The dream-messages the Wayfarers had heard – and often shared – so far had been vague,
foggy experiences. Those from Betel had felt ethereal, gentle, and bright. Those from Powehi had been tense, feverish, and murky. None had given the dreamers much impression of place, or sensation, or of anything but the voices and the feelings they elicited.
This dream, however, now faded into greater clarity. A beach of soft, silver sand. A starless sky. A still, black sea, stretching into an endless distance, with no clear horizon. Scarcely a whisper of wind disturbed its surface. It smelled faintly of salt, and of metal.
All the Wayfarers were here – of those that had remained on Forlas – very much like they had been in the Spirit Nexus when their mission began. It was peaceful, after a fashion, if you held your nerve, but holding one's nerve would be challenging, when simply being there brought one's darker feelings to the surface...
Be still.
...but something held them in check, took the edge off the anger and fear and sorrow that they might have felt. Made it easier to bear.
I will tell you the truth. You need only listen to it.
Powehi's voice had been only an
impression in the previous warning dreams, but now it was clear, as easy to make out as Betel's messages in the Nexus, or in a dungeon. He did not sound
blustering or
angry. He sounded calm – calm, like the surface of an underground lake. Calm, like the vacuum of space. Calm, like ancient, sun-bleached bones.
I know exactly what Alex & Xander are. They are a tool, and nothing more. Kill them yourself, if you wish.
I did not ask Seth to fight you; you did not need to fight Seth.
I am not the same thing as that which you call Betelgeuse.
I accept that you intend to remain on Forlas until you complete your task. If you wish to help repair this world, begin by destroying Cipher. You are already on that path. Whatever you may believe, my only priority for some time has been the undoing of Cipher. However, the longer you remain and the stronger you become, the more you injure this dimension simply by inhabiting it. If you should ever come to terms with the danger you pose to this world, then you should end your own lives and choose never to return. Your souls will go back to your old bodies, and remember nothing of this.
This is all you need to know... but you are contentious, intractable, and thirst for knowledge. I will quench that thirst.
The very ocean itself seemed to draw breath as Powehi prepared to speak. Even the sound of sand under paw was muffled by the psychic pressure of the Shadow entity's dark voice.
Before time began or matter spun in the expanse of space, this world's creator drifted, unborn, in its Astral Plains. It was they that dreamed the material plane into existence. Their dreams of light birthed the stars. Their dreams of belonging birthed life. They dreamed all things that are here. All things... including Shadow.
Like mortals, gods have nightmares, too.
What you call Shadow is a soul's energy – which is called Aura – transformed by despair. In truth, Shadow is made by all souls in trace amounts, as they feel anger, sorrow, hatred, fear, or pain. This is a natural part of this world, as it is in many worlds. Still, most never wield Shadow energy, even if they should suffer greatly. Only in extremis can a soul be closed off, to become a singularity of suffering. Their aura collapses in on itself until nothing remains but darkness – this is what it is to be a Shadow pokémon.
In ordinary souls, Shadow does not linger, but dissipates into the Astral Plane. Being Aura, this Shadow remains the stuff of souls: an energy that can feel. All of Forlas' souls together, across unrecorded aeons, have produced a vast ocean of Shadow energy. This ocean, on which shore you stand. This ocean, which is called Dark Matter.
This ocean, which is ME.
I am Powehi, and I am not blind to the suffering of this world's pokémon.
I AM the suffering of this world's pokémon.
