Sergei Rachmaninoff's Symphonic poem Op. 29

Nothing.

Nothing was a pretty hard feeling to contend with. I mean, how could you feel nothing when clearly it was possible to feel something, always?

To be sure I did feel, of course. I was knocked out, unconscious – semi-conscious? I'm aware..? – on the floor of a Mystery Dungeon, waiting for help, so I could feel rather faintly the damp grass beneath my body. I could move my claws and know there was dirt beneath, but it all felt so distant.

I managed to open my eyes – or at least I thought I did – but I saw nothing. Even though the ability to see in the dark ran in the family – though my dark-and-ice cousins were definitely better at it than me – I couldn't make out anything through the overwhelming darkness. Even Treeshroud Forest had some bit of light, but I just presumed that the feeling of me opening my eyes was just some kind of illusion while I remained in this sort of fugue.

I didn't think the Rescue Team would take very long. Not only did countless Pokemon get themselves lost in this Mystery Dungeon, but it had more attention than usual because of the outlaw hiding in here, the one I pursued. The one that must've ambushed me and took me out in one hit.

I said "must've" because I didn't remember it. One moment I was clearing a hallway of ferals and entering a room on the floor where the outlaw was supposed to be, the next I found myself here in this hazy half-awake, half-asleep state.

Yeah, hazy is a good way to put it, came my thought that felt like it took a few hours to put together. While unconscious, I realized, the minutes felt like days, and at that they felt anything but clear. I know for a fact the passage of time was off because if my perception of it was accurate, I would've succumbed to dungeon sickness before I could've gotten half of my thoughts across. I guess time just flowed much slower for me while unconscious.

I couldn't help but slowly smile. Not that I would've known before.

Sure, I'd been knocked out during intense sparring sessions back at the Guild, but I'd always be revived almost instantly and given proper treatment; this was my first time actually getting knocked out in the field. I know it happened to every Explorer at some point, and I surmised that it'd be better at the hands of an outlaw with a growing bounty than a bunch of dumb ferals, but I still would've preferred that it didn't happen at all.

Regardless, here I was, and all I could do was think.

One of my first thoughts was that I was glad I overwhelmingly felt nothing. It kept out the cold.

In a state of unconsciousness, everything felt more distant, like a sliver of its genuine stimulus, and this was true for temperature. Even so, what I did feel was a really deep and bitter cold that bit at my fur. To call it cold, really, was probably an understatement. It felt more like a total absence of heat than just being wrapped in ice.

That was probably my second thought, the thought of Maybe that's why things seem so slow. Why it feels like it takes minutes to put together even a single word in my head. It's just so damn cold it slows down everything to a glacier's pace; how time flows, how I think.

That whole thought felt like it took half a week. Inaccurate to how much time was actually passing, I know, but that was definitely the cold playing its tricks. So it was annoying to try to think, but it felt like eternity. And eternity is a very, very long time, so with nothing else to do but lie down and wait for rescue, I thought some more, beyond those first two thoughts.

Slowly, I wondered when the Rescue Team would come; I told myself after what felt like days of contemplation I'd finally let that Tess, that annoying meowth who seemed to always look up to me, join me on a team so I could avoid this annoying waste of time from happening again; I vowed after what felt like a lifetime to make sure I'd pack a more than one reviver seed even if they started to be increasingly unreliable; I swore to not laugh at my Mom's incessant nagging to pack an Escape Orb – even if it would've done me no good now – since I guess after being knocked out I could now appreciate the benefits of cutting my losses in a dungeon to avoid this whole debacle.

Of course, I let myself reminisce as to how good one of Mom's Chesto Berry Stews would be right now, and though I tried to recall the scent of it, the surrounding Nothingness forbade me from smelling anything.

If only Mom told me how crappy it was to be knocked out I– nah... Just like her I wouldn't have paid attention. Not until I experienced this, I would've never believed it. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. I thought, my mouth slowly regaining its grin.

Ugh.

The most annoying thing during all of this was that I tried to move and I could, but it felt entirely removed from reality. Despite the cold so much time felt like it had passed I regained enough strength to stand up in one swift motion, but I was still KO'd, stuck where I was. I could move my limbs slowly, but my brain commanding my body to try to do such a thing just gave out empty signals. Even more annoying was that I knew I had my Explorer's bag on me. It was pitch-black – considering the passage of time I guess I became semi-conscious when it had turned nighttime in the dungeon and it was night – but I still felt it through that wall of nothingness, a phantom sensation of it wrapped around my shoulder, lying beside me.

