L exhaled walking towards Mableâs lab. Zygarde padded alongside him. Heâd been confused when Zygarde reappeared, but heâd been quick to figure out that one couldnât fully contain Zygardeâs being even with a Master ball. He stepped inside the lab and he couldnât help but remember that itâd been thirty years since what heâd attempted all those years ago at Geosenge.
The technology was strange, beyond what he fully understood even if once heâd been a tech CEO and inventor. He headed to the teleporter, where an elevator had once been. There was a trio of pads, orange, blue and green. Mabel had ripped them from the old flare base.
He stepped onto the blue pad and suddenly he was in her office. He stepped in and waved towards Mable, sheâd put on some weight, her hair was now a blue gray in her fifties. But even time hadnât softened her.
âYour late. Itâs best to remember not everyone has three thousand years.â She spat out sharply. L stepped back raising his hands as his eye drifted to a cardboard box on her desk.
âSorry Professor.â L murmured as Mabel sighed and pushed the box forward.
âThe last ProfessorâŠâ She began far softer. L knew of the last professor, Augustine Sycamore or something of the like. Lovely gray blue eyes like a storm about to break, hair like a Corviknightâs feathers. Heâd died a few months ago of a heart attack at age sixty five. Genetically prone to heart issues his brain supplied. âHe left everything to the labâŠâ
âNo family?â L asked. Mabel shook her head.
âNo, he had a falling out with his old research partner six years ago, became a bit of a recluse after GeosengeâŠâ She explained. âThat was really all he had leftâŠâ. L looked down a pang of guilt shot through his chest. âBut.â Mabel began again. âHe wrote letters, he never sent them as he assumed that he was writing to a dead man,â She exhaled. â, Better to receive them later rather than never.â L looked into the box, it was overflowing with letters and it was no small box.
âOh myâŠâ. L didnât ever bother to count.
âThis, is just the first five hundred.â L looked at Mable. âHe wrote constantly and practically from the day itself⊠thereâs well over two thousand more.â L exhaled as he picked up the box.
âIâll be back for the next batch in two weeks.â He stated and Mable nodded.
That night L pulled the first letter out from the box. It was the oldest, dated a week after Geosenge. He exhaled before removing the yellowed paper from the envelope flinching as it crinkled not wanting the nearly thirty year old paper to tear. Papers, it was several pages, front and back.
It felt rude to read these words intended to be kept private, yet every single letter was written for him. Over two thousand letters written for him. L didnât know what kind of emotions would lead a person to write biweekly for thirty years to a man they should hate, a man who was by all reasons dead. Even more so when the only thing that stopped him was death.
Swallowing he began to read. It was formal at first, but it was clear that the professor hadnât been happy with it, many words scratched out if not whole sentences. But than it crackedâ right at the bottom of the first pageâŠ
âI should have told you that I loved you! What kind of idiot was I to never confess. Maybe youâd have let me in than and I could have helped. Team flare was never the answer Mon amour.â L read those words again and again and again.
Than he moved on, there was still several more pages to read. After that it was heartfelt and equally as heartbroken. Zygarde nuzzled its way between Lâs arm and his chest licking the manâs tears whenever they fell.
Over the next two weeks L kept reading the letters, all trepidation from the first letter gone. He read of Augustâs brief affair with a woman named Graceâ which had crashed and burned just four months later and Sycamore declared that theyâd never speak again. About a hundred or so letters they were on speaking terms again. A year off speaking terms. How kind he was.
He should have remembered him.
86 years 3 months - Sycamoreâs birthday, March 30th
L walked into the Lumiose Graveyard. Looking around one couldnât tell that it had been a wild zone. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, all a lovely shade of blue that had been Sycamoreâs favorite. Heâd remembered it long ago.
He placed the flowers on Sycamoreâs grave and sat down next to it. He noted that Sycamoreâs grave was more worn.
