Music in Media: Old Weakness by Delbert McClinton

18 January, Tuesday, 1 p.m. | Spring

When Icosa awoke to incessant wingbeats in the dark, he grew certain of two things: one, it was Noivern making a fuss over what he hoped would be nothing and two, he was in a place he'd rather not be, which meant Noivern ought to make the biggest, hottest fuss possible. The humidity was a trouble to deal with, but nothing could beat the carvings on the cave walls. He couldn't see them but he knew they were there. Back when Noivern was still a Noibat, he had been here before, the same dark spot, the same hard ground, the same mildly rippling water. He had been here more than once. As always, as with some of the most crucial moments of his life till now, he would end up here. The only thing that always changed were the carvings. How, he did not know. Not that he cared.

"That fucking beast!" He slammed his fist against the wall.

He remembered fainting from exhaustion in some lush green place. The only reason he'd be here in this Arceus-forsaken dungeon meant zie was back. Zie was watching and zie knew.

But zie wasn't here. Must have returned to the Northern parts.

Icosa howled. That damned Cobalion! That damned leader of the Swords of Justice! But zie wasn't the leader of him and would never be, try as zie might. And he certainly didn't need any guidance to be placed in the Guidance Chamber like that.

Cobalion had constantly meddled with his life. Why did he think he would escape it now? No, why would he think he was escaping anyway?

Because this place was a prison. Any other Unovan might be delighted to make a trip here but not him.

Noivern tapped his shoulder with a wing. Icosa steeled himself with a groan. He then whipped out his phone and jabbed the button for the flashlight, forcing the pale light to pour over the wall. Two sets of six lines flanked on the left and right. The set on the left had the two lines wedged in the middle broken with a gulf between.

Like N's cube, the image of which made him seethe.

He hated being emotional like this but he couldn't control himself.

He glanced at the other set, all six lines so solid he wished he could break them.

It was simple. The lines on the left would morph to the lines on the right. It was all prediction, anyway. Traditionally, three coins would be flipped for each line. Two heads, one tails meant the line was broken and remained so. Two tails, one heads meant the line was solid and remained so. Three heads or tails meant the line would change line from solid to broken and broken to solid respectively.

He began to scour the meanings online. The I Ching Hexagrams, these were called. A Taoist divination that only the most devoted people (and Pokémon) would use. Such was the case in Unova. But these weren't typical divinations. Events wouldn't necessarily happen as predicted. They were created for self-reflection, to be a signpost of sorts. He would be his own guide, the one to decide whether to follow the Way-the Tao-or to go against it.

From left to right, 中孚（zhōng fú）Inner Truth to 乾（qián）The Creative. Trust, then initiate. Receiving the right hexagram, the second hexagram meant empowerment was the centrepiece.

For Inner Truth, "the gentleman must review his case to delay death." Icosa was no gentleman. He had no case to make or review. Cobalion read him wrongly.

The broken third and fourth lines carried different meanings too. They were the lines that would change the hexagram and their meaning must be ascertained.

Line 3: Having defeated the enemy, some beat the drum, some stop, some sob, some sing. Despite victory, something remains amiss.

Line 4: As the moon approaches fullness, the horses are lost, but it matters little. Be more vigilant to avoid similar situations in the future.

The site supplements more information, speaking of the need to "stop allowing others to be the centre of who you are", to "tread carefully, be humble but don't abandon who you are."

Under The Creative, Icosa noted that he was supposed to take action towards self-improvement according to the laws of the Dragon.

"Yeah, right. No one even knows what laws the Original Dragon had set in place," he mumbled.

He snorted.

Cobalion really thought zie knew him at the back of zir hand. Icosa wasn't off centre and did not put anyone but himself at the core of his identity. And he did not-he would never-abandon who he was. And he certainly had been working on himself. Cobalion was spouting some kind of Granbullshit here.

Yet he knew, too, it wasn't really Cobalion but the Tao. He knew not how to explain it. But in any case, it was clear what the message meant. Cobalion-or rather, the Tao, if it was to be the manifestation and laws of the Original Dragon-wanted him to reevaluate the situation he was in and emerge a better, stronger version of himself. He had been vigilant. He had known victory would never be simple which was why he didn't rest when Team Plasma simply gave up when Ghetsis was imprisoned.

