Cael didn't tell anyone where he was going. Ash and Gary had already taken off toward Viridian like Tauros in a stampede, bragging over which of them would catch the first Pokémon, or win their first badge.
Cael waited until their noise had vanished into the trees.
Then he turned east.
No trainers took the eastern route first. Too long. No gym. Nothing but wild grass, fog, and Lavender Town—a place most children whispered about, but never visited. A place where the Pokémon Tower loomed like a gravestone no one dared approach unless they had to.
Cael didn't just want to go there.
He needed to.
By midday, the sun dimmed behind clouds that had rolled in without warning. The wind was sharper out here, blowing against his collar, tugging at his sleeves. Nyx floated beside him like a drifting will-o'-wisp, quiet for once.
"Feel that?" Cael asked softly, adjusting his satchel. "The air?"
Nyx swirled gently in place, eyes narrowed. Then it pulsed slightly—his version of a nod.
"There's a weight to it," Cael said. "Pressure. Not just the tower. The land."
They passed a field where no wild Pokémon stirred. Not even rustling in the grass. No bird calls. No buzzing.
Just wind. And the faintest taste of ash on the air.
Cael stopped walking.
There was a crooked sign barely held together at the edge of the road. It read:
"LAVENDER TOWN — 2.1 km"
Carved underneath in what looked like a child's scrawl were the words:
"DON'T GO AT NIGHT"
Cael smiled faintly.
Nyx let out a low growl, more rumble than voice.
"Still want to go?" Cael asked.
Nyx floated ahead without waiting.
Cael followed.
As they walked, the trees grew thinner and taller, like spindly arms reaching toward a clouded sky. Somewhere in the distance, a single chime rang—metal against wood. A wind bell.
Then came another.
And another.
Dozens.
They passed an old shrine nearly devoured by ivy. Cael slowed and stepped off the path, brushing the overgrowth aside. It was a grave marker, cracked down the middle. A small offering plate sat at the base, long since rusted.
On impulse, Cael pulled an old sweet bun from his pack—slightly stale—and placed it on the plate.
The air went still.
Then Nyx trembled slightly, and from the trees came a soft whisper—like breath across glass.
Cael didn't move. He only said, "We're not here to disturb."
Silence.
Then, faintly, the wind moved again.
Nyx returned to his side, shadows curling tighter around his floating form.
The moment passed.
They continued walking.
At last, the town emerged—not with fanfare or gates, but as a quiet gray cluster of buildings shrouded in low fog. No music. No sound. Just the slow turn of a weathervane and the flicker of a streetlamp.
Lavender Town.
And there, above it all, looming over homes like a silent god, stood the Pokémon Tower—six stories of pale stone and glass, wrapped in wind chimes, prayer banners, and the ghosts of Kanto's past.
Cael stared up at it.
Nyx floated beside him, silent.
"…They're waiting," Cael said at last.
Nyx pulsed once.
They stepped forward, into the shadow of the tower.
The Pokémon Tower didn't creak.
It didn't groan.
It breathed.
The doors opened without resistance—large wooden slabs bound with black iron, etched with faded runes and incense burns too old to read. Inside, the light dimmed instantly. Not darkness. Just… quiet.
A different kind of air.
Cooler.
Thicker.
Cael stepped into the lobby, Nyx hovering low beside him, nearly touching the floor.
The first floor was a shrine. A wide hall of polished stone and gray prayer mats, interrupted by clusters of flickering candles. Names were carved into tall black slabs—hundreds of them—each one a grave for a Pokémon whose body had been burned, scattered, or lost.
An old monk sat cross-legged behind a reception table. He looked up when Cael entered.
Most people would have smiled.
This man did not.
"You are… not expected," the monk said softly.
"I never am," Cael replied.
The man's brow furrowed slightly. He stood slowly, robe brushing the floor. "Many trainers come to mourn. Or to release. Or to ask."
"I'm here to listen," Cael said.
A pause.
Then the monk gestured without words.
The stairs were in the back—dim, curling up behind a half-closed curtain.
"You may go," the monk said, his voice low. "But only the willing hear clearly. And not all truths are for the living."
