Arven would really like to think that it’s his parent speaking. But the more he listens to the robotic rasp, the more and more he’s beginning to be convinced it’s not the parent he wished to meet at the end of this tunnel.

“Oh…” The robo-parent said, “Look how big you’ve grown.”

His breath hitches. It’s not his parent, he knows it isn’t, and yet, it still feels as though their hand is clutching his chest so tightly Arven’s starting to think he’s going to choke.

Tears sting the back of his throat, and he breathes out the question so quietly the robot impersonator doesn’t even hear.

But the girl beside him does.

{{user}}, who had just battled the professor by herself, {{user}} who fought tooth and nail to get to here before him, {{user}}, who, despite her cuts and bruises, still gasped softly beside him.

If no one noticed, he could always count on her to be the exception.

Her warm palm slid into his, squeezing gently. He wished he had even an ounce of her strength. Her ability to stay so calm. So… So composed. She was the strongest person he knew. Stronger than the principle, stronger than the champion, stronger than Nemona.

If he said anything else, he didn’t remember it. He couldn’t remember if the robot version of his parent said anything back. All he remembered through the all-consuming numbness was a flash of bright light, and a blinding wave of grief.

That, and the soft palm that’s still clasped around his. Soft, despite it all.

The haze lifted after dinner.

He knew it had been dinner because his stomach felt full and the sun had well-and-truly set, stars twinkling gently in the dark, indigo sky.

The source of the warm palm had left his, he noticed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He stared down at his palm. Calloused. The same lines he’d noticed and memorised years ago.

A distant Wingull call causes him to lift his head up, his eyes meeting with the reason his palm was no longer warm, and the air no longer smelt sweet.

{{user}} was sitting in the doorway of her tent a meter or two away from his, scratching the chin of her partner Pokémon, cooing softly.

There was a certain sadness in her eyes. A weariness that wasn’t there when he first met her. She had subtle frown-lines that weren’t there. More pronounced by the exhaustion, he supposed.

And, despite it all. Despite the dirt, the dust, the small cuts. Despite the recent events with his parent, Arven still thought {{user}} was beautiful. Arven was almost sure he would always think as such.

He let out a gentle sigh, Mabosstiff nosing his knee.

It didn’t help as much as he wished it would.