. “Normally the guilds pride themselves in their accessibility. You’ve got a whole Golurk-sized portal but no booster seats for us little guys,” he girded playfully.
“My apologies,” Audino said with a polite bow and smile, setting aside the papers to her left. “Typically I note when even our tiniest residents come to our guild, but alas you caught me at an inopportune time.” Then, “Anywho, how may I help you?”
“Not me, but rather this fellow down here.” Amargoro gestured below the desk, and Audino hunched over. “I found him lost in Nexus Grove with no memory of himself or how he ended up there. Methinks he received a hard whack to the noggin and is thereof amnesiac.”
“Oh, poor you, let’s get you checked up,” said she to the chiropteran, then straightened and, with a hand cupped around her mouth, hollered, “Dwebble? Oh, Dwebble!”
The cancriform Pokémon scuttled up from behind. “Yes, Ms. Audino?” he asked. Constantine cocked his head to peer behind the desk, finding it refreshing to see another Pokémon that was around their height. He wondered if Amargoro found kinship in him, considering that they were both shelled Pokémon.
“Please tend to the lobby while I’m away,” said she while stepping aside. Dwebble uttered an affirmative and hopped onto the stool then the desk. Audino then beckoned the visitors as she headed left.
Constantine craned his head around the rustic, high-ceiling hallway they were walking down, lit by shafts of afternoon light that slanted from the grilles to his left. He caught snatches of the insides of rooms to his right. One such room seemed to be an archive; others, storage closets organized by their contents. Some of these items were innocuous, like a closet full of ribbons, belts, and goggles; but others were eyebrow-raising, like one lined with swirling orbs of manifold colors and patterns, or another piled with seeds of equal diversity. Constantine felt something brush his left arm and looked over his shoulder, seeing a backpacked and scarfed Drowzee accompanied by a circlet-donning Munna sauntering in the opposite direction as themselves. One of Drowzee’s hands was out of sight, so they must have been holding something.
“Over here, please,” Audino said, and Constantine righted his head. She was holding a door open, so the smaller Pokémon entered the room, the normal-type walking in last.
To Constantine’s immediate right lay a rustic desk with an inkwell and quill atop; on opposite sides, two twiggy seats stood; and surrounding it were racks and bookcases abounding with scrolls and twine-bound books. Directly to his left were shelves teeming with vibrant and colorful potted plants, which suffused the room with a potent medicinal odor; above them were cabinets, one open drawer revealing jars of salves, tinctures, and powders inside; and festooning the ceiling were lines that dangled sheaves of dried herbs. Further inside stood a singular, largish cot, but to the left of that was an archway that led to who-knows-where.
“First, I must check if your stock is in my files,” said Audino while walking up to a book-lined shelf, tags with bizarre, paw-shaped runes scribbled on them sticking out à la dividers. “What might you be?”
‘A human’ was what he yearned to say, for he verily was one deep down; but he distasted the prospect of a similar exchange to the one he had had with Amargoro earlier in the grotto, so through a knotted throat he uttered, “A Noibat.”
Applin swiveled to him as Audino began tracing a finger across the spines of books, his eyes incredulously wide. “Was it that hard to say that?” Amargoro whispered, seemingly to himself, though again Constantine’s ears twitched as he could not help but hear it loud and clear.
“Here it is.” Audino pulled a book and commenced leafing through it. “And here you are,” she said happily, walking back to the short pair and squatting to show the pages to them. “I knew I’d seen a Noibat at least once, though from the scantiness of my notes it surely was only once.” The pages were indecipherable to Constantine, for they were scribbled in more of those baffling runes. The only thing he could make heads or tails of was a few sketchy illustrations of a Noibat; he supposed drawings were a universal language.
“Okay, follow me to the back,” bade Audino, and Constantine finally caught a glimpse of that mysterious room adjoining this one. It was filled with more cots of varying sizes, with one of them occupied by a sleeping Pokémon. He was told to sit on the one here, though, so he complied.
What followed was a series of tests on his whole body. Audino first examined his head, of course, as that was what Applin had drawn attention to, but the results came negative for any scathes. (A resigned part of him had wished otherwise, for that would have been more sensical than what he knew was the reality.) Next she placed a feeler of hers to his throat and breast and asked him to respire deeply; the results were the same here as well. Then he was asked to fan his…wings (he could not delude himself by calling them ‘arms’ this time) and after some prodding, the same conclusion was reached.
Lastly, Audino walked over to her desk and opened a drawer. Therefrom she delicately plucked out a pin that was no larger than one of Applin’s eyestalks and so thin that the pair knew not what it was until she was next to them afresh. “I’ll go to the other room,” she said to Constantine, “and drop this pin there. Don’t look back, but holler when you hear it hit the floor, okay?” He was confused but nodded regardless.
