Mewtwo, gengar, or a ghost.
Writing The Elemental Spectrum ~ Finished
- Thread starter Jabberwock
- Start date
Ragan's not a Pokémon, nor is he a ghost. >:L
I told you this over Skype, I think; just posting it here for future reference.
He is calling for a Ghost Pokemon using his aura!
*shrugs*
*shrugs*
... I dismissed this at first, because he's not actually calling for a Ghost Pokémon, but now I look back at it and ... wow. You're really close. :O
Any other guesses? Might you want a hint?
^^This was the part that you were scarily close on.
BOLD PREDICTION:
Ragan is an ancient. Ancients were so close to their Pokémon that they got some of their powers. Not sure what Pokémon he has yet, though.
Ragan is an ancient. Ancients were so close to their Pokémon that they got some of their powers. Not sure what Pokémon he has yet, though.
I'm baaaaaack!
Thoughts & Annotations:
The darkness of twilight began to creep over the land above, but this far down into the earth, Clair felt only the increasing fatigue brought by a day’s hike. She and Erell had started from Lumiose early in the morning, at the same time as all the others. As far as Clair knew, however, only the two of them had thought to travel underground.
Then again, she was the only one in the Spectrum who trained Ground-type Pokémon. Perhaps it wasn’t so odd after all.
Clair could barely remember her first day with Professor Sycamore and the others, which was odd––she’d never been one to forget occasions like that easily. She knew that Sandslash had been given her by the professor directly. Many of the Spectrum had had to find their own Pokémon, capture them, and raise them, but not Clair.
She wasn’t sure what to make of that. Sandslash, as far as she knew, wasn’t native to Kalos. Why had the professor had one on hand to give her? She had asked Erell about it, of course––of the two of them, Erell had always been the one more fascinated with Pokémon, at least before they had joined the Spectrum.
“Sandslash is native to the Kanto region,” Erell had explained. “Professor Sycamore’s Charizard is, too. Maybe he spent some time in Kanto.”
Whatever the reason, Clair had never had reason to regret her choice. She had left the Western Coast that day with her twin sister and never once returned.
Until now, anyway.
Professor Sycamore had sent Clair and Erell to track down Grant, the man who led a Gym near where the sisters had grown up. Clair was certain that the professor remembered where she and Erell came from. And of course, he had no way of knowing that neither of them had never wanted to go back.
“Any idea where we are?” Erell asked.
Sandslash was rapidly burrowing through the earth before them, spewing out chunks of stone behind him as he went. Clair hadn’t the faintest idea how he knew where to go.
“No,” Clair said. “We’ve been travelling for at least ten hours now, though, not counting lunch. We’re probably at least near the Cyllagan Range.”
Erell nodded. She seemed to understand Sandslash better than Clair did, sometimes. If Erell had chosen the Ground type instead, and Clair the Rock, no doubt they would already be in Cyllage. But Erell’s Aerodactyl wasn’t going to get anywhere fast, at least not underground.
Several minutes later, Sandslash came to an abrupt halt. He scaled the side of the tunnel he had formed, and started to excavate through the top.
In moments, a hole in the roof of the tunnel let through twinkling starlight, barely enough to see by. Erell activated a Poké Ball, briefly illuminating the tunnel as Aerodactyl materialized. The huge winged Pokémon crouched, allowing Erell to climb on his back in order to lift herself out of the tunnel. Clair followed, carrying Sandslash in her arms.
Once above ground, Erell returned Aerodactyl to its Poké Ball. Clair looked around, and saw that they were at the foothills of the Cyllagan Range. Ambrette Town and Cyllage City lay far off, perhaps a mile or so away.
“We could fly the rest of the way,” Erell said thoughtfully. “We’re far enough outside Lumiose that Team Flare wouldn’t see us.”
Clair nodded. She wasn’t afraid of heights, of course; a childhood spent rock-climbing at the Cyllagan peaks was enough to dispel that. But shouldn’t she be a bit more reluctant to fly, being a Ground-type specialist?
She could barely remember her first day. But apparently she still couldn’t grasp being a Pokémon Trainer.
Eventually, she nodded. Erell looked at her searchingly. Clair had never been good at hiding anything from her sister.
“You sure you’re all right?” Erell asked.
“I’m fine,” snapped Clair, more harshly than she meant to. She took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Erell reactivated Aerodactyl’s Poké Ball. Aerodactyl reappeared, only this time above ground. Erell swung herself onto the Pokémon’s back, and then lowered a hand to help Clair up. Clair grasped it gratefully, and seated herself behind her sister. With a powerful flap of enormous wings, Aerodactyl took off.
*
Soaring over the plains between the Cyllagan Range and the Western Coast was exhilarating, something Clair hadn’t felt in a long time. She knew people usually said not to look down from great heights, but she couldn’t see the point in that; not right now, at least. Aerodactyl would catch her if she fell.
The plains, even in dusky twilight, were beautiful and green. The sea air this close to the coast blew through the grass, sending a rustling noise through the blades as they rubbed against each other. The conditions were ideal for life to grow; plants, humans, and Pokémon flourished alike.
Many of the smaller Pokémon were safely inside their dens by this point; it was time for the predators to come out. A Seviper slithered through the grass, stalking prey, Clair was sure. It moved stealthily, and would have been completely invisible in the grass had Clair not been looking down from above.
Without warning, from a bush leapt a bulky white form, which fell upon the Seviper in a flurry of slashes. It did not let up, but Clair knew it must be a Zangoose––only a Zangoose would dare attack a Seviper.
The power behind the flaps from Aerodactyl’s wings lessened, and they began to descend. Aerodactyl wouldn’t go straight into the city, of course; the buildings would be too closely packed for him to maneuver safely. Clair could see he was gliding directly toward a clearing in the middle of a forest between Cyllage City and the sea.
Suddenly, she felt a jolt. Aerodactyl jerked to a stop in the middle of the air, and Clair saw Erell struggling to regain control. He began to spiral out of the air, and Clair found herself in freefall. Too disoriented to care, however, she felt her eyes begin to close. Just before they snapped shut, she saw a lithe white-furred creature, standing on four legs on a rocky crag on the side of a foothill.
Absol, she thought dimly, struggling to recollect what she could of her lessons. It appears before people to warn them of impending disaster.
Disaster.
Flicker.
Her hands, dusted with white chalk, gripped the rock-face as she hauled herself up and over the ridge. Her sister, Erell, had already reached the top––probably several minutes before Clair had.
Erell was standing with her back to Clair, but at once she turned around and offered a hand, helping her sister up. Clair accepted the hand, and, with Erell’s help, got to her feet.
They both turned to look out over the plains. They had never reached the top of the Cyllagan foothills before, but they had finally done so now. It was a monumental achievement, in Clair’s opinion. Only six years old and already two of the best mountain climbers in history.
Not that they knew of any other mountain climbers, of course. But Clair was pretty sure that no one else had managed to climb anywhere near the height of the Cyllagan foothills.
The plains spread before them, lush and green. A wind blew, carrying the faint salty scent of the sea. Clair breathed in deeply. She wished it could be like this every day. Recent times had been too troubling, too perplexing. She could barely figure out what was going on, but she knew there was something wrong. Grant was on edge, and that meant everyone was on edge. She had heard rumors of war, and she had heard that it all centered around a single young man.
Calem. He had come only six months ago. He had challenged Grant, of course, just like every other Pokémon Trainer to come through Cyllage. There was something strange about it, though. Something that hadn’t happened in years.
Grant had lost.
Clair had watched that battle. She had seen every attack, every strike that their Pokémon had made. Grant’s Tyrantrum was the most fearsome Pokémon Clair had ever seen. She had heard that it ruled the world over a hundred million years ago, before all the ancient Pokémon died out.
Grant had been on a fossil-digging expedition a while back, or so the stories said. He had come back with a huge fang embedded in a massive stone. Grant spent the next few months constructing a machine, one he said could revive fossils into ancient Pokémon.
And it had worked. Grant befriended Tyrantrum, and eventually captured it inside a Poké Ball. For the next several years, he never lost a battle. Hundreds and hundreds of Trainers challenged him, but not one of them was victorious.
Until Calem. His Pokémon, with its bulging muscles under thin pale purple fur, wove an intricate web of sheer energy, until Tyrantrum had nowhere to run. The dragonish Pokémon tried to attack Calem’s Pokémon, but he wasn’t fast enough.
Grant finally saw defeat, and conceded the match before Calem’s Pokémon could do anything more.
Clair was devastated. For five years––as long as she could remember––Grant had always been her hero. And … and he had lost.
Over the next six months, Clair had done her best to forget that day. But now, there were rumors circulating. And Calem was at the middle of all of it.
Suddenly, an earth-shattering boom like thunder rent the skies. Clair staggered, nearly falling off the cliff in her struggle to regain balance. Erell recovered first, and put a hand on her sister’s shoulder.
“What … what was that?” Clair asked. She didn’t expect Erell to know the answer, of course, but she had to break the silence somehow.
Erell could do nothing more than blink and shake her head, gasping for air. She gestured feebly with a trembling finger, and Clair turned her head.
A beam of light streaked up to the skies, disappearing into the clouds. And at the bottom … there was Geosenge Town, a mere fifty miles to the north. Clair could barely see it through the blinding light, but she had gazed upon the small city many a time from these cliffs, and she knew it was there.
And then the light vanished. A purple afterimage remained in Clair’s vision, but she could see that Geosenge Town was in ruins. The buildings had been vaporized, and the land around it charred and blackened. It was gone. All gone.
Erell drew her sister to an embrace, and Clair struggled to hold back tears. She had just begun to think that everything would be all right.
Flicker.
Clair opened her eyes and gasped for breath. That wasn’t a memory she had ever wanted to surface again.
In a few moments, she had taken in her surroundings. She wasn’t on Aerodactyl’s back in the sky––she wasn’t even on the ground. She was in a soft, comfortable bed, with stonewood posts. She still wore her usual garb, which was caked with mud; presumably from the fall.
Erell was on another bed on the opposite side of the white-walled room. Clair’s sister’s eyes were closed, and her breathing even. Outside the window, Clair could see that the sun shone brightly.
How long …?
The wooden door open with a long creak, and an elderly woman stepped into the room. She was carrying a tray, on which were three cups, and a kettle with steam escaping from it. She put the tray down on a stand, and then pulled a chair over next to Clair’s bed, and sat down.
She gave a start when she saw that Clair was awake. Clair tried to open her mouth to say something to the woman, but her jaw wouldn’t move. She tried to sit up, and found that she could do no more than move her eyes frantically.
“Sleep paralysis, dear,” the old woman said soothingly. “You took quite a fall.”
Clair blinked. Sleep paralysis?
The woman poured tea from the steaming kettle into one of the clay cups. She wafted the tea under Clair’s nose, and Clair inhaled sharply. Something seemed to lessen, a pain that she hadn’t realized was there. She found she could move her jaw.
“Thank you,” she said.
The old woman grinned. “My pleasure, dear. You just let old Wyacanth care for you, and you’ll be fit in no time.”
Clair wasn’t sure she trusted this old woman, but then, she hadn’t left Clair and her sister for dead. Clair took the tea and sipped it. It was strong and herbal, with a scent of salac leaves.
The old woman––Wyacanth––smiled, and moved over to Erell’s bed, pouring another cup and holding it under Erell’s nose. Erell jerked, gasping, and sat up. She focused on Wyacanth, and let out a scream.
“Erell!” Clair said quickly. “It’s all right. We’re safe.”
“Aerodactyl …” Erell said, breathing heavily. “We fell, and…”
“I found you on the ground last night,” the old woman said, by way of explanation. “My name’s Wyacanth.”
“Last night?” Erell said. Clair could tell her sister was getting panicked. “How long were we out?”
“Fourteen … fifteen hours, I would guess,” Wyacanth replied. “You must be starved, dear. Here, drink your tea. I’ll fix you up a meal.”
She bustled from the room, taking the tray, kettle, and third cup with her.
“Can we trust her?” asked Erell immediately after the door closed.
“I don’t know,” Clair said. She looked down at her teacup. “She certainly knows her remedies. I think this is salac tea, but I had no idea it cured …”
What did she call it? Sleep paralysis?
“And she did take us in,” said Erell nervously. “She could have just left us there.”
“Maybe it’s all fine,” said Clair. “We’re just being paranoid.”
Erell fell silent. Clair sipped her tea. For a long while, neither of them said anything. Then, Wyacanth came back into the room, bearing the tray again, but this time laden with sandwiches and broth. She handed a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of soup to Clair, and then another to Erell. Both murmured their thanks, but did not eat.
“Ma’am,” Erell began, but the old woman cut her off.
“No, no, please call me Wyacanth, dear,” she said with an affectionate smile.
“Wyacanth,” Erell said, “we appreciate your hospitality, but we can’t stay.”
The old woman’s face fell. “I see,” she said. “Are you sure, dear? You’re in no fit state to travel, your sister neither, and that’s the truth.”
“We have to go, Wyacanth,” said Erell. “I’m sorry. Thank you for everything.”
And she tried to rise from her bed. She managed it with some difficulty, holding a post for support. Clair pushed back the blankets and stood as well. She was overcome by a wave of dizziness, but that passed quickly.
“I see,” Wyacanth said again. “Well, yes, perhaps it’s for the best. I’ll pack a bag with food and herbs; I’m an apothecary, you see, and…”
She rambled on as she went from the room again, leaving Clair and Erell behind. Clair looked around a bit until she found her pack hanging in a closet, and tossed Erell hers. She shouldered the pack and followed where Wyacanth had gone.
She found the old woman in a kitchen downstairs, bustling around and mixing herbal potions. Clair saw salac leaves, like the kind that had no doubt been in the tea, and durin bark, and other herbs she couldn’t identify, though no doubt Liam or Fylon could.
Wyacanth turned around as Clair and Erell approached, and held up a paper bag filled with food. She passed it to Clair, who stowed it in her pack with a word of gratitude.
“Grant,” Erell said suddenly.
“Who, dear?” asked Wyacanth absently. She poured a sort of oil into a concoction of mashed leaves and berries.
“The Gym Leader,” said Erell. “I just remembered. That’s why we came. Wyacanth, do you know where we could find him?”
Wyacanth suddenly stopped working. She turned around slowly. “I … I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
Erell nodded once, but Clair could tell she was suspicious. Clair was suspicious, too, come to that. What was Wyacanth hiding?
The apothecary finished mixing her remedy, and put it in a glass jar into another paper bag, which already clinked with the sound of other jars and bottles.
“They’re all labeled,” she said. “So you know which to use for what.”
And she gave Erell the bag. Erell opened her pack and stuffed the bag inside.
Wyacanth hurried past Clair out of the kitchen and to the front door, which she opened wide. “Best of luck to you,” she said sadly. “And until we meet again.”
“So shall it be,” Clair and Erell said at once.They passed Wyacanth and went out the door, which the apothecary closed behind them. Before the door snapped shut, however, Wyacanth stopped.
“Wait,” she said. She appeared to struggle for a moment, and then finally sighed. “Go … go to the Glittering Caves. I can’t help you any more. I’m sorry.”
She closed the door, but not before Clair saw a tear glistening in her eye.
*
Deciding to act on Wyacanth’s advice, Clair and Erell began the long crossing of the Cyllagan plains, hoping to reach the Glittering Caves, to the east of Ambrette Town, by next nightfall.
None of the life they had seen while crossing overhead the previous night was in abundance now. The Seviper and Zangoose had both disappeared, as had the lithe white form of the Absol watching them from the cliffs. Indeed, the plains seemed entirely devoid of Pokémon.
They had decided to travel on the ground, for the fatigue from all the tunneling last night would still be affecting Sandslash, and they didn’t want to risk another accident like the one with Aerodactyl. It wasn’t the fastest way to travel, but they would gladly take safety over haste.
It almost seemed too peaceful, too serene. Clair found herself expecting an attack of some sort. But they crossed half the stretch of the plains entirely without incident. Clair began to relax.
And then the attack came.
A white-furred form flashed before Clair’s eyes, and came to a halt before the two of them. Clair saw that it was an Absol; likely the same one from the previous night. It was clear that the Absol had no intention of letting them pass, so Clair took Sandslash’s Poké Ball from her belt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Erell take Aerodactyl’s Poké Ball from hers.
They activated the Poké Balls as one; twin bursts of light flashed, and Sandslash and Aerodactyl resolved before them.
“Shadow Claw!” came a ringing voice, shrill and clear. The command was evidently for Absol, for the Pokémon sprang at Aerodactyl and felled him with a single blow from darkness-cloaked paws.
Erell gasped; no foe had ever bested Aerodactyl that easily. Clair found herself growing angry. Who was this opponent, who would not show himself?
“Who goes there?” she snarled.
No reply came from the voice. A long moment passed, and then, “Shadow Claw!”
Absol rushed at Sandslash, baring its fangs. It struck out with a paw, surrounded in a jet-black aura. Sandslash just managed to avoid the attack.
“Fine,” Clair said through gritted teeth. “Sandstorm!”
A light brown aura flared to life around Sandslash. He closed his eyes, and the aura splintered into a million tiny particles, whipped around in a wind that had certainly not been there a second before. The particles buffeted Absol, impairing its vision, but almost at once its unseen Trainer called out, “Whirlwind!”
The dark aura winked back around Absol, only this time it cloaked the Pokémon’s entire body, instead of just a paw. Its fur seemed to be ruffled by an ethereal breeze, though Clair could not feel it, and the sand dispersed at once.
“Perish Song!” the voice called out.
Uh-oh, Clair thought. She remembered from the professor’s lessons that Perish Song would cause all Pokémon who heard it to faint within moments.
“Sandslash!” she called. “Earthquake!”
Before Absol could utter its mystical song, Sandslash struck the ground with his claws. The earth began to rumble, and even Clair struggled to keep her footing.
Absol, however, leaped into the air to evade the rumblings, and opened its mouth. A single, shrill note escaped it, and Sandslash wavered where he stood. In seconds, he fell to the ground, defeated.
Clair was stunned. She fumbled with her Poké Ball, trying to activate it to return Sandslash inside, but suddenly another figure, huge and powerful, landed forcefully between Sandslash and Absol.
At the same time, a young man, dark of face and with gemstones woven into his black hair, stepped forward from behind Clair. Clair knew this man. She had idolized him for five years of her life.
“Tyrantrum,” Grant said, “Earthquake.”
The huge figure––which Clair could now see was Grant’s Tyrantrum––leaped and came down with an earth-shattering crash, while at the same time pinning Absol to the ground with its tail so the four-legged Pokémon could not move.
Absol fainted.
Without pause, Grant called, “Celosia! Show yourself.”
After a moment, the voice came. “No,” it said. Clair could see now that it belonged to the same woman who had invaded the laboratory, the day the children had arrived. “I don’t think I will.”
Absol disappeared with a flash of light, as of a Pokémon being recalled to its Poké Ball.
“Order,” Grant cursed. “I was afraid that would happen.”
He turned to Clair and Erell. Clair, still in shock, said, “You’re … you’re Grant.”
“Yes,” he said, perplexed. “Do I know you?”
“No,” Clair said hastily. “You’ve never met me before. But you must come with us. The world needs you. The world needs Gym Leaders again.”
