Pokemon: Primatus

He felt the shift immediately. A strange weightlessness behind his eyes, a deep pull into silence.

Then—darkness.

He floated in it.

And there was Oranguru, beside him, not fully a creature of fur and flesh but something ethereal, a presence more than a figure. They were nowhere and everywhere at once.

"This is your mindscape," Oranguru said. "Here, you are what you remember. Walk it."

The man turned. Shadows formed. A corridor of echoing memories, blurred like smudged glass. With each step forward, a flicker of sensation passed through him. Heat. Cold. Laughter. Pain.

Then—images.

A boy's tenth birthday. A homemade cake. Laughter that didn't echo but throbbed with feeling.

A girl's face under moonlight, her hair in his hands. The first kiss. The last.

Sand. Gunfire. The cry of orders in a storm of chaos. A brother-in-arms laughing, then screaming. Smoke curling from wreckage. A necklace stained with blood.

A home. A hospital. A child's drawing taped to a fridge.

He saw it all—but the names… the faces…

They were fog.

A wall of blur and static. As if someone had censored the very heart of his life.

He reached for one—his wife?—but her face wavered, breaking apart like mist. Her voice was a hum in static. The pain of knowing without recognizing burned deeper than any wound.

He looked to Oranguru, whose glowing form dimmed slightly.

"You remember much," the psychic said. "But something holds the rest back. Deeper still. This is not simply forgetting. This is loss… forced."

The man clenched his fists.

"Then take me deeper."

The lanterns swayed in the soft breeze, casting golden halos across the dance floor.

He held her hand. Her fingers were small in his, delicate, trembling just slightly. Music hummed low beneath the hum of voices and clinking glasses, but it was the moment that stilled everything.

They danced, just the two of them now.

Her form shimmered, half-shrouded—like a painting left out in the rain. The folds of her dress glowed faintly. Her eyes, though blurred, shimmered with something unmistakable: hope... and doubt.

"Dad," she said, her voice as he remembered it—young, trying to be brave. "Are you proud of me?"

He blinked. Her words struck like a lance to the chest.

Even here, even now… she doubted.

"You always looked at me so stricltly and like..," she continued, trying to sound light, but he could hear the crack. "I thought… maybe I failed you somehow. Maybe I wasn't enough."

He stopped. Their dance slowed. His breath hitched.

"No," he whispered. "No, sweetheart. I'm always—always proud of you."

The moment sharpened.

Her face—just for a flicker, less than a heartbeat—came into focus. Pale cheeks. Dark lashes. A glint of nervous joy.

He felt it. She was there.

"I'm proud of you, E◇□●■" he began, but the name shattered on his tongue.

Static.

Like a signal jammed.

His head recoiled from the strain—a thundercrack blooming behind his eyes.

Something in the dark recoiled from them—deep, ancient, wrong. Pressure surged behind his eyes.

He gasped, fists clenched, heart pounding like war drums.

"E…" he muttered. "E…"

The mindscape rippled.

Beside him, Oranguru stirred, spectral fur lifting in silent alarm.

"Something is resisting us," the Elder said, voice grave. "But your emotions—they cause the seal to slip."

The man didn't answer.

He was shaking. Teeth clenched.

He clawed deeper into the memory.

"Then let's use it," he growled.

Flashes struck him—not thoughts, but emotional detonations.

His daughter's first steps.

Her scraped knees and stubborn silence.

The college rejection letter soaked with tears.

Her scream of joy when the acceptance came anyway.

The moment he saluted her before walking her down the aisle.

"Come on… COME ON!" he roared.

Blood thundered in his ears.

"E...!"

A crack split through the void—like sutures tearing open.

Pain lanced down his spine.

His teeth ground together.

"This mental block falters in your joy," Oranguru called over the storm, struggling to hold form. "But we need more than happiness."

"Try something deeper—love. Or pain."

He staggered, heart heaving, breath broken.

"Then let's give it love," he snarled, and dove again...

*

The mindscape flickered.

Like pages turning in fire.

The rage, the shouting, the ache—all faded.

In their place:

A schoolyard.

Two teens—barely out of childhood.

One with clenched fists.

The other, a braid flipping over her shoulder and a smirk that could cut steel.