Applin, as the restriction did not apply to him, stood before the archway and watched as Audino weaved through the cots to the farthest edge of the room. She glanced back and let go of the pin, and upon its kissing the ground, Noibat’s right ear twitched and he said, “Now?” Applin’s eyes bulged as they snapped to him in consternation.
“Excellent,” said Audino gladsomely as she retrieved the pin and returned to her desk to store it. Then, while walking back to the pair, she added, “Well, good news: you seem to be a perfectly healthy Noibat to me. The bad news is that I cannot speak for the amnesia, however; the ailments of the mind are lamentably elusive…”
Constantine expected nothing less from a people without modern technology or knowledge at their disposal, but through his budding bitterness flashed a dreadful realization. “Wait, what happens now?”
“Normally you’d be off to whence you hail, or a job posting would be put up if escorts were deemed needful, but if you don’t remember how you fetched up in Nexus Grove, I don’t suppose you’d remember that detail either…” she trailed off, two digits rubbing her chin thoughtfully. Constantine shook his head nervously, so she reassured, “Fret not; Nexus Commune is a welcoming community. You are free to abide here if you’d so please, at least until your memory returns to you.”
Constantine was heartened some by that offer, but a caveat kept him from truly relaxing. “But I…I have nothing to my name. Where am I going to live? How am I going to earn a living?”
Audino’s countenance waxed empathetic. “We won’t leave you at your mercy like that, Noibat.” He winced slightly despite her feather-soft voice. “What good would it do us? You’d simply be forced to resort to wrongdoing otherwise.” She paused as if to let that settle in his nonplused mind. “No, you will be provided lodgings at one of our longhouses. There, our friendly inhabitants—percase kind Applin here as well—will show you the ropes of our city, and once you’ve acclimated, it is our hope that you’ll contribute in one of our guilds as thanks for our hospitality.”
Applin perked up, as if an epiphany had hit him. “You could join the Explorers Guild with me!” he piped up, startling both Noibat and Audino.
“Yes, that is certainly an option, but—”
“Think about it,” he interrupted Audino, “you’re a human, no? No one here knows what a human is; at least not anyone that I know of! Do you, Ms. Audino?”
“A ‘hu-man’?” she enunciated each syllable, as if it were the first time she had uttered such a word.
“See?” Applin did not let her elaborate. “If you apprentice at the Cultivators, Edifiers, or Artisans, all you will ever see is Nexus Commune. If you choose the Hunters, Rescuers, or Lawmons, then you’ll be confined to just its sphere of influence. But the Explorers? They’re pioneers! They explore new Dungeons, meet new ‘mons, and make all manners of discoveries! If you’ll uncover a trail to your humanness, it’s at the Explorers Guild!”
“I’m sorry, am I missing something?” Audino asked politely.
With eyes wide and countenance overwhelmed, Constantine requited the treatment he had received earlier at the grotto: he was staring at Amargoro as if he were the madman. His head swam with all the new, contextless terms the other had besieged him with. That term he kept hearing over and over again, Guild, and now Dungeons (as in the ones where prisoners were kept?). Not to mention the seven (what he presumed were) back-to-back vocation appellations. And did he mean to say ‘lawmen’?
“Maybe you ought to take it slowly with Noibat, Applin,” monished Audino after seeing his reaction. Then, “I will send a runner to the Edifiers Guild so they can assign him a longhouse.” And to Noibat, “But for that I will need your true name. You’re the only Noibat here that I know of—the other was a rescued Pokémon that returned to their hometown—but you never know, you know?”
Constantine appreciated Audino’s tempering influence. He completely disregarded the earlier terms buzzing his head and thankfully provided his actual name. She nodded and was about to quit the room when Applin spoke up. “Actually, could you assign me the same longhouse as N—Constantine?” The chiropteran noted that, and a warm feeling of gratitude budded from the pit of his stomach.
“Oh, are you a comeling too?” she asked, surprised. “I swore there was an orchard of your stock living here…”
Applin exhaled the most defeated sigh Constantine had ever heard. “No,” he said with unenthusiasm thick in his voice, “I’m a Nexus Commune native; I’d like to have my longhouse reassigned.”
“Well, I can include that in the missive, but likely they’ll require you to make your request with them yourself, since you already have a longhouse assigned,” explained she apologetically.
“I understand,” he sighed exasperatedly. “The true name’s Amargoro, by the way.”
“Thank you,” said she, and left, leaving him pensive and with downcast eyes.
The room was quiet and solemn for a while until Constantine spoke up from the cot where he sat. “Hey, I really appreciated that back there—you using my name, that is, and not calling me a Noibat.”
