[attr="class","tctext"] Birds sang soft songs as light began to filter through the treetops of the Lostlorn Forest. Blue eyes cracked open at the sounds, but soon closed again. It was too early. The Zoroark curled up on the forest floor shifted a bit, burying his face under his arm to keep out the light, but the birds continued to sing. His ear twitched.

Within a few minutes, he had given up getting back to sleep, sitting up and scratching behind an ear before yawning. He supposed it was time to start the day. Climbing up to his feet, the Zoroark transformed, and there stood one young man by the name of N Harmonia. Prior to coming back here a few weeks ago, it had been ages since he'd been home to this forest, but it was comforting being here again. That, and when he slept in his natural form on the ground, he didn't need to spend his precious little money on hotel costs. When he could forage for berries and roots and such, he didn't need to buy groceries. It was a simple existence, but it also kept him hidden from the world all the better as well.

Still, N did not wish to stay hidden entirely forever. He liked to travel into town to observe people and Pokemon together, hearing what the Pokemon especially had to say. Every day he did so, his picture of the world filled in a little more in his mind. So he gathered his clothes-- he wore actual ones versus just making them a part of his illusion-- and his few possessions, and he headed toward Nimbasa.

Once in town, he kept his head low and blended into the crowd. Even with his striking hair, people tended not to notice him in such a big city so long as he didn't call attention to himself. It was like Castelia in that way, but Castelia felt a little too big for N's taste. It was hard to overhear any single voice with such thick crowds everywhere you looked.

He headed to the park, where he'd walk around a while, seeing several trainers with their Pokemon out for a stroll or playing games. It warmed his heart. Afterward, he'd head toward the basketball stadium, where he found an exhibition match underway. Truth be told, he liked playing more than watching, and didn't even like playing as much as when he was younger, but he still found the game to hold a certain amount of nostalgia, and stayed in the back of the stadium to watch for a short while.

After leaving there, he was walking down the street when he noticed a group of people gathered around a screen. Hm? What was on?

N moved closer to try to see. What he found stopped him in his tracks. There on the tv were images of flaming wreckage, people running scared, rescue workers frantically scrambling to dig through the debris. What... where was this? His gray eyes widened and blood drained from his face. Eventually, a reporter came on to speak again, saying the horrific images came from Saffron City in Kanto. Apparently, on the day the city was to begin a fairly large tournament, someone had detonated explosives all around the city.

Who would do something like this? It was a question on every tongue, the reporter's and the crowd's and the victims'. Speculations flew around. Some revived branch of Team Rocket? Some new terrorist organization? It seemed a mystery. How far did the damage even reach, and who would want to hurt so many people?

N found himself... numb, and at the same time furious. He knew humans could be cruel, but how could they do this to their own kind? And more importantly... what could be done about it? If only he still had Zekrom with him, he could fly out to help, but the Dragon of Ideals was elsewhere now. If only he had Ghetsis' old money, he could send something to help with the relief efforts. But no. N was alone, and helpless to watch from so very far away.

For all that Team Plasma had done, never had they initiated destruction on this level, even if Ghetsis' plans with Kyurem could have been much worse had they not been stopped. Still, he carried such guilt for his parts in their plans, such a fierce desire to atone, to do something good with his life to make it up to all the people he'd hurt, directly or indirectly. How then could someone willingly do so much worse and still live with themselves?

He couldn't... he couldn't watch this anymore. He needed to get out and clear his head. Perhaps... perhaps he'd head to the amusement park. It seemed a frivolous choice in the wake of the disaster, but admission was free and being there had a calming effect on him. He just... needed some air.