It was just an illusion; the outlaw probably took it since – even though I felt it – when I reached my claw over, slowly but surely, nothing was there. Just my mind playing tricks on me. I would've loved to have grabbed my Explorer's badge and clicked on the signal beacon a few extra times. Again, I know not even a night had passed since the dungeon didn't get any lighter and I didn't sleep, but it felt like so damn long to do anything in this condition I must've doubled my lifespan and aged another twenty-three years.

But even twenty-three years have to come to an end, but the first thing I felt wasn’t a reprieve from the cold, but an intensification of it; I felt colder before anything else as the Nothing that protected me from it was slowly driven away.

I darted my eyes every which way which took a dozen minutes, but I managed to spot to my side, in the distance, a fire.

Rescue.

In the time it took me to think that, it had closed much the distance from when I first saw it – it probably was now halfway towards me, just a couple painfully slow paces towards me – and with each step the fire drove away the Nothingness.

But as Nothing fell away, I felt more and more of the cold. It enveloped me, and I felt the biting frost on the twinge of my fur, chewing into my claws, and with each step it got worse.

I bit my tongue, and it was thankfully already numb. I knew I had to be rescued and I guessed this rescuer was somehow making me fully conscious again, but the process was beyond painful. I didn't how welcome a veil the Nothingness I had felt was, but I appreciated it and, damn, even longed for it as the fire approached and the cold emptiness, the total absence of heat, was all I felt. I knew the ground below me shifted; I could tell with the very vague feeling my claws had when they dug into maybe wood instead of soil, I know the world started to slowly rock around me in a gentle, wave-like motion, but this I could tell only faintly. That was all secondary, tertiary, completely irrelevant to the cold.

My eyes focused entirely on the fire, trying to by sheer willpower alone hasten its approach.

The blaze burns bright, and it illuminates the beige, pale hand beneath it that holds it up over an open palm. It's a unique fire, not one I've ever seen before. It's red, of course, but instead of a bright hot orange or yellow, its flame was an otherworldly purple, one that was entirely new to me.

The flame hobbles closer and with a bit of a flare, it illuminates its beholder. I see the details of small, beige fur give way to navy-blue fur whose length lets it grow out into waviness, at least on the creature's back. On its chest are purple spots crested by more of that dark blue fur, though it's as short as the beige fur there. Above it is the head of a typhlosion looking down at me.

I looked up and met its eyes, or rather the one eye that was illuminated by the flame.

A ruby-red eye with a heavy, melancholic eyelid looks down at me as the typhlosion it belongs to stands over me. Its mouth is turned downwards – just like its big, floppy ears – into a weary frown.

Its visage was terrible, frightening to look at, but I tried to remain calm; I knew it was a Rescuer since the outlaw was a malamar, not this cousin to the typhlosions I had seen around my hometown. I had encountered one of these in a Mystery Dungeon before, but I couldn't recall its proper name.

I'm thinking faster, even despite the sheer cold. Was it the Nothing that made me think slower, and now that it's fading away I can think more clearly?

That must've been the case since I managed to have that thought almost as quickly as I would've when I was conscious.

The fire burns brighter as it approaches, and it by now has all but driven away the Nothingness, but even though it's so close it provides very little warmth.

The cold was overwhelming. I focused on the fire, trying through my vision to at least let it warm me. I saw details I never would've thought would be even in such a ghastly flame.

Within the mystical and terrifying fire is a small kindling of bright-orange that, though a fitting color to adorn a fire, is by itself vastly beyond a mere flame. Accompanying it are two smaller flickers of light, a green and violet wisp appearing and reappearing in some beautiful dance.

I was entranced; looking at it seemed to burn away all other sensations. It was far, far from Nothing. It felt like everything, like that fire whose aura contained those all-too familiar colors resonated absolutely with me, as if I could attune myself to that to an impossibly perfect degree, as if it were me.

The typhlosion's free hand lowers towards me. Its open palm offers salvation, a return back.

It was hard to break my sight from the beauty and trueness of the flame, but in rapid succession I was able to remember why I was here at all.

I remembered my admiration for Mom as she would go out and go on various explorations and still find the time once she came home to make me Chesto Berry Stew, my favorite.

I remembered the tour of the Guild and Guildmaster Noivern promising me he'd always have a spot for me once I became older.

I remembered my first and only love and that time we went on Heart Lake, just sitting on a small boat, rowing aimlessly across the surface, talking about life. I thought about how Servine stuck by my side ever since, even if he worried about me being an Explorer, how he'd want me to return to him.

I remembered my first Exploration where I navigated through my first dungeon, gathering resources found only there while fighting off ferals.

