Later, Red found himself climbing the narrow planks, inching along the same path they’d slid down earlier. He hadn’t planned for her to follow, but of course, Leaf wasn’t one to be told what to do. She scrambled after him, her boots scuffing the wood as she pulled herself through the window.

“You need to go home,” Red muttered, glaring at the mess.

Leaf shrugged, dropping to the floor with a thud. “Boss’ always late. I got time.”

“And how do you plan on making it to work in time, after whatever it is you girls do in the morning? You’re probably already running late.”

“Ever see me in makeup?” she shot back, starting to braid her hair. “Kill me if ye do. Make it hurt.”

Red grunted and slipped away to the bathroom, ridding himself of his dirty clothing while brushing his teeth angrily. Leaf’s movements from the other room reached his ears, and when he peered out, he found her pulling her braids apart only to redo them over and over. It reminded him of Bethany Billson from one of those silent comedies, the woman who could never settle on one dress for the New Day Ball.

Once finished, he spat and changed into his usual gear – a high-sleeved shirt, brown shorts, and socks to match. As he slipped his shoes on, he muttered, “I’ll be off in an hour or so. That walk south isn’t easy at the best of times.”

“Good luck,” she mumbled, eyes distant.

“As helpful as ever.”

He tidied his room, stuffing trophies back into their plastic box and sliding them under his bed. Leaf knelt down and helped him clear shards of glass from the incense holder. They then slowly peeled wax from between the floorboards, not speaking once.

Leaf lifted a broken frame. The photo within was soaked through. It was the image of him and his father from long ago.

“Nice fella?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah. He was. Loved me, loved my mom. We were... happy.”

“Sorry for ye loss, Red. I mean it.”

His throat tightened, the way she almost mouthed his father’s name. Rage flashed through him – a brief, angry thought of pinching her for daring to speak it, but he swallowed it down, ashamed of himself.

Leaf rose, tossing the bin liner in her hand and planting a kiss on his cheek as she passed.

His mother stood in the hallway, wrapped in her pink, fluffy dressing gown. The scent of apple and cinnamon clung to her damp brown hair, still fresh from the morning’s wash. She was quite small, but all of a sudden, she seemed terrifyingly large. Her eyes fluttered as they moved from him to Leaf and back again. They widened. Her eyes were like plates of snow, flecked with the deep greens of Viridian Forest.

“You are – my precious Red – who is – oh, goodness, I – yes, you’re Leaf – oh my –”

“It’s... It’s not what it looks like,” he blurted. “I don’t even know what this looks like, but she’s just a friend.”

His mother’s expression shifted, shock mixed with something else he couldn’t quite place.

Leaf boldly looped her arm through his mother’s, grinning slyly. “Ma magnificent Maurine Fletcha’. Quite the ‘onour, bein’ ‘ere in the mornin’. Feels warmer ‘ere than ma place, that’s for sure.” She winked at him. “Got Vermillion News Network, righ’? Clarice ‘Ardwood’ll be on soon.”

Before he could react, the two of them disappeared downstairs, their voices blending into the hum of the house.

Gathering his nerve, he hurried to get ready, combing his hair one last time before heading down the creaky wooden staircase. The old boards groaned underfoot and squelched if he stayed in place for too long. Leaks had formed where the mortar met the brick, but nothing bad enough to worry about. He quickly placed buckets under the worst spots, casting a glance at his mother and Leaf, now settled before the ancient television.

“…nice lookin’ dress…” Leaf muttered.

Red glanced at the screen. Clarice Hardwood stood there in a crimson gown, diamonds glittering like fallen stars across the fabric. He admired it for a moment, feeling oddly out of place for doing so.

He drank down a glass of moomoo milk, the thick chunks of fat making him gag. He swallowed it anyway. There wasn’t time to waste. He kissed his mother on the forehead, wishing her a good day before turning toward the door. He swore he heard Leaf mutter something about a kiss as well.

As he stepped outside and locked the door behind him, a sudden yellow blur zipped up the side of the house. Red froze, eyes narrowing. It was a small Pokémon, quick and fuzzy, darting about too fast for him to get a clear look. Rounding the corner, he spotted his solar panels, once fixed to the roof, now sitting askew in the pumpkin patch. The blur was now on top of them, sparks flying from its tiny body as it fed on the electricity.

“No, away with you!” Red yelled

The blur paused for a second – long enough for Red to see the culprit. A Pikachu, cheeks sparking with red light, glared back at him, defiant. It didn’t stop for long, though. Blue sparks jumped from one panel to the next, slowly absorbed into the Pokémon’s skin. Red grabbed the nearest rake, waving it furiously as he chased the creature from the property. Yellow steam clung to the metal from a slash of yellow light, but he didn’t care.

Panting, Red left the yard and sprinted through Roughshore Point. As he passed the first farms, the aftermath of the storm loomed – burned stables, collapsed fences, and the harsh shouting of the farmers trying to fix the damage. His ears ached from the noise.

Mud slicks crisscrossed the land, cutting through the first of nineteen wolds that stretched across the path. Red avoided the worst of it, not keen on getting dirty after he’d just cleaned up.

He climbed the first wold, eyes scanning the sky. The earth closer to Roughshore Point seemed to recover quickly from the storms, the land having learnt to swallow water more than anywhere else. Farther west, the ground was still sodden, a quagmire waiting to trap the unwary. Traders often cursed the mud, their carts sinking into it with no hope of escape. Red sympathized but time was against him today.

He ran for what felt like hours, over slippy land and under thicket, the landscape an endless cycle of ascent and descent. Vertigo struck him when he nearly slipped on a rock, its steep edge reminiscent of a cliff. Dead plants clung to the sides like dying tentacles, lashing at him as he passed. He held himself tight, feeling his ribs protest with each breath.

Then, over the fifth hump, he spotted a figure – a shadow moving up the slope. It waved, shouting something he couldn’t quite hear over the wind. As it neared, Red recognized the figure.

“Careful!” Red called.

Blue’s foot slipped on the rocks, nearly sending him tumbling.

Where Red was skinny and dark-haired, Blue was lean and fair, his sun-kissed skin nearly the same as Red’s. Blue’s hair, a wild, light brown mess, stood up at awkward angles. His sapphire eyes shone brightly even in the dim light, and he flashed Red a grin despite nearly falling again.