“Oh? Yeah, yeah. I figured you wouldn’t have liked that by your insistence on being a human,” said he rather flaccidly.
“Do you believe me?” Since popping into existence in this world, he had not felt as vulnerable as by asking that question.
“As much as I can believe someone claiming to be something that I don’t know,” said he with a hollow chuckle.
Constantine reciprocated the laugh. He was trying to put himself in the other’s shoes (or his apple, in this case?). If in my world someone had suddenly acted in the way I had with Amargoro, claiming to be, I don’t know, something silly-sounding like a ‘Digimon,’ I would have probably called the police on them, especially at the first signs of aggression. …Man, I’ve been a downright asshole this entire time. Wishing to rectify that, he scooted and patted the space to his right. “Here, sit with me. What’s bothering you? Let me lend an ear.”
Applin raised his gaze and gave him an amused look. “A quarter of one would be more than enough,” japed he and hopped onto the cot. Constantine internally cringed at the reminder of his inhuman physiology, but he also found the joke to be witty; he let it slide.
“So?” he prompted, consciously wrinkling his face into a compassionate smile.
“…So do you recall the woods into which we surfaced? Those have been my home for a few years now.” There was a touch of embarrassment in his voice.
Constantine’s eyes widened. “Were you evicted from your previous longhouse?” was what he asked, even if it did not accord with what had been said earlier; it was the only thing that made sense to him.
“Evicted? What do you take me for, an outlaw?” said Applin bemusedly, but Noibat simply cocked his head in confusion. He then erased the wry expression from his eyes with a clear of his throat and added, “Erm, no, I left on my own volition.”
“Why?”
“…I didn’t want to feel like a burden anymore,” mumbled Applin pensively, casting his gaze to the floor again. Noibat did not know what to say with such a vague answer, but thankfully Applin realized that and erected his eyestalks afresh. “Do you remember what Ms. Audino said earlier? About eventually contributing to a guild?” The bat nodded. “That’s how Nexus Commune is organized and run, through the guilds. The Cultivators and Hunters feed us, the Edifiers house us, the Rescuers and Lawmons keep us safe, the Artisans provide us with small luxuries that make life more than just surviving, and the Explorers…” His mood seemed to lift at that. “Well, the Explorers are even more superfluous than the Artisans, if you can imagine that. They, as the name implies, explore the continent and its Dungeons and are the first to make contact and establish relations with peoples we’ve never seen before; for that reason, they’re the hardest Guild to join.
“The Hunters, Cultivators, and Edifiers will take in about anyone and teach them their trade, and for good reason—we all need to eat and sleep. The Artisans are about as open, depending on the craft you wish to pursue. The Rescuers and Lawmons are a close second since ‘mon’s lives are at stake with them; here’s where they start asking for prerequisites to join, with grueling training to follow if you do make it. The Explorers, though? They expect you to come experienced; they host tryouts each spring to recruit new members, which is also something exclusive to them.
“It’s customary for Hunters, Rescuers or Lawmons to try out for the Explorers after accruing years of experience venturing Mystery Dungeons—but that was simply not a path I could pursue.” Sadness tinged those last words.
Constantine was thankful Amargoro finally stopped his elucidation there; he was hectically filing the questions that arose as the grass-type went on and feared the prospect of more piling up. “Wait, wait. Before we continue, what are these ‘Mystery Dungeons’ I keep hearing about?”
Applin waxed nonplused, eyes wide and incredulous. “By golly, you’ve forgotten even that? Nowhere have the Explorers gone that doesn’t have a Mystery Dungeon; they’re as ubiquitous as it gets,” said he, amused. “But no, I won’t tantalize you by leaving my answer at that. Mystery Dungeons are…” His eyes darted from side to side in thought, then he shook his eyestalks. “Space-time distortions, let’s just leave it at that,” said he finally in a sheepish voice.
That just raised even more questions! “I’m…sorry?”
“Weeeee don’t really know what they are besides that,” replied Amargoro, flustered. “All we know is that they bend space inside them in such wise that any visit there will never be like any of the last; they can also be deceptively bigger on the inside. And they also make inanimate anachronisms appear from thin air within its boundaries. Thus, space-time distortions.” Constantine was left gaping wordlessly, so the worm added, “You’ll understand when you see them. Oh, also: We thankfully know at least how they work—not why, but…how.”
Constantine shook his head to free his mind of the net of puzzlement muffling it; he would have to take Amargoro’s word for it. “Okay, sure. I do have another question, though: Why did you single out the Hunters, Rescuers, and Lawmons earlier?”
“Oh! Yeah, I suppose you wouldn’t know that either…” Applin trailed off. “You’ll have to excuse me; I don’t remember the last time I interacted with a comeling. The Hunters, Rescuers, and Lawmons—alongside the Explorers, of course—are the Dungeon-crawling guilds in our city. The others have no need and are not trained to venture Mystery Dungeons.”