I remembered by first outlaw and rescue mission, where I tracked down and captured a low-level outlaw, how I had saved the tiny charmander he was kidnapping for ransom and how it hugged me tightly and thanked me for helping it.

I remembered entering this dungeon with the promise to myself that I'd stop this killer malamar from shattering any more families.

As I lifted my purple claw, slowly but inevitably, towards the typhlosion's outstretched hand, all of these things and more all flashed before my eyes. I remembered my whole life, from the aforementioned important moments to bits of happy memories that I had forgotten up until now.

My claw rested on his hand as I felt happy tears pool beneath my eyes.

His five small fingers grasp around my proud and mighty claws and pull firmly, hoisting me up.

The world shifted around me, appearance-wise not unlike how a Dungeon changes abruptly upon ascending the stairs, but feeling-wise completely different.

I staggered a bit from the pull as I stood upright on the wooden boat. My feet staggered a bit from the motion, and my claws scratched against the weathered oak of the floor of the small dinghy. Above all else, that horrible cold faded away instantly, replaced by the a far more comfortable and warm temperature. That wasn't all, though. The darkness that blotted out my vision was replaced by a calm, blue sky. There were countless clouds dotting it, all seemingly rising from a towering wall of darker clouds that emerged from the distant ocean.

Not ocean, I corrected myself as I deeply inhaled the crisp air, letting the wonderful scent of distant spring pine mixed with freshwater fill my lungs. There was no smell of brine or salt, meaning this water wasn't salty. But nowhere else on the Grass Continent aside from Heart Lake could be this vast.

And this wasn't Heart Lake, I knew, since I spotted a lone island standing alone in the still waters, something that didn't exist there. I scanned the rest of the horizon and saw no shore.

I turned to him, to the typhlosion. He wasn't steering the dinghy - he just had the fire hovering over his hand, looking at me quietly – but we the boat was in motion, slowly approaching that island, though it was too far to make out the finer details of it at the moment

I had gratitude to express and questions to ask, but when I opened my mouth to thank my Rescuer, I realized my throat was parched and impossibly dry. I took a careful step and leaned over the side; I reached over and dipped my claws in the water, then raised them towards me, clear and enticing freshness pooled in them.

This just couldn't be Heart Lake – it just made no sense – so I flicked my tongue out to get a quick taste before I accidentally swallowed a mouthful of seawater.

My tongue was met with a sublime and refreshing sensation. That was enough for me, and I scooped up water and slurped it, then did so twice more, each time the dryness in my throat fading until I could finally talk. Mom always said it was rude to slurp – especially in the presence of strangers and definitely in front of Rescuers – but I couldn't help myself. After I was done I wiped my mouth clean of any loose dribbles and looked back at my rescuer.

He stares at me with a curious look in his eyes, his head cocked to the side a bit as he has a small smile, clearly not minding that I was rude.

Rescuers are just like that, I guess. Specializing in the lesser-paying jobs for the good of their heart, I wish I didn't have a family to support to do such good deeds like they did.

As I regained my footing, I met his red eyes. "Thanks for the rescue," I said, "I guess I did manage to send out a distress call after all. I was worried I was instantly knocked out. Did you manage to catch the outlaw? Hopefully he didn't give you too much trouble."

Before I could give him a chance to speak – once again Mom would've been very disappointed in her daughter's lack of manners – my curiosity got the best of me. I spoke as I glanced around. "Also, where exactly are we? I didn't think there was any big lake on the Grass Continent aside from Heart Lake, and definitely not one by Treeshroud Forest. Why'd you take me out here?"

I looked back at him.

His fire flickers in his hand as his eyes widen, and although he doesn't take a step back, the boat nonetheless lists towards him. He looks away for a moment and then, after a few glances at me, he speaks. "I am terribly sorry, Sneasel. I-we did not rescue you."

"What do you mean? There's no way this is still Treeshroud Forest, right? Was there a dungeon shift?"

His eyelids lower alongside his frown. "Sneasel is your name, is it not? I am far from accustomed to your world's cultures, but I know many of you go by the name of your species."

"Yeah, you got it right the first time... Wait, did you say say you're not accustomed to my world's culture? Who exactly are you?" I asked. I felt my body quiver, and my anxiety grew as realization of what he just said sunk in.

The typhlosion's eyes betray a look of alarm as he stutters, "I-I am a mere passersby. I did not enter Treeshroud Forest on a Rescue Mission. We are hunting an outlaw, a malamar. My team and I, we never received a distress signal."

I took a step back and almost fell off the boat, but I found my footing. My claws scraped and dug into the wood. I looked back to the horizon for any potential shore to swim to for help, but it was just the two of us here on this dinghy. Any land aside from that ominous island was obscured by clouds. "Y-you're not Rescuers? Explorers? Why are you here? Where are we?"

