one: bridge

At least he didn't just see black anymore.

The pitch darkness that had lingered outside the train had faded to something resembling navy. If he looked closely, he could see the outlines of clouds just a shade lighter than their background, and just the knowledge of that reassured him.

It meant he was in somewhere concrete. He'd heard about liminal spaces; places where there was nothing but floating in between two ledges and waiting for a goal that didn't exist, but—

—but nothing, he told himself. He was rambling again, and it was getting him nowhere.

Sleep had left his mind in a blurry haze, and his mind scrambled to regain his usual clarity. It did little work, though; he was always like this after he woke up, and he grudgingly accepted the fact that he would have to wait before the heaviness in his limbs went away.

A breath caught in his throat. The air was stale, unmoving, and all of a sudden, the train had become stuffier.

He stood up, unsure of where he was or where he was meant to go, but he supposed that in the end, there was only one direction laid out for him.

The air slid into his lungs at last, and it gurgled with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

And then he stepped out.

—

His feet met rough planks of wood that shook as they felt his weight, and past the sea that stretched out beneath the surface he stood on, there was a world that was far too different.

The air was sweet and cold, and the moon's silvery reflection glimmered on the inky hues of the water around him. Past that was somewhere that was bathed in a soft amber glow; somewhere that he didn't recognise but felt all too familiar at the same time.

A creak caught his attention. He looked up to see the train starting up again, and he watched as it faded into the night on tracks that he couldn't quite make out.

He continued to stand on the platform for a few minutes more, drinking in every detail of his surroundings—not that glaring at the sea for answers would do much help—and choosing to fix his gaze on the town a distance away.

A shift in position caused the wood to sway. He needed to go there.

There wasn't anywhere else he could see.

His gaze flickered back to where he'd stepped out. There was only more of the same blue ocean—the train had disappeared and taken any trace of its arrival with it.

No clues there either.

Before he knew it, he was walking towards the only semblance of humanity he could make out. It wasn't as far as it had looked; now that he was moving, it seemed as if he would reach in just a couple of minutes.

The silence that he'd somehow gotten used to in the past—how long had it been in the first place?—had given way to a cacophony of quiet noises, blurred and muted by distance, and now the golden lights seemed equal parts welcoming and eerie.

But lights meant that someone had built them. The fact that they had been built meant that there had to be at least one person living there, and he could continue working from there.

He was good at figuring things out. Right?

Right?

A sigh escaped his lips.

The sea seemed to ripple around him, and the town was suddenly so close that all his plans almost flew from his grasp. It was pretty in that mysterious sort of way; the type of place whose beauty lied in the very atmosphere of its streets, and it made him want to relax and forget about everything.

Cold air wrapped its tendrils around his ankles as he walked.

He just prayed that wherever he was heading was warmer than the breezy night air he stood in.

—

Houses had never seemed so big before.

He stopped in front of one of them, running a finger down its woody surface. It was smooth; well-maintained, and he resisted the urge to step in and curl up on whatever was inside.

There was a row of shophouses opposite. They were closed, however, and whatever they had sold had been packed away and all that was left was the bare carcass of the shop's interior.

His lips curled into a frown—how had he found it familiar in the first place? He could feel himself already starting to get lost—the entire place was a maze of houses, shops and facilities that he couldn't quite get the meaning of.

But the streets were empty, despite the town's strange warmth.

He should have expected it. It was night, after all, and though he didn't know the exact time, he knew from the shade of the sky that it had to be sometime past midnight.

The quietness of the town didn't quell his urge to explore, however. Excitement hummed in his fingertips and kept the rational, fearful part of his head at bay, and his mind was starting to want to find the truth to every part of the mystery.

Maybe it was good that no one was around. He liked to work alone most of the time—it was a bother if someone got in his way and halted his progress.

Questioning others was important, though. People would be deemed necessary at some point, and he needed to keep that in mind.

When did I ramble again? He paused to chide himself for a few seconds. It really had become a bad habit.

As eager as he was, he knew that it wasn't good to wander around in the dead of night. He had no idea what lurked outside, and he would be too tired to collect any substantial information. It would be a better idea to find somewhere to rest for the day.

The problem was finding where that somewhere was, because he was a newcomer and the point of newcomers was that they didn't know where anything was.

If it was a regular town, he would have thought to look for a hotel, but the entire sprawling layout of the buildings before him made him think twice.