Then again, she was the only one in the Spectrum who trained Ground-type Pokémon. Perhaps it wasn’t so odd after all.
Clair could barely remember her first day with Professor Sycamore and the others, which was odd––she’d never been one to forget occasions like that easily. She knew that Sandslash had been given her by the professor directly. Many of the Spectrum had had to find their own Pokémon, capture them, and raise them, but not Clair.
She wasn’t sure what to make of that. Sandslash, as far as she knew, wasn’t native to Kalos. Why had the professor had one on hand to give her? She had asked Erell about it, of course––of the two of them, Erell had always been the one more fascinated with Pokémon, at least before they had joined the Spectrum.
“Sandslash is native to the Kanto region,” Erell had explained. “Professor Sycamore’s Charizard is, too. Maybe he spent some time in Kanto.”
Whatever the reason, Clair had never had reason to regret her choice. She had left the Western Coast that day with her twin sister and never once returned.
Until now, anyway.
Professor Sycamore had sent Clair and Erell to track down Grant, the man who led a Gym near where the sisters had grown up. Clair was certain that the professor remembered where she and Erell came from. And of course, he had no way of knowing that neither of them had never wanted to go back.
“Any idea where we are?” Erell asked.
Sandslash was rapidly burrowing through the earth before them, spewing out chunks of stone behind him as he went. Clair hadn’t the faintest idea how he knew where to go.
“No,” Clair said. “We’ve been travelling for at least ten hours now, though, not counting lunch. We’re probably at least near the Cyllagan Range.”
Erell nodded. She seemed to understand Sandslash better than Clair did, sometimes. If Erell had chosen the Ground type instead, and Clair the Rock, no doubt they would already be in Cyllage. But Erell’s Aerodactyl wasn’t going to get anywhere fast, at least not underground.
Several minutes later, Sandslash came to an abrupt halt. He scaled the side of the tunnel he had formed, and started to excavate through the top.
In moments, a hole in the roof of the tunnel let through twinkling starlight, barely enough to see by. Erell activated a Poké Ball, briefly illuminating the tunnel as Aerodactyl materialized. The huge winged Pokémon crouched, allowing Erell to climb on his back in order to lift herself out of the tunnel. Clair followed, carrying Sandslash in her arms.
Once above ground, Erell returned Aerodactyl to its Poké Ball. Clair looked around, and saw that they were at the foothills of the Cyllagan Range. Ambrette Town and Cyllage City lay far off, perhaps a mile or so away.
“We could fly the rest of the way,” Erell said thoughtfully. “We’re far enough outside Lumiose that Team Flare wouldn’t see us.”
Clair nodded. She wasn’t afraid of heights, of course; a childhood spent rock-climbing at the Cyllagan peaks was enough to dispel that. But shouldn’t she be a bit more reluctant to fly, being a Ground-type specialist?
She could barely remember her first day. But apparently she still couldn’t grasp being a Pokémon Trainer.
Eventually, she nodded. Erell looked at her searchingly. Clair had never been good at hiding anything from her sister.
“You sure you’re all right?” Erell asked.
“I’m fine,” snapped Clair, more harshly than she meant to. She took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Erell reactivated Aerodactyl’s Poké Ball. Aerodactyl reappeared, only this time above ground. Erell swung herself onto the Pokémon’s back, and then lowered a hand to help Clair up. Clair grasped it gratefully, and seated herself behind her sister. With a powerful flap of enormous wings, Aerodactyl took off.
*
Soaring over the plains between the Cyllagan Range and the Western Coast was exhilarating, something Clair hadn’t felt in a long time. She knew people usually said not to look down from great heights, but she couldn’t see the point in that; not right now, at least. Aerodactyl would catch her if she fell.
The plains, even in dusky twilight, were beautiful and green. The sea air this close to the coast blew through the grass, sending a rustling noise through the blades as they rubbed against each other. The conditions were ideal for life to grow; plants, humans, and Pokémon flourished alike.
Many of the smaller Pokémon were safely inside their dens by this point; it was time for the predators to come out. A Seviper slithered through the grass, stalking prey, Clair was sure. It moved stealthily, and would have been completely invisible in the grass had Clair not been looking down from above.
Without warning, from a bush leapt a bulky white form, which fell upon the Seviper in a flurry of slashes. It did not let up, but Clair knew it must be a Zangoose––only a Zangoose would dare attack a Seviper.
The power behind the flaps from Aerodactyl’s wings lessened, and they began to descend. Aerodactyl wouldn’t go straight into the city, of course; the buildings would be too closely packed for him to maneuver safely. Clair could see he was gliding directly toward a clearing in the middle of a forest between Cyllage City and the sea.
Suddenly, she felt a jolt. Aerodactyl jerked to a stop in the middle of the air, and Clair saw Erell struggling to regain control. He began to spiral out of the air, and Clair found herself in freefall. Too disoriented to care, however, she felt her eyes begin to close. Just before they snapped shut, she saw a lithe white-furred creature, standing on four legs on a rocky crag on the side of a foothill.
Absol, she thought dimly, struggling to recollect what she could of her lessons. It appears before people to warn them of impending disaster.
Disaster.
Flicker.
Her hands, dusted with white chalk, gripped the rock-face as she hauled herself up and over the ridge. Her sister, Erell, had already reached the top––probably several minutes before Clair had.
Erell was standing with her back to Clair, but at once she turned around and offered a hand, helping her sister up. Clair accepted the hand, and, with Erell’s help, got to her feet.
They both turned to look out over the plains. They had never reached the top of the Cyllagan foothills before, but they had finally done so now. It was a monumental achievement, in Clair’s opinion. Only six years old and already two of the best mountain climbers in history.
Not that they knew of any other mountain climbers, of course. But Clair was pretty sure that no one else had managed to climb anywhere near the height of the Cyllagan foothills.
The plains spread before them, lush and green. A wind blew, carrying the faint salty scent of the sea. Clair breathed in deeply. She wished it could be like this every day. Recent times had been too troubling, too perplexing. She could barely figure out what was going on, but she knew there was something wrong. Grant was on edge, and that meant everyone was on edge. She had heard rumors of war, and she had heard that it all centered around a single young man.
Calem. He had come only six months ago. He had challenged Grant, of course, just like every other Pokémon Trainer to come through Cyllage. There was something strange about it, though. Something that hadn’t happened in years.
Grant had lost.
Clair had watched that battle. She had seen every attack, every strike that their Pokémon had made. Grant’s Tyrantrum was the most fearsome Pokémon Clair had ever seen. She had heard that it ruled the world over a hundred million years ago, before all the ancient Pokémon died out.
Grant had been on a fossil-digging expedition a while back, or so the stories said. He had come back with a huge fang embedded in a massive stone. Grant spent the next few months constructing a machine, one he said could revive fossils into ancient Pokémon.
And it had worked. Grant befriended Tyrantrum, and eventually captured it inside a Poké Ball. For the next several years, he never lost a battle. Hundreds and hundreds of Trainers challenged him, but not one of them was victorious.
Until Calem. His Pokémon, with its bulging muscles under thin pale purple fur, wove an intricate web of sheer energy, until Tyrantrum had nowhere to run. The dragonish Pokémon tried to attack Calem’s Pokémon, but he wasn’t fast enough.
Grant finally saw defeat, and conceded the match before Calem’s Pokémon could do anything more.
Clair was devastated. For five years––as long as she could remember––Grant had always been her hero. And … and he had lost.
Over the next six months, Clair had done her best to forget that day. But now, there were rumors circulating. And Calem was at the middle of all of it.
Suddenly, an earth-shattering boom like thunder rent the skies. Clair staggered, nearly falling off the cliff in her struggle to regain balance. Erell recovered first, and put a hand on her sister’s shoulder.
“What … what was that?” Clair asked. She didn’t expect Erell to know the answer, of course, but she had to break the silence somehow.
Erell could do nothing more than blink and shake her head, gasping for air. She gestured feebly with a trembling finger, and Clair turned her head.
A beam of light streaked up to the skies, disappearing into the clouds. And at the bottom … there was Geosenge Town, a mere fifty miles to the north. Clair could barely see it through the blinding light, but she had gazed upon the small city many a time from these cliffs, and she knew it was there.
And then the light vanished. A purple afterimage remained in Clair’s vision, but she could see that Geosenge Town was in ruins. The buildings had been vaporized, and the land around it charred and blackened. It was gone. All gone.
Erell drew her sister to an embrace, and Clair struggled to hold back tears. She had just begun to think that everything would be all right.
Flicker.
Clair opened her eyes and gasped for breath. That wasn’t a memory she had ever wanted to surface again.
In a few moments, she had taken in her surroundings. She wasn’t on Aerodactyl’s back in the sky––she wasn’t even on the ground. She was in a soft, comfortable bed, with stonewood posts. She still wore her usual garb, which was caked with mud; presumably from the fall.
Erell was on another bed on the opposite side of the white-walled room. Clair’s sister’s eyes were closed, and her breathing even. Outside the window, Clair could see that the sun shone brightly.
How long …?
The wooden door open with a long creak, and an elderly woman stepped into the room. She was carrying a tray, on which were three cups, and a kettle with steam escaping from it. She put the tray down on a stand, and then pulled a chair over next to Clair’s bed, and sat down.
She gave a start when she saw that Clair was awake. Clair tried to open her mouth to say something to the woman, but her jaw wouldn’t move. She tried to sit up, and found that she could do no more than move her eyes frantically.
“Sleep paralysis, dear,” the old woman said soothingly. “You took quite a fall.”
Clair blinked. Sleep paralysis?
The woman poured tea from the steaming kettle into one of the clay cups. She wafted the tea under Clair’s nose, and Clair inhaled sharply. Something seemed to lessen, a pain that she hadn’t realized was there. She found she could move her jaw.
“Thank you,” she said.
The old woman grinned. “My pleasure, dear. You just let old Wyacanth care for you, and you’ll be fit in no time.”
Clair wasn’t sure she trusted this old woman, but then, she hadn’t left Clair and her sister for dead. Clair took the tea and sipped it. It was strong and herbal, with a scent of salac leaves.
The old woman––Wyacanth––smiled, and moved over to Erell’s bed, pouring another cup and holding it under Erell’s nose. Erell jerked, gasping, and sat up. She focused on Wyacanth, and let out a scream.
“Erell!” Clair said quickly. “It’s all right. We’re safe.”
“Aerodactyl …” Erell said, breathing heavily. “We fell, and…”
“I found you on the ground last night,” the old woman said, by way of explanation. “My name’s Wyacanth.”
“Last night?” Erell said. Clair could tell her sister was getting panicked. “How long were we out?”
“Fourteen … fifteen hours, I would guess,” Wyacanth replied. “You must be starved, dear. Here, drink your tea. I’ll fix you up a meal.”
She bustled from the room, taking the tray, kettle, and third cup with her.
“Can we trust her?” asked Erell immediately after the door closed.
“I don’t know,” Clair said. She looked down at her teacup. “She certainly knows her remedies. I think this is salac tea, but I had no idea it cured …”
What did she call it? Sleep paralysis?
“And she did take us in,” said Erell nervously. “She could have just left us there.”
“Maybe it’s all fine,” said Clair. “We’re just being paranoid.”
Erell fell silent. Clair sipped her tea. For a long while, neither of them said anything. Then, Wyacanth came back into the room, bearing the tray again, but this time laden with sandwiches and broth. She handed a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of soup to Clair, and then another to Erell. Both murmured their thanks, but did not eat.
“Ma’am,” Erell began, but the old woman cut her off.
“No, no, please call me Wyacanth, dear,” she said with an affectionate smile.
“Wyacanth,” Erell said, “we appreciate your hospitality, but we can’t stay.”
The old woman’s face fell. “I see,” she said. “Are you sure, dear? You’re in no fit state to travel, your sister neither, and that’s the truth.”
“We have to go, Wyacanth,” said Erell. “I’m sorry. Thank you for everything.”
And she tried to rise from her bed. She managed it with some difficulty, holding a post for support. Clair pushed back the blankets and stood as well. She was overcome by a wave of dizziness, but that passed quickly.
“I see,” Wyacanth said again. “Well, yes, perhaps it’s for the best. I’ll pack a bag with food and herbs; I’m an apothecary, you see, and…”
She rambled on as she went from the room again, leaving Clair and Erell behind. Clair looked around a bit until she found her pack hanging in a closet, and tossed Erell hers. She shouldered the pack and followed where Wyacanth had gone.
She found the old woman in a kitchen downstairs, bustling around and mixing herbal potions. Clair saw salac leaves, like the kind that had no doubt been in the tea, and durin bark, and other herbs she couldn’t identify, though no doubt Liam or Fylon could.
Wyacanth turned around as Clair and Erell approached, and held up a paper bag filled with food. She passed it to Clair, who stowed it in her pack with a word of gratitude.
“Grant,” Erell said suddenly.
“Who, dear?” asked Wyacanth absently. She poured a sort of oil into a concoction of mashed leaves and berries.
“The Gym Leader,” said Erell. “I just remembered. That’s why we came. Wyacanth, do you know where we could find him?”
Wyacanth suddenly stopped working. She turned around slowly. “I … I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
Erell nodded once, but Clair could tell she was suspicious. Clair was suspicious, too, come to that. What was Wyacanth hiding?
The apothecary finished mixing her remedy, and put it in a glass jar into another paper bag, which already clinked with the sound of other jars and bottles.
“They’re all labeled,” she said. “So you know which to use for what.”
And she gave Erell the bag. Erell opened her pack and stuffed the bag inside.
Wyacanth hurried past Clair out of the kitchen and to the front door, which she opened wide. “Best of luck to you,” she said sadly. “And until we meet again.”
“So shall it be,” Clair and Erell said at once.They passed Wyacanth and went out the door, which the apothecary closed behind them. Before the door snapped shut, however, Wyacanth stopped.
“Wait,” she said. She appeared to struggle for a moment, and then finally sighed. “Go … go to the Glittering Caves. I can’t help you any more. I’m sorry.”
She closed the door, but not before Clair saw a tear glistening in her eye.
*
Deciding to act on Wyacanth’s advice, Clair and Erell began the long crossing of the Cyllagan plains, hoping to reach the Glittering Caves, to the east of Ambrette Town, by next nightfall.
None of the life they had seen while crossing overhead the previous night was in abundance now. The Seviper and Zangoose had both disappeared, as had the lithe white form of the Absol watching them from the cliffs. Indeed, the plains seemed entirely devoid of Pokémon.
They had decided to travel on the ground, for the fatigue from all the tunneling last night would still be affecting Sandslash, and they didn’t want to risk another accident like the one with Aerodactyl. It wasn’t the fastest way to travel, but they would gladly take safety over haste.
It almost seemed too peaceful, too serene. Clair found herself expecting an attack of some sort. But they crossed half the stretch of the plains entirely without incident. Clair began to relax.
And then the attack came.
A white-furred form flashed before Clair’s eyes, and came to a halt before the two of them. Clair saw that it was an Absol; likely the same one from the previous night. It was clear that the Absol had no intention of letting them pass, so Clair took Sandslash’s Poké Ball from her belt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Erell take Aerodactyl’s Poké Ball from hers.
They activated the Poké Balls as one; twin bursts of light flashed, and Sandslash and Aerodactyl resolved before them.
“Shadow Claw!” came a ringing voice, shrill and clear. The command was evidently for Absol, for the Pokémon sprang at Aerodactyl and felled him with a single blow from darkness-cloaked paws.
Erell gasped; no foe had ever bested Aerodactyl that easily. Clair found herself growing angry. Who was this opponent, who would not show himself?
“Who goes there?” she snarled.
No reply came from the voice. A long moment passed, and then, “Shadow Claw!”
Absol rushed at Sandslash, baring its fangs. It struck out with a paw, surrounded in a jet-black aura. Sandslash just managed to avoid the attack.
“Fine,” Clair said through gritted teeth. “Sandstorm!”
A light brown aura flared to life around Sandslash. He closed his eyes, and the aura splintered into a million tiny particles, whipped around in a wind that had certainly not been there a second before. The particles buffeted Absol, impairing its vision, but almost at once its unseen Trainer called out, “Whirlwind!”
The dark aura winked back around Absol, only this time it cloaked the Pokémon’s entire body, instead of just a paw. Its fur seemed to be ruffled by an ethereal breeze, though Clair could not feel it, and the sand dispersed at once.
“Perish Song!” the voice called out.
Uh-oh, Clair thought. She remembered from the professor’s lessons that Perish Song would cause all Pokémon who heard it to faint within moments.
“Sandslash!” she called. “Earthquake!”
Before Absol could utter its mystical song, Sandslash struck the ground with his claws. The earth began to rumble, and even Clair struggled to keep her footing.
Absol, however, leaped into the air to evade the rumblings, and opened its mouth. A single, shrill note escaped it, and Sandslash wavered where he stood. In seconds, he fell to the ground, defeated.
Clair was stunned. She fumbled with her Poké Ball, trying to activate it to return Sandslash inside, but suddenly another figure, huge and powerful, landed forcefully between Sandslash and Absol.
At the same time, a young man, dark of face and with gemstones woven into his black hair, stepped forward from behind Clair. Clair knew this man. She had idolized him for five years of her life.
“Tyrantrum,” Grant said, “Earthquake.”
The huge figure––which Clair could now see was Grant’s Tyrantrum––leaped and came down with an earth-shattering crash, while at the same time pinning Absol to the ground with its tail so the four-legged Pokémon could not move.
Absol fainted.
Without pause, Grant called, “Celosia! Show yourself.”
After a moment, the voice came. “No,” it said. Clair could see now that it belonged to the same woman who had invaded the laboratory, the day the children had arrived. “I don’t think I will.”
Absol disappeared with a flash of light, as of a Pokémon being recalled to its Poké Ball.
“Order,” Grant cursed. “I was afraid that would happen.”
He turned to Clair and Erell. Clair, still in shock, said, “You’re … you’re Grant.”
“Yes,” he said, perplexed. “Do I know you?”
“No,” Clair said hastily. “You’ve never met me before. But you must come with us. The world needs you. The world needs Gym Leaders again.”
Thoughts & Annotations:
Wyacanth is a new character, who may or may not appear again. Can't confirm anything regarding her.
As for the Absol, bonus points if you saw the reveal coming when Clair first saw the Absol. Celosia doesn't appear here, but it should be noted that she knew Clair and Erell were going to be there. More on this will come in the next chapter involving Clair and Erell.
This is the second flicker-flashback I've written thus far (the first being Morgan's), and I think I prefer this one. I'm aware Grant doesn't have a Tyrantrum in the games, but it's not intimidating enough for him to use a Tyrunt, so now it's evolved.
And anyone (besides tgk; I already confirmed this to you) want to hazard a guess as to which Pokémon Calem uses?
As for the Absol, bonus points if you saw the reveal coming when Clair first saw the Absol.
Celosia doesn't appear here, but it should be noted that she knew Clair and Erell were going to be there. More on this will come in the next chapter involving Clair and Erell.This is the second flicker-flashback I've written thus far (the first being Morgan's), and I think I prefer this one. I'm aware Grant doesn't have a Tyrantrum in the games, but it's not intimidating enough for him to use a Tyrunt, so now it's evolved.
And anyone (besides tgk; I already confirmed this to you
) want to hazard a guess as to which Pokémon Calem uses?