“So you need specialized training to go to these ‘Mystery Dungeons’?” Amargoro’s eyestalks bowed in a nodding motion, so Constantine asked, “How dangerous are they?”
“Oh, quite! Mystery Dungeons are teeming with feral Pokémon, which most tend to be territorial; and if you lose yourself in its labyrinthine passageways for too long, you will end up joining their ranks…”
A shudder coursed through the chiropteran’s entire body. He had to clarify, “You feralize if you stay in a Dungeon for too long?” Amargoro nodded, so Constantine pondered the implications. “Is that why Hunters go to them? They hunt ferals?”
“Of course. …I hope you weren’t thinking that we were hunting each other for food,” said Applin suspiciously. That was how it worked in Constantine’s world; carnivores preyed on herbivores indiscriminately, and humans sat at the top of the food chain.
He felt compelled to broach, “Amargoro, I don’t think I’m from this world.”
The worm cocked his eyestalks. “Is this conversation stirring memories? Come you from overseas?”
“No, no, I don’t think I’m from this world,” he reiterated, extending his arms emphatically. “None of this makes any sense to me—the Guilds, the Dungeons, the medieval-ish architecture, the fact that a Pokémon like yourself or Audino or Dwebble can talk, the fact that no one seems to know what a human is despite our presence everywhere.” Amargoro peered at him searchingly. “Where I’m from, almost all Pokémon are feral; there are no space-time distortions; there used to be guilds and crenellated walls and chainmail armor, but those are relics of centuries past; and there are humans—mostly hairless bipeds with two arms, a head, five digits on each extremity, two eyes, one nose and mouth, and complexions ranging from creamy to ebony.” He was hoping that describing his species in more detail would miraculously stir something in the other’s mind.
Applin’s visage, however, registered empathy. “You seem to speak true, but in like wise, this doesn’t make much sense to me.” Noibat sighed defeatedly. “But…” he continued, “in spite it, I want to believe you. You say everything with such conviction that it’s hard not to.” His tone betrayed the smile hidden behind his shell.
Constantine felt the same force tugging at his heartstrings lifting the corners of his mouth into a heartful smile. “Thank you,” said he, then the warm, fuzzy fire in his stomach was dowsed by a realization. “Ah, shit, I completely derailed the conversation.” He clapped his forehead with a hand. “We were at…why you couldn’t start off in one of the Dungeon-delving Guilds before transferring to the Explorers, I think?”
“Oh, fret not, buddy, this derailment actually inspirited me,” reassured Applin, then he continued in a far livelier mood. “And yes, we were there. Alas, Applin are not the aptest Pokémon for Dungeon-crawling. We move laggardly on the ground and are cursed with a dearth of moves with which to do battle.”
This much Constantine knew. “And you haven’t met the criteria for evolution yet?”
Applin visibly cringed. “I haven’t found the right apple with which to evolve,” he said uncomfortably, but quickly followed up. “But it is precisely because I wish to evolve that I am aiming for the Explorers Guild! I’ve combed the entirety of Nexus Grove for the right apple, which is how I uncovered that grotto wherein I found you, but my efforts were fruitless. But I know the right apple is out there; I just need the resources that the Explorers Guild offers its members to achieve this. But alas, another hurdle lies in my path yet: for the dangers, Guild Pokémon can only brave Dungeons in teams of two, three, or four.”
What Amargoro had proclaimed earlier resounded in Constantine’s mind: how he would behoove from joining the Explorers Guild as well. Just as the worm trusted him, he felt compelled to requite the sentiment. “And if I form a team with you, I could use the Guild’s resources to find out who I am and how to return home?”
Applin’s eyes bulged, and Noibat could see his bubbling excitement from the wiggle of his tail behind. “Yes!” he piped, almost hopping in place, then he lunged. With his eyes closed, he wrapped his eyestalks around Noibat’s torso, leaving the chiropteran with his arms splayed and visage flustered. “Thank you…”
“N-No problem.” Constantine’s question had not even been about forming a team together, though he would have suggested that next given Amargoro’s answer. With an internal shrug, he unsurely wrapped his arms around the other’s apple, wondering if he could feel it at all.
It was then that Audino appeared by the room’s threshold with her digits intercrossed in front of herself. “Okay, missive sent. If you would kindly follow me back to the foyer so Dwebble may convey you to your temporary quarters.”
Applin anon pulled away from the bat to look back, and they both hopped off the cot and followed the normal-type. As they ambled, he casually asked Noibat, “By the by, were you able to hear the things I murmured under my breath?”
“Yyyep,” he replied amusedly.
“…I’m sorry.”