The manor was heavy with silence.
For days after Albert's departure, Steven could not shake the hollow emptiness that clung to the walls, the corridors, even the very air he breathed.
Every step echoed too loudly, as though mocking him with the absence of the boy who had once filled these spaces with quiet life.
Steven threw himself into preparation for Lilycove University with almost manic determination.
His desk was covered in course pamphlets, Devon Corporation files, and maps of the city. He tried convincing himself that keeping busy would steady him.
If he filled every waking moment with planning, with structure, with anything that tethered him forward, maybe the ache in his chest would fade.
But it didn't.
Every time he sat in the dining hall, the chair across from him was empty.
He found himself glancing toward it unconsciously, waiting for Albert to arrive late with his usual apologetic silence, or to quietly slide a plate across without a word.
But the chair remained empty.
Every time Steven walked past the laboratory wing, his breath hitched, expecting the faint hum of Rotom's sparks or the sound of Albert muttering calculations under his breath.
The walls, however, only returned silence.
Thus, he began avoiding that corridor.
Even when he sat with his father in the study, discussing Devon's responsibilities and the expectations of his heir, Steven's mind would drift.
He would think of Albert's laboratory, wiped clean. Of his bedroom, stripped of identity. Of the fact that Albert hadn't left behind even a letter, as though he had wanted to erase himself from Steven's reach entirely.
It was unbearable.
Yet, he couldn't bring himself to hate Albert.
No matter how much it hurt, no matter how deeply it cut, Steven couldn't turn his grief into anger. Because Joseph's words haunted him—He left because he knew if he saw you, he might not be able to.
That truth hollowed him out.
Because deep down, Steven knew Albert was right.
If Albert had stayed… Steven would have begged him not to go. He would have given up his pride, his future, his duty—anything, everything—to keep him there.
And Albert had known.
So he left.
A week passed. Steven tried forcing routine into his days. He rose early, trained with Beldum, studied his Lilycove coursework, and assisted his father in Devon meetings.
On paper, he was a model heir.
But beneath it all, his heart ached with every reminder.
Sometimes, he swore he could hear Albert's footsteps echoing faintly in the halls.
He'd glance up from his notes and expect Albert to be standing there, silent as ever, watching him. Attempts of reaching for his PokéNav to send a message—only to remember it was impossible.
Everywhere he turned, Albert was both there and not.
A ghost that lingered without trace.
Steven wanted to hate him for leaving like that. For not saying goodbye. For not giving them even a moment of reconciliation.
But when he closed his eyes, all he could think of was Albert's quiet smile when he worked, the way his eyes softened when Torchic perched on his shoulder, the way his presence had always anchored Steven in a way nothing else could.
He missed him. More than words could ever hold.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Meanwhile, far away, another story was about to begin.
The heavy automatic doors of Indigo International Airport slid open with a muted hiss, and Albert stepped out into the bustling terminal.
The air here was different—crisper, cooler, tinged with the faint scent of polished metal and the perfume of travelers.
Announcements echoed over the intercom in a blend of languages, and the constant hum of footsteps, luggage wheels, and voices created a symphony of movement.
Albert stood still for a moment, taking it in. His duffel bag hung from one shoulder, Eevee's Haven Ball clipped securely to his belt, Torchic resting quietly within his bag, as well as the newest addition given to him by his all-but-in-name foster father. Porygon's data chip was tucked into his phone, which Rotom currently possessed, warm against his palm.
He was alone. Completely alone.
But it was a new start, one for his dreams.
He drew a slow breath, steadying the turmoil inside him.
His eyes stung faintly—echoes of what he'd tried so hard not to show Joseph during that final embrace, echoes of the silent tears he had shed after parting from Steven.
He had left behind everything familiar—his home, his family, his brother in all but blood—his everything.
He had cut ties so ruthlessly that Steven would have no choice but to move forward without him.
It hurt more than he could ever admit.
But he had chosen this.
Because if Steven had asked him to stay—if he had seen even a flicker of begging and desperation in those ice-blue eyes—Albert knew he would have given in.
So he left, without farewell.
Now, standing in Indigo's heart, Albert forced himself to focus on the future.
His enrollment papers for Indigo University were secured. His villa prepared. His research proposals drafted. His laboratory on standby. His Pokémon ready.
This was where he would build something new.
He adjusted his grip on his bag and stepped into the crowd, swallowed by the endless current of travelers.
Each step carried him further from Evergreen Island, from Steven, from the life he had known.
The pain lingered. It always would. But so too did resolve.
Albert Hugo Deford had left behind the bonds that might have chained him.
Now, in this vast and unfamiliar land, he would forge a path that was his alone.
Even if it meant walking it in solitude.
Even if he had his Pokémon with him, they would hopefully be enough. Right?