Loss is insignificant, he decided. Since the I Ching could be used for introspection, he decided these were after all the words he most wanted to hear from himself. Cobalion was a stupid messenger but that fact didn't have to discredit the message. Things were going smoothly, as he hoped, as he wanted.

"Mitéra kai patéras, parakaló perímene me."

It's been a while since he spoke the tongue. When it came to matters regarding his parents, he would always speak the language they taught him, his first language, and never the second language he tended to use these days. How many years had it been now... No, he'd better not think about it. There's no place for emotion and vulnerability here.

His old weakness was coming up strong within him but he fought the urge with a glare. For once, he would accept Cobalion's guid- no, intervention.

In the dim light of his phone, he stared at his reflection in the lake. His chartreuse bangs flopped down, shielding his eyes from the eyesore. It was once said, "stare at your reflection in low illumination for a few minutes you will see apparitions of faces." Those could range from distorted faces to familiar ones as the deceased or Pokémon's faces coalescing with one's own. For a moment, he thought he saw Cobalion's horns growing out of his hair, just above the ears, and his face performing Double Team, morphing into his parents, Rae, Cheren, Lenora, N...

He gripped his throat. He was not any of them. For one, he would never be N. His breaths slowed, became elongated, struggled to slip past his open lips.

Then he let go and all faces faded like a stretched spring that, upon being let go, would contract to its original length, its original state, leaving him alone with his reflection and Noivern's at the corner.

"How ugly," he spat. His reflection rippled in response. "The Swords of Justice will never understand the justice I'm exacting."

Dikaiosýni, his father called it. Taught him of its blindness. The difficulty of balance. When anything's added to either pan, the weights will tilt. The easiest way to resolve it is to remove everything. Then and only then you can guarantee absolute balance.

"Subtraction is the key," his father would say. "The fewer the variables, the greater the control, Icosa."

Who or what were the variables now? Icosa brushed the lake surface with his finger, drew a parabola and another and another till he was sketching infinity.

"Ápeiro."

His voice quivered under the weight of the word. Noivern cocked its head slightly and patted his back with a wing. Icosa gave it an unconvincing thumbs up.

Right now, he needed to ensure that Rae played her part, even if she wasn't Unovan. She was dragged into this yet she fitted the Hero of Ideals the most. She would be a good foil to him so his justice could see progression. It was going well. Driftveil was excellent. N almost died.

Was that right though? Did he want N to die? No, not really.

His finger paused in the centre of infinity. He closed his eyes, felt his heartbeats scratch his throat.

"Three more badges and it will soon be over." Icosa sighed. "No, that's not satisfying. It must be prolonged. All for my justice."

His finger turned into a fist. Water splashed onto the cave's floor. His chest rose and ebbed.

"I'm sorry, Rae. You're just collateral. But you chose to step into the crossfire." Icosa fell back. "But really... Can I hurt a kid like that? How am I different from Team Plasma then?"

His eyes burned with anguish and determination.

"Noivern, I'm such a monster, aren't I?"

Noivern refused to comment.

"The Kalomirises were tasked with protecting Meloetta. Now, zie's under the clutches of Team Plasma. It's all my fault for being too weak."

"Yeah, I'm to blame for everything."

Noivern beat its wings twice.

"Have I always been this... melodramatic?" Icosa sniggered at himself. "I wish I, too, could split like the Original Dragon and live with truth and reason only."

Noivern grimaced.

"O Zekrom of Ideals, O Reshiram of Truth, O hollow Kyurem of Boundary..." Icosa washed his face with the lakewater and shivered a little. It was so fucking cold. He ran his drenched fingers down his eyes, nose, lips, and smacked his cheeks. "Forgive me for the transgression I am about to make."

"N-Noi?"

A splash resounded in the Guidance Chamber.

Noivern grumbled and grabbed its trainer before he sank.

"Verrrr!"

"Heh," Icosa mumbled with a smirk. "We're getting out of here, Noivern. Be prepared. Things will get hella awry from here on. For one, we're skipping ahead to two months later."

Forward fucking March, he mouthed as they flew to the mouth of Mistralton Cave.

"Forward fucking March."