“Do the thing you fear most and the death of fear is certain”

  -Mark Twain

  Sometime in the night, Veronica scraped together just enough resolve to peel off her work clothes and stand beneath a lukewarm shower. She flung herself back onto the bed, landing in a tangle of sheets. Nightmares didn’t bother her these days. Nothing's scarier than the real thing. She had learned the hard way that fear could dig a grave deeper than any dream. Her diploma, delivered by a local courier, hid in a dresser drawer alongside the special gift she earned for finishing in the top five of her class. Buried but never forgotten. Sometimes her thoughts drifted to those unopened gifts, their secrets still sealed. They stood as a testament to her hard work and determination in school, now only served to remind her of all she’d squandered, and all she still squandered. A depressed mind whose only purpose was to beat her down battled a restless body that longed for more than wasting away. She wrestled with sleep until, at last, exhaustion claimed her.

  Morning arrived, abrupt and unwelcome. It felt like she’d only just managed to close her eyes, so why did she still feel tired and heavy? Was it too much to ask to wake up with a pep in her step like she used too? With a heavy sigh, Veronica rolled out of bed, forcing herself into the throws of what had now become her so-called routine. Lately, that routine was little more than a shuffle to the kitchen for breakfast. Some mornings, even that felt impossible, and she would lie there, eyes fixed on the blank white ceiling, refusing to look at the walls crowded with Pokémon trainer posters and championship banners. The trophies and medals from her school days glimmered in the corners, creating a more personalized cage of what could have been. Sore spots and rotten reminders of a young woman who wasn’t paralyzed by an emotion she knew nothing about.

  Most days her mind won over her body and refused to cooperate. Eyes drifting towards her bedroom window, maybe it was the sun that sown in a particular spot, or maybe how the wind made tree branches flutter. Something sent a weak spark of confidence that saw her climb out of bed with slightly more oomph. She braced a second shower this one ice cold, enough to snap her fully awake, then rifled through her closet for fresh clothes before heading to breakfast with her parents. Light fluttered in through the kitchen window that sat just above its sink, casting bright illumination all across the room. The kitchen and dining area blended together, divided only by a generous island built for family gatherings. Standing there at the sink was a woman of average height, lithe build and light olive skin, her white hair styled in a split bob with one side longer than the other. She wore a frilly apron over a rust shirt and blue jeans, humming a tune of her own invention as she attacked a stubborn stain, sometimes scraping at it with a fingernail before scrubbing again. Veronica announced herself by sliding the dinner table chair back to take a seat, the noise giving away her position in relation to her mother.

  “You’re up and about earlier than usual, dear,” Her mother said, turning around to face her. “It's good to know you’ll be joining us for breakfast.”

  “Yeah, I just…got up this morning, I can’t really explain it,” Veronica responded, running her fingers through another lock of hair that escaped the main braid.

  Veronica gazed at her mother’s closed eyes. The morning sun casting a gentle halo that revealed the youthful contours of a woman who could easily be mistaken for her sister. According to her mother, she’d had Veronica later than her peers, as she was now entering her early fifties, yet strangers always assumed they were siblings, not mother and daughter. Blindness led her mother to keep her eyes serenely shut, a quiet acceptance she never dwelled on. The cause of her disability remained a mystery to Veronica as her mother never explained it other than that it was an unfortunate situation, though she never regretted it. She had memorized every inch of their home, except Veronica’s room, due to its constant change from growing up over the years, she only needed a helper for outside activities.

  A hand swatted at Veronica’s probing fingers as she’d somehow pulled even more of her long white locks from its braid, making the young woman jump.

  “Gard…” A chastising tone growled.

  Speaking of helper. A bipedal humanoid Pokémon whose body resembled a long flowing gown drifted into the dining room, then by extension, the kitchen. A white body with sparkling teal hair, arms, and gown. Gardevoir was her mother’s helper Pokémon; rather more than that, she acted as a second mother to Veronica, having helped raise her.

  “Heh...Sorry, Hesta, I just can’t help but fidget with it.” Veronica said with a sigh, now having completely freed itself, that loose lock of hair hung more like a bang, leaving her singular long braid a slowly unraveling mess.

  “Is she playing in her hair again?” Her mother sighed, running a finger through her much shorter hair. “Mine never got so long, so I suppose I couldn’t understand the need to just play with it,” she continued.

  “Gaaarrd,” Hesta groaned and shot several more long, strung combinations of her own name, both shortened and elongated.

  Much like most Pokémon, Hesta couldn’t speak much more than her own name, but emotions and intent carried in ways anyone could understand.

  Spend enough time around a Pokémon and bond with it as much as Veronica and her mother have, and you can come to understand precisely what they're saying.