âYouâre looking a little worn.â L began softly. âI will have to see about getting you a new one Mon noyĂ© Rattata.â He looked away exhaling. âApparently the new major is my great great great nephewâŠâ That was odd. Seeing a man who he should never have met. âHis names Francis, definitely a genius Iâd say. Reminds me of a better version of myself, the one you knew.â L continued. âIâll have to keep a close eye on him, we both know the story of what was going on with me.â He sighed. âYou think as a man of a hundred fifty eight would know what to do huh? I guess this is how AZ felt watching me.â L looked down, messing with the fluff of his collar. âOr any family member by the time he was decidedly past his natural life span. Itâs odd at best as Francis is actually my spitting image. Genuinely that's weird. The only difference is that heâs shorter with curly hair. He even has the Pyroar. Granted his Pyroar, Dilligence, is an alpha Pyroar⊠and shiny.â L added. âIâve also have taken up writing to you.â
A Lampent with blue eyes poked its head out from behind the grave watching L. Theyâd been listening to Lâs rambling.
âGranted itâs not as constant as yours were Mon beau Rattata.â The Lampent huffed itâs flame sparking. They hated the nickname. âWith so many years left⊠Iâve taken to burning the letters I write.â The Lampent knew. Itâs how theyâd woken up. L pulled out a stack of letters and placed them on the grave. âFor you alone my dear.â Slowly L stood up and left. The Lampent than burned the letters watching them shrivel up as the smoke carried his words for the man he loved most.
96 years six months - Sycamoreâs death anniversary
L stormed into the Graveyard, for once without flowers. Yet Zygarde at his heels once more. Heâd come by later with the flowers regardless. He plopped down at the grave as the Lampent floated over before settling in his lap. âYou know what happened with Francis?â Lysandre spat exasperated. The Lampent looked up at him blinking. âThat damned man went behind my back, repaired Ange which I didnât even think was possible and tried to catch Floette! Why if she werenât such a smart pokemon with the help of some kids and Zygarde heâd have succeeded.â L huffed as Zygarde laid down head on his knee. The legendary received a scratch under the chin.â The shiny lampent chimed as it blinked. It had a tone that suggested it was an âI told you soâ or ânow you know how I feelâ.
âOh hush you werenât even wax when I set off the ultimate weapon.â The Lampent chimed again brushing one of its metal arms against Lâs cheek as if in a caress.
Zygarde whined at the Lampentâs actions.
âI think my bloodline is cursedâŠâ L admitted with a huff. Slowly he reached into his jacket and pulled out a stack of envelopes placing it at the foot of the grave. âFor you alone my dear.â Once L and Zygarde left the Lampent burned the letters and almost sighed as they shriveled into ash.
L walked into the Graveyard, Zygarde by his side. L sat down placing a bouquet of flowers at Sycamoreâs grave and a crown of eternal flowers on the stone itself. âHow are you Mon coeur? I do hope the soil is warmer than the air. âŠGranted with how many flowers there are around here Iâm certain it must help.â L laughed looking at the small bed of flowers heâd been accidentally cultivating. It was all flowers save for where the Lampent had been burning them. Currently the Lampent was resting there clinging to one of the letters that L knew that they had been burning. L didnât question how something that had been burnt to ash twenty years ago could be un-burnt.
L exhaled as he tended to the long since abandoned Graveyard, now it was Floetteâs Garden and what a beautiful garden. The Chandelure drifted over chiming so L moved to his loves grave. His name was so long forgotten that not even the stone had it anymore. If he had the time and memory L knew heâd have to replace it again.
âAugustine.â L briefly recalled as his eyes fluttered shut and he drifted off.
When L woke up he found a man asleep on him. Slowly L sat up, his eyes struggling to focus on the man. He could see curls, dark where they hadnât grayed. Slowly the sleeping man woke up stretching that told L two things that he somehow hadnât noticed earlier. 1. The man was see through. 2. He was very much blue like L was seeing him through a blue window.
âGood morning Lys!â The ghost exclaimed hugging L tightly. He was warmed by the sun.
L slowly hugged back. âGood morning Mon coeur.â
âItâs been three thousand years hasnât it?â Augustine asked softly.