Stifling a yawn, he shot off a quick prayer to Arceus before turning down the street that seemed the least suspicious, hoping that he would find a decent place before the morning came.

And funnily enough, he got his answer just a minute later, albeit in a way that wasn't the most common.

—

"Uh, what are you doing here?"

So, there had been someone living in the town after all, which was a relief, but he didn't know how to deal with the slanted glance thrown at him. It intimidated him a little.

"I don't know the names of all the people here." The man's voice was low and gruff, and his brain decided to catalogue that useless information for some reason. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Who are you?"

"I—" Was there any way to phrase his reason? No, that man had to understand the ghost train, too, right? "I don't really know? I kind of landed here after the train stopped."

The resident ran a hand through unkept blue hair. "So you're new. It's around the time the train brings someone here anyway, so I should have remembered..."

"Do you know anything about this place?" he asked, logic abandoned by a new rush of adrenaline.

"It's kind of three in the morning." The man blinked. "And I'm not the most knowledgeable about this whole thing, so you should find someone else to direct your questions to. I'm just out because I left something at a friend's place."

There was a moment of silence between them, and the older man spoke up once again.

"You can stay at my place for the night if you don't have anywhere else to go." His sharp eyes were thoughtful. "I'll have to hand you over to Harbour tomorrow, though. By the way, this is just courtesy, but do you have a name?"

The first thought that ran through his mind was how strangely the question had been phrased.

The second thought was more of a cause for concern, because—

—all sorts of thoughts and jumbled-up words flew at him as he attempted to spit out an answer, but his breath caught in his throat as he realised.

He didn't know.

He didn't know.

And that was impossible. No one ever forgot their name unless they were some kind of amnesiac. And amnesia didn't happen unless someone got some kind of head trauma, which he was sure he didn't have. He remembered things. He remembered that he'd read that before, from—

"Hey, are you alright?"

Where had he read that from? He couldn't remember.

"I don't remember," he whispered, bile rising in his mouth, and everything felt wrong all of a sudden. The hands he thrust out in front of him were foreign. The entire situation felt like it was a dream. "That can't be. I—"

The man before him tried to speak again, but he stopped when he clenched his hands into fists and took off around the corner, desperate to find some sort of mirror; something that would ground him and give him the cold, hard truth.

He couldn't remember.

—

He eventually ended up near the shophouses again, glancing at his faint reflection through the glass and refusing to believe what he saw.

He didn't look like that. He wasn't some fourteen-year-old, his eyes weren't that big, he wasn't so short; he looked like—

A pause. What did he look like? What was he supposed to look like?

His brain was full of useless facts whose origins were unknown, but the rest had slipped through the cracks. Where memories once were lay empty gaps, as if he'd never had any in the first place, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of anything.

He knew what the first seventeen digits of pi was, he knew the name of the flowers that grew in the most rural parts of Sinnoh; he knew that he loved the thrill of investigating, but he couldn't recall anything past these simple, plain statements.

It was frustrating. His original mission was left in the dust—he'd been too full of bravado. How could he find out the truth about the ghost train when he didn't even know his own name?

"I should have told you." He jolted, tensing for a second before recognising the tone of the man from before. "It's fine. Everyone doesn't remember anything when they come here."

He wanted to argue back that it wasn't fine, but his mouth couldn't form words.

"It's surprising at first. But after a while, you start to get used to everything here." He gestured at their surroundings. "Usually, the older ones will give you a name and a place to stay. That's why I wanted you to visit Harbour—she's the one who gives newcomers their names."

"That's..." He trailed off. "But why?"

"No one knows." The man sighed. "My name's Cup, by the way. It's an unfortunate name, but it's what they gave me."

The flatness in his companion's voice almost made him crack a smile, but it wasn't very funny when he couldn't remember what a regular name was like.

"If you're that bothered about it, I can bring you over to Harbour's place now. She won't appreciate us coming at this time, but she's used to the late-night cases and all." Cup raised an eyebrow at him.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "So that I can get a name?"

"And to figure out where you'll stay," Cup added. "It shouldn't take too long."

He gulped at that. Getting a new name—he didn't like the sound of that. It made the whole situation—about him losing his memories—more official.

But he had no choice.

So he nodded.

--

sorry for the long wait.

i'll probably take another break but

eh

thanks for everyone who voted and commented on this