  “I do not baby her, I’m just trying to find an understanding, maybe even a solution?” Her mother retorted, to which Hesta shot back with another long string of expletives and a counterargument.

  This was simply the rhythm of life in her family. Mom sometimes coddled her, but always wrapped her affection in a lesson or a nugget of wisdom. Hesta, on the other hand, was all about discipline, nudging her to chase goals with relentless focus. The hair ‘argument’, if one could call it that, brought about a couple of random thoughts to Veronica’s head. To her knowledge, no one in this city or even as far as Crashfall had white hair. White remained a unique trait between her mom and herself. Sure, more exotic colors existed such as Victoria, whose hair shimmered like rose gold gemstones, but there was a reason for that. From what she’d gathered from the townsfolk, her mother had arrived in town already pregnant, no man to call husband in sight, just a solitary woman and a formidable team of Pokémon. Veronica had grown up with only Hesta by her side, the other five companions resting beneath marked stones in their garden. Every so often, she’d catch them paying respects to old friends, and due to her mother’s disability, Hesta was never actually in her Poké Ball. Hence, in every sense except literal, Hesta was a second mother. Veronica snapped back to the present as the argument wound down.

  “Oh, fine if you’re so insistent, it's that bad, let me see it!” her mother exclaimed.

  Hesta replied with something along the lines of “With pleasure,” before her entire body began to emit a pale purple light, shining sparks of power gathering and moving upward to coalesce into her eyes. At the same time, her mother opened her eyes to reveal shining purple irises instead of a colorless cloud that marked her out as a blind woman.

  “Oh wow, dear Hesta is right, you’ve been fiddling with your hair way too much, it's going to take hours getting it all back into a proper braid.”

  “Garrrd,” Hesta said, rolling her tongue, a smug expression painted on her face in the vain of “I told you so.”

  Hesta had the common ability Synchronize, which shares a Pokémon’s battle ailments, such as burn and paralysis, with the opponent. Apparently, it had been ages since she last faced an adversary. Instead, Hesta discovered a way to link her vision with her trainer, granting her mother the gift of sight once more. Many Pokémon abilities found surprising uses outside of battle, often relying more on imagination than rigorous training. Still, the process was far from perfect. Hesta had to carefully isolate her ability to see from what she saw to effectively give sight without duplicating vision.

  “Yeaaahh, I know, I was gonna say something, just slipped my mind, is all,” Veronica groaned.

  “We’ll get your hair situation fixed after we all eat, and after that, since it's your day off, you can go and do some light errands for me,” Her mother explained.

  “W-What?! It's my ONLY day for another three days, can’t we wait on it till I’m on my three off?” Veronica pleaded, It's not like she had plans for today in particular. In fact, she never had plans at all.

  “It won't take long, it's ingredients for your lunch after all,” Her mother shot back. “One quick trip to market shouldn’t take you more than thirty minutes.”

  “Gar Ga Garrd Ga Garrrdevoir!” Hesta chimed in, standing next to her trainer, “You’re much too old for us to still be cooking your meals for you, so this is the least you could do!” making Veronica lower her head.

  Regardless of the reason, the fact was apparent that Veronica’s pep was limited to the house, and leaving it was never in the cards. Their logic was bulletproof, and if she didn’t want to cook it seemed heading to the outside world was in her near future. Hesta, with her uncanny knack, always managed to say something that chipped away at Veronica’s confidence without even realizing it. None of them could have imagined that Veronica would still be living at home with them, so this whole situation was quickly turning into an adjustment period. They were likely forced to cancel plans they’d made to make sure their daughter was taken care of, which may or may not have been entirely true. What plans could an old blind woman and an elderly Gardevoir possibly have? Still, whether it was real or not, the idea alone made Veronica’s guilt grow heavier, and after breakfast, all she wanted was to retreat to her room and disappear under the covers.

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  “Before you head out, though, we’ll have to take a look at that hair, young lady,” Her mother said, interrupting her morose thoughts.

  “Gar-de-vooooiir,” Hesta groaned, roughly translating to “She's a grown woman now.”

  Her mother turned to face Hesta with a determined look. “Be that as it may, there isn’t a single thing wrong with a mother braiding her daughter’s hair.” Then, she turned to face Veronica. “Now, you go wash your hair and take the entire braid out. We’ll just start from scratch and give you a fresh braid.”

  Some time later, Veronica found herself in a chair while her mother and Hesta fussed over her hair.

  “Yowch!” Veronica yelped, looking back at her parents, who were now in the process of braiding her massive mane of hair. “Maybe don’t pull so tight?!” She yelped again, moving her hand back to protect her sensitive scalp, only to have Hesta smack it away.

  “Do you have any idea how much hair you have exactly?! If I don’t braid it like this, you’ll look like a white Zoroark minus the red tips.” Her mother barked for Hesta to echo the sentiment.

