Witch’s hour had fallen in Frontier Town by the time Silver returned from the secret hideout and
his final meeting with Giovanni. With his muscles still aching from the fight with Alexander and his mind atwitter from the rapid succession of events, it was mostly through sheer willpower that Silver could wander through the much quieter town.
Alexander, Cipher, and Giovanni were gone. Words spread faster than wildfire and the folks around him were once again breathing with relief. Things were finally looking much brighter after so many days of anxiety.
So why, why did he have that weird gnawing emptiness drowning whatever elation he should have felt? Why couldn’t he simply join in the celebration like a regular person? Why did he feel like something had torn a gaping hole in his chest?
It didn’t make any sense! Nothing about his current mindscape made sense! He should be
happy, dammit! So why wasn’t he happy?
A sudden gust blew across the town, and a piece of the tattered black suit flew out of his bag. His eyes widened in shock, and without fully knowing why, he raced after the fleeing fragment. He turned around a corner, and with a few swift dashes, he caught the piece of fabric into his claws.
The young Sneasel panted, utterly confused. He sprawled nearby a wall, too tired to even bother with social norms and customs, and his bag slid gracelessly to the floor.
“…What the hell is wrong with me?” he mumbled while tilting the fragment in his claws, and his gaze drifted to the opened bag, which showed the pile of remaining tatters. In a sense, that jigsaw of high quality black fabric reflected the state of his own mind.
That was yet another oddity he couldn’t explain: the sudden attachment to that torn suit. One of the few reminders that Giovanni had ever been in that world, aside from the two Ultra Balls still in his possession.
Overwhelmed by fatigue, Silver closed his eyes and buried his head between his crossed arms, trying to shut off all sensory input. Colorful phosphenes danced in his blackened sight. Sparks floated toward the sky. A Nidoking with a tattered suit melted into flakes of light, leaving Forlas behind. A black man with a black suit and a suitcase walking away, toward Victory Road, never to be seen again…
In his tiredness, he couldn’t stop a question from barging into his troubled mind:
Where are you, Dad?
That was it. Silver uncurled himself as those words flooded through his system. He had always done all he could to avoid asking himself
that question, fueled by his spite and resentment toward his father, but now that those words had been laid bare in his brain… he still didn’t know what to think and feel, but something had definitely
clicked deep inside his spirit, even if he didn’t have a word to define that tangle of sensations.
Was that nostalgia? Longing, perhaps? Or something much more profound?
Silver gazed again at the tattered suit. For some reason, the more he stared at it and the more the storm in his mind quieted down. The vague idea he had formulated in the hideout was brought to the top of his priority list, and a new wave of determination filled his heart.
Slipping his bag back on his shoulder, Silver made a mental note to visit the tailor in the morning and resumed his walk, directed toward his room.
The truth about his past and his father’s whereabouts could wait a little longer, and once he tracked down the old man, Silver would be ready for it.
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