Cael nodded once, already moving.
The second floor was colder.
Dust swirled without source. The air smelled faintly of ash and something metallic—like old blood on coin.
Prayer bells hung on the ceiling. They didn't chime. They quivered.
Cael didn't stop.
Nyx, usually playful, stayed close to his side. Its wide eyes narrowed, watching the floor, the walls, the air.
There were no other people.
No trainers lighting candles. No mourners.
Only whispers.
They began faintly, in the edge of Cael's mind—like background thoughts he couldn't quite place.
"…he never came back…"
"…they left me here…"
"…cold… still cold…"
At first, Cael assumed they were memory fragments. Then he realized:
They weren't his.
On the third floor, the lights flickered.
Candles went out on their own. One by one. Cael walked between them, casting long, crooked shadows. His own shadow flickered and warped with each step. Nyx growled—a low, curling sound like steam escaping an iron pipe.
Then came the laughter.
Not Nyx.
Dozens of them.
High-pitched. Gleeful. Hungry.
It echoed around the chamber.
Cael stopped walking.
From the ceiling dropped a Haunter—no warning, just silence to impact. Then another. And another.
Five in total. Then six. Their bodies phased in and out of the stone like water.
Nyx hissed and flared outward, forming a defensive mist between them and the swarm.
The Haunter circled slowly. None attacked. Not yet.
Cael's breath didn't quicken. But his fingers twitched.
One of the Haunter whispered:
"He listens. But does he remember?"
Another:
"He speaks. But does he see?"
The third drifted closer, too close, its tongue flicking the edge of his cheek like ice.
"Let us inside, boy…"
Nyx surged forward with a burst of gas, scattering two of them backward with a screech. Cael took a single step back—but the stairwell was gone.
Gone.
Replaced by wall. By shadow. By something else.
A trap.
He'd walked into it.
Cael's pulse ticked faster, but he kept his voice low.
"They're curious. Not hostile," he murmured.
Nyx hovered protectively.
Still, the swarm was circling tighter now. The air thickening. Candles extinguishing in sequence—one by one. The laughter was rising again.
And over it all, beneath it, through it, came a sound not from the Haunter:
Sobbing.
Faint. Shaky. Muffled.
From above.
Someone else was crying.
Cael turned toward the next stairwell, just barely visible behind the circling ghosts.
A voice—thin, trembling, childlike—cut through the static in his skull.
"Please… help me…"
Nyx's eyes flared.
So did Cael's.
They didn't stop to ask questions.
They moved.
The Haunter didn't wait for a signal.
They moved like predators who had waited long enough.
One lunged, all claws and grin. Nyx whipped upward, intercepting it mid-air with a burst of spectral gas that hissed like burning paper. The impact sent the Haunter careening into a row of black-etched grave stones, which cracked on impact.
The other Haunter darted in a spiral formation—one circling from the left, two blinking in and out of visibility like lightning caught in glass.
Cael ducked low, coat flaring. One spectral claw slashed through the air above his shoulder, missing by centimeters.
"Don't let them separate us!" he shouted.
Nyx spun in a sharp circle, gas flaring outward like a shield. The spirits recoiled—but not for long.
Cael scrambled backward toward the stairway. The walls blurred. For a moment, the room shifted—bent—as if the tower itself was phasing.
Another Haunter phased directly in front of him.
Too close. No time.
It opened its mouth wide, revealing rows of shadowed fangs—not physical, but something older, more primal. It wasn't trying to bite.
It was trying to enter.
"No." Cael whispered.
Then something inside him surged.
His shadow snapped upward.
The world tilted.
And Cael wasn't there anymore.
It lasted half a second—but the shift was instant.
One moment he stood between the graves, the Haunter descending.
The next—he was behind the candles, in the far corner of the room.
His body trembled, not from fear—but from pressure. His head buzzed like static, like feedback screaming through faulty headphones.
He touched his chest. Cold. His pulse was racing but his skin was freezing.
Nyx turned sharply mid-air, startled—then quickly floated to his side.
The Haunter swarm hesitated.
They didn't understand what he'd just done.
Neither did he.
"…Shadowstep," he whispered to himself.