"You again," she teased. "You just love losing to me, don't you?"

"In your dreams. You cheated."

"I'm just smarter."

"You're insufferable."

"You're blushing."

"I—what—shut up."

The memory sprinted ahead—flash cuts of rivalry turned affection.

Arguments, dares, late-night rooftop races, debates over textbooks that turned into midnight walks.

Until—beneath a canopy of stars:

"Why do you always look at me like that?"

"Because I've never met someone who makes me feel like I want to lose."

"...That's the dumbest confession I've ever heard."

"Then let me prove it."

Their first kiss wasn't soft.

It was fire. Collisions. Years of tension cracking like ice.

And afterward—

"Next time," she said, shoving him playfully, "don't miss."

---

Then came the war.

The train station.

The goodbye.

"I don't want you to go…"

"I have to. They need us."

"Then I need you more."

She held him like she could stop time.

Like maybe that could change fate.

And he made a vow, hands on her cheeks, eyes burning.

"I will survive this war."

"I'll come back to you."

"Wait for me."

"I'll end it if I have to."

"Just please… wait for me."

"I swear to my heart—"

"I love you, N□■□■"

*

And then—the rupture.

The memory collapsed.

Shattered into starlight.

Back in the void, he reached for her name.

All that remained…

Was a single glowing letter.

"N…"

He whispered it like it was holy.

Not a memory. A vow. A scar.

"N…"

Oranguru stirred, as if the name alone shook the realm around them.

"You've remembered happiness. You've remembered love," the Elder murmured.

"Do you feel it, human? The seal is weakening."

"Now—show me the memory that carved the deepest wound."

The man clenched his fist. Not only with fury but also,

In purpose.

*

He dug.

Not through time—but through pain.

The letter N faded.

The warmth. Gone.

All that remained was a door.

A sealed wound.

And behind it—a scream.

He opened it.

And memories deep inside resurfaced.

*

The house had been quiet.

Wrong quiet.

The kind you never forget.

He kicked open the door.

His son was there.

On a stool.

Belt looped to the rafter.

Trembling fingers on the noose.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

The boy flinched. Eyes wide. Hollow.

"You shouldn't be here."

"The hell I shouldn't—GET DOWN FROM THERE!"

He ripped the belt away.

His son fell into his arms, fists slamming weakly against his chest.

"LET ME GO! Let me GO, Dad!"

"I will NEVER let you go!"

The shouting rose—grief vomiting out in sharp syllables.

"You don't know how it feels—losing someone you love!"

"Don't tell me—"

"YOU DON'T KNOW THE PAIN!"

And then—

"Maybe if Mom died… then maybe you'd understand me."

Silence.

Deafening. Paralyzing.

Then the slap—sharp and instant.

The man's head snapped to the side. Then he swung.

Fists flew.

Not a father and son—but two broken souls trying to bleed out sorrow.

"I've been to WAR, boy!"

"I've buried comrades! "

"Held dying friends in my arms!"

"You want grief? I KNOW GRIEF!"

He seized the boy by the collar, trembling.

"If all you said was that you HURT—I'd have held you."

"If you said you MISSED her—I'd have cried with you."

"But to wish her DEAD your, OWN mother—just so I could feel your pain!"

He stopped.

Because for just a second—

He saw it.

Not rage.

But shame.

Tears. Real ones. The kind that came too late.

They collapsed.

Two broken men, breathing. Shaking. Silent.

"That, A●■□■." he whispered, "I can't forgive. Blood or not."

*

Back in the mindscape.

He opened his eyes.

Tears fell freely down his cheeks.

He didn't wipe them away.

"I remember," he said.

"Just for a second I remember his face…"

His voice broke—but he did not.

Because in that moment—rage gave way to clarity.

Despite the grief.

Despite the scars.

He had held on.

And for a moment…

There was hope.

Even in the wound.

That's when it happened.

A flicker.

A flame.

A single glowing letter shimmered in the dark.

"...A…"

His breath caught.

"A…"

Oranguru stared, wide-eyed.

A single tear slid down his face.

"The seal is trembling," the Elder whispered.

"You're almost there."

But just as I brace for another memory. A new voice regal and condescending voice out around my mind.

"That's quite enough for now"