Forgotten Flame -- Chapter 4: Lonely

Immediately after their conversation (or, rather, immediately after the ten seconds of contemplative silence that followed it), Serenade mumbled a goodbye and floated away towards home, leaving Flame to wonder just what could have happened to her that would prompt this reaction. Someone important to her had left her, obviously, but Flame wasn't sure Serenade's last remark had been about the four Pokémon she had mentioned. But whoever it was, whatever had happened, this subject seemed to be something better left unmentioned in the future.

It took very little time for Flame for make her next decision. She turned around and walked directly towards the Center, cutting across the middle of the square. She caught a few glances from the remaining spectators, all of whom were now having their own conversations. None of them bothered with a second glance; to them, Flame was just another visitor.

The only other Pokémon in the Center's lobby was a rather bored-looking Sylveon behind the front counter. The layout was actually surprisingly familiar to Flame; as she crossed the tile floor, she knew that the door to her left would lead to a kitchen and dining area, the door on her right would lead to a room filled with strange machines that humans were apparently capable of holding a conversation with, the door in the wall behind the front desk would lead to the healing machines and recovery room (which had a back door to the outside), and the twin staircases flanking the desk connected to a second floor made entirely of small four-person bedrooms. Or that's how it would normally be, at least. Unlike the other Centers she had told Serenade were "all over the place," this one was much smaller and the doors to its side rooms were closed, so she couldn't be completely sure.

The Sylveon jumped a bit when Flame said hello. Flame awkwardly asked her if any rooms were available, and was told that every single room was free and that she should simply pick one. Apparently, Flame had been the first to visit the island in a full week. The Sylveon rambled a bit about how things had been pretty dull lately and how she hadn't expected any visitors because there hadn't been any boats or anything, and then her eyes went wide.

"Are you the one they found on the beach?" she asked.

Flame winced. "That's... what they're telling me, yes."

"I'm sorry, I had no idea," the Sylveon said. "My name's Radiance. If there's anything I can do to help–"

"No, I'm all right." Flame paused for a second. "Actually, how did you find out? I never said anything, and I don't think anyone else has."

"There've been rumors going around since last night," Radiance said with a sheepish smile. "There are only twenty-seven people on this island – well, twenty-eight now – and five of them are psychic, so word tends to travel fast. But your secret's safe with me, at least."

The two of them talked for a little while longer. Radiance pulled a crudely drawn map of the island out from under the desk, pointed out a few important locations like the Center and the berry fields (which Serenade had neglected to mention as they walked past them), and handed it to Flame. Then, deciding Flame probably didn't want to be holding on to the map for the whole day, she also gave her a small satchel made of a two-tone brown fabric.

"Someone brought this in this morning," Radiance explained. "Said he found it on the beach. I don't know, maybe it's yours?"

Flame was fairly certain it wasn't, but Radiance insisted she take it anyway. So, after taking the time to choose a room for later – each of the seven rooms had one desk, one chair, and one set of bunk beds, and all seven looked exactly the same, so Flame just chose the one directly in the center – and encouraging Radiance to take a break since nobody else was probably going to show up, Flame waved goodbye and stepped back outside with the map tucked away inside the bag slung over her shoulder.

She spent the rest of the day wandering the island – taking in the sights, walking down the streets and along the beaches, and occasionally returning the few greetings she received from people she passed by. Following Radiance's map, she made her way to the southern end of the island, which was really just a grove of trees that contained no buildings or roads whatsoever. Yet, as had been occurring increasingly often as she explored, something about this empty wilderness put Flame at ease. She felt she had spent most of her life in places like this, far away from civilization. She was in familiar territory once again. Then she noticed that the same Dragonite was flying overhead for the sixth time in as many minutes, and decided it would be best to leave.

She stopped for an hour or two at the northeastern shore, where she imagined Requiem and Serenade had found her the previous night, to watch the sun set. Even though they had never told her exactly which beach it was, for some reason that one seemed the most likely. But it didn't really matter which beach she sat on. What mattered was that, once she stopped thinking about how the rising tide was what had spirited her away from everything she had ever known, the sound of the crashing waves was the most relaxing thing she had ever heard. Funny, she thought, that a Fire-type like her would feel so at home by the ocean. All in all, this island wasn't so bad a place to wash up on.