The typhlosion starts to approach, but hesitates after taking a single step forward and retreats, remaining where he stands. His eyes dart to me and to the fire still in his hand, resting on it with a visage of care before he speaks with equal caution. "I am driven here by instinct. This is my first time doing this, I am afraid. I wish I could be of more aid to you. Truly, I am sorry."

"First time doing what?" I managed to whisper.

His head turns away once more, not able to look at me as his mouth starts to open but closes. He takes in a deep breath and turns to me, making eye contact. "We found your body on the twelfth floor of Treeshroud Dungeon, where the outlaw is rumored to be. My companions are currently standing guard over me. I felt some foreign drive, an unknown instinct to– to... I am unable to describe it, what I am doing now."

"My body? I'm unconscious. Just give me a berry or a seed or–"

The fire in his hand seems to waver as he speaks. "That cannot be done. You are dead. I believe I am, somehow, guiding you."

I blinked, trying to understand. The boat rocked silently in the water for a moment. There was no wind; the air was completely stagnant. The only sound was the cackling of the fire in the typhlosion's palm and the creak of the boat as it listed to and fro. Even though the island on the horizon was getting bigger, the dinghy made no sound nor did it leave any wake as it seemingly glided across the still, reflective waters.

I felt cold again, the kind of cold I felt when I was existing aimlessly just a few minutes ago. Or was it Nothingness, come to return and block out the heat of life? I leaned further off the boat and contemplated diving into the waters below.

Unmistakably, the fire in his hand wavers, its light diminishing. He takes notice and cusps his second hand around it. The fire brightens again and the Nothingness and cold fades away.

I felt somewhat calmer than before, but I needed answers. I needed to know. I turned my head and saw the island was far closer than before.

I managed to choke out a few words. "Where are you taking me?"

His eyes follow mine and rest on that island. His voice is utterly, painfully honest. "I do not know."

My vision becomes a bit watery and I clear the distortion with my claws, letting me see the island more clearly as the dinghy slowly, inevitably approaches.

I see as we drift towards the entrance of the island, some small harbor carved out of the stone with steps leading from the still waters below up to a clearing flanked by two towering cliffs. in those cliffs look like ruins from some long-past Pokemon town, the architecture completely foreign to me, putting me in great unease.

Is this the temple for some of some other unknown god I never prayed to? Was I supposed to praise Latios or Latias or some other messenger? Was it just supposed to be Arceus alone?

I recalled my own god, Landorus, who Mom always told me to give tribute to. I never did. The pit of my stomach sank.

"I never did," I told him, turning to him, "I never gave tribute like I was supposed to. I just didn't believe. I thought it was pointless."

His eyes focus on me and seem to pierce through my very body as I tried to plead. "I-I didn't know. I'm-I'm not going to be doomed to Nothingness, am I? That must be punishment for not paying tribute like Mom always told me I should've. Please, I-I can't go back. It was too much. Really, please don't let me be punished." I tried to do good.

His heavy, anxious breathing matched my own. The fire cackles and wavers once more, and after he stabilizes it, giving me a soothing feeling of calm that washes over me, fighting against my fear, he leans down to me and rests a hand on me. He draws a deep breath and speaks. "I know not the rituals and deities of your people save for the... concept of Arceus. But please, follow my watch as I am guided by instinct; look into the grove of trees at the center. Focus on it, Sneasel."

I followed his instructions and, after a moment of fear, turned back towards the island. We were practically upon it, but I listened to his voice and let it guide me to the trees that stood at the center of the island, avoiding the terrifying outcroppings and ruins that foretold I was wrong all along.

They faded into obscurity as I looked into that forest. The trees were dense and shifted in the wind that had returned. I could hear as they gently swayed back and forth in sync with the boat, I could smell the sweet scent of pine emanating from them with a twinge of something else familiar. I wondered what lay beyond the obscured, dark understory of the grove. Logically the island and grove would extend no further, but I felt that there was more beyond, waiting for me.

That beyond beckoned me, calling me into it. It was, both at once, terrifying and soothing.

I knew that was my fate.

I turned towards the typhlosion.

His eyes are already resting upon me. His claws rub my shoulders.

I let the touch keep me here; I leaned into it, letting it remind me what it's like to feel someone after an eternity of Nothingness. We were now closer to shore.

"Can I ask you questions?" I said.

"I shall do my best to answer," he replies.

"Will my family know?"

"I promise you we shall retrieve your body and return it. I will let them know what my team believes, that your fall was instant, painless."