  Veronica wanted to point out there was no such thing as a white Zoroark to prove or disprove what she’d look like, nor were there any with red tips, but decided to just let it go. Her mother had a habit of describing Pokémon in colors and shapes that belonged to her own imagination, not any textbook Veronica had ever read. Over the years, Veronica had learned to let these odd stories pass without protest. The morning slipped by as she unbraided, washed, and re-braided her hair, the task stretching well into lunchtime. At last, she set off at a jog, freshly braided pony-tail that stretched all the way to her knees, shopping list stuffed down her pants pocket

  “If I can get this done quick, I can get back home and…” The wind in her sails suddenly blew out, and her enthusiastic run slowed to a slow walk. “And do what?”

  Taking out her shopping list to do little more than stare at it blankly, her mind wandered back home and what exactly she wanted to do. Truthfully, she’d rolled out of bed earlier than usual, gotten a strong start, even had breakfast, but in reality, there was nothing for her to do. After doing this,, she’d likely just go back into her room and sleep for the remainder of the day, only to have to go right back to work tomorrow for another twelve-hour shift.

  “And then it's three more days of work for three days off… but what's the point of those days off if all I’m going to do is lie in bed and stare at the walls?” she lamented, eyes still fixed on the grocery list as if that sheet of paper could divine her purpose in life like a scroll of truth. The purpose she’d given herself a long time ago and now rejected. “Dug my own grave with this one, didn’t I?”

  Sure, one could argue that, given her twelve-hour shifts, developing hobbies becomes much harder due to sheer exhaustion. If she were so inclined, She could easily claim that the convenience store drained her spirit, leaving her hollow. Yet, she knew the truth. Victoria’s choices and words swarmed her mind like angry Beedrill, impossible to ignore. She’d chosen this path all by herself. No invisible hand had pushed her into a grueling job, and no one expected her to become just another cog in the machine. In fact, a visible ripple of absolute shock ran through the city when one of the five top graduates took a clerk job instead of becoming a trainer. Victoria was a different case, but she was still doing SOMETHING with herself.

  “That first week was the hardest,” she groaned to herself, now taking slow, depressing steps forward. “People would come in literally just to see if the rumors were true...would even have stupid conversations with me and ask why,” she growled. Those were the hardest, when everyone wanted a reason, something she hadn’t even told her mother yet and likely wouldn’t. Thankfully, after a while, people stopped coming by, and business as usual started. “Until V just had to come visit me yesterday,” she sighed, stepping into the first store to buy the first ingredient on the list.

  She hadn’t seen her best friend since the last day of school, usually her butler came to make purchases and likely to spare both Vs from having an ugly confrontation. All throughout school leading up to both of them skipping graduation, the two were almost always on the same page, even if their reasons differed. Rumors travel and the butler couldn’t keep word of mouth from reaching Victoria because through some act of divine comedy Victoria showed up and words were had. Veronica sighed, paying for her goods and walking out, head held up, but a beaten-down spirit held within.

  “Am I seriously going to just keep on this route?” she sighed, double meaning not entirely lost on her.

  This city had a name known only to its people. Blindsteak City led a quiet insignificant existence between Crashfall and Sunburst City, its only claim to fame being the home of the Joys. Professor L?raer, Cresperia region’s own professor, would periodically dispatch one of his nine lab assistants to mark graduations or hand out rewards to high achievers. L?raer himself was a rare sight, appearing only on television to unveil his latest discoveries or visiting prestigious Ivy League schools that forged champions and elite eight members. To hold the title of champion or elite eight was to stand atop a shifting peak, always at risk of being toppled by a stronger challenger, though such upsets were rare. Only one out of a thousand trainers per year makes it to the champion, and in the five years since their current champion took over, no one has claimed victory. Before Queen, the previous champion, finally fell and joined the elite eight, the odds were far better, one hundred in a thousand. Now, the path to the top had become a mountain too perilous for most to attempt.

  “And I used to profess every day how I’d make it to that stage one day, no, that I'd not only make it to that stage but also become champion,” she hissed, pulling out her work keys, letting them shine in the sunlight now at its zenith. “Something’s gotta change-” she began, but an earth-shaking rumble rocked the city.

  A violent ground shake stirred and ripped her thoughts away as the ground began threatening to turn whole buildings to rubble. She stumbled and fell, the raw surge of energy unmistakably natural, not a Pokémon move. Shattered pieces of earth split off from the ground and stuck up like jagged spiked hands reaching out for a sky that finally called them home. Fragile buildings shuddered, bricks tumbling one by one until they collapsed in heaps of ruin. Then, as suddenly as it began, silence fell. Dazed survivors began to shuffle out from their blessedly still standing homes, then fell into a panic at how much damage nature had wrought. Yet, almost instantly, the community rallied, neighbors rushing to aid those less fortunate, determined to help however they could.