It hadn't been something he chose.
It was instinct. Like blinking away from a thrown punch.
Only, this punch came from inside.
The Haunter regrouped midair, hovering with renewed tension. They hissed in garbled, echoing voices:
"He moved like us…"
"Not just a trainer…"
"He remembers the dark…"
One began to approach again.
But then—
A new sound.
A shriek—not angry. Not mocking.
Frightened.
It came from above.
The crying again—clearer now.
And then:
"Please—help me—please—they won't let me go—"
The Haunter froze.
Cael looked up toward the spiraling staircase above.
A presence moved there.
Faint. Smaller. Flickering.
Misdreavus.
And she was trapped.
Without thinking, Cael stood and raised a hand.
His shadow stretched—not forward, but upward, drawn to the echo above. Nyx rose beside him, ready.
"Disperse them," Cael said. "Blind them for a second."
Nyx pulsed with energy, then launched a dense fog that swallowed the chamber in ghostlight. The Haunter shrieked in confusion, phasing through walls, bumping into one another in the chaos.
Cael ran—not up the stairs, but through his shadow.
One moment on the floor.
The next—he flickered.
The top floor burst into view.
Colder. Narrower. Fewer candles. Older gravestones—less maintained, cracked with time.
Hovering in the far corner was a Misdreavus, curled tightly near a rusted incense dish. Its tiny body flickered with stress, its red gem dimmed. It sobbed openly, voice trembling with each breath.
The fog hadn't reached this level yet—but the Haunter would follow.
Cael approached slowly.
Misdreavus turned, eyes wide with fear.
"Please—please don't let them find me again—"
Cael knelt and opened his arms, palms up. Not a threat. Not a trap.
"I'm not like them," he said quietly. "I'm like you."
The gem on her neck flickered.
Then the shriek below—Haunter. Angrier now.
Time was short.
Cael lowered his voice further.
"You've been waiting. I'm the one who came."
Misdreavus hesitated.
Then floated forward—slowly.
Gently, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, trembling like a child.
Nyx phased in behind him a second later, gas flaring, eyes scanning the stairwell.
Cael stood.
"Let them come," he said.
His eyes were glowing faintly now—just barely.
"Let's see if they remember me."
The first Haunter slammed through the upper floor's stairwell, mouth stretched wide, tongue trailing like a ragged ribbon of ink. Its eyes locked on Cael.
Then the second.
Then three more.
They didn't hesitate this time. They came like a storm—wraiths howling, not to fight, but to consume. To drown.
Misdreavus shrieked and pulled tighter into Cael's chest, her form flickering erratically, as if she were coming undone. Nyx surged forward, gas flaring in jagged spirals.
But this wasn't a battle of strength.
Cael closed his eyes.
He didn't step back.
He stepped inward.
The air bent.
There was no flash. No roar. Just a sound. Soft. Quiet. Like a sigh.
The shadows around Cael spread outward, wide and slow like ripples on a black lake. The candlelight dimmed—not from wind, but from reverence. From presence.
The Haunter screeched to a halt mid-charge.
They felt it too.
A stillness wrapped the room.
Then, a voice spoke—not from Cael's lips, but from the shadow beneath his feet. A whisper that came from the echo between worlds:
"He remembers the dark."
"He walked it before."
"He belongs…"
The Haunter hesitated, floating in uneasy formation. Their grins faltered.
Cael opened his eyes.
"I don't want your obedience," he said. "I want your attention."
He stepped forward once. The shadow moved with him, slow and certain.
"You feed on fear because you were forgotten. Because no one stayed when it got dark."
He paused, staring into the lead Haunter's hollow face.
"I came back."
The Haunter stared at him, unblinking.
The tower creaked.
Then—like puppets with cut strings—the spirits drifted back. Not vanished. Not exorcised. Just… withdrawn. Spiraling down through the stone in silence.
Back into the tower.
Back to the places they belonged.
Only the flicker of Nyx's gas remained—spinning gently in the air like aftersmoke.
Cael exhaled. His hands shook slightly, but he didn't show it.
Misdreavus floated back in front of him, her body still dim, her eyes wide.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
She blinked. Hesitated. Then nodded.