Sycamore has secretly been suppressing the Spectrum's memories. Something is, and my best guess is Sycamore.
Last edited:
The world was going to end.
Mica had known it for some time now, of course. He saw everything before it happened. Why would the end of the world be any exception?
Glowing pictures flashed around everyone Mica saw, telling Mica––sometimes––what would happen to those people. Lately, they had been growing less and less frequent. As if the people they surrounded would cease to have any futures at all.
A wind that may or may not have actually existed struck Mica’s skin with an icy bite. He shivered and drew his black cloak closer, despite the bright sun overhead. Kalos Route 4 was heavily cultivated, and Mica felt sick knowing that it would all be gone so soon.
He doubted if any of the others knew about his … unique … ability. He’d never told anyone, naturally, but Fylon seemed to know everything. Who could say if he had told the rest? Anyway, it had never been brought up, which suited Mica just fine.
Suddenly, a bright, shining moon appeared and hovered for a long moment over Blake’s head. It revolved slowly, throwing ethereal flashes of light around the pathway, striking the freshly trimmed hedges and the stone fountain. And then it winked out, faster than it had appeared. The ethereal light vanished.
“Strange …” Mica said softly. It was rare that he had no idea how to interpret a portent. It was almost always instinctive.
“What?” said Blake and Liam together, turning. Blake scowled. He didn’t flicker, to Mica’s eyes, even when he wore his jacket. Mica had soon learned to play it off as though Blake did flicker, though, to deflect suspicion.
Not staring directly at Blake, Mica muttered an excuse as he walked past them and continued down the path. Blake and Liam followed without hesitation. Mica had worked hard while with the Spectrum to be something of an enigma. The others took his peculiarities as a matter of course.
Santalune City was not far down the road, its brick pillars casting an impressive, though not unfriendly shadow over the path before Mica. He passed under them without a second glance, Blake and Liam following behind.
Inside the city’s walls, people bustled around, doing whatever it was they needed to do this day. Mica saw images around the heads of a few, and, in some cases, found himself knowing what they meant. A burning torch signified bankruptcy; a ruined castle, dashed hopes. Flower petals meant prosperity to come––rare, in these times. And more often than anything else, a gleaming sword: grave danger.
There were others, of course, the meaning of which Mica had no idea. A felled tree; a clump of berries; an ancient-looking crown. He tried not to focus on these too much. He hated not knowing what omens meant.
“Where do you suppose we’d find Viola?” Liam asked.
Mica stopped walking and turned on the spot, surveying the area. He mentally excluded the omens from his vision. Distraction wasn’t something he needed right now.
“There,” Blake said suddenly.
Mica turned to look where he was pointing, and saw a building across a courtyard to their left that had clearly once been a Gym. The Leaders’ Emblem was crumbling, but still noticeable on the front of the building.
Mica and Liam followed Blake as he crossed the courtyard toward the Gym, not caring if anyone saw them and wondered why they were walking directly toward a building that had been abandoned for ten years.
The doors of the Gym were solid wood, engraved with abstract designs that made little sense to Mica, until he realized they were tunnels made by burrowing Bug-type Pokémon.
A brass door-knocker was affixed to each door. Mica ignored these. He brought out a Poké Ball and activated it, Honedge appearing in a flash of light.
Mica had heard legends saying that Honedge was the product of a deceased spirit entering a sword. He had never bothered to find out if that was the truth. Honedge was Honedge; what more did he need to know?
“Surely you’re not going to knock down the door?” Liam asked, clearly a bit distressed.
Ah, right. Liam would see the door as a work of art, rather than a block of wood carved out by bugs. That was going to be a bit inconvenient.
“Do you have a better idea?” Mica asked.
Liam nodded, releasing his Scyther. Though the Pokémon was, technically speaking, a bug, she was unlike any other Bug-type Mica had ever seen. She stood on her well-developed hind feet, and had a thin, segmented body covered in a bright green carapace.
Most distinguishing of all, however, were her arms, which each ended in a long razor-sharp blade. Scyther efficiently picked the locks on the doors using her blades, before Liam recalled her.
Mica recalled Honedge as well, and shoved open the doors. He went inside.
The interior of the building was unadorned, save for faded photographs lining every wall. He supposed the photographs, all of Bug-type Pokémon, had been taken by Viola. Though Mica’s eye had never been one for art, he had to admire the precision with which the photographs had been taken.
The middle of the room held a hole in the floor, from which a white rope emerged and connected to the ceiling above. Mica went closer and saw that it was made of finely woven silk. Probably from a Bug-type Pokémon. Gym Leaders did like to stay in theme.
Blake approached from the right. He grasped the silk rope with both hands and tugged it a bit. Convinced it would remain attached to the ceiling, he put one foot over the hole, ready to jump.
A knife, a broken mirror, a gauntlet. Glowing images flashed above Blake’s head in quick succession. Mica saw them at once, and the meaning came to him in an instant.
“Blake, wait!” he cried.
Blake turned his head to look over his shoulder at Mica, frowning, at the same time as his other foot left the floor. The rope snapped, and Blake fell through the hole in the floor.
Liam spared less than a moment before once again releasing Scyther. He climbed onto the Pokémon’s back –– evidently Scyther was stronger than she looked –– and Scyther flapped her wings, gliding down through the hole.
“Order,” Mica cursed.
A few moments passed, and Scyther reappeared. She offered her forearm to Mica, who grasped it, and fell through the hole with Scyther.
*
A deep black, darker than the darkest night, engulfed them.
Mica hated not being able to see. He could feel hard ground beneath his feet, and could hear faint gasps coming from Blake, but could see none of it.
“Liam?” Mica asked hoarsely. “You there?”
“I’m here,” Liam said. “I think Blake’s got a broken arm, though.”
Through a gasp, Blake mumbled agreement.
“Order. Can you set it or something?” Mica asked.
“Not without being able to see it,” Liam replied. “Here.”
Blake groaned, and Mica guessed he was getting to his feet.
Suddenly, a light came from out of the blackness, along with the sound of flapping wings. Mica turned his head and saw a Pokémon, a Vivillon, faintly illuminated by the glow from its wings. It was closely followed by a woman, perhaps forty years old, wearing a shabby cloak over dull grey and brown clothes. The woman’s hair was ragged and unkempt, and her face more aged than the pictures Mica had seen, but he was nonetheless sure that this was Viola.
“Strangers,” Viola muttered under her breath. “Haven’t gotten strangers in a while. Oh, and Pokémon Trainers, too, by the look of you. Ah! A Scyther! And such a beautiful specimen, too.”
She rambled on, and Mica got the feeling that if she had lived down here for ten years, she might not be entirely sane. Mica moved toward the light.
“Miss Viola?” he asked.
“You!” she said, suddenly. A dangerous glint had come into her eyes. “When the child of death walks the land once more; the king of darkness; the crawler’s son; the end of all shall come at last; what were eighteen shall now be one.”
Mica felt a chill. “What did you say?” he whispered.
“Ha!” Viola nearly screeched. “Child of death! You know what I speak of, yes? You have seen it?”
Mica hesitated. Yes, he had seen the “end of all,” as Viola had put it. He saw it every day, in the glowing images. But how could Viola know that?
Uncomfortably, he nodded. He was conscious of Liam and Blake, whom he had never told of his strange abilities, watching him.
Viola laughed raucously. “It’s true, then! You –– all of you.”
“All of us … what?” Liam asked nervously.
“You’re Pokémon Trainers,” she said. “Ghost … Dark … Bug. Child of death, king of darkness, crawler’s son. The end comes. You know this.”
Mica nodded again. “Miss Viola,” he said, “you mentioned eighteen becoming one.”
“Ha! Yes!” Viola said. “The Elemental Spectrum!”
“What?” Liam asked sharply. “How do you know about that?”
“The prophecies!” Viola crowed. “The prophecies tell everything!”
Unnerved, and not quite sure what to make of this, Mica continued slowly, “Yes, the Elemental Spectrum. You see, the region is in danger. Team Flare has returned.”
“The end of all, yes,” Viola said. “What do you expect me to do about it?”
“Well,” Mica said, “you’re a Gym Leader––”
Viola’s arm abruptly shot out, flinging a length of silken rope at Mica. Viola kept hold of one end while the other twisted around Mica’s leg. The Gym Leader tugged on the rope, efficiently tripping Mica and causing him to fall to the ground.
“I was a Gym Leader,” she said flatly. The dangerous glint had vanished from her eyes. “No longer. We were the Defenders of Kalos. The Pokémon League. And we failed.”
Any trace of insanity was now gone. Viola only looked sorrowful, undoubtedly remembering the events from ten years before.
Mica untangled the rope from his leg and stood up. “Now’s your chance to redeem yourself,” he said softly. “Come with us. Help defend Kalos once more.”
Viola appeared to consider it for several long moments. “No,” she said finally. “The time of Gym Leaders is past. ‘The road goes ever on and on.’ You must do this yourselves.”
She stood there another minute, lost in thought, and then made a sharp gesture at Blake. Her Vivillon’s aura flared to life, and it formed a silken rope, tying Blake’s arm in a skillful splint. Then, Viola retreated into the darkness without another word. Vivillon’s light winked out.
Mica stood, stunned. “We failed,” he whispered. “She wouldn’t join us.”
He heard Liam sigh, and Scyther’s wings buzz. A shadow crossed above the light from the hole above, and Mica knew Scyther was ferrying Liam up. The Pokémon descended again, this time for Blake. Mica barely noticed. They had failed.
Scyther’s arm nudged Mica’s, and he absently gripped the carapace. Scyther flew him up and out through the hole in the floor, and back into the light.
It didn’t matter. They had failed.
*
Outside, in the sunlight, Mica sat down on a bench beside the fountain at the center of the courtyard. The spray from the fountain tickled his face, but he ignored it. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t the end of the world that Viola hadn’t joined them, except, well, that it was.
The end was coming. Glowing images flashed above the heads of a few passersby, but none of their meanings came to him.
Liam sat down beside Mica. For a while he said nothing. He simply sat, hands clasped, staring into the shimmering rainbows made by the spray of the fountain.
“Blake’s in the Pokémon Center,” he said at last. “They’re giving him a proper sling for his arm.”
Mica nodded morosely. “Viola was right, you know.”
“What do you mean?” Liam asked.
“The end of the world is coming. I’ve known it for a while. I … see things, around people. I know what’s going to happen to them.”
Liam nodded. “And they tell you that the world is going to end?”
Mica looked at him. “You’re taking this awfully calmly.”
Liam shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen? Team Flare’s threatening to take over Kalos and march on the Pokémon League. Sounds like Lysandre’s going after revenge on them. I honestly don’t see what that’s got to do with the fate of the world.”
“I don’t either,” Mica said, “but I’ve never been wrong yet. I don’t know how, but everything as we know it will be gone.”
Liam exhaled. “We’ll just have to prevent that from happening.”
“I don’t know if we can,” Mica said regretfully. “It might happen whether we want it to or not.”
“But we have to try,” Liam said. “That’s why we joined the professor. How could eighteen kids stop the most evil organization Kalos has ever seen? It seems incredible that the professor believes it. But we have to try, for his sake, and for the sake of Kalos.”
Mica nodded eventually. “‘Together, ‘neath the setting sun.’ Shockingly appropriate. The sun sets; the end of a day. Or a week. Or a year. Or even an era. We have to try to make sure we all see the sun rise.”
“Yes,” said Liam, smiling. “A new day.”
Mica had known it for some time now, of course. He saw everything before it happened. Why would the end of the world be any exception?
Glowing pictures flashed around everyone Mica saw, telling Mica––sometimes––what would happen to those people. Lately, they had been growing less and less frequent. As if the people they surrounded would cease to have any futures at all.
A wind that may or may not have actually existed struck Mica’s skin with an icy bite. He shivered and drew his black cloak closer, despite the bright sun overhead. Kalos Route 4 was heavily cultivated, and Mica felt sick knowing that it would all be gone so soon.
He doubted if any of the others knew about his … unique … ability. He’d never told anyone, naturally, but Fylon seemed to know everything. Who could say if he had told the rest? Anyway, it had never been brought up, which suited Mica just fine.
Suddenly, a bright, shining moon appeared and hovered for a long moment over Blake’s head. It revolved slowly, throwing ethereal flashes of light around the pathway, striking the freshly trimmed hedges and the stone fountain. And then it winked out, faster than it had appeared. The ethereal light vanished.
“Strange …” Mica said softly. It was rare that he had no idea how to interpret a portent. It was almost always instinctive.
“What?” said Blake and Liam together, turning. Blake scowled. He didn’t flicker, to Mica’s eyes, even when he wore his jacket. Mica had soon learned to play it off as though Blake did flicker, though, to deflect suspicion.
Not staring directly at Blake, Mica muttered an excuse as he walked past them and continued down the path. Blake and Liam followed without hesitation. Mica had worked hard while with the Spectrum to be something of an enigma. The others took his peculiarities as a matter of course.
Santalune City was not far down the road, its brick pillars casting an impressive, though not unfriendly shadow over the path before Mica. He passed under them without a second glance, Blake and Liam following behind.
Inside the city’s walls, people bustled around, doing whatever it was they needed to do this day. Mica saw images around the heads of a few, and, in some cases, found himself knowing what they meant. A burning torch signified bankruptcy; a ruined castle, dashed hopes. Flower petals meant prosperity to come––rare, in these times. And more often than anything else, a gleaming sword: grave danger.
There were others, of course, the meaning of which Mica had no idea. A felled tree; a clump of berries; an ancient-looking crown. He tried not to focus on these too much. He hated not knowing what omens meant.
“Where do you suppose we’d find Viola?” Liam asked.
Mica stopped walking and turned on the spot, surveying the area. He mentally excluded the omens from his vision. Distraction wasn’t something he needed right now.
“There,” Blake said suddenly.
Mica turned to look where he was pointing, and saw a building across a courtyard to their left that had clearly once been a Gym. The Leaders’ Emblem was crumbling, but still noticeable on the front of the building.
Mica and Liam followed Blake as he crossed the courtyard toward the Gym, not caring if anyone saw them and wondered why they were walking directly toward a building that had been abandoned for ten years.
The doors of the Gym were solid wood, engraved with abstract designs that made little sense to Mica, until he realized they were tunnels made by burrowing Bug-type Pokémon.
A brass door-knocker was affixed to each door. Mica ignored these. He brought out a Poké Ball and activated it, Honedge appearing in a flash of light.
Mica had heard legends saying that Honedge was the product of a deceased spirit entering a sword. He had never bothered to find out if that was the truth. Honedge was Honedge; what more did he need to know?
“Surely you’re not going to knock down the door?” Liam asked, clearly a bit distressed.
Ah, right. Liam would see the door as a work of art, rather than a block of wood carved out by bugs. That was going to be a bit inconvenient.
“Do you have a better idea?” Mica asked.
Liam nodded, releasing his Scyther. Though the Pokémon was, technically speaking, a bug, she was unlike any other Bug-type Mica had ever seen. She stood on her well-developed hind feet, and had a thin, segmented body covered in a bright green carapace.
Most distinguishing of all, however, were her arms, which each ended in a long razor-sharp blade. Scyther efficiently picked the locks on the doors using her blades, before Liam recalled her.
Mica recalled Honedge as well, and shoved open the doors. He went inside.
The interior of the building was unadorned, save for faded photographs lining every wall. He supposed the photographs, all of Bug-type Pokémon, had been taken by Viola. Though Mica’s eye had never been one for art, he had to admire the precision with which the photographs had been taken.
The middle of the room held a hole in the floor, from which a white rope emerged and connected to the ceiling above. Mica went closer and saw that it was made of finely woven silk. Probably from a Bug-type Pokémon. Gym Leaders did like to stay in theme.
Blake approached from the right. He grasped the silk rope with both hands and tugged it a bit. Convinced it would remain attached to the ceiling, he put one foot over the hole, ready to jump.
A knife, a broken mirror, a gauntlet. Glowing images flashed above Blake’s head in quick succession. Mica saw them at once, and the meaning came to him in an instant.
“Blake, wait!” he cried.
Blake turned his head to look over his shoulder at Mica, frowning, at the same time as his other foot left the floor. The rope snapped, and Blake fell through the hole in the floor.
Liam spared less than a moment before once again releasing Scyther. He climbed onto the Pokémon’s back –– evidently Scyther was stronger than she looked –– and Scyther flapped her wings, gliding down through the hole.
“Order,” Mica cursed.
A few moments passed, and Scyther reappeared. She offered her forearm to Mica, who grasped it, and fell through the hole with Scyther.
*
A deep black, darker than the darkest night, engulfed them.
Mica hated not being able to see. He could feel hard ground beneath his feet, and could hear faint gasps coming from Blake, but could see none of it.
“Liam?” Mica asked hoarsely. “You there?”
“I’m here,” Liam said. “I think Blake’s got a broken arm, though.”
Through a gasp, Blake mumbled agreement.
“Order. Can you set it or something?” Mica asked.
“Not without being able to see it,” Liam replied. “Here.”
Blake groaned, and Mica guessed he was getting to his feet.
Suddenly, a light came from out of the blackness, along with the sound of flapping wings. Mica turned his head and saw a Pokémon, a Vivillon, faintly illuminated by the glow from its wings. It was closely followed by a woman, perhaps forty years old, wearing a shabby cloak over dull grey and brown clothes. The woman’s hair was ragged and unkempt, and her face more aged than the pictures Mica had seen, but he was nonetheless sure that this was Viola.
“Strangers,” Viola muttered under her breath. “Haven’t gotten strangers in a while. Oh, and Pokémon Trainers, too, by the look of you. Ah! A Scyther! And such a beautiful specimen, too.”
She rambled on, and Mica got the feeling that if she had lived down here for ten years, she might not be entirely sane. Mica moved toward the light.
“Miss Viola?” he asked.
“You!” she said, suddenly. A dangerous glint had come into her eyes. “When the child of death walks the land once more; the king of darkness; the crawler’s son; the end of all shall come at last; what were eighteen shall now be one.”
Mica felt a chill. “What did you say?” he whispered.
“Ha!” Viola nearly screeched. “Child of death! You know what I speak of, yes? You have seen it?”
Mica hesitated. Yes, he had seen the “end of all,” as Viola had put it. He saw it every day, in the glowing images. But how could Viola know that?
Uncomfortably, he nodded. He was conscious of Liam and Blake, whom he had never told of his strange abilities, watching him.
Viola laughed raucously. “It’s true, then! You –– all of you.”
“All of us … what?” Liam asked nervously.
“You’re Pokémon Trainers,” she said. “Ghost … Dark … Bug. Child of death, king of darkness, crawler’s son. The end comes. You know this.”
Mica nodded again. “Miss Viola,” he said, “you mentioned eighteen becoming one.”
“Ha! Yes!” Viola said. “The Elemental Spectrum!”
“What?” Liam asked sharply. “How do you know about that?”
“The prophecies!” Viola crowed. “The prophecies tell everything!”
Unnerved, and not quite sure what to make of this, Mica continued slowly, “Yes, the Elemental Spectrum. You see, the region is in danger. Team Flare has returned.”
“The end of all, yes,” Viola said. “What do you expect me to do about it?”