“Show-off,” Red muttered.

Blue strode alongside him, his chin marked by a slight cleft beneath those high cheekbones. It always gave him that air of sternness; it made him look much more like his grandfather. He was clad in luxury – a silken brown shirt with an extravagant jacket of fine Mightyena fur so soft it seemed to shimmer in the light, as well as trousers the colour of caramel with a platinum waistband. His golden zip fly gleamed, an opal engraving of Magnificent One shining bright across its surface. The fancy leather shoes on his feet were a ridiculous choice, considering the path leading to the Pallet Greens.

The farm folk had a name for Blue: Soft Hands on account of his polished appearance. Meanwhile they called him Roughshod Red for his tattered cap and meagre wardrobe.

“I’m never, ever sleeping near a window again,” Blue groaned.

“Why?”

Blue threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “Because the world tried to tear my room apart last night! Golden lightning was everywhere, striking like mad. Is this the crap you’re always complaining about? Is this what you deal with every damned day?”

“Welcome to my world. It’s like an alarm clock, one that flings your ass out of bed whether you’re ready or not. Last night was wild. It tossed my dresser clean off the wall and smashed all my incense candles. Now the room stinks of melted wax – probably will for the rest of the year.”

“That’s still better than what happened at the Viridian Strips. I swear, half the ships in the harbour went down. If I had a Pokémon of my own, I’d have saved them all. I’ll be indispensable someday, Red. I’ll be the man people call before they even start crying.”

Red couldn’t help but think of Blue’s fear of water. It had started after he’d fallen into a hot spring. Even the rain scared him.

Blue grimaced as another root snagged at his shoe. Red glanced at him, then at the far-off figure of Fineas the Fire Freak, riding his Rapidash across the fields, lasso in hand, as he chased after a stubborn Mudbray.

“I also…” Blue began, then faltered, feigning a cough to cover his pause. “Never mind.”

“What?”

Blue’s hesitation broke as they passed the first rows of wheat, farmhands already raising mugs of beer in greeting. “I had this strange dream.”

“Oh?” Red swallowed his surprise. “Go on.”

“It’s stupid,” Blue muttered, kicking at the dirt. “I was blind. Couldn’t see a damned thing. But I could feel... things. A needle in one hand and something like a string in the other. And the worst part? Someone was begging me for mercy. Not help Red. Mercy.”

“An odd dream. If this is some kind of twisted turn-on, keep me out of it.”

Blue shot him an irritated look. “I’m serious. I woke up drenched in sweat – that’s never happened before. And then the window... it exploded. Shards of glass came raining down on me like I was a stripper under a hail of coins.”

“You horny bastard.”

“Shut up, Red! It’s bad enough trying to explain without your stupid jokes. Just listen.”

“Go on then, talk.”

Blue's voice dropped, turning serious again. “…Then I saw it. A face, Red, made of lightning! It was so bright it must’ve come from the heavens themselves. It looked right at me. A god, Red. It must be a sign – some higher power knows I’m meant for something great. The second it flew off, I knew it was a challenge. I did feel like it was unsatisfied, though.”

“A god, huh? No. I don’t believe it.”

“Shut – up!” Blue huffed. “One day, when I become a god, you’ll regret being so obstinate.”

“Do you know what that even means?”

“No clue. I found the word in a dictionary. Can you believe that? I was scared so badly that I read a book. I swear, I touched one. You can’t make this up.”

“You absolutely can,” Red replied, sly.

Before he could react, Blue’s hand shot out and backhanded him between the legs. Red collapsed and gasped for breath.

He staggered to his feet, but Blue was already sprinting, laughing like a madman. Red cursed under his breath, chasing him through golden fields of barley, past barns stacked high with hay bales, and over fences. The first set of windmills loomed in the distance, their blades turning lazily despite the ugly clouds above.

He ran so hard he thought his heart was about to give in. Blue had always been faster and taller, and those long legs ate up the ground like nothing. But Red never let that stop him. He was inches away from grabbing the collar of Blue’s fancy fur jacket when a bell tolled in the distance.

“Truce?”

“Fine. But I’ll get you back.”

Their race ended at Farmhouse One, where Terry Pinch stood waiting, his arms crossed and his face grim. Twenty-six other boys flanked him, all eyeing the pair with the kind of look that meant trouble was brewing. Old Terry had a special ire reserved for him and Blue, more so than with any other boy in Pallet Town, Roughshore Point, or Starly Point.

Today, however, Terry was unusually quiet. His thick, black moustache hung in tatters from his lip, his eyes wide but unfocused. Deep slashes marred his face, claw marks that ran from his cheek to his nose, tearing through flesh so deeply that Red wondered how the man could even breathe. Blood had dried like war paint across his skin.

Blue went pale.

Terry’s fingers dug into their necks like iron talons, pulling them close. “Yer stupid little shits done starin’?” he growled, his breath as foul as a week-old corpse.

Red barely registered the words before Blue crumpled beside him, retching into the grass. The vomit’s sour stench was somehow less offensive than the old man’s sour face. Terry let them fall, his teeth clenched tight with that same bitter look twisting his features. Brooding. Always brooding.

It was always his fault when things went wrong. Never mind the boy who’d set fire to the cabbages just paces from Terry’s feet or the girls who’d saunter by, lifting their skirts high enough to make any workman stumble. No, if something failed, it was he who’d bear the blame. Always.

He found himself thinking of Veira’s tanned thighs, the warmth rising from his chest to burn in his cheeks.

“Blushin’, are we?” Terry’s sneer was grotesque, even for him.

“Only for you,” Red muttered before he could stop himself.

That earned him a choked laugh from Blue. The others around them suddenly found the storm-blackened sky far more interesting, as if it hadn’t been threatening rain all morning. A few of the braver ones whistled the familiar tune of “Dead Man Walking,” a song by the Sneasel Singers, one of those bands Red only ever heard through the crackling static of Leaf's radio.

Terry’s voice dropped to a growl. “I’ll kill ya,” he whispered. “Make no mistake, little Fletchlin’, I will kill ya. Now get to work, you lot – plough the fields, haul that mulch, or I’ll snap yer pretty bones like kindling. And Red –” His lip trembled, eyes distant. “Yer on yer own today. No shadowin’, no help. Storm’s comin’, and if you ain’t careful... well, the gods help you if yer carryin’ them potatoes back in the rain.” He gave a crooked smile, one filled with something darker than usual. “Wouldn’t want ya hurtin’ yerself, eh?”

