Chapter 17: The Mask That Forgot

Kael walked slowly beneath the crimson paper lanterns swaying over Bellchime Trail. The path wound gently between the trees, framed by wooden torii gates and prayer slips fluttering like ghosts in the wind. Incense lingered on the air. So did ash.

The Festival of Passing had begun.

Echo trotted beside him, her head slightly lowered, tail still. She didn't like the crowd, or the way the air felt here—too thick, too sweet. Beneath the festive glow, something else clung to the leaves.

"Do you feel that?" he asked.

"Yes," Echo said. "Grief that doesn't know where to go."

He looked up. Ecruteak's towers loomed in the distance, their silhouettes split by firelight and bells. The festival had drawn people from all over Johto—trainers, performers, sages, and pilgrims. But it wasn't the size of the crowd that unnerved him.

It was the silence beneath the music.

They entered the courtyard where the main procession gathered.

Dancers in Ninetales masks performed slow, elegant movements to the sound of flutes and drums. Offerings were stacked at the feet of carved Pokémon statues—flowers, food, painted stones. Paper talismans rustled on branches above.

A small figure caught Kael's eye.

At the center of the crowd stood a masked performer—taller than the rest, draped in flowing green robes with gold trim. The mask was shaped like a Mismagius, its expression frozen in gentle sorrow.

But the movements were wrong.

Too slow. Too still.

Not performance.

Restraint.

Echo narrowed her eyes. "That one isn't dancing."

He stepped closer through the crowd. A few festival-goers moved aside, caught by something in his gaze or Echo's presence. He stopped just short of the masked figure.

The performer turned slightly, as if sensing him.

Kael's breath caught.

There were no eyes behind the mask.

Just shadow.

The music faltered for a beat.

One of the flute players missed a note.

The crowd noticed.

Whispers rippled. Someone muttered, "Is that part of the act?"

It wasn't.

Echo stepped forward. "This one is hollow."

The figure turned fully toward them, lifting one hand in slow, unnatural motion. From its sleeve, petals fell—not flowers. Not cloth.

Ash.

Kael reached for a Pokéball, but Echo stopped him.

"Not yet."

The figure began to speak.

Its voice was not human. It came from the air around them, not the mask.

"They asked me to stay."

"So I waited."

"And waited."

The crowd slowly backed away.

Someone shouted, "Is this a ghost-type performance?"

A few clapped nervously. No one stepped forward.

Kael did.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I was a daughter."

"A trainer."

"A promise."

The figure tilted its head.

"But no one came back for me."

Echo whispered into his thoughts. "This one was taken by Amaranth. But not all the way. It's still wearing her."

"Can we free her?" he asked.

"No," Echo said. "But we can help her remember who she was."

Kael stepped forward. The crowd held its breath.

He removed a small tag from his pack—the Luminous Charm given to him at Sprout Tower. He held it out gently.

"Your name," he said. "What was it?"

The figure twitched. The mask cracked down the middle.

"Tama."

Kael smiled softly. "Tama. You don't have to wait anymore."

"But they never came back."

The crack deepened.

"No one remembered."

Echo's light flared, bathing the area in silver. Petals—real ones this time—rose from the ground and circled the figure.

"Tama," she said. "You waited. That's enough."

The mask shattered.

So did the robe.

The figure vanished in a soft wind, like smoke exhaling for the last time.

Only the ash remained, and a single, folded talisman.

He picked it up.

Inside, a name:

Tama of Violet. Age 14. Missing after Burned Tower collapse.

He closed the paper carefully and placed it in his journal.

Echo stood quietly at his side.

"She stayed too long," he whispered.

"She loved too hard," Echo said.

"And Amaranth used it."

Echo looked up at him. "It always will. But not everyone has to become a whisper."

The rest of the festival continued.

The music resumed.

But something in the crowd had changed.

The performers bowed a little deeper.

The prayers burned a little brighter.

And when Kael walked through the arches out of the festival grounds, the bells at the top of the torii gates rang without wind.

Later, by the lanternlight of the guesthouse, he stared at the folded paper again.

"She waited for someone who never came," he said. "That could've been me."

"No," Echo said. "Because you did come."

He looked down at her, heart heavy but steady.

"I want to make sure no one ever gets left behind again."

"Then remember them," she said.

He closed the talisman and slid it into the back of Galen's journal, next to the map.

The Threshold had opened.

Now came the hard part.

Keeping it from swallowing anyone else.