“Well,” Mica said, “you’re a Gym Leader––”
Viola’s arm abruptly shot out, flinging a length of silken rope at Mica. Viola kept hold of one end while the other twisted around Mica’s leg. The Gym Leader tugged on the rope, efficiently tripping Mica and causing him to fall to the ground.
“I was a Gym Leader,” she said flatly. The dangerous glint had vanished from her eyes. “No longer. We were the Defenders of Kalos. The Pokémon League. And we failed.”
Any trace of insanity was now gone. Viola only looked sorrowful, undoubtedly remembering the events from ten years before.
Mica untangled the rope from his leg and stood up. “Now’s your chance to redeem yourself,” he said softly. “Come with us. Help defend Kalos once more.”
Viola appeared to consider it for several long moments. “No,” she said finally. “The time of Gym Leaders is past. ‘The road goes ever on and on.’ You must do this yourselves.”
She stood there another minute, lost in thought, and then made a sharp gesture at Blake. Her Vivillon’s aura flared to life, and it formed a silken rope, tying Blake’s arm in a skillful splint. Then, Viola retreated into the darkness without another word. Vivillon’s light winked out.
Mica stood, stunned. “We failed,” he whispered. “She wouldn’t join us.”
He heard Liam sigh, and Scyther’s wings buzz. A shadow crossed above the light from the hole above, and Mica knew Scyther was ferrying Liam up. The Pokémon descended again, this time for Blake. Mica barely noticed. They had failed.
Scyther’s arm nudged Mica’s, and he absently gripped the carapace. Scyther flew him up and out through the hole in the floor, and back into the light.
It didn’t matter. They had failed.
*
Outside, in the sunlight, Mica sat down on a bench beside the fountain at the center of the courtyard. The spray from the fountain tickled his face, but he ignored it. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t the end of the world that Viola hadn’t joined them, except, well, that it was.
The end was coming. Glowing images flashed above the heads of a few passersby, but none of their meanings came to him.
Liam sat down beside Mica. For a while he said nothing. He simply sat, hands clasped, staring into the shimmering rainbows made by the spray of the fountain.
“Blake’s in the Pokémon Center,” he said at last. “They’re giving him a proper sling for his arm.”
Mica nodded morosely. “Viola was right, you know.”
“What do you mean?” Liam asked.
“The end of the world is coming. I’ve known it for a while. I … see things, around people. I know what’s going to happen to them.”
Liam nodded. “And they tell you that the world is going to end?”
Mica looked at him. “You’re taking this awfully calmly.”
Liam shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen? Team Flare’s threatening to take over Kalos and march on the Pokémon League. Sounds like Lysandre’s going after revenge on them. I honestly don’t see what that’s got to do with the fate of the world.”
“I don’t either,” Mica said, “but I’ve never been wrong yet. I don’t know how, but everything as we know it will be gone.”
Liam exhaled. “We’ll just have to prevent that from happening.”
“I don’t know if we can,” Mica said regretfully. “It might happen whether we want it to or not.”
“But we have to try,” Liam said. “That’s why we joined the professor. How could eighteen kids stop the most evil organization Kalos has ever seen? It seems incredible that the professor believes it. But we have to try, for his sake, and for the sake of Kalos.”
Mica nodded eventually. “‘Together, ‘neath the setting sun.’ Shockingly appropriate. The sun sets; the end of a day. Or a week. Or a year. Or even an era. We have to try to make sure we all see the sun rise.”
“Yes,” said Liam, smiling. “A new day.”
This is the last of the "splitting of the Spectrum" chapters. In the next one, we'll go back to Peter, Amaline, Julian, Sera, and Warren, and their travels in Laverre City.
In this chapter, however, we get a viewpoint from Mica. Interpret the signs he sees however you like; I'd love to see some bold predictions about them.
Viola's slightly mad from being alone under the Gym for ten years, though that does fade somewhat by the end. The lines she quotes are fairly relevant, as part of a much larger prophecy that is central to the climax of the story.
Also, @thegrovylekid has a sort of mini-cameo in here, in the last sentence of the chapter.
In this chapter, however, we get a viewpoint from Mica. Interpret the signs he sees however you like; I'd love to see some bold predictions about them.
Viola's slightly mad from being alone under the Gym for ten years, though that does fade somewhat by the end. The lines she quotes are fairly relevant, as part of a much larger prophecy that is central to the climax of the story.
Also, @thegrovylekid has a sort of mini-cameo in here, in the last sentence of the chapter.
Liam is now TGK.
No one can convince me otherwise.
*backflips over the horizon*
No one can convince me otherwise.
*backflips over the horizon*
Prediction: Ragan is one of Sir Aaron's kind, you know that dude from Lucario and the mystery of Mew who could use aura, but instead of blue, it's purple because his partner is Mewtwo, Alakazam, or something like that. Also, the world is going to end for all of the members of the spectrum, but thing is, an elemental spectrum brings new life. This is where Calem comes in, he was once 18 different people, the spectrum, helping to take down Team Flare at Geosenge and when the spectrum came together, it made a new being. Sycamore, not wanting the new spectrum to remember wiped their memories so they wouldn't be worried about dying and being reborn again. (last part off of tgk's prediction)
Yep, he's using an aura, but it's his own aura, not that of his Pokémon (which is how I think it was in Lucario and the Mystery of Mew). Not sure if I already confirmed that or not, but there ya go.
Not sure what you mean by this, unfortunately. Calem's just Calem, though he is one of the most skilled Pokémon Trainers ever.
EDIT: Oh, just realized you probably meant this in reference to Viola's line about eighteen becoming one. Not quite, but great guess.
Can't confirm or deny anything regarding the memories. Sorry.
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...
...
...
.....this.
...
.......I am now dead inside.
I want it to be real but I also don't and it's tearing me up.
This.
Jabberwock... If you do this, I will probably hug you but also cry. Heh heh. Weirdo me.
Nono, it's my job to keep you guessing and throw in plot twists. If I do what people expect me to, all the fun goes away.
...
...
...
....this.
...
....I am now dead inside.
I want it to be real but I also don't and it's tearing me up.
This.
Jabberwock... If you do this, I will probably hug you but also cry. Heh heh. Weirdo me.
Alright, so now I have to let you have some answers.
Early the next morning, not so well rested as they would have liked, the small party packed up their bags and set off for Laverre City. The sun’s first rays turned the skies from a deep black to pale purple, and then slowly to faint orange. The durin trees provided cover and shade, though this far north there was not much warmth to speak of.
Sera thought about the previous night; about Ragan’s words of advice for when they reached Laverre City. The World Tree was not something she had ever heard of, not in the most fanciful tales told by peddlers passing through the east.
A wind blew, rustling the leathery leaves of the durin trees, and Sera remembered the wind from last night. She had turned to look at it, and when she looked back, Ragan had vanished. And just before that, his hand had glowed pale violet. Almost as if …
No, that’s ridiculous.
She pushed the wind out of her mind. Laverre drew nearer, and the forest began to thin. The sun, now being able to penetrate the now not-so-dense forest canopy, shone steadily brighter overhead as the day wore on.
At a point in the day when Sera thought the sun must be nearing the end of its ascent, they came out of the trees and into a large clearing, sparsely dotted by log-built houses and watchtowers. There were a few people about, but none stopped to greet the five people who had just emerged from the woods.
Warren led to way to the closest of the watchtowers. It was built on three sturdy wooden stilts, with a ladder reaching from the ground to a raised platform at the top, surrounded by walls on three sides and a roof. As they approached, a short man, fair-skinned and grey-haired, began to descend the ladder. He turned and saw them, and his face broke into a wide grin.
“Travellers!” he said happily. “We don’t get many visitors these days, you know. I’m Arrie, just old Arrie. Where might you be headed?”
He spoke very quickly and affably, and Sera wondered at how he could be so friendly in these times of turmoil. She felt comfortable giving their names, however, and said, “We’re going to Laverre City, sir. Could you show us the way?”
“Of course, of course, fine travellers! It’s just up there!” Arrie pointed at the trees on the other side of the settlement. “You’ll be there by mid-afternoon, I don’t doubt. Why might you be going to Laverre?”
Sera hesitated. On the one hand, Arrie didn’t seem like he would knowingly endanger them, but she also didn’t know how free he was with gossip around the other members of the settlement.
“We’re … erm, do you know anyone named Ragan, by any chance?” she said.
Arrie shook his head at once. “No, why?”
“He’s … he’s a friend of ours,” Sera invented. “We’re going to see him in Laverre City.”
Arrie nodded, as if he understood. “Well, I wish you luck in finding your friend, then,” he said. “Farewell!”
Sera thanked him and led the way through the settlement to the woods beyond. They passed several children running and playing in the fields around the clearing, and a few stopped to watch the strange travellers.
Winged Pokémon flapped here and there, and a few drifted in the breeze. Others scurried through the grass, and some splashed in puddles. Sera has never seen so many in one place before.
The woods thickened around them as they passed the first few trees. In moments, the gloom from before the clearing had settled into place once again. Murky puddles of mostly mud dotted the earth, and they all took great care to avoid them. Sera’s boots still hadn’t entirely dried from the day before.
They did not stop to eat at midday, but rather gnawed on stale bread as they walked. At one point, Amaline drifted away to collect durin blossoms from the trees. The fruit itself has too thick a skin to eat, but the blossoms were edible, if not filling. Sera began to grow hungry again not long after.
The next few hours passed with little incident. It came as a relief to Sera when the trees finally thinned again, and the party passed into Laverre City.
In a clearing at least five times the size of the one they had just left, with an immense stonewood in the exact center, Laverre City was populated by houses that didn’t seem to be built so much as grown. The roofs of all the houses were covered by leaves with the bright orange color of autumn, and they seemed to grow straight from crisscrossing branches.
There were no watchtowers, unlike the settlement. Sera briefly wondered at that; why would this place not need watchtowers if the smaller settlements did?
The stonewood in the middle of the city –– which could only be the World Tree Ragan had spoken of –– was enormous, at least a hundred feet around and three times that in height. Its branches spread over all of Laverre, shading it from the sun overhead. Leaves and blossoms constantly spiralled down from the canopy, raining on the inhabitants below.
Carved into the World Tree’s trunk, at least ten feet over their heads, was a massive clock-face, with hands seemingly made from whittled branches of the tree. The center of the clock-face held the Leaders’ Emblem, the ancient symbol of the Pokémon League.
So the World Tree had somehow been Valerie’s Pokémon Gym, then. But how did one get in? There was no door. Sera felt a little ridiculous for even considering that there could be a door in a tree in the first place.
An elderly woman crossed in front of them, paying the travellers no heed. Sera stopped her, and asked, “Excuse me, but would you happen to know how we could get into the World Tree?”
“Into the World Tree?” the woman said, clearly amused. “What an interesting notion! One does not simply walk into the World Tree, child.”
The woman chuckled and shook her head, and walked on. A wind blew, rustling the leaves of the trees behind them. Sera sighed. This was going to be harder than she had thought.
Wait. Sera turned, and realized she could almost see the wind as it blew through the trees. There was a soft purple glow about it.
Purple … Ragan!
The events of the previous night came back to Sera again. Ragan’s hand, which had glowed pale purple, had clenched into a fist. Then the wind had blown. Sera turned to look, and … Ragan was gone.
The purple glow again. It’s as if … as if he had an aura.
But humans didn’t have auras. Everyone knew that. Then why did his hand glow purple?
She thought about Ragan’s words, which had disturbed Warren so. “It’s said in Laverren legends that if anyone manages to gain entry to the World Tree, they will find the answers they’ve been looking for.”
But how did they gain entry?
Sera led the others through what seemed to be a neighborhood of the growing houses, and to the base of the World Tree.
A small brass plaque built into the trunk near the ground read,
“A creature’s aura suddenly burning
marks the beginning of a turning.”
Sera crouched before the plaque and read it aloud. And then again. And again, trying to find some meaning in the words.
“A creature’s aura …” Warren said. “How does that mark the beginning of a turning? Our Pokémon have always been able to use their auras.”
Sera thought back. “Remember last night? Ragan disappeared after the wind blew?”
Warren nodded.
“Well, I thought I saw something just before that happened,” Sera said. “His hand turned purple, almost like he was using an aura.”
“A person using an aura?” Peter asked, scoffing. “People don’t have auras.”
“That’s what I thought, too, but then I saw the wind blow when we first got here,” Sera said. “It looked pale purple, the same color Ragan’s hand turned.”
“That could have been done by a Pokémon, though,” Julian said. “No reason for it to be a human.”
“That’s true,” Sera said, frowning.
As they sat, lost in thought, a voice came from behind them: “I couldn’t help overhearing, but you children don’t seem to be from around here.”
Sera stood up and whirled around. A woman nearing her middle years stood there. Her face was creased from smiling, and her eyes were friendly and warm. Her hair, curiously, bore no trace of grey.
“My name’s Myenne,” she said. “It would be my pleasure to be of assistance however I may.”
Sera introduced herself. “Do you …” She hesitated.
“Do you know how to get into the World Tree?” Amaline asked.
Myenne looked taken aback. “Into the World Tree? I … I did not know such a thing was possible.”
Sera sighed. She had expected as much. Suddenly, another thought occurred to her. “Do you know of a man named Ragan?”
Myenne’s smile faltered for just an instant before she resumed it again. “Ragan? No, no, I know of no man named Ragan. Why do you ask? Are you searching for him?”
“Not … exactly,” Sera said. “He told us we could find the answers we seek in the World Tree.”
“Hmm,” Myenne said thoughtfully. “Something similar is spoken of in our legends. When an answer here is sought, in the Tree it may be taught. But they tell us nothing of how to enter the Tree.”
“What about this plaque?” Sera asked. “Do the words on it mean anything?”
“A creature’s aura?” Myenne said, peering at the plaque. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that. It sounds like something of times long past. It’s dangerous to know anything about that in these times.”
Sera began to grow frustrated. “Thanks anyway,” she snapped at Myenne.
Myenne looked mildly surprised. Then, her fists clenched at her sides. She seemed about to say something, but then a loud cracking sound came from above them. Sera looked upward in time to see a dead branch, splintering at one end, fall from the trunk of the World Tree.
Her training kicked in. She grabbed Amaura’s Poké Ball from her belt, and activated, calling out as she did so: “Light Screen!”
Amaura appeared, and her aura instantly flared to life. A thin barrier seemingly warped the air above them, and it held fast as the branch struck it before falling to the ground.
Sera realized suddenly that she had called Amaura out in plain sight of the citizens of Laverre City. Well, she thought, if Team Flare didn’t know we were here already, they certainly do now.
She hastily recalled Amaura, and then turned to look at Myenne––or rather, where Myenne had been standing. The woman was gone.
Strangely, Sera didn’t feel anything but more frustration at this. First Ragan, and now Myenne––did all Laverrens just vanish whenever you tried to get a straight answer out of them?
“Sera,” Peter said in a strangled voice. “Look at this.”
Sera turned back, and saw that a glowing circle, perhaps ten feet around, had appeared on the trunk of the World Tree, swallowing up the plaque. It shimmered a blue so pale it was almost white. The same color as Amaura’s aura.
Sera gasped, reaching out to touch the circle. The air around it shimmered as well, shockingly reminiscent of the barrier formed by Light Screen.
As the tip of her finger came into contact with the circle, she felt a tugging, as if the circle sought to draw her in.
Could … could this be … how we get into the World Tree?
With a last glance backward at the others, Sera took a deep breath, and let the circle pull her inside…
Flicker.
… and into an open field of grass dotted with zinnias. Trees lined the edge of the field,watered by pools around the base of some of them, and the sun shone brightly overhead. Sera knew, logically, that this was ridiculous. She was inside a tree––trees didn’t grow inside trees, and the sun certainly didn’t shine in them.
So … where was she?
Warren appeared next to her. There was no trace of the circle on this side of the tree’s trunk. She worried for a moment about how they would get back out.
Peter stepped through next, and then Julian and Amaline. Sera turned in a circle, looking at her surroundings.
Suddenly, she saw a man walking toward them. As he drew nearer, she realized that she recognized that mane of shaggy white hair, and the ragged travelling robes.
“Ragan?” she asked in disbelief. “I thought you were going to Lumiose!”
Ragan smiled. “I have had many names through the ages. Amis. Jaradel. Ragan. Here, however, I am called Azoth.”
“Azoth …” Warren’s mouth was agape. “You mean …”
“You’re the king?” Amaline asked. “From the stories?”
Ragan––Azoth––nodded. “I was once the king of the Kalos region. But that was three thousand years ago.”
Sera felt she should kneel, or bow, or something. Her mouth felt very dry. “Ah … Master––King Azoth …”
Azoth snorted. “I’m no king,” he said. “I’m just an old man now. My time will soon be here, I fear. I only hope I can do what I can to help you before then.”
“H––help us?” Sera asked. “You mean against Team Flare?”
“Ah, yes,” Azoth said. “Tell me, what has my great-great-great-grandnephew gotten up to now?”
“Your …” Sera was confused. “You mean Lysandre? Shouldn’t there be about thirty more ‘greats’ in there?”
“No,” Azoth said simply. “The thing about immortality is that we’re all rather long-lived, you see.”
“Yes, but …” Sera trailed off. “Never mind. We told you in the woods that we were here to search for Valerie, the Gym Leader.”
“Of course,” Azoth said. “I regret that deception, but, you see, it was necessary. I do know where you can find her. Come with me.”
He strode off through the tall grass of the field. Sera hastened to follow him, with the others trailing behind.
As they walked, their surroundings hardly seemed to change at all. The same trees seemed to repeat themselves over and over again. The sun never grew any higher or lower in the sky.
They did pass people, on occasion. Once, they saw a young woman in a shirt of many swirling colors wading barefoot in a pool. A Chikorita––a small Grass-type Pokémon––splashed around her feet.
Perhaps ten minutes after that, a young black-haired man, wearing a dark brown cloak, ran through the field after a small yellow Pokémon that ran too fast for Sera to see more than a blur.
Eventually, they came to a flat stone rising a few feet above the earth. Azoth stopped before the stone and raised his arms.
A pale purple nimbus––an aura––flared to life around his hands. The surface of the stone glowed the same color. Azoth reached out and brushed the stone with the tips of his fingers. Suddenly, he disappeared.
Sera gasped. “What did he do?”
Warren approached the stone, which still glowed, despite Azoth being gone. He touched the stone, and called back, “It’s like the circle on the trunk of the tree! Just touch it and let it pull you through!”
And he vanished. Sera approached the stone next, and, like Warren, touched the stone. She felt the tugging sensation again, and allowed herself to be pulled along with it, like a current in the sea. She felt herself fading …
Flicker.
… and came to her senses just behind Azoth and Warren in a majestic room, the walls plated with gold and silver. The floors were cold marble, with Kantonese rugs of the finest maroon velvet. A regal woman wearing deep pink-and-purple robes sat on a gold-leafed throne at the front of the room, before curtains the same maroon as the rugs. Her eyes were jet-black, without even any whites.
Sera suddenly realized that this regal lady was Myenne, the woman who had vanished when Sera has asked her how to get into the World Tree. But why was she here, and why had Azoth brought them to see her?
Azoth dropped to one knee, bowing to Myenne. “My lady Valerie.”