----------------------------------------

He was already sweating by the time he made it to the potato fields, his shirt clinging to his back like a second skin, and the day hadn’t even begun in earnest. By the second hour, his back felt like it was on fire, muscles screaming with each pull of the cart, the rope cutting deep into his shoulders.

Red paused, squinting at the rows of foliage ahead. Where the seventh and ninth rows stretched tall and green, fresh as spring grass, the others... were rotting. The leaves wilted before his eyes, the decay spreading so fast it made him frown.

There’d be no more than a hundred good potatoes left if this kept up, he thought quickly. And of course, it would be his fault. Always Red’s fault when something unexpected happens. It was probably why his boss had chosen him to pick potatoes for the day, so as to lay blame at his feet.

Kneeling, Red separated the potatoes into rough hessian bags: keepers to the right, those that could be consumed soon enough, and to the left, the small and the spoiled. The wastage was so great it cast a shadow.

Red worked in silence, his mind drifting back to that wild Pikachu he’d seen earlier that morning. It reminded him of Blue in ways he couldn’t explain, though the thought of telling Blue was far from his mind.

With a flick of a match, he set fire to the heap of rotting produce, watching as the flames licked up, hungrily devouring the decay. It calmed him. Better to burn it than let his anger grow like Terry wanted.

Red wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

By the time he started north with two heavy bags of potatoes slung over his shoulders, the sun signalled late afternoon over the Pallet Greens. The air thickened, steam rising from the hot springs under the earth. His stomach growled. The vapour licked at the bags, tasting the potatoes within as if tempted by their golden skin. It made Red feel jealous.

A smell hit him first – ozone. He stopped. Then came the light, falling like broken swords on top of him. They slammed into the earth, sending shards of blackened stone flying, a burning crater marking the impact. The sky wept silver as a great golden cloud began to form above him. The hairs on Red’s neck stood on end.

He ran, yelling for help.

He abandoned one of the bags, barely glancing over his shoulder as the cloud glided behind him like a kite. It was chasing him. No question of that now. He zigzagged across the wolds, running in strange patterns, trying to throw it off. The sky roared with the sound of cannon fire, the boom of thunder loud in his ears.

YouMurdererBB [https://see.fontimg.com/api/rf5/pwoK/NTRlZTA3NDM5MTRmNGFiNDljYmRhZjQxYWMwNjI2Y2Iub3Rm/SSdtIHNhbmUuIEknbSBzYW5lLiBJJ20gc2FuZS4/youmurdererbb.png?r=fs&h=21&w=1000&fg=000000&bg=FFFFFF&tb=1&s=21]

Then, without warning, warmth washed over his back. Red didn’t stop until his legs gave out beneath him, his body half-crawling into the nearest root cellar. He dragged the remaining sack of potatoes behind him. When the bag got caught on a brick, he tugged it so hard it burst open all over the floor.

YouMurdererBB [https://see.fontimg.com/api/rf5/pwoK/NTRlZTA3NDM5MTRmNGFiNDljYmRhZjQxYWMwNjI2Y2Iub3Rm/SSdtIHNhbmUuIEknbSBzYW5lLiBJJ20gc2FuZS4/youmurdererbb.png?r=fs&h=21&w=1000&fg=000000&bg=FFFFFF&tb=1&s=21]

The cellar was damp and old. A coolness seeped into his bones as he collapsed onto the ground. Only the faint glow of red guided him. He shivered against a wall, pressing his knees against his chest. He dug his nails into his scalp and began to rock to and fro.

YouMurdererBB [https://see.fontimg.com/api/rf5/pwoK/NTRlZTA3NDM5MTRmNGFiNDljYmRhZjQxYWMwNjI2Y2Iub3Rm/SSdtIGluc2FuZS4gSSdtIGluc2FuZS4gSSdtIGluc2FuZS4/youmurdererbb.png?r=fs&h=21&w=1000&fg=000000&bg=FFFFFF&tb=1&s=21]

“Hello?”

No reply. I'm alone.

Golden light seeped in through the cracks in the brickwork, hunting, searching for any way inside. He watched as it slithered across the ground, creeping closer until it spilt over his head like the wax of his candles. It lingered there, and for a heartbeat, Red felt like a criminal caught beneath a guard’s torch.

He dared not move.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the haze. I’m losing it, he thought, shaking his head. Clouds don’t follow people. Not like this. When I step outside, they’ll all look the same – bleak, grey, and boring.

A dull thudding pulled him from his thoughts. Red rose to his feet, eyes darting to the small gap between the earth and the brick archway. Shadows fell in strange shapes, and then he saw him – the last person he wanted to see today. Terry Pinch.

The old man dropped to one knee, muttering strange words under his breath, his hands clasped as if in prayer. He had never seen Terry pray before. Terry’s lips moved fast, the words a frantic jumble, too quick for Red to make any sense of. Then the old man stood and left without a glance downwards.

When Red finally stopped pacing the cellar, his fingers red from biting at non-existent nails, he crept outside. The air was heavy. He stuck to the shadows, eyes flicking to the sky every few steps. Farmers waved him over as he passed, but their conversations were dull, murmurs about their families, their homes, and the damage done by the storm.

He never stayed in one spot for too long.

“I had more leaks this time,” Red said absently, still keeping an eye on the clouds. “Probably the worst I’ve seen, though my place isn’t half as bad as some.” It was true – smoke still rose from Roughshore Point, thick plumes twisting up from where the lightning had struck again and again throughout the day.

“‘Ows yer mam ‘andlin’ it?” Philip called out.

“I handled it. She’s more than earned her rest,” he said, glancing at the man draining his glass. “Say… you or anyone see something odd today? Something about my boss?”

Philip muttered something, but Red didn’t catch it, nodding as if he had.

Farmhouse One was a mess of chaos, the kind that made your head spin. People shouted over one another, standing on tables, handing out wads of cash to anyone lucky enough to grab it. Red could barely push through the throng, the air thick with the smell of booze and sweat. A bulb of white light swung overhead, casting dizzying shadows on the faces of those gulping down thick, dark liquor that made his throat burn just from the scent.