Once the sun had disappeared, she stood and headed back to the Center. It remained as empty as before – even more so, because Radiance was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she had taken that break after all. Too tired to dwell on it, Flame climbed up the stairs and entered the room she had chosen. She crawled into the bottom bunk and closed her eyes.

The next six days passed with almost no incident.

Serenade had been completely right about one thing: there wasn't much to do most days but relax, walk around, and watch the occasional sparring match in the plaza. There seemed to be two or three matches a day, on average, and about eight people (usually the same eight) would gather to watch each time. Despite Flame's earlier misgivings, these battles quickly started to grow on her. They changed from a spectator sport to an odd sort of learning experience; it wasn't long before Flame realized she wasn't "learning" by watching so much as she was refreshing her own memory. She had been one of those fighters once. She had known the moves, the forms, the techniques. Maybe, she thought, she still did in some way. Maybe she might even consider joining in sometime.

On Flame's second night, Serenade came to her room in the Center, and Flame followed her outside to the plaza where most of the villagers had thrown an impromptu party of sorts. When asked, some claimed it was a welcoming party for Flame (word had traveled faster than expected, it seemed), but most admitted they had simply been bored and needed a good excuse for a big social event.

Those who had attended had split into several large groups scattered around the square, having their own conversations. None seemed interested in talking with Flame at the moment, which was fine; even if this party was for her after all, she was really not in the mood to try to answer the cascade of questions that she knew they would ask. Especially since she wouldn't know the answers to most of them.

A few partygoers were gathered in the middle of the square, dancing to a lively tune that someone was playing on a crudely-made wooden flute. Flame was surprised to find that Requiem was not among the dancers; he was instead sitting at the very edge of the crowd, legs and arms crossed and looking very uncomfortable. Serenade noticed him as well, and left Flame to talk with him. When Serenade alighted on the ground beside Requiem, leaving a thin layer of frost where her body touched the earth, he relaxed noticeably, and they began to talk quietly to each other. When Serenade leaned in and whispered something to him, Flame saw him laugh out loud for what might have been the first time in a very long while. The way she could put him at ease so quickly seemed totally plausible yet almost unreal. Flame couldn't help but wonder if she had ever had someone like that. She decided that she had probably had a close friend, but not that close.

One of the dancers broke off from the crowd and rushed into one of the houses on the west side of the square, returning with a complicated stringed instrument that was clearly so sophisticated that it could only have been made by human technology. After about fifteen minutes of intense discussion, unproductive experimentation, and raucous laughter, the instrument was returned to its rightful place when it became clear that not a single one of the attendees had the knowledge, the dexterity, or (in most cases) the necessary digits to play it. All things considered, Flame was having an excellent time, though she neglected to mention to anyone that she was now quite certain she had never in her life attended any kind of party at all.

After another hour or so of socialization, the party was ended abruptly by the high-pitched chattering of several Ice Beam attacks and the bone-chilling gale of Serenade storming off in a huff. Flame had missed most of the details, but apparently someone (a Lopunny named Destiny, whom Flame had encountered at Requiem's match the day before) had gotten into an argument with Serenade. Evidently, she had crossed a line somewhere, because Serenade had left her encased in a perfectly formed and perfectly transparent shell of solid ice half an inch thick. As Requiem ran after Serenade and the rest of the crowd began to disperse, Flame did her best to help the two other Fire-types present in thawing Destiny out, silently vowing never to do whatever Destiny had just done. Finding out exactly what that was, though, would be a different matter altogether.

That night was when the dreams began.

It was the same scene every time: walking alone through the mist and fog down a long road that wound and twisted erratically and seemed to extend forever in both directions. The first time, there was nothing else there. Flame simply stood in place, staring straight ahead, unable or perhaps simply unwilling to move. Eventually, she woke.