Sera felt, for the second time in one day, astonished. Ragan was a three-thousand-year-old king, and Myenne was Valerie, the Gym Leader of Laverre City? She imitated Azoth at once.
“You need not ever do that here, my lord,” Valerie said. She sounded faintly amused.
Azoth remained bowing.
“Stubborn as ever, I see,” Valerie observed. “Rise.”
Azoth stood up, and Sera did so as well. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Warren, Peter, Julian and Amaline had also been kneeling, and stood up now.
“My lady,” Azoth said, “these are the ones I told you of. Augustine Sycamore’s Elemental Spectrum. You remember.”
“Yes.” Valerie tilted her head, gazing at the group with her jet-black eyes. “Welcome to the World Tree, young Trainers. Why have you come?”
“Lysandre,” Azoth spat. “Team Flare is active once again. They mean to exact revenge on the League.”
“Hmm,” Valerie said, frowning. “We shall see about that. I do not believe there is anything Team Flare can do to harm us here.”
“But … they’re marching on the castle as we speak!” Sera said. Azoth cast her a scandalized look, but she ignored him. “Will you do nothing to help us?”
Valerie turned her mysterious gaze on Sera. “I don’t doubt your word, child, but my highest concern has always been the safety of those inside the Tree. I cannot risk their lives for the Pokémon League.”
Sera felt herself growing frustrated again. Myenne or Valerie, this woman seemed to have a talent for making her do that.
She calmed herself, though. Valerie was the more powerful here, and it would not do to get in a fight, not when she wanted Valerie to join them.
“My lady …” Azoth said. He sounded troubled. “Please reconsider. This is for the good of all of Kalos.”
Valerie tilted her head again. “Hmm … coming from you, that does mean rather a lot, Lord Azoth. Very well. I will consider.”
She gestured to her side, and from the curtains behind the throne came the young man with black hair they had seen earlier in the fields. His small yellow Pokémon––which Sera could now see was a Pichu––sat upon his shoulder.
“Kharissan,” Valerie said, “is a resident of the World Tree, and a descendant of the ancient kings. He also occasionally has the gift of foresight.”
Kharissan nodded. “As Life and Death are both unmade; the stone of victory the King retakes; the price of Order must be paid; for the cost of our mistakes.”
“That was a prophecy made at the birth of Azoth’s son eighteen years ago,” Valerie said.
“It will come to pass,” Kharissan said. “Very soon.”
“Yes, anyway,” Valerie said, “Kharissan, do you foresee anything about these five children?”
“Hmmm …” Kharissan said. “A flame. A sword. A rather ominous cloud. Well, that certainly doesn’t look good. Ahh … and light. Eighteen sparks of light in the midst of the cloud. I think the meaning of that one is rather obvious, my lady.”
“The Elemental Spectrum,” said Warren. “The dark cloud has to be Team Flare, right?”
“Not necessarily,” Kharissan said. “Danger, of course. Perhaps even grave danger. But I am not so sure about it being Team Flare. There’s something much bigger going on here. Something none of us can even guess at.”
Valerie shot a startled look at Azoth, whose face remained impassive. “I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t deal with,” he said. “But what of Team Flare? Do you see anything with regard to them?”
“The flame,” Kharissan said. “Likely Team Flare. An ember in shadow––your descendant, Lysandre. And … the Tree.” He frowned. “That shouldn’t happen. The World Tree, up in flames. Perhaps I misinterpreted it.”
“This is what shall come to pass?” Valerie asked worriedly.
“This is but a thread of time,” Kharissan said. “What will be may yet be changed.”
“We must stop this, then,” Azoth said. “We must not allow them to attack the World Tree.”
Valerie looked lost in thought. “Perhaps you did misinterpret it,” she said. “After all, my lord, you and the children say that Team Flare is marching on the castle. How could they reach us here?”
Azoth didn’t look convinced.
“I shall order a double guard on the outer dimensions,” Valerie said. “They will never reach us. Kharissan, you are dismissed.”
Kharissan bowed and retreated through the curtains.
“My lady …” Azoth began.
“Do not press me on this, Azoth,” Valerie said. “You are my most trusted advisor, but I shall be firm on this.”
Azoth reluctantly nodded. “I shall take my leave, then.”
“Dismissed,” Valerie said.
Azoth turned and strode to the back of the room, where a stone like the first awaited them. Azoth raised his arms again, and once more his aura flared. The stone glowed, and Azoth touched it, fading from sight. Sera was the first, this time, to approach the stone after Azoth and follow him, letting herself be swept away by the current.
Sera thought about the previous night; about Ragan’s words of advice for when they reached Laverre City. The World Tree was not something she had ever heard of, not in the most fanciful tales told by peddlers passing through the east.
A wind blew, rustling the leathery leaves of the durin trees, and Sera remembered the wind from last night. She had turned to look at it, and when she looked back, Ragan had vanished. And just before that, his hand had glowed pale violet. Almost as if …
No, that’s ridiculous.
She pushed the wind out of her mind. Laverre drew nearer, and the forest began to thin. The sun, now being able to penetrate the now not-so-dense forest canopy, shone steadily brighter overhead as the day wore on.
At a point in the day when Sera thought the sun must be nearing the end of its ascent, they came out of the trees and into a large clearing, sparsely dotted by log-built houses and watchtowers. There were a few people about, but none stopped to greet the five people who had just emerged from the woods.
Warren led to way to the closest of the watchtowers. It was built on three sturdy wooden stilts, with a ladder reaching from the ground to a raised platform at the top, surrounded by walls on three sides and a roof. As they approached, a short man, fair-skinned and grey-haired, began to descend the ladder. He turned and saw them, and his face broke into a wide grin.
“Travellers!” he said happily. “We don’t get many visitors these days, you know. I’m Arrie, just old Arrie. Where might you be headed?”
He spoke very quickly and affably, and Sera wondered at how he could be so friendly in these times of turmoil. She felt comfortable giving their names, however, and said, “We’re going to Laverre City, sir. Could you show us the way?”
“Of course, of course, fine travellers! It’s just up there!” Arrie pointed at the trees on the other side of the settlement. “You’ll be there by mid-afternoon, I don’t doubt. Why might you be going to Laverre?”
Sera hesitated. On the one hand, Arrie didn’t seem like he would knowingly endanger them, but she also didn’t know how free he was with gossip around the other members of the settlement.
“We’re … erm, do you know anyone named Ragan, by any chance?” she said.
Arrie shook his head at once. “No, why?”
“He’s … he’s a friend of ours,” Sera invented. “We’re going to see him in Laverre City.”
Arrie nodded, as if he understood. “Well, I wish you luck in finding your friend, then,” he said. “Farewell!”
Sera thanked him and led the way through the settlement to the woods beyond. They passed several children running and playing in the fields around the clearing, and a few stopped to watch the strange travellers.
Winged Pokémon flapped here and there, and a few drifted in the breeze. Others scurried through the grass, and some splashed in puddles. Sera has never seen so many in one place before.
The woods thickened around them as they passed the first few trees. In moments, the gloom from before the clearing had settled into place once again. Murky puddles of mostly mud dotted the earth, and they all took great care to avoid them. Sera’s boots still hadn’t entirely dried from the day before.
They did not stop to eat at midday, but rather gnawed on stale bread as they walked. At one point, Amaline drifted away to collect durin blossoms from the trees. The fruit itself has too thick a skin to eat, but the blossoms were edible, if not filling. Sera began to grow hungry again not long after.
The next few hours passed with little incident. It came as a relief to Sera when the trees finally thinned again, and the party passed into Laverre City.
In a clearing at least five times the size of the one they had just left, with an immense stonewood in the exact center, Laverre City was populated by houses that didn’t seem to be built so much as grown. The roofs of all the houses were covered by leaves with the bright orange color of autumn, and they seemed to grow straight from crisscrossing branches.
There were no watchtowers, unlike the settlement. Sera briefly wondered at that; why would this place not need watchtowers if the smaller settlements did?
The stonewood in the middle of the city –– which could only be the World Tree Ragan had spoken of –– was enormous, at least a hundred feet around and three times that in height. Its branches spread over all of Laverre, shading it from the sun overhead. Leaves and blossoms constantly spiralled down from the canopy, raining on the inhabitants below.
Carved into the World Tree’s trunk, at least ten feet over their heads, was a massive clock-face, with hands seemingly made from whittled branches of the tree. The center of the clock-face held the Leaders’ Emblem, the ancient symbol of the Pokémon League.
So the World Tree had somehow been Valerie’s Pokémon Gym, then. But how did one get in? There was no door. Sera felt a little ridiculous for even considering that there could be a door in a tree in the first place.
An elderly woman crossed in front of them, paying the travellers no heed. Sera stopped her, and asked, “Excuse me, but would you happen to know how we could get into the World Tree?”
“Into the World Tree?” the woman said, clearly amused. “What an interesting notion! One does not simply walk into the World Tree, child.”
The woman chuckled and shook her head, and walked on. A wind blew, rustling the leaves of the trees behind them. Sera sighed. This was going to be harder than she had thought.
Wait. Sera turned, and realized she could almost see the wind as it blew through the trees. There was a soft purple glow about it.
Purple … Ragan!
The events of the previous night came back to Sera again. Ragan’s hand, which had glowed pale purple, had clenched into a fist. Then the wind had blown. Sera turned to look, and … Ragan was gone.
The purple glow again. It’s as if … as if he had an aura.
But humans didn’t have auras. Everyone knew that. Then why did his hand glow purple?
She thought about Ragan’s words, which had disturbed Warren so. “It’s said in Laverren legends that if anyone manages to gain entry to the World Tree, they will find the answers they’ve been looking for.”
But how did they gain entry?
Sera led the others through what seemed to be a neighborhood of the growing houses, and to the base of the World Tree.
A small brass plaque built into the trunk near the ground read,
“A creature’s aura suddenly burning
marks the beginning of a turning.”
Sera crouched before the plaque and read it aloud. And then again. And again, trying to find some meaning in the words.
“A creature’s aura …” Warren said. “How does that mark the beginning of a turning? Our Pokémon have always been able to use their auras.”
Sera thought back. “Remember last night? Ragan disappeared after the wind blew?”
Warren nodded.
“Well, I thought I saw something just before that happened,” Sera said. “His hand turned purple, almost like he was using an aura.”
“A person using an aura?” Peter asked, scoffing. “People don’t have auras.”
“That’s what I thought, too, but then I saw the wind blow when we first got here,” Sera said. “It looked pale purple, the same color Ragan’s hand turned.”
“That could have been done by a Pokémon, though,” Julian said. “No reason for it to be a human.”
“That’s true,” Sera said, frowning.
As they sat, lost in thought, a voice came from behind them: “I couldn’t help overhearing, but you children don’t seem to be from around here.”
Sera stood up and whirled around. A woman nearing her middle years stood there. Her face was creased from smiling, and her eyes were friendly and warm. Her hair, curiously, bore no trace of grey.
“My name’s Myenne,” she said. “It would be my pleasure to be of assistance however I may.”
Sera introduced herself. “Do you …” She hesitated.
“Do you know how to get into the World Tree?” Amaline asked.
Myenne looked taken aback. “Into the World Tree? I … I did not know such a thing was possible.”
Sera sighed. She had expected as much. Suddenly, another thought occurred to her. “Do you know of a man named Ragan?”
Myenne’s smile faltered for just an instant before she resumed it again. “Ragan? No, no, I know of no man named Ragan. Why do you ask? Are you searching for him?”
“Not … exactly,” Sera said. “He told us we could find the answers we seek in the World Tree.”
“Hmm,” Myenne said thoughtfully. “Something similar is spoken of in our legends. When an answer here is sought, in the Tree it may be taught. But they tell us nothing of how to enter the Tree.”
“What about this plaque?” Sera asked. “Do the words on it mean anything?”
“A creature’s aura?” Myenne said, peering at the plaque. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that. It sounds like something of times long past. It’s dangerous to know anything about that in these times.”
Sera began to grow frustrated. “Thanks anyway,” she snapped at Myenne.
Myenne looked mildly surprised. Then, her fists clenched at her sides. She seemed about to say something, but then a loud cracking sound came from above them. Sera looked upward in time to see a dead branch, splintering at one end, fall from the trunk of the World Tree.
Her training kicked in. She grabbed Amaura’s Poké Ball from her belt, and activated, calling out as she did so: “Light Screen!”
Amaura appeared, and her aura instantly flared to life. A thin barrier seemingly warped the air above them, and it held fast as the branch struck it before falling to the ground.
Sera realized suddenly that she had called Amaura out in plain sight of the citizens of Laverre City. Well, she thought, if Team Flare didn’t know we were here already, they certainly do now.
She hastily recalled Amaura, and then turned to look at Myenne––or rather, where Myenne had been standing. The woman was gone.
Strangely, Sera didn’t feel anything but more frustration at this. First Ragan, and now Myenne––did all Laverrens just vanish whenever you tried to get a straight answer out of them?
“Sera,” Peter said in a strangled voice. “Look at this.”
Sera turned back, and saw that a glowing circle, perhaps ten feet around, had appeared on the trunk of the World Tree, swallowing up the plaque. It shimmered a blue so pale it was almost white. The same color as Amaura’s aura.
Sera gasped, reaching out to touch the circle. The air around it shimmered as well, shockingly reminiscent of the barrier formed by Light Screen.
As the tip of her finger came into contact with the circle, she felt a tugging, as if the circle sought to draw her in.
Could … could this be … how we get into the World Tree?
With a last glance backward at the others, Sera took a deep breath, and let the circle pull her inside…
Flicker.
… and into an open field of grass dotted with zinnias. Trees lined the edge of the field,watered by pools around the base of some of them, and the sun shone brightly overhead. Sera knew, logically, that this was ridiculous. She was inside a tree––trees didn’t grow inside trees, and the sun certainly didn’t shine in them.
So … where was she?
Warren appeared next to her. There was no trace of the circle on this side of the tree’s trunk. She worried for a moment about how they would get back out.
Peter stepped through next, and then Julian and Amaline. Sera turned in a circle, looking at her surroundings.
Suddenly, she saw a man walking toward them. As he drew nearer, she realized that she recognized that mane of shaggy white hair, and the ragged travelling robes.
“Ragan?” she asked in disbelief. “I thought you were going to Lumiose!”
Ragan smiled. “I have had many names through the ages. Amis. Jaradel. Ragan. Here, however, I am called Azoth.”
“Azoth …” Warren’s mouth was agape. “You mean …”
“You’re the king?” Amaline asked. “From the stories?”
Ragan––Azoth––nodded. “I was once the king of the Kalos region. But that was three thousand years ago.”
Sera felt she should kneel, or bow, or something. Her mouth felt very dry. “Ah … Master––King Azoth …”
Azoth snorted. “I’m no king,” he said. “I’m just an old man now. My time will soon be here, I fear. I only hope I can do what I can to help you before then.”
“H––help us?” Sera asked. “You mean against Team Flare?”
“Ah, yes,” Azoth said. “Tell me, what has my great-great-great-grandnephew gotten up to now?”
“Your …” Sera was confused. “You mean Lysandre? Shouldn’t there be about thirty more ‘greats’ in there?”
“No,” Azoth said simply. “The thing about immortality is that we’re all rather long-lived, you see.”
“Yes, but …” Sera trailed off. “Never mind. We told you in the woods that we were here to search for Valerie, the Gym Leader.”
“Of course,” Azoth said. “I regret that deception, but, you see, it was necessary. I do know where you can find her. Come with me.”
He strode off through the tall grass of the field. Sera hastened to follow him, with the others trailing behind.
As they walked, their surroundings hardly seemed to change at all. The same trees seemed to repeat themselves over and over again. The sun never grew any higher or lower in the sky.
They did pass people, on occasion. Once, they saw a young woman in a shirt of many swirling colors wading barefoot in a pool. A Chikorita––a small Grass-type Pokémon––splashed around her feet.
Perhaps ten minutes after that, a young black-haired man, wearing a dark brown cloak, ran through the field after a small yellow Pokémon that ran too fast for Sera to see more than a blur.
Eventually, they came to a flat stone rising a few feet above the earth. Azoth stopped before the stone and raised his arms.
A pale purple nimbus––an aura––flared to life around his hands. The surface of the stone glowed the same color. Azoth reached out and brushed the stone with the tips of his fingers. Suddenly, he disappeared.
Sera gasped. “What did he do?”
Warren approached the stone, which still glowed, despite Azoth being gone. He touched the stone, and called back, “It’s like the circle on the trunk of the tree! Just touch it and let it pull you through!”
And he vanished. Sera approached the stone next, and, like Warren, touched the stone. She felt the tugging sensation again, and allowed herself to be pulled along with it, like a current in the sea. She felt herself fading …
Flicker.
… and came to her senses just behind Azoth and Warren in a majestic room, the walls plated with gold and silver. The floors were cold marble, with Kantonese rugs of the finest maroon velvet. A regal woman wearing deep pink-and-purple robes sat on a gold-leafed throne at the front of the room, before curtains the same maroon as the rugs. Her eyes were jet-black, without even any whites.
Sera suddenly realized that this regal lady was Myenne, the woman who had vanished when Sera has asked her how to get into the World Tree. But why was she here, and why had Azoth brought them to see her?
Azoth dropped to one knee, bowing to Myenne. “My lady Valerie.”
Sera felt, for the second time in one day, astonished. Ragan was a three-thousand-year-old king, and Myenne was Valerie, the Gym Leader of Laverre City? She imitated Azoth at once.
“You need not ever do that here, my lord,” Valerie said. She sounded faintly amused.
Azoth remained bowing.
“Stubborn as ever, I see,” Valerie observed. “Rise.”
Azoth stood up, and Sera did so as well. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Warren, Peter, Julian and Amaline had also been kneeling, and stood up now.
“My lady,” Azoth said, “these are the ones I told you of. Augustine Sycamore’s Elemental Spectrum. You remember.”
“Yes.” Valerie tilted her head, gazing at the group with her jet-black eyes. “Welcome to the World Tree, young Trainers. Why have you come?”
“Lysandre,” Azoth spat. “Team Flare is active once again. They mean to exact revenge on the League.”
“Hmm,” Valerie said, frowning. “We shall see about that. I do not believe there is anything Team Flare can do to harm us here.”
“But … they’re marching on the castle as we speak!” Sera said. Azoth cast her a scandalized look, but she ignored him. “Will you do nothing to help us?”
Valerie turned her mysterious gaze on Sera. “I don’t doubt your word, child, but my highest concern has always been the safety of those inside the Tree. I cannot risk their lives for the Pokémon League.”
Sera felt herself growing frustrated again. Myenne or Valerie, this woman seemed to have a talent for making her do that.
She calmed herself, though. Valerie was the more powerful here, and it would not do to get in a fight, not when she wanted Valerie to join them.
“My lady …” Azoth said. He sounded troubled. “Please reconsider. This is for the good of all of Kalos.”
Valerie tilted her head again. “Hmm … coming from you, that does mean rather a lot, Lord Azoth. Very well. I will consider.”
She gestured to her side, and from the curtains behind the throne came the young man with black hair they had seen earlier in the fields. His small yellow Pokémon––which Sera could now see was a Pichu––sat upon his shoulder.
“Kharissan,” Valerie said, “is a resident of the World Tree, and a descendant of the ancient kings. He also occasionally has the gift of foresight.”