He searched for Blue, shoving his way through the crowd. But he wasn’t there. No one had seen him since he set off for the mill, and when Red asked a couple of boys near the back, they told him Blue had been kicked out for vandalism. He hardly felt the thirty-six Poké that slipped into his palm.

Red found Blue’s shadow long before he found the boy himself. It stretched westward, trudging ahead without a glance back.

He chased after him.

“Blue!”

“I got suspended,” Blue muttered, eyes flicking away. “Five months.”

Red opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The words were trapped in his throat.

“I don’t get it,” Blue said, voice rising in frustration. “How in the hell can that old prick blame me for this? Does he think I can tell the sky when to hurl lightning at the ground? It’s absurd – acting like I’ve got some hidden power or something.”

“Hidden what?”

“All right, fine,” Blue relented, rubbing a hand over his face. “Maybe that was a bit much.”

“A bit? Comparing yourself to a Pokémon move? That’s like me yawning and apologizing for Hyper Beaming someone.”

“That’s not the same thing!” Blue protested.

They started toward Professor Oak’s lab, or “lairse,” as Leaf liked to call it. The place loomed ahead like a fortress, its walls thick with steel and stone, shimmering in all the colours of the rainbow. The saffron-coloured roof cast a strange glow over the landscape. Geysers of emerald water spouted along the path, their sweet scent filling the air, though Red barely noticed it.

He was too busy staring at the sky.

Blue spoke up again, frustrated. “It was invisible, I swear. Lightning just came out of nowhere and hit the fantail while I was working on it – set the damned thing on fire. I had to climb down using a ladder some farmer tossed me.”

His thoughts raced back to the feeling of something watching him, chasing him from above.

“Something similar happened to me,” Red said quietly.

“You had someone try and smite you?” Blue said, eyes narrowing, a bitter grin creeping across his face. “And here I thought I was the only one having a shit day. Brilliant. At least I’m not mad... You do believe me, don’t you?”

“Yeah, Blue. I believe you.”

Red smiled, shook his hand, and then backhanded him between the legs.

“You – fuck – you little –!” He wheezed, clutching himself, struggling to catch his breath. “I’ll never… have kids now.”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with a kid even if you had one, Mr. Magnificent One.”

He swung at Red, a wild, clumsy punch that missed by a hair. Red, ever quick, stuck out his leg, tripping Blue. But as he fell, he pulled Red down with him, both of them crashing into the mud in a tangle of limbs.

They wrestled like children, rolling and grappling through the muck, trading half-hearted blows. Blue’s foot, now bare, connected with Red’s knee, sending a jolt of pain through them both.

“You’ve got bones like rocks,” Blue muttered through gritted teeth.

In the silence that followed, they searched for Blue’s missing shoe. Red thought he saw it sinking into the earth, but it was just a tired-looking Starly, huddled in on itself, wings tucked tight. They gave up after ten minutes, heading for Professor Oak’s Laboratory.

“I’m scared,” Blue said softly, breaking the quiet.

Red moved in circles, waiting for Blue to catch up. He would not stand still... ever.

“I’m scared,” Blue repeated, voice tighter this time.

“Why?”

“What’s the old man going to say?”

“Why would he be angry?”

Leaf and I got jumped by a monster this morning. Who am I to judge your situation?

“He won’t believe me,” Blue muttered, hopping now. “Not like you do. He’ll think I set the mill on fire out of spite.” His voice trembled. “I mean, yeah, I hate Terry – who wouldn’t in our position? That two-faced idiot. But burning down his mill? Risking people’s lives? I’d never do that.”

“That’s… thoughtful of you,” said Red.

“Of course it is!” Blue snapped. “How else am I supposed to become someone every person turns to when things go bad? I have to be the hero, Red. I will be. But how can I save people if I’m the one endangering them first? That’s cowardly. I won’t be remembered as weak.”

You’re an idiot, Blue.

“When you finally get that starter Pokémon, maybe you can deal with Hell’s Trough. Put an end to the chaos there, and everyone will sing your praises.”

“You’d back me up, right? At any cost?” Blue asked, stopping short of the emerald pools. “Later, though. It’s not like I need help – because I don’t.” He puffed his chest out. “But it’s good to know someone’s in my corner. A hero always needs a sidekick.”

Fuck you.

Red said nothing, watching as Blue hurried ahead. His steps were awkward, almost fearful, and Red noticed how he kept his eyes off the water that frothed lazily near their feet. It crawled over the grassy edges as if reaching for Blue, but he ignored it and bolted for the heavy door ahead.

At any cost, Red thought, Blue’s words echoing in his mind.

You’re a fool if you think I’ll always back you, Blue. I care for you, but I have my own life to live. I doubt you’d give me the same benefit anyway. Though how I’m supposed to tell you that, I haven’t the faintest idea.

----------------------------------------

Red hadn’t expected to see anyone waiting for him outside his home. Leaf stood there with her hands on her knees, panting like she’d run all the way from the Pallet Greens. Sweat glistened on her brow, her eyes darting nervously until she noticed him.

“Fletcher,” she gasped, straightening up. “Though’ ye weren’t comin’ home at all. Sat ‘ere with a cold arse for a bit.”

“Why didn’t you knock?” Red asked, stepping aside to let her in. “My mother’s home.”

“She’s sleepin’,” Leaf muttered, her gaze flicking toward the small chair where Red’s mother dozed, soft snores filling the room. “Wanted to talk to ye ‘bout somethin’. Somethin’ odd, but not bad. Nothin’ to do with tha’… y’know…”

Red bent down and kissed his mother on the forehead, careful not to wake her. She slept with her head resting on an old, threadbare pillow he’d stitched together countless times. He slid a different pillow under her while Leaf propped up her head.

As Red sipped his coffee, he flipped through The Indigo Times, eyes narrowing at the troubling news from the West.

Leaf downed her hot chocolate in one go.

“This what’s been bothering you?” he asked.

“Nah… it’s a bit more complicated.”

“I’ve had a complicated day too –” Red stopped short as a soft rustle echoed above. Dust drifted onto his hand. Something was moving on the roof.

“You hear that?” he asked, voice low.