A pause stretched between them. Then she floated in closer, barely a whisper in his ear:
"Why… didn't you leave?"
He smiled faintly.
"Because you called."
She stared at him.
And in that moment—whether by trust or instinct—her form sank downward into the pool of his shadow, just as Nyx had before.
No resistance.
No hesitation.
Just belonging.
Cael felt the pull.
She was still there—beneath his feet. Inside his aura. No Poké Ball. No command.
Just a silent bond.
He whispered, "Vox."
The name surfaced in his mind unbidden—but it fit.
"Your name is Vox."
From the shadow, a quiet, echoing chime of agreement.
The candles flickered back to life around him.
Nyx hovered nearby, watching. Protective. Proud.
Together, they turned and began the descent.
The descent felt longer than the climb.
Nyx floated ahead, leading the way down the stone spiral. Vox remained within Cael's shadow, silent but calm now—her grief coiled into something warm.
The tower didn't whisper anymore.
The laughter was gone.
So was the fear.
Only the stillness remained.
At the second floor landing, candlelight glowed brighter than before. As Cael stepped off the stairs, he saw him.
Mr. Fuji.
Not behind a desk, not kneeling in prayer.
Standing. Waiting.
Old, bent, cloaked in a beige shawl that dragged slightly against the floor. His eyes—milky, but not blind—locked onto Cael the moment he stepped into the chamber.
"You stayed longer than most," Fuji said.
Cael stopped three paces away.
"You heard the crying," Fuji continued. "Didn't you?"
Cael said nothing.
Fuji studied him. Then let out a breath that sounded like a sigh and a question wrapped into one.
"You didn't just hear it. You felt it. That's rare."
"I listened," Cael said quietly.
Fuji stepped closer. "You let her in."
Cael's eyes flicked downward. His shadow pulsed softly, faint violet sparks crackling around the edge—Vox's aura flickering beneath the surface.
Fuji nodded.
"I thought so."
He turned, slowly, and motioned for Cael to follow.
They moved through a narrow hall into a small back chamber, lined with incense, old scrolls, faded charms. In the center sat a single item: a narrow wooden box carved with Unown script.
Fuji knelt before it.
"This place… doesn't like most humans," he said. "They walk in thinking ghosts are just a type to be battled. Categorized. Indexed."
He placed a wrinkled hand on the box.
"But you… you're one of the only ones they accept. Maybe even welcome."
Cael knelt opposite him.
Fuji opened the box.
Inside sat a long piece of black cord, frayed at the ends, threaded through a small, crude charm: a disk of dark stone etched with a spiral.
It pulsed faintly. Like a heartbeat muffled by earth.
"What is it?" Cael asked.
"An anchor," Fuji said. "Not a talisman. Not protection. Just… a reminder. Of what you are. Or were."
He offered it with both hands.
Cael hesitated—then took it.
The moment his fingers brushed the cord, he felt a pull. Like gravity. Like breath catching in his throat. A cold line ran down his spine.
The stone warmed in his palm.
Vox stirred in his shadow, responding. Nyx floated lower, eyes narrowing.
Fuji nodded again, more to himself than anyone else.
"I don't know what you are, boy. But I know you're not haunted."
He leaned forward slightly.
"You're haunting."
Cael stood.
He tied the charm loosely around his neck, under his shirt. It rested against his heart.
He didn't say thank you.
But he bowed.
Fuji watched him go with something between worry and awe.
Outside, the sky had cleared. Lavender's fog had pulled back, as if giving space.
Cael walked to a bench beneath a thin, skeletal tree, bark stripped away by time. He sat. Nyx hovered lazily near his shoulder. His shadow pooled unnaturally beneath him, rippling faintly as Vox shifted in thought.
Then—a rustle.
From the grass beyond the shrine, a Duskull emerged. Cautious. Curious.
Then a second.
Then a Shuppet, drifting like a leaf caught in wind.
They didn't growl.
They didn't flee.
They simply… came closer.
Drawn.
Cael looked at them. Then at his shadow. Then at the tower behind him.
He said nothing.
He didn't need to.