Kharissan nodded. “As Life and Death are both unmade; the stone of victory the King retakes; the price of Order must be paid; for the cost of our mistakes.”
“That was a prophecy made at the birth of Azoth’s son eighteen years ago,” Valerie said.
“It will come to pass,” Kharissan said. “Very soon.”
“Yes, anyway,” Valerie said, “Kharissan, do you foresee anything about these five children?”
“Hmmm …” Kharissan said. “A flame. A sword. A rather ominous cloud. Well, that certainly doesn’t look good. Ahh … and light. Eighteen sparks of light in the midst of the cloud. I think the meaning of that one is rather obvious, my lady.”
“The Elemental Spectrum,” said Warren. “The dark cloud has to be Team Flare, right?”
“Not necessarily,” Kharissan said. “Danger, of course. Perhaps even grave danger. But I am not so sure about it being Team Flare. There’s something much bigger going on here. Something none of us can even guess at.”
Valerie shot a startled look at Azoth, whose face remained impassive. “I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t deal with,” he said. “But what of Team Flare? Do you see anything with regard to them?”
“The flame,” Kharissan said. “Likely Team Flare. An ember in shadow––your descendant, Lysandre. And … the Tree.” He frowned. “That shouldn’t happen. The World Tree, up in flames. Perhaps I misinterpreted it.”
“This is what shall come to pass?” Valerie asked worriedly.
“This is but a thread of time,” Kharissan said. “What will be may yet be changed.”
“We must stop this, then,” Azoth said. “We must not allow them to attack the World Tree.”
Valerie looked lost in thought. “Perhaps you did misinterpret it,” she said. “After all, my lord, you and the children say that Team Flare is marching on the castle. How could they reach us here?”
Azoth didn’t look convinced.
“I shall order a double guard on the outer dimensions,” Valerie said. “They will never reach us. Kharissan, you are dismissed.”
Kharissan bowed and retreated through the curtains.
“My lady …” Azoth began.
“Do not press me on this, Azoth,” Valerie said. “You are my most trusted advisor, but I shall be firm on this.”
Azoth reluctantly nodded. “I shall take my leave, then.”
“Dismissed,” Valerie said.
Azoth turned and strode to the back of the room, where a stone like the first awaited them. Azoth raised his arms again, and once more his aura flared. The stone glowed, and Azoth touched it, fading from sight. Sera was the first, this time, to approach the stone after Azoth and follow him, letting herself be swept away by the current.
Think this might be my favorite chapter yet. You all finally get answers to some of the biggest questions.
In addition to being one of the most plot-important chapters, though, this one has a few cameos. See if you can spot them.
Really just one other note to put here: If you'll remember, Zavier was Azoth's son. His mother was Valerie, if anyone's interested.
Apart from that, looking forward to seeing any bold predictions and theories you might have!
In addition to being one of the most plot-important chapters, though, this one has a few cameos. See if you can spot them.
Really just one other note to put here: If you'll remember, Zavier was Azoth's son. His mother was Valerie, if anyone's interested.
Apart from that, looking forward to seeing any bold predictions and theories you might have!
Ash in Riley's outfit was one of the few times Ash looked good.
Anyways, I'm glad you liked Mandy so much, Jabber. She's even groovy-ing other dimensions.
Anyways, I'm glad you liked Mandy so much, Jabber. She's even groovy-ing other dimensions.
As far as I know, that particular legend hasn't actually spread outside of Sinnoh (except by Ash, but thank Order Ash isn't canon for this
).Mandy does seem to have a talent for that, doesn't she?
“Azoth, you say?” Professor Sycamore said, scratching his stubbly chin thoughtfully. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”
Roc rose from his seat in the Pokémon Center lobby and went over to where the professor sat, engaged in conversation with Sera through a computer screen. Roc watched as she left the window, replaced by a head framed by unkempt white hair.
“Augustine,” the man said. “It’s been too long.”
“Azoth!” the professor cried. “Old friend, it’s good to see you.”
At that, Ani hastened over, followed closely by Nika. Ani let out a small gasp when she saw the man’s face.
“But that’s …” She seemed at a loss for words.
“The king,” Professor Sycamore supplied. “His Majesty Lord Azoth of Kalos, Protector of Life and Death, Bringer of Order.”
Azoth waved aside the statement. “I believe I told you I don’t use that title anymore,” he said.
“You can’t hide from it,” the professor said amiably. “But very well. Do explain where you’ve been the last ten years.”
“Why, the World Tree, of course,” Azoth said. “I was worried you’d figure that out too easily and come looking for me.”
“I assure you, my friend, I had no idea,” Professor Sycamore said. “But why? Why go into hiding?”
“I …” Azoth began. He sighed. “I was ashamed. After the havoc my … descendant wreaked with the weapon, I did not wish to be known in Kalos any longer. My name will always be marred in history by that one great failure.”
Professor Sycamore was silent. Then, Ani spoke up. “King Azoth?” she said timidly.
“Please don’t call me that, child,” Azoth said tiredly. “I am no king. A king would not hide from his people when they are in danger.”
Ani hesitated. “Well … your name … all the history books say that you were a great man and a magnificent ruler. You can be that man again, sir.”
The professor nodded. “She speaks truly, Azoth.”
Azoth sat back. He did not speak for a long moment. Roc watched him anxiously.
“Tell me something, child,” Azoth said, leaning forward again. “You are part of Augustine’s Elemental Spectrum?”
“Yes, sir,” Ani said, nodding.
“Hmm,” Azoth rumbled, scratching his chin. “A Fire-type user. And one who knows the stories. Tell me, have you read the Prophecies of Order?”
To Roc’s surprise, Ani shook her head. That was unexpected. A book Ani hadn’t read?
“They chronicle everything that was, is, and will be, in the grand schemes of Order itself,” Azoth said. “Very few copies still exist. I ask, you see, because you are mentioned in them.”
Ani took a step back, visibly startled. “Are … are you sure?”
“The king does not forget,” Professor Sycamore said. “I’ve never met another with a memory like his.”
“Yes,” Azoth said. “You are mentioned; all of you. The Elemental Spectrum. The end of the world shall near at last; what were eighteen shall now be one.”
“I would not be so sure of that, Azoth,” Professor Sycamore said. “I do not think it likely that we will be ready. Team Flare will be upon the castle in a month’s time.”
“So I’ve heard,” Azoth said. “The five you sent here. They told me of this. They say you want the help of the queen.”
“Queen in the Tree, perhaps,” the professor said, “but she is a Gym Leader, too. Part of the League. She must answer the call.”
“I will speak with her on this,” Azoth said. “I can’t promise more. I’m sorry.”
Professor Sycamore nodded, though Roc could see that he was disappointed. He ended the call, closing the computer. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, and ran a hand through his wild black hair.
“Professor!” came a shout from the door. Roc turned to see Nika coming toward them. “We’ve found him, sir.”
The professor stood up suddenly. The chair was pushed backward, but he ignored it. “Show me,” he said.
Nika smiled, and waved a hand toward the door.
*
This far up, in the highest room of Prism Tower, Roc could see the entire sprawling city. The windows were of the clearest unblemished glass, and Roc found himself a little disoriented to be gazing down from so high. He picked out the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory –– or what was left of it –– almost immediately. He could see tiny figures in red standing outside it. Team Flare’s guards, he supposed.
“My dear Bonnie,” Ani read aloud from a small sheet of paper. “Who’s Bonnie?”
“His sister,” the professor said. He paced impatiently back and forth over the black-and-white-tiled floor.
“My dear Bonnie,” Ani read again. “I hope this message finds you well. If you are reading this, you have no doubt made it back from Geosenge safely. To my lasting shame, I was not there to help you.
“There is no excuse for my absence from the battle. I, like the other Gym Leaders, have gone into exile. The time of the Gym Leaders is over. There is no place for Pokémon Trainers in the world anymore.
“I leave the Lumiose Gym, and Prism Tower, in your capable hands. I am certain you shall care for them as I cared for them; love them as I loved them.
“Know that should you ever wish to find me, I have returned to the beginning. The place we knew as children.
“Goodbye.”
Ani stopped reading, and looked to Professor Sycamore. “It’s signed Clemont.”
Professor Sycamore had stopped pacing. He was silent for a long time.
Roc looked out beyond the city, and saw the expanse of the Southern Forests. He knew them from the maps in Master Hunlad’s study. They had all been painted by Master Hunlad himself. Roc had once loved staring at those maps, finding places he had read about, or heard about from Elder Arhan. He had once aspired to be able to paint maps like that. Now it seemed unlikely he would ever see them again.
A shame, too. The sunlight cast a glow over the trees that could be replicated with overlapping coats of yellow and green. The clouds, perfectly white on top, but shadowed beneath, where the sunlight did not reach. He could use coats of light grey for that, made from ash. And the gleaming silver of the city––
Stop. You left that behind when you joined Professor Sycamore.
Roc turned and went over to where Ani stood. Although he knew what the letter said, he read it again over Ani’s shoulder. They had found the letter and no more when they entered this topmost room of Prism Tower. Nika hadn’t known what to make of it, either, nor had Ryan, when they called him to return from training with Froakie outside the city.
“He leaves the Gym in Bonnie’s hands?” Roc asked. “Doesn’t that make Bonnie the Gym Leader?”
“Not necessarily,” the professor said absently. “For a Gym to change leadership, the Champion must approve it. It doesn’t sound as though Clemont had ever brought this to Diantha’s attention.”
“Not Calem’s?” Ani asked. “Isn’t he the Champion?”
“Officially, yes,” Professor Sycamore said. “But as no one’s seen him in nearly ten years …”
“It does make it difficult to gain his seal for matters like this,” Nika agreed. “Diantha is technically the acting Champion, but for all intents and purposes she is the Champion.”
“Except now she’s gone, too,” Ryan said.
“Yes,” the professor said sadly. “How we’re going to get through this, I don’t know. We’re a circle of eighteen, but even that’s divided, now. I … I made the wrong decision in splitting the Spectrum.”
“We’ll find them, professor,” said Nika. “We’ll bring the Gym Leaders and the Spectrum will be reunited again.”
Roc was quiet. He looked around the room, as if the silvery walls and black-and-white floors could offer him some answer. White on layers of grey could portray the gleaming beams of the tower. The walls were dusty, so a duller grey for them. And of course, the floors would be easy. But––
No, he reminded himself, you’re not a painter’s apprentice now. Stop looking at everything like an Order-broken painting.
“Where could Clemont be?” Ryan wondered aloud. “He can’t have left the region, could he?”
“Know that should you ever wish to find me, I have returned to the beginning. The place we knew as children,” Ani read from the letter. “That has to narrow it down, right?”
“I don’t know,” Professor Sycamore said. “I admit I don’t know much of the Gym Leaders’ early lives. As far back as I remember, Clemont has lived in Lumiose City.”
“Could he be here in the city, then?” Roc asked. “And somehow escaped your notice for ten years?”
Professor Sycamore looked at him dryly. “In this city? You think I wouldn’t have found him?”
“Well, you didn’t realize that Team Flare was operational until …” Roc trailed off at the look on the professor’s face. He cleared his throat. “Never mind.”
“I think we can safely eliminate the east,” Professor Sycamore said. “I can’t see Clemont living in the mountains for so long. He did always like to be close to civilization. Easier to get his hands on parts for his machines that way.”
“He was an inventor?” Roc asked, surprised.
“The best,” Professor Sycamore said. “Lysandre himself offered him a job at his laboratories once. He turned it down, though. Said he liked to work alone.”
“So he’d be somewhere well-populated,” Nika said. “That narrows it down to half the region. We’re not much closer than we were at the beginning.”
“Maybe we could ask the king?” Ani suggested.
“Azoth? It’s worth a try, I suppose,” Professor Sycamore said. He didn’t sound convinced.
“Who else would know where to find Clemont?” Nika said. “He must at least know something.”
The professor tapped his chin thoughtfully. “He might. Remember, he’s also been in exile for ten years. I do not hold out hope that he knows the answers we seek.”
“It’s worth a call,” Roc said.
The professor nodded. “Very well. Let’s go back to the Pokémon Center.”
*
Sera answered the call. Roc was given to understand that it was her laptop the professor called; if there was a computer in the World Tree besides hers, Azoth did not seem inclined to share it.
“Professor,” Sera said by way of greeting.
“Sera,” Professor Sycamore said, bowing his head. “Is the king nearby?”
“Azoth went out some time ago,” Sera said. “He didn’t say why. Is there something you need?”
“There is,” the professor said. “Has Azoth ever spoken of any of the Gym Leaders, besides Valerie?”
“Not … really.” Sera looked mildly disconcerted. “Why?”
“We found this,” the professor said, waving the letter, “in the top room of Prism Tower. It was written by Clemont.”
“Clemont?” Sera said. She seemed about to say something, but the professor cut her off.
“My dear Bonnie,” he began, reading the letter.
“Professor––” Sera said.
“I hope this message find you––what was that, Sera?”
“Well … Clemont … he’s here, professor.”
Roc was not the only one with his mouth agape. Sera hadn’t mentioned this before? They had talked at length earlier.
“Do explain,” the professor said.
“I forgot to tell you earlier,” Sera said. “Clemont has apparently been inside the World Tree for the last ten years. He hasn’t once left.”
“Incredible,” Professor Sycamore said softly. “The World Tree was the place he and his sister knew as children?”
“It seems when they were very young, Valerie found them and took them under her wing, as it were,” Sera explained. “After the exile, Clemont came back here.”
“I would speak to him, if he’s there,” Professor Sycamore said.
Sera nodded once, and left. Moments later, a new face entered the frame.
“Clemont,” the professor said. “Long time.”
“Professor Sycamore,” the Gym Leader said. “That it has.”
He was younger than Roc had expected. He couldn’t be more than his late twenties. This youth was one of the world’s greatest inventors?
Roc stared at the device on Clemont’s arm. It looked not unlike Warren’s arm brace, the one he used to hold Mawile’s Poké Ball. Clemont’s, however, was infinitely more intricate, a masterful work that made Warren’s seem crude. Roc had no idea how he’d even begin to replicate that in a painting. So many different parts, each with their own function, no doubt. He would need a fine-tipped brush for––
STOP IT.
“I know what you’re going to say, professor,” Clemont said. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I wasn’t there the first time. I can’t let the world down again.”
“That … was surprisingly blunt, Clemont,” the professor said. “You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?”
“You sent five Trainers to persuade Valerie to join you. You could say I caught wind of what you were planning.”
Roc saw a look of disappointment cross Professor Sycamore’s face.
“What’s that for?” Clemont demanded.
“Oh, just that I regret your decision,” the professor said, explaining as if to a child. “We need your help, you see. I am disappointed you chose to remain aloof from the world.”
“My help means nothing, professor,” Clemont almost snapped. “You don’t want help from the man who wasn’t there to defend Kalos when the region needed it.”
“Hmm,” the professor said. “I don’t know about that. I rather think we do need your help.”
“No,” Clemont said flatly. “If I have to say it a thousand times, I. Will. Not. Help. You.”
To Roc, this seemed an unfortunate turn of events. Would they still be able to take down Team Flare with only seven of the eight? Would the Spectrum be enough?
“Yes,” the professor said to Clemont, as if reconsidering. “Perhaps you’re right. After all, you didn’t succeed ten years ago. Who’s to say it will be different now?”
Roc was confused. This wasn’t the inspirational, motivational Professor Sycamore he had come to know. What was he doing?
Clemont set his jaw. “I did not mean for that to happen, professor. You know that. There isn’t a day that I don’t regret my decision.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” the professor said, a tad patronizingly. “You did what you could. But you said it yourself: You can’t let the world down again.”
“Don’t talk to me that way, professor,” Clemont said. “I arrived at Geosenge Town too late. My sister … she escaped the fray, but barely. I tried my best. I do not deserve this.”
“Don’t you?” the professor said, the hint of a smile on his lips. Roc could not fathom what it could mean.
Clemont gritted his teeth and began to rise from his seat. “I do not have to put up with this. Goodbye, Sycamore.”
“Sit down,” the professor said, almost a command. “We are not finished with this conversation.”
“Oh, I think we are,” Clemont said. “I have given you my answer. You may have chosen not to accept it, but to be perfectly honest, I don’t care. I will not –– cannot –– join you in this fight.”
“You are a failure, Clemont,” the professor said, his voice almost a whisper. “You failed when you were absent from Geosenge Town, and you are scared that if you join us, you will fail even more miserably than before.”
Clemont’s expression turned from surprise to outrage. “How dare you ––”
“Which would you prefer?” the professor said softly, ignoring Clemont’s outburst. “Living forever with your failure … or a chance to redeem yourself?”
Clemont quieted, and Roc could see that he was conflicted between anger at Professor Sycamore and a longing to prove himself to the world.
Eventually, Clemont exhaled in a long, slow hiss. “Fine,” he said. “I will be at the Pokémon League castle in a month’s time. You had better be there as well.”
“I plan to be,” the professor said, a wide smile spreading over his face. “Until we meet again, Clemont.”
Clemont ended the call without responding.
There was a moment’s stunned silence. Finally, Roc let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, that wasn’t a very nice thing to do, professor,” Ani said.
“I know,” Professor Sycamore said wearily. “And it was terribly risky. He might not have taken the bait at all, and I would have started an argument with one of my oldest friends for nothing. But Clemont has always been terrified of failure.”
“But at the beginning,” Nika said, “he admitted that he failed. It didn’t seem to bother him as much as it did when you provoked him.”
“There’s an important difference between admitting one’s own failure and hearing it from the lips of others,” Professor Sycamore said. “He could, perhaps, have lived with the thought of failure in his own mind. But hearing me confirm it … that must have been truly painful. I regret doing this to him, but it was necessary.”
“You think he’ll be there?” Ryan asked.
“I am certain of it,” Professor Sycamore said. He closed his computer with a sigh. “But he won’t be very pleased with me afterward. I think it best not to rely on him too much.”
“I’ll send a call to the rest of the Spectrum, shall I?” Nika said after a moment.
“Yes,” the professor said with a nod. “Tell them … tell them the Lumiose Gym Leader has arrived.”
Roc rose from his seat in the Pokémon Center lobby and went over to where the professor sat, engaged in conversation with Sera through a computer screen. Roc watched as she left the window, replaced by a head framed by unkempt white hair.
“Augustine,” the man said. “It’s been too long.”
“Azoth!” the professor cried. “Old friend, it’s good to see you.”
At that, Ani hastened over, followed closely by Nika. Ani let out a small gasp when she saw the man’s face.
“But that’s …” She seemed at a loss for words.
“The king,” Professor Sycamore supplied. “His Majesty Lord Azoth of Kalos, Protector of Life and Death, Bringer of Order.”
Azoth waved aside the statement. “I believe I told you I don’t use that title anymore,” he said.
“You can’t hide from it,” the professor said amiably. “But very well. Do explain where you’ve been the last ten years.”
“Why, the World Tree, of course,” Azoth said. “I was worried you’d figure that out too easily and come looking for me.”
“I assure you, my friend, I had no idea,” Professor Sycamore said. “But why? Why go into hiding?”
“I …” Azoth began. He sighed. “I was ashamed. After the havoc my … descendant wreaked with the weapon, I did not wish to be known in Kalos any longer. My name will always be marred in history by that one great failure.”