"With full rites?"

He frowns. "I... I believe my presence negates that. I-I feel, somehow, that my purpose here is accomplished by your custom's rites. You would've never been doomed to drift aimlessly, forever, I am sure."

He looks at me and must see some emotion I don't know I'm expressing since he says, "Nevertheless, I will ensure your body is laid to rest with full rites. Your soul – you – however, will already have moved on."

I looked at the grove. "Moved on to where?"

His eyes join mine. "I know not. That is for you alone to discover what lies beyond that grove."

"Is this the fate for everyone? Will I see Servine or Mom again?"

"I know only that this is your fate," he says simply, "I do not wish to tell you things I do not know by either my knowledge or this new instinct, and neither tells me anything else. I am sorry."

"It's okay... Did I live a good life, at least? Did I do good? I-I wanted to leave a name for myself, but I'm just some unknown Sneasel, I guess."

His claw on my shoulder grasps at me. "You alone know, don't you? My people – where I come from – we've had rumors that our life flashes before our eyes at our final hour. Does... does this happen for you?"

I replied in the affirmative and relayed what I had seen; the moments of hope and aspiration to follow in the footsteps of those I admired; the love I felt when I was found my soulmate, the pride I felt in accomplishing my dreams at becoming an Explorer; the sight of rescuing that charmander and how he hugged me tight, his little heart and fire doing more for me than I ever would've guessed.

"Then we are more alike than I could have imagined. All of this, all you saw as your life was laid before you, was it worthwhile? Would you do it once more?"

"Of course. A million times again."

"Then your name doesn't matter. Sneasel or some unique name, your actions speak for themselves. You made the world a better place. You lived a good, worthwhile life."

I nodded and held back my tears. I looked past him. The boat was almost upon the dock. I had time for one more question.

I let out a sniffle. I looked back at him, the typhlosion towering over me, watching me with care. "Can you hug me?"

His eyes swell. "Of course."

He does so with only one arm, the other holding up the bright flame. It is more than enough, though, and I savor the embrace, letting his heartbeat resonate throughout my body.

This whole time I had failed to realize I didn't have one of my own.

Another eternity passes, but for this one I savored each moment, letting his heartbeat give me life.

I heard the sound of wood bumping against stone. The dinghy lurched.

My body practically moved on its own as I broke free from the typhlosion's grasp. I stepped off the boat and onto the stone, my feet scraping against it. It was the only sound except for the rustling of trees.

The typhlosion speaks for the last time. "You must take this."

I turned back and found myself holding the fire he had held. I looked at him.

He merely nods, silent, watching me with an expected curiosity but also in a somber, necessary vigil I don't understand.

The purple and red fire with its colorful specks that seemed to embody me danced in my open claws, though the fire did not burn. It staved away the Nothingness, but it produced no heat. I felt only the gentle cool of the breeze coming emanating from the mangrove before me.

I slowly approached it, trying to decipher what other smell that was aside from pine.

I took a step. The grass and stone was gentle to the touch against my feet as I heard them scrape. A zephyr blew from the grove and I wondered if I heard a whisper. It fed the fire which grew larger and brighter – though not hotter – nearly enveloping my claws.

Another step. I tasted something sweet on my mouth, accompanying the clean feeling that still remained from when I drank that fresh water. The fire expanded, now a giant wreath that covered my arms.

Another. I felt the breeze brush against my fur, it somehow escaping from the mangrove before me while also trussing me, pulling me in. I let it, of course. It was so gentle when it did so, so kind and loving, like the familiar embrace of Servine. The winds spread the fire, the multitude of colors otherworldly and expected alike all over my body.

I took one more step closer. My eyes, before they were completely covered by the painless fire that enveloped me, could make out from the dark of the grove of trees I was now standing well within some placid meadow in a valley surrounded by towering mountains standing dutiful watch over all. Maybe the flames that obscured my vision and replaced my eyes entirely wasn't quite seeing properly, the lights immediately before me playing a trick, but it didn't matter to me. It's what I would've imagined paradise to look like.

One last slow, faithful step, and I was now the fire and the fire was now me. I was the multitude of colors within, the stunning orange adorned by refreshing green and elegant violet. I drew in a deep breath, and I finally recognized what that scent was that I first caught when I came here. I let it fill my lungs – though I didn’t think I had those any more – and it told me everything would be alright.

The warm and sweet smell of Mom's Chesto Berry Stew let me know that here, whatever this place was, I would find peace.

Inspired by Arnold Böcklin's painting Isle of the Dead and Sergei Rachmaninoff's symphonic poem of the same name.