“Heard it a mile off. Sounds like somethin’ scatterin’ about up there. Didn’t know ye ‘ad many birds ‘round here. Thought most got scared off by the storms. Ain’t tha’ what ye told me? Only the big birds come back, and not many of ‘em survive.” She snatched the newspaper from his hands, scanning the front page. “What’s an Orre?”

“Orre?” He whistled. “Desert region. Close enough to give me the runs.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Scared o’ a little sand, are ye?”

“I’m scared of being killed in my sleep by a volcano,” Red muttered, tapping the side of his coffee cup. “And the Pokémon out there? Apparently, they’re all insane. No one knows why. Read line forty, right under that picture of the village getting hammered by boulders. It’ll explain things better than I can.”

The thud came again, louder this time. Red’s brow furrowed. What’s that damned Pikachu up to now? He’d half a mind to toss the little menace off the roof, but his mother would faint at the thought.

“I – what’s this say?” Leaf asked, her finger tapping the page.

“Forthright,” Red answered, taking another sip. The coffee was smooth and dark, just the way he liked it, slowly warming him from the inside. He glanced at her over the rim of his mug.

“Fort-wha?” She wrinkled her nose, frowning in frustration.

“F-o-r-t-h-r-i-g-h-t.”

Leaf made a noise in her throat. She skimmed the page, her lips moving as she whispered words to herself, trying to sound them out. It would’ve been funny, if not for the dust falling again – this time landing right on his head. He sighed. Any moment now, something worse would end up in his coffee or, worse, on his mother.

“So, what happened? You said it was a complicated day.”

Leaf folded the newspaper and placed her head on the table. “Promise ye won’t laugh.”

“I promise.”

“The roof at the shop collapsed,” she said. Her hands trembled slightly. “Though’ I was gonna die, Fletcher. Hurt my leg, too. Not bad, but enough to make me limp.”

Red set down his cup. “You need to go to the hospital.”

“Ain’t cheap.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

She shot him a look, half playful, half annoyed. “I’m a ‘alf-grown woman, ya tosspot. Don’t need ye money. What about you? Heard ye had a rough day too.”

Red twirled the four-leaf clover between his fingers.

“I was lucky.”

“But?”

“I was almost struck by lightning. I thought I was done for. Blue –”

“Ye talked to Blue?” Leaf’s laugh cut him off. “ What did lil Starly Wimp want?”

Without a word, Red rose from his seat, grabbed their empty mugs, and headed to the sink. He wanted to yell, to grab that damned Pikachu by its scruffy neck and shake it like it owed him money. Instead, he let the hot water run over the mugs, trying to let the anger slide away.

Leaf hopped onto the counter beside him, chewing her nails. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“Yes, you did.”

“He ain’t a friend o’ mine,” she muttered, tapping absentmindedly at the buttons on his old microwave. It gave a weak, pitiful beep in response.

“Whatever,” Red said with a sigh. “Just go to the hospital, Leaf. Before we head to the professor’s. I’m not dragging you there if your leg gives out.”

Leaf raised her hands, palms out, her fingers shaking theatrically. “Scary! Big ol’ Red, always the protector, huh? What’d I do without ya?”

She batted her eyelashes at him. He flicked a bit of soapy water her way, making her yelp and cover her face.

“Shoulda known ya weren’t in the mood,” she grinned, shrugging. “I’ll go to the hospital later. After we visit ol’ Man Oak. An’ don’t ya dare tell him ‘bout that clover, Red. Keep it hidden.”

“I intend to.”

----------------------------------------

Red lurked on the landing, leaving Leaf to use his bathroom. He was on the hunt now, racket in hand. That damned demon had to be dealt with. He moved carefully through his house, the floorboards creaking beneath him as he searched for the tiny terror.

The Pikachu was curled up on a coffee table, unaware of his approach. It looked so peaceful. For a moment, Red hesitated. Then, without a second thought, he swung the racket hard. The whoosh of air echoed in the quiet room, but he missed.

Static filled the air, a soft hum that made the hairs on Red’s arms stand on end. The Pokémon had retreated, hiding somewhere nearby. His eyes narrowed as he heard the faint buzzing from an open window. The roof, he realized.

Red hauled himself up the side of the house. The shingles were slick and wet with the evening mist. It was sat on the chimney, ears twitching nervously, with its eyes on him.

He felt his breath catch. The air around him had shifted, thickening with a strange, electric charge. The sky above seemed to darken, the clouds swirling like a great storm. The Pikachu sat still, its tiny body vibrating.

And then the sky split open.

Lightning poured down like a river of golden fire. It struck with a force that shook the earth beneath him, illuminating everything in sharp, vivid light. But when the light faded, everything was untouched. His house stood unscathed. The air smelled fresh, cleaner than it had in years. Even the solar panels looked cleaner than before.

He saw it – a ball of light, no bigger than a fist, hovering a foot before him. He mustered the bravery to snatch the ball without a moment's hesitation. The Pikachu attempted to wrestle it away, clawing and biting his arms. He kicked it and ran, laughing crazily all the while fighting to keep his balance.

Retracing his steps back inside was no easy feat. It seemed as though his home had barred itself from entry. Where there used to be windows, he discovered only walls. His beacon of hope was Leaf’s voice. She moved around his room, singing a timeless sailor’s song.

After lowering himself onto the balcony outside his bedroom, he found Leaf waiting on him. Purple and orange woollen socks covered half her calves, while a red towel hung above her chest, falling until it wafted against her knees. He felt very out of place. Leaf didn’t care. She pulled him inside and pecked his cheeks. When he asked why, she told him it was the first warm bath she’d had in a month.

“You live in a better area than me,” he said, astonished.

“It is wha’ it is,” Leaf replied. She gave him a strange look. “How many people ‘ave warm water in Roughshore Point? I promise the plumbin’ in Pallet Town is far worse than ‘ere. If ol’ Man Oak decides to finally help, I’ll give ‘im the firmest ‘andshake o’ his life. If only he gets ‘is head outta them dusty books…” She sounded very bitter. “Tough luck o’ tha’! Maybe tonight we could mention it. But only after we get our Pokémon.”

“Sure. Then what? We could help people ourselves. Charmander – at least if I find one that will have me – could search for natural shafts closer to Pallet Town. There should be hot springs by the handful just waiting to be found. I’d look, at least before the Circuit begins, with or without the professor’s help.”