  Veronica rose unsteadily, stunned by the destruction that had unfolded in mere moments: shattered walls, ruined shops, homes reduced to nothing but piles of stone. Little was spared. All around her, people joined forces, digging through debris to rescue neighbors trapped by the chaos. But before she could help, urgency seized her, she spun and sprinted toward her own home.

  “Please be alright, please be alright,” she chanted, charging forward in a desperate long run.

  It took far longer than she’d have liked, due in part to her home existing on the fringes of town, whose nearest neighbor was ten minutes away. Finally, having crested the final hill, she came face to face with her home, still standing proud. The aforementioned neighbor spoke to her parents.

  “Oh, thank Arceus,” she breathed a sigh of relief, taking a few steps back before jogging right back to town. “They're alright, I'd better help how I can in town.”

  The rest of her day was spent helping to rescue anyone trapped in their homes or businesses, assisting with the removal of rubble from streets, and then allowing fighting and ground-type Pokémon to treat more affected areas. It took most of the day, and well into the evening, before Veronica decided to pack it in and head on home.

  “I guess it's a good thing I did wake early today, don’t know how much of an impact I made, but still,” she mumbled as a small smile played across her pale face, “Still happy I could have helped.”

  Once again, she crested the last hill that led straight to her home. A cozy cottage sat so far from its nearest neighbor that it may as well not have been considered a part of the city itself. Its walls, fashioned from dark pine, hinted at an old-world charm that defied any style Veronica had ever studied. Only a single, stubborn electrical wire tethered it to the present, one would struggle to differentiate it from a house long forgotten by time. the fading light, she could just discern both her mothers, and two shadowy figures deep in conversation

  “More people came to check on us?”

  There were indeed two other people sitting with them. A man and a woman. The woman’s elegant dress draped gracefully over her shoulders, flowing into a cowl neckline that hinted at sophistication. Silk wrapped her slender waist, ending in a dramatic bow at her back. Everything worked to accentuate that massive crown of rose gold hair that sparkled in the diminishing sunlight, as if it were competing with the celestial body for attention. The man beside her wore a plain shirt, its top buttons undone for a relaxed air, but a four-button vest and matching black slacks restored a sense of sharpness. Black slacks matched his vest, and black dress shoes completed his look. Together, they looked like old money, very old money.

  “Are those the Joys’?” Veronica thought as she ventured closer ears perking up as she drew close enough to hear their conversation but far enough away to avoid detection.

  Victoria’s parents were hardly unexpected visitors, thanks to the deep friendship between their daughter and herself. In fact, the girls alternated staying with one another on weekends, a cherished ritual that inspired the Joys to create a special room just for their sleepovers. As the years passed, their families grew close as well. It became a familiar sight to find Mrs. Joy sharing tea or coffee with Victoria’s mother, while Mr. Joy struck up an easy camaraderie with Hesta. Victoria often marveled at how he seemed to understand the Pokémon so well, despite barely knowing her.

  “And we just don’t know what happened to her,” the woman said between fits of tears dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief the usual prim and posh accent wobbling with emotion. “That terrible shake happened while she was checking on the ponies, and shes been missing sense.”

  “I haven’t seen Veronica since this morning myself, honestly I’m getting worried as well,” Her mother replied “A part of me hopes their just together enjoying themselves before Victoria has to leave for college...but not telling either of us is troubling me.”

  Within a flash Veronica was gone, back towards town along its bare edges looking for anything that could be a clue to her friend’s whereabouts. Both of their houses existed on extreme polar opposites of Breaksteak.

  “Ponyta stable, near the back of the mansion, if she was checking on them before the earthquake SOMETHING had to have been going on with them medically...maybe one was sick. Not important.” Veronica’s voice was shaking as she paced circles around a street light “Earthquake happens, Ponyta gets loose….couldn’t have gone out towards town, people would have seen them even in all the chaos,” a light-bulb went off in her head and she sprinted towards the mansion, no past it.

  All the way to Crying Crystal Cave. Just like with Last-Grasp her body froze the moment civilization stopped and the world began. The unknown. A deep foreboding fear gripped her heart and pulled back, urging, begging for her to just turn around and tell Mr and Mrs. Joy about her suspicions.

  “But it could be too late by then,” She thought, grinding her teeth she forced herself to push forward, there was no denying that she was afraid, after-all she could be wrong, for all she knew V was back home right now. “I don’t know what awaits me…whats in the real world.” Her voice shook as her legs forced themselves forward “I might be afraid of what out there but I’m more afraid if something if anything happens to her!” With that she was the beaten path and on the road to the cave