Professor Sycamore was silent. Then, Ani spoke up. “King Azoth?” she said timidly.
“Please don’t call me that, child,” Azoth said tiredly. “I am no king. A king would not hide from his people when they are in danger.”
Ani hesitated. “Well … your name … all the history books say that you were a great man and a magnificent ruler. You can be that man again, sir.”
The professor nodded. “She speaks truly, Azoth.”
Azoth sat back. He did not speak for a long moment. Roc watched him anxiously.
“Tell me something, child,” Azoth said, leaning forward again. “You are part of Augustine’s Elemental Spectrum?”
“Yes, sir,” Ani said, nodding.
“Hmm,” Azoth rumbled, scratching his chin. “A Fire-type user. And one who knows the stories. Tell me, have you read the Prophecies of Order?”
To Roc’s surprise, Ani shook her head. That was unexpected. A book Ani hadn’t read?
“They chronicle everything that was, is, and will be, in the grand schemes of Order itself,” Azoth said. “Very few copies still exist. I ask, you see, because you are mentioned in them.”
Ani took a step back, visibly startled. “Are … are you sure?”
“The king does not forget,” Professor Sycamore said. “I’ve never met another with a memory like his.”
“Yes,” Azoth said. “You are mentioned; all of you. The Elemental Spectrum. The end of the world shall near at last; what were eighteen shall now be one.”
“I would not be so sure of that, Azoth,” Professor Sycamore said. “I do not think it likely that we will be ready. Team Flare will be upon the castle in a month’s time.”
“So I’ve heard,” Azoth said. “The five you sent here. They told me of this. They say you want the help of the queen.”
“Queen in the Tree, perhaps,” the professor said, “but she is a Gym Leader, too. Part of the League. She must answer the call.”
“I will speak with her on this,” Azoth said. “I can’t promise more. I’m sorry.”
Professor Sycamore nodded, though Roc could see that he was disappointed. He ended the call, closing the computer. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, and ran a hand through his wild black hair.
“Professor!” came a shout from the door. Roc turned to see Nika coming toward them. “We’ve found him, sir.”
The professor stood up suddenly. The chair was pushed backward, but he ignored it. “Show me,” he said.
Nika smiled, and waved a hand toward the door.
*
This far up, in the highest room of Prism Tower, Roc could see the entire sprawling city. The windows were of the clearest unblemished glass, and Roc found himself a little disoriented to be gazing down from so high. He picked out the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory –– or what was left of it –– almost immediately. He could see tiny figures in red standing outside it. Team Flare’s guards, he supposed.
“My dear Bonnie,” Ani read aloud from a small sheet of paper. “Who’s Bonnie?”
“His sister,” the professor said. He paced impatiently back and forth over the black-and-white-tiled floor.
“My dear Bonnie,” Ani read again. “I hope this message finds you well. If you are reading this, you have no doubt made it back from Geosenge safely. To my lasting shame, I was not there to help you.
“There is no excuse for my absence from the battle. I, like the other Gym Leaders, have gone into exile. The time of the Gym Leaders is over. There is no place for Pokémon Trainers in the world anymore.
“I leave the Lumiose Gym, and Prism Tower, in your capable hands. I am certain you shall care for them as I cared for them; love them as I loved them.
“Know that should you ever wish to find me, I have returned to the beginning. The place we knew as children.
“Goodbye.”
Ani stopped reading, and looked to Professor Sycamore. “It’s signed Clemont.”
Professor Sycamore had stopped pacing. He was silent for a long time.
Roc looked out beyond the city, and saw the expanse of the Southern Forests. He knew them from the maps in Master Hunlad’s study. They had all been painted by Master Hunlad himself. Roc had once loved staring at those maps, finding places he had read about, or heard about from Elder Arhan. He had once aspired to be able to paint maps like that. Now it seemed unlikely he would ever see them again.
A shame, too. The sunlight cast a glow over the trees that could be replicated with overlapping coats of yellow and green. The clouds, perfectly white on top, but shadowed beneath, where the sunlight did not reach. He could use coats of light grey for that, made from ash. And the gleaming silver of the city––
Stop. You left that behind when you joined Professor Sycamore.
Roc turned and went over to where Ani stood. Although he knew what the letter said, he read it again over Ani’s shoulder. They had found the letter and no more when they entered this topmost room of Prism Tower. Nika hadn’t known what to make of it, either, nor had Ryan, when they called him to return from training with Froakie outside the city.
“He leaves the Gym in Bonnie’s hands?” Roc asked. “Doesn’t that make Bonnie the Gym Leader?”
“Not necessarily,” the professor said absently. “For a Gym to change leadership, the Champion must approve it. It doesn’t sound as though Clemont had ever brought this to Diantha’s attention.”
“Not Calem’s?” Ani asked. “Isn’t he the Champion?”
“Officially, yes,” Professor Sycamore said. “But as no one’s seen him in nearly ten years …”
“It does make it difficult to gain his seal for matters like this,” Nika agreed. “Diantha is technically the acting Champion, but for all intents and purposes she is the Champion.”
“Except now she’s gone, too,” Ryan said.
“Yes,” the professor said sadly. “How we’re going to get through this, I don’t know. We’re a circle of eighteen, but even that’s divided, now. I … I made the wrong decision in splitting the Spectrum.”
“We’ll find them, professor,” said Nika. “We’ll bring the Gym Leaders and the Spectrum will be reunited again.”
Roc was quiet. He looked around the room, as if the silvery walls and black-and-white floors could offer him some answer. White on layers of grey could portray the gleaming beams of the tower. The walls were dusty, so a duller grey for them. And of course, the floors would be easy. But––
No, he reminded himself, you’re not a painter’s apprentice now. Stop looking at everything like an Order-broken painting.
“Where could Clemont be?” Ryan wondered aloud. “He can’t have left the region, could he?”
“Know that should you ever wish to find me, I have returned to the beginning. The place we knew as children,” Ani read from the letter. “That has to narrow it down, right?”
“I don’t know,” Professor Sycamore said. “I admit I don’t know much of the Gym Leaders’ early lives. As far back as I remember, Clemont has lived in Lumiose City.”
“Could he be here in the city, then?” Roc asked. “And somehow escaped your notice for ten years?”
Professor Sycamore looked at him dryly. “In this city? You think I wouldn’t have found him?”
“Well, you didn’t realize that Team Flare was operational until …” Roc trailed off at the look on the professor’s face. He cleared his throat. “Never mind.”
“I think we can safely eliminate the east,” Professor Sycamore said. “I can’t see Clemont living in the mountains for so long. He did always like to be close to civilization. Easier to get his hands on parts for his machines that way.”
“He was an inventor?” Roc asked, surprised.
“The best,” Professor Sycamore said. “Lysandre himself offered him a job at his laboratories once. He turned it down, though. Said he liked to work alone.”
“So he’d be somewhere well-populated,” Nika said. “That narrows it down to half the region. We’re not much closer than we were at the beginning.”
“Maybe we could ask the king?” Ani suggested.
“Azoth? It’s worth a try, I suppose,” Professor Sycamore said. He didn’t sound convinced.
“Who else would know where to find Clemont?” Nika said. “He must at least know something.”
The professor tapped his chin thoughtfully. “He might. Remember, he’s also been in exile for ten years. I do not hold out hope that he knows the answers we seek.”
“It’s worth a call,” Roc said.
The professor nodded. “Very well. Let’s go back to the Pokémon Center.”
*
Sera answered the call. Roc was given to understand that it was her laptop the professor called; if there was a computer in the World Tree besides hers, Azoth did not seem inclined to share it.
“Professor,” Sera said by way of greeting.
“Sera,” Professor Sycamore said, bowing his head. “Is the king nearby?”
“Azoth went out some time ago,” Sera said. “He didn’t say why. Is there something you need?”
“There is,” the professor said. “Has Azoth ever spoken of any of the Gym Leaders, besides Valerie?”
“Not … really.” Sera looked mildly disconcerted. “Why?”
“We found this,” the professor said, waving the letter, “in the top room of Prism Tower. It was written by Clemont.”
“Clemont?” Sera said. She seemed about to say something, but the professor cut her off.
“My dear Bonnie,” he began, reading the letter.
“Professor––” Sera said.
“I hope this message find you––what was that, Sera?”
“Well … Clemont … he’s here, professor.”
Roc was not the only one with his mouth agape. Sera hadn’t mentioned this before? They had talked at length earlier.
“Do explain,” the professor said.
“I forgot to tell you earlier,” Sera said. “Clemont has apparently been inside the World Tree for the last ten years. He hasn’t once left.”
“Incredible,” Professor Sycamore said softly. “The World Tree was the place he and his sister knew as children?”
“It seems when they were very young, Valerie found them and took them under her wing, as it were,” Sera explained. “After the exile, Clemont came back here.”
“I would speak to him, if he’s there,” Professor Sycamore said.
Sera nodded once, and left. Moments later, a new face entered the frame.
“Clemont,” the professor said. “Long time.”
“Professor Sycamore,” the Gym Leader said. “That it has.”
He was younger than Roc had expected. He couldn’t be more than his late twenties. This youth was one of the world’s greatest inventors?
Roc stared at the device on Clemont’s arm. It looked not unlike Warren’s arm brace, the one he used to hold Mawile’s Poké Ball. Clemont’s, however, was infinitely more intricate, a masterful work that made Warren’s seem crude. Roc had no idea how he’d even begin to replicate that in a painting. So many different parts, each with their own function, no doubt. He would need a fine-tipped brush for––
STOP IT.
“I know what you’re going to say, professor,” Clemont said. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I wasn’t there the first time. I can’t let the world down again.”
“That … was surprisingly blunt, Clemont,” the professor said. “You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?”
“You sent five Trainers to persuade Valerie to join you. You could say I caught wind of what you were planning.”
Roc saw a look of disappointment cross Professor Sycamore’s face.
“What’s that for?” Clemont demanded.
“Oh, just that I regret your decision,” the professor said, explaining as if to a child. “We need your help, you see. I am disappointed you chose to remain aloof from the world.”
“My help means nothing, professor,” Clemont almost snapped. “You don’t want help from the man who wasn’t there to defend Kalos when the region needed it.”
“Hmm,” the professor said. “I don’t know about that. I rather think we do need your help.”
“No,” Clemont said flatly. “If I have to say it a thousand times, I. Will. Not. Help. You.”
To Roc, this seemed an unfortunate turn of events. Would they still be able to take down Team Flare with only seven of the eight? Would the Spectrum be enough?
“Yes,” the professor said to Clemont, as if reconsidering. “Perhaps you’re right. After all, you didn’t succeed ten years ago. Who’s to say it will be different now?”
Roc was confused. This wasn’t the inspirational, motivational Professor Sycamore he had come to know. What was he doing?
Clemont set his jaw. “I did not mean for that to happen, professor. You know that. There isn’t a day that I don’t regret my decision.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” the professor said, a tad patronizingly. “You did what you could. But you said it yourself: You can’t let the world down again.”
“Don’t talk to me that way, professor,” Clemont said. “I arrived at Geosenge Town too late. My sister … she escaped the fray, but barely. I tried my best. I do not deserve this.”
“Don’t you?” the professor said, the hint of a smile on his lips. Roc could not fathom what it could mean.
Clemont gritted his teeth and began to rise from his seat. “I do not have to put up with this. Goodbye, Sycamore.”
“Sit down,” the professor said, almost a command. “We are not finished with this conversation.”
“Oh, I think we are,” Clemont said. “I have given you my answer. You may have chosen not to accept it, but to be perfectly honest, I don’t care. I will not –– cannot –– join you in this fight.”
“You are a failure, Clemont,” the professor said, his voice almost a whisper. “You failed when you were absent from Geosenge Town, and you are scared that if you join us, you will fail even more miserably than before.”
Clemont’s expression turned from surprise to outrage. “How dare you ––”
“Which would you prefer?” the professor said softly, ignoring Clemont’s outburst. “Living forever with your failure … or a chance to redeem yourself?”
Clemont quieted, and Roc could see that he was conflicted between anger at Professor Sycamore and a longing to prove himself to the world.
Eventually, Clemont exhaled in a long, slow hiss. “Fine,” he said. “I will be at the Pokémon League castle in a month’s time. You had better be there as well.”
“I plan to be,” the professor said, a wide smile spreading over his face. “Until we meet again, Clemont.”
Clemont ended the call without responding.
There was a moment’s stunned silence. Finally, Roc let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, that wasn’t a very nice thing to do, professor,” Ani said.
“I know,” Professor Sycamore said wearily. “And it was terribly risky. He might not have taken the bait at all, and I would have started an argument with one of my oldest friends for nothing. But Clemont has always been terrified of failure.”
“But at the beginning,” Nika said, “he admitted that he failed. It didn’t seem to bother him as much as it did when you provoked him.”
“There’s an important difference between admitting one’s own failure and hearing it from the lips of others,” Professor Sycamore said. “He could, perhaps, have lived with the thought of failure in his own mind. But hearing me confirm it … that must have been truly painful. I regret doing this to him, but it was necessary.”
“You think he’ll be there?” Ryan asked.
“I am certain of it,” Professor Sycamore said. He closed his computer with a sigh. “But he won’t be very pleased with me afterward. I think it best not to rely on him too much.”
“I’ll send a call to the rest of the Spectrum, shall I?” Nika said after a moment.
“Yes,” the professor said with a nod. “Tell them … tell them the Lumiose Gym Leader has arrived.”
I'll try to update tomorrow with annotations. Just wanted to get this up before sleep tonight. >.>
EDIT: As promised:
––The chapter opens with Professor Sycamore, Ani, and Roc contacting Sera at the World Tree. Before the first line, the gist of the conversation is Sera reporting on the events of the last day or two. Professor Sycamore talked individually to Warren, Julian, Amaline, and Peter for a few minutes, and then when Sera got back on, she mentioned Azoth, which is where the chapter begins.
––Ryan and Nika are notably absent from the first scene. This is explained a bit later: Ryan was training with Froakie outside the city, and Nika was exploring Prism Tower.
––Sycamore's on first-name terms with Azoth. I know they didn't have much interaction on-screen in XY, but in my canon, Azoth stuck around for a bit before retreating to the World Tree. He and Sycamore were the primary consultants for Malva's replacement.
––Roc hasn't entirely left his old life behind. Neither, indeed, have any of them.
––As Sycamore states, a Gym can only legally change ownership if there's a signed document by the Champion. This did happen in Coumarine City, when Ramos passed his Gym on to Tierno. Has it happened anywhere else? That remains to be seen.
––Roc didn't mention Clemont's Aipom arm (I think that's what it's called, right?), because he doesn't have it anymore. In his time in the World Tree, he learned things that basically render the Aipom arm obsolete.
––Sycamore knows Clemont well enough for his reverse psychology trick to work as he expected. This is due to Clemont spending so much time in Lumiose.
––Last, but not least, there's a hint in this chapter as to the plot twist at the end of the book. See if you can find it.
––Ryan and Nika are notably absent from the first scene. This is explained a bit later: Ryan was training with Froakie outside the city, and Nika was exploring Prism Tower.
––Sycamore's on first-name terms with Azoth. I know they didn't have much interaction on-screen in XY, but in my canon, Azoth stuck around for a bit before retreating to the World Tree. He and Sycamore were the primary consultants for Malva's replacement.
––Roc hasn't entirely left his old life behind. Neither, indeed, have any of them.
––As Sycamore states, a Gym can only legally change ownership if there's a signed document by the Champion. This did happen in Coumarine City, when Ramos passed his Gym on to Tierno. Has it happened anywhere else? That remains to be seen.
––Roc didn't mention Clemont's Aipom arm (I think that's what it's called, right?), because he doesn't have it anymore. In his time in the World Tree, he learned things that basically render the Aipom arm obsolete.
––Sycamore knows Clemont well enough for his reverse psychology trick to work as he expected. This is due to Clemont spending so much time in Lumiose.
––Last, but not least, there's a hint in this chapter as to the plot twist at the end of the book. See if you can find it.
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Yay, my favorite Gym Leader! \(^.^)/
Roc struggling with his painting instinct made me laugh. xD
And Professor Sycamore's reverse psychology was epic. I love that stuff.~
Great chapter!
Roc struggling with his painting instinct made me laugh. xD
And Professor Sycamore's reverse psychology was epic. I love that stuff.~
Great chapter!
Two weeks passed, slowly. All the Spectrum came to be reunited in the World Tree, at a summons from Azoth. Of the eight Gym Leaders, only four were represented: Grant and Tierno had followed to the World Tree, travelling with those of the Spectrum who had found them, while Valerie and Clemont had never left. Viola, of course, had declined to join them. The whereabouts of the other three––four, if one counted Ramos––were still unknown, a fact that disturbed Professor Sycamore most greatly.
Ryan, Ani and Roc continued to train, and within those weeks became the equal of any of the others. They began to test themselves against the Gym Leaders, but found that despite ten years of exile, the Leaders’ skill had not diminished.
Azoth was always present during these bouts, his face kept stonily impassive regardless of the victor. Professor Sycamore occasionally came to watch as well, but his time was mainly spent elsewhere. Although he had been asked many times, he never said where he kept disappearing to.
A wind blew one morning as Sera sparred against Fylon, scattering the blossoms and fresh green leaves of spring as it went. Some blossoms settled on Amaura’s head, though the Pokémon quickly shook them off. Others drifted over and settled around the feet of Azoth and Kharissan, who had both come to watch the bout.
Sera knew, logically, that they were still inside the World Tree, and that there shouldn’t, by all rights, be any wind inside a tree, but after more than a week inside the Tree, she had begun to ignore it. Questioning the peculiarities of the Tree did no good, especially when neither Azoth nor Kharissan were forthcoming with the answers.
The wind carried an air of change with it. Sera had heard the stories about the wind, of course. It was hard to miss them, when one grew up in the east. Half-consciously, she found herself thinking about what Elder Tamryn would have said. Probably something about patience and letting nature take its own path. Sera never had been able to figure out how Elder Tamryn managed to extrapolate all that from a puff of wind.
Kharissan, sitting down with a sketchpad in his arms, looked up as the breeze ruffled his hair. His eyes flashed briefly crimson, and he muttered something incomprehensible, but then he shook his head and went back to drawing.
He did that, sometimes. Sera wasn’t sure what it was he drew in his sketchbook, but whenever he attended a bout between any of the Spectrum, he always brought it along. She had asked him once. He had given her a vague sort of response that left her with more questions than answers.
“Steel Wing!” Fylon called.
Sera gritted her teeth. This was a technique Braviary had learned under Warren’s tutelage, and one of the only ways he could reliably defeat Amaura. Usually, if Amaura could lower the temperatures enough, Braviary wouldn’t be able to fly, and be at Amaura’s mercy. Usually.
Fylon didn’t seem to intend to let that happen.
Braviary’s wings flashed a dull violet verging on grey as his aura flared and hardened until it was tougher than stone. It struck out at Amaura, attempting to slap her with one wing. Amaura just barely managed to dance backward, sliding on a patch of ice she had carefully placed earlier in the bout.
Braviary, however, did not let up. He struck again and again, always coming just barely out of reach of Amaura. Eventually, he scored a hit that Amaura couldn’t avoid. His wing clipped Amaura’s shoulder, and her knees buckled. Sera stifled a cry, as if she had been the one to fall to the ground.