“And then wha’?” Leaf echoed.

She sat on the edge of his bed. Her hair stuck to her face, some of it still wet, like sable tears. A gust of cold air whipped into the room. It always surprised him just how dark her hair had become. It was as black as a Murkrow’s feather, tenebrous in fact, with no hint of lightness in any strand. He thought that strange, knowing her mother and father were natural blondes.

He blinked. Leaf was watching him closely.

“Mark them on a map and – and I have no idea. Maybe I could find some people who would know what to do and give them a reason to help this dreary rock.” He laughed sarcastically. “Yeah… no chance of that happening. Who would help us? Most people in Roughshore Point and Pallet Town work to leave, not stay.” Like us. “I’ll leave the rest for someone younger. There are already plenty of replacements for me on the Pallet Greens already. They shadow me like wraiths.”

“You leavin’ ye mum ye savin’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Them wraiths oughta shadow someone else, then."

Red sat next to her. She smelled of peaches – his own shampoo – rather than Strawberry Standard, a shampoo tailored to women he’d purchased mistakenly two weeks ago. It was better than the damp air but he found it quite embarrassing. Red wondered if all girls liked peaches, and whether or not he had smelt like a woman on the farm for weeks.

“Hundreds. On occasion, when someone passes out, those who shadow you can complete your shift for double the wage. You should shadow me so I can relax for the day. Hiding in a damp cellar again might give me a heart attack, though.” He flipped a silver coin her way. “That little thing is an hour of my life. Spend it at the hospital.”

He locked the window and sat at his desk. Regret bubbled in his gut. The ball of lightning hummed in his pocket like it knew what he was thinking. He could trust Leaf. She would not say anything if he told her not to. But he liked his secret… very much. It felt wrong to him that it should be shared – that he wanted to do so out of fear, so he was not alone, was too shameful for him to stomach.

He stared at his hands wondering if he was alive and that he had not fallen into a strange dream. Lightning had brushed his back after all.

Leaf fell asleep an hour later. He tucked her under his covers and went to check on his mother. A face appeared through the window. It was yellow and stern.

“You little shit,” he whispered.

Leaf rolled onto her side. He feared she had woken until he heard a soft snore. Tip-toeing to the window, Red gripped his racket and pointed it the Pokémon’s way; it didn’t look impressed. He reached for the handle and checked it was locked, turning it twice before backing away. He tried to shoo it away silently when Leaf groaned.

He made himself look bigger and motioned a throw, which startled the Pikachu enough to make it see reason.

A crash from downstairs – the shattering of a plate – passed through him like a knife through butter. He chanced a look at the bedroom window one last time before he searched for his mother, closing his bedroom door gently behind him.

He heard Leaf snoring through the door.

On his way down, he ran a finger over the wall. Several nicks caught his nail. There were more now than ever, and there were only so many buckets left to fill. Red chanced a look outside… it was terribly dark… too dark… almost like he was looking into the eye of a soulless night sky.

It was an eye.

“Piss off before I –”

“Manners!” his mother yelled.

“Sorry!” He turned back to the eye. “You know this is an invasion of privacy, don’t you? Leave before I lose my temper. Go. Now.” A pink tongue poked through the wall. “That’s it –!”

Red grabbed it – his arm gave a jolt, twitching madly – before quickly letting it go. The Pikachu looked at him, smug. It had known that he would try and hurt it. How could a Pokémon be so adamant and cunning? He took note of its squalid eyes watching the lightbulbs in the kitchen before it vanished.

Raking its guts over the lawn didn’t seem so terrible now. It would be messy business and blood did unsettle him, but what else was there for him to do? His mother would want to keep the rodent – of that, he knew for sure. She wouldn’t know of its impudent ways… its way of finding secrets… and what it would do if she took her eyes off it.

The new league had not sent his papers and trainer card yet, so he had no idea if such a violent act would be illegal. What laws remained or not lay in rumour alone; he knew which rumour he favoured when he heard a faint, annoying scratching sound beside his ear.

“Dearie me,” said his mother.

Flannels checkered black and red surrounded trails of broken glass, unfurling into three long necks; its heads were large with teeth so ugly it made him shiver. It looked like a terribly old chessboard with equally dreadful rules.

His mother spied him sitting on the bottom step of the stairs. She ruffled his hair. He liked it – he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t liked her touch. Now it felt tired and sweeter than normal.

“A nightmare it’ll be, to clean up all this,” she said, wistful. “If only I had another pair of hands…”

“A shame,” he replied softly. “Shall I find you a pair?”

She ruffled his hair again, smiling.

They set to clean the shards of glass away first. He was tasked with wearing a helmet and keeping a flashlight close in hand. “Safety always comes first,” his mother intoned, a brush pointed his way, sword-like. “Some day when you’re old and wrinkled, these lessons will save your life.”

“But you’re not old and wrinkled…”

“I’m – who told you I had wrinkles?” She ran to the hall mirror and stared at her reflection. “There’s – oh my goodness – I’m hardly forty – this can’t be right –”

Red overextended himself and stood on a shard of glass. He winced, tugging it out with pliers. A trickle of blood dripped onto the tiles. He was quick to clean it away, as he didn’t fancy being babied for the rest of the day.

He searched for the remaining shards using his flashlight. He had an easier time with that than he did with keeping his mother focused. She would start to brush with him – finally parted from her reflection – only for a streak of waning sunlight to catch the hall’s mirror, a finger of evening red beckoning her back without fail.

A final shard remained… it was strange. Where all others were clouded – their edges brittle – this one fitted not in colour nor size. Its edge was smooth; Red thought it part of a greater whole, an art piece, perchance. Azure and crimson stainings were rare in Kanto, even more so in Roughshore Point. There was no chance it had come from a normal broken plate.

Viridian Grand Museum had stained glass, but Red found no memory of ever going there. He left it on a black flannel so his mother wouldn’t miss it. She may have purchased it long ago when she lived there in her early twenties.

Red felt a terrible guilt throwing raw chicken in the bin. He chose to clean the rest without his mother’s aid. The smell in the kitchen was unpleasant. He stopped his mother from opening any window – the shadows were alive tonight.

He decided on a plate of croissants in the end, alongside two bowls of raisin-filled oats.