The second time she had the dream, she was already walking forward. She tried to stop, but felt herself being urged on by something. Something directly behind her at all times, but invisible when she twisted her head around to face it. No matter which direction she faced, she could still see nothing but the road. It could have been a trick of the light, but it did seem that she could see slightly farther forward than she could backward. But there was still nothing to see. There was only a sense that she had to hurry if she wanted to make it to her destination in time.

The third time once again gave her slightly more freedom. She knew that she could stop walking this time, but she never wanted to slow down for longer than a few seconds. The force urging her on was still present but not as insistent. And now, when she turned her head to the side, she could just barely make out the hazy silhouette of another traveller on a road parallel to hers. This silhouette had no discernible features; it could have been anyone. After trying to make something out, she soon gave up and went back to looking straight ahead.

When she found herself in the dream for the fourth night in a row, she immediately stopped walking and stared at the place where the other traveler had been. It was still there, and this time she was able to get a better look. Not enough to recognize the traveler's face, but enough to make out a few features. Those features seemed to shift depending on the angle of viewing and the density of the fog, and soon the entire silhouette was changing slightly in shape and size. Some shapes were more familiar to Flame than others, and although she didn't know who she was looking at she somehow knew that each new face was still the same person. An idea occurred to her then, and she took a single step away from the center of the road and toward the shadow. When she did, the shadow's mutating features froze abruptly at something that looked quite unsettlingly like Flame's own profile, and then the figure stepped backward off its road entirely and disappeared into the mist.

Flame stepped out of the Center that morning to find that a match was already in progress. As usual, she joined the rest of the audience. The fight itself was unremarkable. What was remarkable was that, for the first time since Flame had arrived, Requiem was watching the fight too. Flame turned her attention to the match as she always did, but made sure to glance up across the square from time to time to see what Requiem was doing. Every now and then she'd notice a weakness or a pattern the same way she had with Mira, and then feel a tinge of frustration when it became clear that neither participant saw it. Requiem seemed to feel the same way, although it was very possible he was simply bothered by the noise of the crowd. At the end of the fight, while everyone else was applauding, he met her gaze with a sad, thoughtful look in his eyes, and then quietly turned and walked away.

She followed him, stopping him at the edge of the square. As she explained what she had been seeing for the past four nights, he listened intently, eyes closed. Flame wasn't sure if he was carefully pondering what she was describing or if he was using his telepathic abilities to actually see it. Either way, when she finished by asking what he thought it all meant, he thought for a moment more and then said that it probably meant nothing. It was probably just her mind trying to piece together her fragmented memories. She wasn't sure about the former, but her eyes widened in realization at the latter.

"That's exactly it," she said. "That's what it is. I haven't lost anything. I just have to put it all back."

In that night's dream, Flame walked solemnly until she saw that another, smaller path split off from hers just ahead. She wasn't sure which way to go, but the invisible thing behind her whispered to her, telling her to take the branching path because it would lead to a place to rest. Trusting the voice, she did so without hesitation.

As she turned onto the smaller road, she spoke softly into the mist. "Who are you?" she asked it.

I am the mirror that stands at the crossroads, said the mist. My roads lead to many places, but I reflect only one.

"Why are you helping me?"

You lost your way, and then you lost yourself. But you have lost so much more than that.

"But what?" cried Flame. "What have I lost?"

Your past.

--------------------
"Something's happening to her. I don't know if she's remembering or if she's just losing her mind, but either way I'm not sure it's good."
"She spoke to me about a recurring dream she has been having. It was cryptic, disjointed."
"Yeah, she told me about it too."
"But it couldn't have been just that. I tried to reassure her that it means nothing, but I'm beginning to doubt myself."
"You have an idea?"
"It can't be the only explanation. There must be another."
"...Something about her makes you want to talk to her, right? You just want to... explain everything to her."
"To tell your own story, because you feel that your story could fill the gap where hers should be."
"Exactly. So what's stopping you?"
"We must avoid imposing our lives upon hers. Being unable to remember one's past is not the same as having no past to remember. She still has her own story to tell, and I do not want to interfere with how she chooses to tell it."
"Yeah, I guess. But I can't shake this feeling her story's gearing up for a plot twist."