As Amaura lay sprawled on the ground, Sera tried one last resort. “Blizzard!”
Amaura’s pale blue aura flared suddenly to life, and a chill wind blew, carrying the frost of early winter with it. Sera knew Braviary wouldn’t be able to keep flying if he was too cold. She hoped during a moment of immobility, Amaura would be able to strike and––
Braviary vanished.
Fylon looked as startled as Sera felt. How could Braviary just disappear? He was no Ghost-type, capable of fading into near-invisibility in shade.
Sera had no sooner finished that thought when Braviary reappeared behind Amaura. His second Steel Wing caught Amaura right on the back, where she couldn’t defend herself. Sera was about to call out for Amaura to retaliate when Azoth stepped onto the field.
“This bout is over,” he said. Sera nodded mutely; she had known there was no real chance of her victory after the second Steel Wing. She recalled Amaura into her Poké Ball.
“Fylon,” Azoth said with an odd inflection. “Come with me.”
Surprised, Fylon looked quickly at Sera, but then turned to follow Azoth off the field. Kharissan rose to join them, shouldering the bag that held his sketchbook. When Sera tried to follow, though, Azoth stopped her. “No,” he said. “You go back to Augustine. Tell him to find me.”
Sera nodded without any particular enthusiasm. She stood there for several long moments, watching Azoth leave the clearing and walk off into the forested area around, Kharissan and Fylon in tow, before she sighed and turned in the opposite direction, going in search of Professor Sycamore.
*
“Welcome to the archives,” Azoth said. “Every prophecy ever made in the history of the Kalos region is documented right here.”
Fylon looked around, amazed. Shelves lined every wall and jutted out into the expansive room, forming a sort of maze piled with ancient-looking manuscripts and scrolls. Those scripts that didn’t fit on the shelves were spread out over the immense circular table in the center of the room. Fylon tried to read the words on one, but they were written in such an archaic form of Kalosian that his head hurt just to decipher the first sentence.
“Why … why are we here?” Fylon asked, still awed by the size and scope of the archives.
“On account of what your Braviary just did in that match against Sera,” Kharissan said, looking at Fylon significantly.
“What do you suppose that was, a bout?” came a voice Fylon knew all too well. Arin emerged from behind a shelf, his arms laden with manuscripts and a familiar twinkle in his eye.
“What do you suppose that was about?” he repeated with a slightly different inflection, making the pun evident.
“Arin?” Fylon asked, dumbfounded. “Why are you here?”
“Oh, yeah,” Arin said. “I’ve been helping Kharissan out. I’m his apprentice now.”
Kharissan chuckled softly.
“You did what?” Azoth said sharply.
“He’s more than he appears, Azoth,” Kharissan said by way of explanation. “I thought it right to entrust him with this.”
Azoth sighed, running a hand through his white hair. He muttered something that sounded to Fylon like “When will you learn?” He doubted Kharissan heard.
“Anyway,” Kharissan said conversationally, “young master Fylon here seems to have a talent for Travelling.”
Arin grinned widely at this. “Huh,” he said. “How’d that happen?”
“He was sparring with Sera when his Braviary Travelled,” Azoth broke in, clearly irritated. “Just a few feet, no more, but enough to tell. Child, please fetch the appropriate manuscripts.”
Arin raised an eyebrow at this. Kharissan muttered, “Just humor him,” but managed to cover it up with a cough.
Arin dumped his armload of manuscripts onto the table, prompting a scandalized look from Azoth, before going back into the maze of shelves to locate the scrolls Azoth had asked for.
“You think this child is …” Azoth trailed off, looking at Kharissan.
“He can Prophesy,” Kharissan said meaningfully. Azoth gave a rare look of surprise at this.
Suddenly, Arin returned, laden with an ever bigger pile of ancient scrolls and sheafs of paper. He placed these down on another open space on the table with considerably more care, and Azoth let out a relieved breath.
Arin selected one tome, and opened it to a random page. He quickly scanned the text, and then flipped a few pages forward. “Here,” he said, jabbing a finger at the start of a new paragraph. “Read from there.”
Fylon peered closely at the text. He could barely make out the words.
Travelling for places near and far,
given us by Life and Death.
Its powers naught but spatial are,
from inhalation of a breath.
“This is from the Prophecies of Order,” Kharissan said. “It’s written in a very old form of Kalosian, of course, so the grammar makes little sense. The general idea is there, though. Travelling is one of the many Talents associated with Xerneas and Yveltal.”
“Xerneas and Yveltal?” Arin prompted.
“The Pokémon we know today as the forces of Life and Death,” Kharissan clarified. “Most of the world has forgotten their names, but here in the World Tree, we remember.”
Azoth cleared his throat. “Anyway, the World Tree’s connection to Life and Death forms a sort of auric nexus. A conduit of power, if you will, through which auric energy can flow more freely. A few individuals find they can use this power directly in the form of Talents, such as Travelling or Prophecy. It seems you’re a Traveller.”
“So … what does that mean?” Fylon asked, nonplussed.
“Like it says in the prophecy,” Kharissan said, “Inhalation of a breath and all that. Apparently your breath can be used to warp space somehow.”
“How does that work?” Fylon asked.
In response, Azoth closed his eyes and took a breath. A violet aura flared around him before he winked out of existence. Moments later, he appeared on the other side of the table, exhaling and opening his eyes.
“You’re also a Traveller?” Arin asked, clearly impressed.
“Kid, there’s a reason he’s the king,” Kharissan said, suppressing a laugh. “He has all the Talents.”
Arin’s eyes grew very wide at this. Azoth snorted before inhaling again and Travelling back across the table to where he had stood before.
“Try it now,” he said to Fylon. “Close your eyes if it helps. Breathe in, feel the auric energy, and …”
Fylon closed his eyes. He cast about with his mind, trying to find the auric nexus that Azoth had mentioned. He found nothing. He opened his eyes.
“Nothing?” Azoth said. He sounded as if he had expected as much.
Fylon shook his head. “Is that normal?”
“I would have been very surprised if you had managed it on your first try,” Azoth said. “It took me five. Valerie did it in eight.”
“I was so sure something would happen,” Fylon said, a bit forlorn.
The door to the archives banged open. Fylon turned to see Professor Sycamore stride into the room. He bowed once to Azoth and asked, “You wanted to see me?”
“Fylon’s Braviary Travelled earlier, in a bout against Sera,” Azoth explained. “He can’t seem to replicate that now, but that’s nothing new.”
“Travelling, you say,” the professor said thoughtfully, tapping his cheek.
“Wait,” Fylon said. “If Braviary was the one who Travelled, why are you expecting me to be able to? Shouldn’t you be testing Braviary?”
“There’s something about the bond between a Pokémon and its Trainer that allows for both to share a Talent. If one can do it, so can the other,” Kharissan said.
Fylon nodded.
“But it doesn’t work for you now?” the professor said. “Interesting. I shall be intrigued to see how––”
He was cut off as the door opened again. They all turned, bewildered, to see a young woman standing in the doorway, as if hesitant to enter the archives. Her cloak of many swirling colors billowed in a gust of wind.
“Mandai?” Azoth said, confusion written on his face.
“Sir,” the woman said uncertainly. “The queen wishes to see you, sir. She says it’s urgent.”
“Did she say why?” Azoth asked.
Mandai shifted uncomfortably. “She said the World Tree is under attack.”
Ryan, Ani and Roc continued to train, and within those weeks became the equal of any of the others. They began to test themselves against the Gym Leaders, but found that despite ten years of exile, the Leaders’ skill had not diminished.
Azoth was always present during these bouts, his face kept stonily impassive regardless of the victor. Professor Sycamore occasionally came to watch as well, but his time was mainly spent elsewhere. Although he had been asked many times, he never said where he kept disappearing to.
A wind blew one morning as Sera sparred against Fylon, scattering the blossoms and fresh green leaves of spring as it went. Some blossoms settled on Amaura’s head, though the Pokémon quickly shook them off. Others drifted over and settled around the feet of Azoth and Kharissan, who had both come to watch the bout.
Sera knew, logically, that they were still inside the World Tree, and that there shouldn’t, by all rights, be any wind inside a tree, but after more than a week inside the Tree, she had begun to ignore it. Questioning the peculiarities of the Tree did no good, especially when neither Azoth nor Kharissan were forthcoming with the answers.
The wind carried an air of change with it. Sera had heard the stories about the wind, of course. It was hard to miss them, when one grew up in the east. Half-consciously, she found herself thinking about what Elder Tamryn would have said. Probably something about patience and letting nature take its own path. Sera never had been able to figure out how Elder Tamryn managed to extrapolate all that from a puff of wind.
Kharissan, sitting down with a sketchpad in his arms, looked up as the breeze ruffled his hair. His eyes flashed briefly crimson, and he muttered something incomprehensible, but then he shook his head and went back to drawing.
He did that, sometimes. Sera wasn’t sure what it was he drew in his sketchbook, but whenever he attended a bout between any of the Spectrum, he always brought it along. She had asked him once. He had given her a vague sort of response that left her with more questions than answers.
“Steel Wing!” Fylon called.
Sera gritted her teeth. This was a technique Braviary had learned under Warren’s tutelage, and one of the only ways he could reliably defeat Amaura. Usually, if Amaura could lower the temperatures enough, Braviary wouldn’t be able to fly, and be at Amaura’s mercy. Usually.
Fylon didn’t seem to intend to let that happen.
Braviary’s wings flashed a dull violet verging on grey as his aura flared and hardened until it was tougher than stone. It struck out at Amaura, attempting to slap her with one wing. Amaura just barely managed to dance backward, sliding on a patch of ice she had carefully placed earlier in the bout.
Braviary, however, did not let up. He struck again and again, always coming just barely out of reach of Amaura. Eventually, he scored a hit that Amaura couldn’t avoid. His wing clipped Amaura’s shoulder, and her knees buckled. Sera stifled a cry, as if she had been the one to fall to the ground.
As Amaura lay sprawled on the ground, Sera tried one last resort. “Blizzard!”
Amaura’s pale blue aura flared suddenly to life, and a chill wind blew, carrying the frost of early winter with it. Sera knew Braviary wouldn’t be able to keep flying if he was too cold. She hoped during a moment of immobility, Amaura would be able to strike and––
Braviary vanished.
Fylon looked as startled as Sera felt. How could Braviary just disappear? He was no Ghost-type, capable of fading into near-invisibility in shade.
Sera had no sooner finished that thought when Braviary reappeared behind Amaura. His second Steel Wing caught Amaura right on the back, where she couldn’t defend herself. Sera was about to call out for Amaura to retaliate when Azoth stepped onto the field.
“This bout is over,” he said. Sera nodded mutely; she had known there was no real chance of her victory after the second Steel Wing. She recalled Amaura into her Poké Ball.
“Fylon,” Azoth said with an odd inflection. “Come with me.”
Surprised, Fylon looked quickly at Sera, but then turned to follow Azoth off the field. Kharissan rose to join them, shouldering the bag that held his sketchbook. When Sera tried to follow, though, Azoth stopped her. “No,” he said. “You go back to Augustine. Tell him to find me.”
Sera nodded without any particular enthusiasm. She stood there for several long moments, watching Azoth leave the clearing and walk off into the forested area around, Kharissan and Fylon in tow, before she sighed and turned in the opposite direction, going in search of Professor Sycamore.
*
“Welcome to the archives,” Azoth said. “Every prophecy ever made in the history of the Kalos region is documented right here.”
Fylon looked around, amazed. Shelves lined every wall and jutted out into the expansive room, forming a sort of maze piled with ancient-looking manuscripts and scrolls. Those scripts that didn’t fit on the shelves were spread out over the immense circular table in the center of the room. Fylon tried to read the words on one, but they were written in such an archaic form of Kalosian that his head hurt just to decipher the first sentence.
“Why … why are we here?” Fylon asked, still awed by the size and scope of the archives.
“On account of what your Braviary just did in that match against Sera,” Kharissan said, looking at Fylon significantly.
“What do you suppose that was, a bout?” came a voice Fylon knew all too well. Arin emerged from behind a shelf, his arms laden with manuscripts and a familiar twinkle in his eye.
“What do you suppose that was about?” he repeated with a slightly different inflection, making the pun evident.
“Arin?” Fylon asked, dumbfounded. “Why are you here?”
“Oh, yeah,” Arin said. “I’ve been helping Kharissan out. I’m his apprentice now.”
Kharissan chuckled softly.
“You did what?” Azoth said sharply.
“He’s more than he appears, Azoth,” Kharissan said by way of explanation. “I thought it right to entrust him with this.”
Azoth sighed, running a hand through his white hair. He muttered something that sounded to Fylon like “When will you learn?” He doubted Kharissan heard.
“Anyway,” Kharissan said conversationally, “young master Fylon here seems to have a talent for Travelling.”
Arin grinned widely at this. “Huh,” he said. “How’d that happen?”
“He was sparring with Sera when his Braviary Travelled,” Azoth broke in, clearly irritated. “Just a few feet, no more, but enough to tell. Child, please fetch the appropriate manuscripts.”
Arin raised an eyebrow at this. Kharissan muttered, “Just humor him,” but managed to cover it up with a cough.
Arin dumped his armload of manuscripts onto the table, prompting a scandalized look from Azoth, before going back into the maze of shelves to locate the scrolls Azoth had asked for.
“You think this child is …” Azoth trailed off, looking at Kharissan.
“He can Prophesy,” Kharissan said meaningfully. Azoth gave a rare look of surprise at this.
Suddenly, Arin returned, laden with an ever bigger pile of ancient scrolls and sheafs of paper. He placed these down on another open space on the table with considerably more care, and Azoth let out a relieved breath.
Arin selected one tome, and opened it to a random page. He quickly scanned the text, and then flipped a few pages forward. “Here,” he said, jabbing a finger at the start of a new paragraph. “Read from there.”
Fylon peered closely at the text. He could barely make out the words.
Travelling for places near and far,
given us by Life and Death.
Its powers naught but spatial are,
from inhalation of a breath.
“This is from the Prophecies of Order,” Kharissan said. “It’s written in a very old form of Kalosian, of course, so the grammar makes little sense. The general idea is there, though. Travelling is one of the many Talents associated with Xerneas and Yveltal.”
“Xerneas and Yveltal?” Arin prompted.
“The Pokémon we know today as the forces of Life and Death,” Kharissan clarified. “Most of the world has forgotten their names, but here in the World Tree, we remember.”
Azoth cleared his throat. “Anyway, the World Tree’s connection to Life and Death forms a sort of auric nexus. A conduit of power, if you will, through which auric energy can flow more freely. A few individuals find they can use this power directly in the form of Talents, such as Travelling or Prophecy. It seems you’re a Traveller.”
“So … what does that mean?” Fylon asked, nonplussed.
“Like it says in the prophecy,” Kharissan said, “Inhalation of a breath and all that. Apparently your breath can be used to warp space somehow.”
“How does that work?” Fylon asked.
In response, Azoth closed his eyes and took a breath. A violet aura flared around him before he winked out of existence. Moments later, he appeared on the other side of the table, exhaling and opening his eyes.
“You’re also a Traveller?” Arin asked, clearly impressed.
“Kid, there’s a reason he’s the king,” Kharissan said, suppressing a laugh. “He has all the Talents.”
Arin’s eyes grew very wide at this. Azoth snorted before inhaling again and Travelling back across the table to where he had stood before.
“Try it now,” he said to Fylon. “Close your eyes if it helps. Breathe in, feel the auric energy, and …”
Fylon closed his eyes. He cast about with his mind, trying to find the auric nexus that Azoth had mentioned. He found nothing. He opened his eyes.
“Nothing?” Azoth said. He sounded as if he had expected as much.
Fylon shook his head. “Is that normal?”
“I would have been very surprised if you had managed it on your first try,” Azoth said. “It took me five. Valerie did it in eight.”
“I was so sure something would happen,” Fylon said, a bit forlorn.
The door to the archives banged open. Fylon turned to see Professor Sycamore stride into the room. He bowed once to Azoth and asked, “You wanted to see me?”
“Fylon’s Braviary Travelled earlier, in a bout against Sera,” Azoth explained. “He can’t seem to replicate that now, but that’s nothing new.”
“Travelling, you say,” the professor said thoughtfully, tapping his cheek.
“Wait,” Fylon said. “If Braviary was the one who Travelled, why are you expecting me to be able to? Shouldn’t you be testing Braviary?”
“There’s something about the bond between a Pokémon and its Trainer that allows for both to share a Talent. If one can do it, so can the other,” Kharissan said.
Fylon nodded.
“But it doesn’t work for you now?” the professor said. “Interesting. I shall be intrigued to see how––”
He was cut off as the door opened again. They all turned, bewildered, to see a young woman standing in the doorway, as if hesitant to enter the archives. Her cloak of many swirling colors billowed in a gust of wind.
“Mandai?” Azoth said, confusion written on his face.
“Sir,” the woman said uncertainly. “The queen wishes to see you, sir. She says it’s urgent.”
“Did she say why?” Azoth asked.
Mandai shifted uncomfortably. “She said the World Tree is under attack.”
I consider this the beginning of Part Three. Half a month has passed, and the Spectrum is reunited, as explained in the first few paragraphs. They have all grown fairly familiar with the World Tree, but some of its ... peculiarities ... do have yet to be unraveled.
There are two individual viewpoints in this chapter. The first is Sera's, as she recalls the events of the last few weeks and then goes into her battle with Fylon. Despite Fylon's advantage with Steel Wing, she almost manages to win––and definitely would have, had Braviary not Travelled at the last second.
Azoth realizes something's off, and brings Fylon to the archives (which are located in the base of the Tree).
The archives are Kharissan's domain. He's their best oracle, or Prophesier, to use Azoth's terminology. He keeps the archives semi-organized, but he also sort of adopted Arin as an apprentice. He knows there's something more to Arin than meets the eye, and he's right. It's not even just that Arin has the makings of a Prophesier. There's even more to it than that. Can't go into it, though. Might be spoilers.
The last paragraph or so has the recurrence of a character from a previous chapter: Mandai (or Mandy, technically). If you get the reference, good.
Mandai gives them all a word of warning, setting up the next chapter. An attack on the Tree? Well, you didn't think I brought back Xerosic for nothing, did you?
There are two individual viewpoints in this chapter. The first is Sera's, as she recalls the events of the last few weeks and then goes into her battle with Fylon. Despite Fylon's advantage with Steel Wing, she almost manages to win––and definitely would have, had Braviary not Travelled at the last second.
Azoth realizes something's off, and brings Fylon to the archives (which are located in the base of the Tree).
The archives are Kharissan's domain. He's their best oracle, or Prophesier, to use Azoth's terminology. He keeps the archives semi-organized, but he also sort of adopted Arin as an apprentice. He knows there's something more to Arin than meets the eye, and he's right. It's not even just that Arin has the makings of a Prophesier. There's even more to it than that. Can't go into it, though. Might be spoilers.
The last paragraph or so has the recurrence of a character from a previous chapter: Mandai (or Mandy, technically
). If you get the reference, good.Mandai gives them all a word of warning, setting up the next chapter. An attack on the Tree? Well, you didn't think I brought back Xerosic for nothing, did you?