When he asked his mother what had caused her accident, she nodded at the stained glass on the kitchen table. She had turned and found it on the floor, unaware of its origin. Red fiddled with its edge until his fingers came back covered in blood with no visible injury on his body. He held the flashlight to his thumb, then along each of his fingers until he furrowed his brow in frustration.

My fingers are clean and I know my toe was not anywhere near it when I bled. This blood can’t be mine or my mother’s. But if that’s true, whose blood does it belong to? Did someone break in and leave it as a threat? That can’t be it – my mother would have seen someone roaming about the house. So why is it here? What purpose does a piece of glass serve?

If it was that little rat, I’ll kill it.

He returned upstairs, furious, keeping a steady hand on both the plates and bowls. Red kept an eye on the milk surrounding islands of gold, purple, and sunflower yellow, bobbing up and down hazardously. Some splashed his sleeves; it took all of his patience not to throw the bowls down the stairs.

“Ye all righ’?” Leaf asked immediately.

His covers were tucked beneath her chin: Leaf had to have fought them into position for some time… all so she could wait for him to return. It was hard for Red not to feel indebted to her from that alone.

“Fletcher, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied, setting down one plate and bowl on his nightstand. “I wouldn’t want to worry you –”

“Ain’t a lil girl, Red. Tell me. Please? I’m not going to beg twice.” You would. “Come here and eat with me.”

He did so with reluctance. The low hum from his pocket would be more noticeable to her now.

He told her of the strange glass. She seemed nonplussed by it until he reached into his pocket and laid it across her lap. He kept his eyes down when the covers fell. The light ting of her flicks amused him; shadows danced through his bedroom, the jagged glass like a knife pointed at the North Star.

When Leaf handed it back – only once Red had finished his croissant – her fingers were bone dry. He rubbed the edge experimentally. They came back wet. He feigned a cough to retreat to the sink so he could wash his hands a little too aggressively, opening up a scab on his knuckle.

“Ye worryin’ me,” said Leaf.

“Sorry!” he yelled. She was waiting on him, still hiding under his covers. “What do you think? Does this remind you of anything at all?”

“Na… Wait, ye. I thought I saw somethin’ red’n’blue near Viridian Forest. Maybe it was up an ol’ tree, maybe in some Pokémon’s nest or somethin’. After a week it disappeared. Believe me, I tried to find tha’ thing everywhere. Pointless – in the end, I had to give up or face goin’ into the forest alone. Now I see it up close, I ain’t a fan… it feels like it’s listenin’ to us.”

First, it was a storm, then a golden cloud – not discounting the strange tentacles in the morning – followed by gentle lightning strikes, a Pikachu with no manners, a ball of lightning falling from the sky, and now a shard of stained glass covered in blood only he could touch. And there was a naked girl in his bed.

He felt her eyes watching him as he peered out the window.

Red sat at his desk and began reading: The Yellow Stalk and its Stark Fury. The other two books were far older. He had yet to turn a page of either. They watched him with harsh judgement, no surprise knowing where he had left his reading candle: right above them, resting on a platform of plastic.

Folklore of Lightning and Fire alongside Folklore of the Icy Heart would forever remain unopened so far as he was concerned. For some reason, he was frightened of them and of what may hide in their pages.

The Yellow Stalk was always a safer option. It followed a fierce trainer named Ben Haze and his Gossifleur, Yellow Stalk. His Pokémon was known for its anger, thus regarded by all as Stark Fury. Ben used his friend to fight through the Mushroom Clouds above Blackthorn City to face the mighty Clair Blackthorn, the powerful conciliator of the land. He lost time and time again. The margin between them was so vast he dedicated his life to beating the woman who had already forgotten his name.

It was said that Clair held a beauty rare to any other woman in Johto. She could sing dragons to sleep and keep the Dragon’s Den tame. Her bravery and fierceness in protecting her home made her a heroine to all trainers. It was what Ben yearned for, yet could never have.

Red was never quite sure of Ben’s feelings. Whether he had come to love or hate the protector of Blackthorn City was up to the reader’s interpretation. But when Ben learned how to use a dragon flute, Red thought it obvious that he was in love with her. Of course, it came at a cost. The Stark Fury was driven into madness, thinking herself beneath even Ben’s respect, and created her own flute to bury Blackthorn in a bed of thick roots shining emerald and onyx.

Twelve readings had not taken away the shocking climax to the tale. He liked that about it most. Jessica Salbert, the author, had not made a sequel, so it was left to her fans to finish the story however they pleased.

For him, it ended with Clair declaring someone else – not Ben – as king of the world. Whomever it may be, however, he hadn’t the faintest clue.

He sucked the nib of his pen and began to write. He moved his right shoulder over the desk, concealing him from Leaf’s eyes.

“I’m bored,” Leaf declared. He nearly stabbed his finger out of shock.

She was always bored. Leaf forgot one hobby and picked up another the same day, every day, despite his best efforts to convince her to stop. It was something that reminded him of Ben.

Something sharp pressed against his shoulder – a chin. He heard Leaf snicker next to his ear.

“Wha’s tha’?”

“A poem.” He frowned. “A sad poem, actually. It’s about the main character of this.” He handed her The Yellow Stalk and its Stark Fury. “Be gentle with it. My father gave me that along with the other two in his collection before he died.”

He scratched away his poem of Blackthorn’s annihilation, keenly aware of Leaf’s sudden silence. He heard her reading the prologue. He knew the opening to the book was from Clair’s perspective – a year before everything went wrong.

Red felt himself turn red.

“Clair,” said Leaf, slightly bitter.

Before he could ask what was wrong, she returned the book and hastily retreated to his bathroom. He hoped she’d finally get dressed.

Red liked writing sad poems, it made him feel more connected to Jessica Salbert; he liked writing in general, unlike Blue, and found it a peaceful way to pass the time. Some day he hoped to read all of his works in a leather-bound book. Most of the works were meant as gifts to himself, his mother, and Leaf.

Going to a big city to get his works published made Red feel a little sick.

His pocket hummed. He looked at the clock.

“The time!” he gasped. “Leaf we need to leave for the professor’s –!”

“Lairse?” she finished, cocking her hip to the side, fully dressed. “Hurry then, poet boy, before I leave ye behind.”

He left through the front door with one sock still on his hand, a plain brown shoe clenched between his teeth, and a raincoat half-fastened from the top down. Leaf borrowed his mother’s umbrella without asking first. He apologised on his friend’s behalf but didn’t catch his mother’s reply, as Leaf had already closed the door behind them.

It took an hour longer than normal to reach the laboratory. Most well-taken paths had been raised into speckled, bubbling swamps.

“Red, where are ye?” Leaf yelled.

The wind howled over her.

“Right – here!”

He saw the stone walls in the distance. It wouldn’t be long now. There were few obstacles to hinder their harried pace; stones tried to form barriers but were quickly set apart by the swift changes in water level. It reminded him of their cereal again, making him smile.

Leaf pressed against his side. He’d already lost track of her twice. “Where now?”

She said something else, but by then, there was no hearing her. The storm his boss had warned of earlier was in full swing. Red felt regretful after mocking the old man’s prayers.

He knew no one would answer, on knee or foot, any prayer that left his mouth; he remembered all too well the pesky insects beneath him in his dream. Had they prayed? Yes. Had he stopped to listen when they died? No. What time he spent in his dream was with his eyes alone… and even then, he had not noticed Leaf far below. Had she prayed in her final moments?

On a throne of stars, where would anyone find modesty? What purpose is there for kindness when you don’t care for judgement? Who could punish a god anyway? Impunity was their shield, and what a shield it was.

He helped Leaf over the first of many walls; her limp worried him. Let the gods keep their throne, he thought, and let me have my humanity.

“All right up there?” he yelled.

Leaf didn’t reply.

He turned his attention to the west. Searchlights spun on creaking caramel-coloured platforms in the night, seemingly at random. North, east, south and west shrunk under a mile of golden light; pinions scintillated rustic red and silver on either side, spreading so wide they looked like ghostly birds preparing for flight.

Red couldn’t see whether there were any feathers welded to the side of any of the mirrors. He had a creeping suspicion there weren’t any.

Leaf disliked them too. “They’re watchin’ fer somethin’. They know we’re comin’ righ’?”

He hoped so. It was rare for the searchlights to be on at all. Red had seen them activated twice in his life; the first was to find a missing Pidgey, the other when thieves stole expensive research equipment meant for military-use. He wished for the former now more than ever… because if anyone ruined this day…

Leaf screamed.

Her umbrella was beating its black-blue wings, caught in a fierce gale. The metal ribs breathed, shuddering, before vanishing into the night. She tried to grab the plastic pole, but Red pulled her back before she fell. By then, the rain had turned ferocious. It was impossible for him to see anything.

He slid down the wall first. There were few places to relax on the way down.

“Leaf, you’ll have to –” She jumped, landing on all fours like a Persian. “ – or you could do that, I suppose.”

They hurried a mile and a half around four different nesting grounds before a search light snapped their way… without a pinion in sight. A shadow ran over the carpet of gold. It wasn’t an angel, nor was it his umbrella – it was Blue.

“Red? Leaf?” he yelled. “It’s about time! I thought you two weren’t interested in coming.”

Three of Professor Oak’s assistants found them by the door, freezing cold. They pulled all three of them inside before quickly sealing the entrance; there was already plenty of water inside, filtering out through grates in the floor.

Blue looked very skittish.

Red thanked them shyly. They ignored him and stared pointedly at Blue, who was sitting on a plush blue armchair, squeezing water out of his socks.

“Off!” came a cold voice.

Blue hastily pulled himself to his feet. The voice had come from one of the slim women wearing a long white lab coat. Dark blue glasses bridged over her nose, matching the deep-sea blue of her hair. Her face was freckled and sharp, with stern chocolate eyes nearly popping out of her skull. A faint tan stopped short of her collarbone, where Red – with little regret – lost control of his eyes.

The hall warmed ever so slightly.

“How often must you be told –?”

“I’m aware, sis,” Blue spat. “I was just relaxing my legs. You’re such a spoilsport! It’s no wonder – OW!” She pulled him up by the ear. “Daisy!”

“You insolent boy. I may love you, but if you ever flaunt the rules again, I’ll –” She turned to her co-workers. “Please inform the professor that His Lordship is safe… along with his retinue.”

They nodded stiffly, taking the third corridor to Red’s right.

His eyes found it challenging to adjust to the hall’s brightness. Everything besides a row of plants, an odd set of furniture, and a wall of buttery yellow lava lamps shone bright white. The world began to tilt. He caught himself on a wall.

Once the assistants were out of sight, Blue pushed his sister away. He nursed his ear, which looked more red than white, silently cursing his family’s name.

Daisy and Leaf were peas in a pod thereafter.

“Long time no speak, Starly Wimp.”

“Ugly rat,” Blue muttered.

Leaf pouted.

“Plain ugly tomboy,” he amended, louder.

Daisy pressed her keycard against a wall. Red imagined her smiling. The wall opened outward from the centre. Steam poured from the metallic mouth into the hall; it chilled Red’s knees. Blue found it in himself to squeal like a little girl, whereas Leaf hummed pleasantly with a disturbing smile.

Red doubted she would forget Blue’s insult so easily. The chances of her pushing him (accidentally) into a pit of fire seemed more likely each time he opened his mouth. It was something to watch closely.

Inside the wall’s metallic teeth, there were twenty crimson booths. They were all crescent-shaped, huddling around their windows protectively. Ten or eleven people would fit in comfortably with a decent view of the outside world.

It seemed quite insulting to him; he felt reminded of those at sea, stuck in their little cabins, staring out of their small windows toward the land so close, yet so far away. Did they see the stars as friends? If so, he thought sadly, how much did they hate this storm? How much did they hate every storm?

It must be a lonely life for them all.

“C’mere, Fletcher!” Leaf yelled. She was sat on a stool facing a long counter. “Ye spot’s ‘ere.”

They ordered the strangest drinks they could find. He had decided on the Flaming Madness in honour of Fineas the Fire Freak; Leaf went against him and ordered Vines Root – a complicated margarita blend with strange verdant highlights. Her drink cost double his own.

“Come on, cheer up!” she implored, smirking.

Her lips were lime green.

“No – why do I bother? That money was meant for the hospital, not… this. Now what are you going to do?”

He poked her leg. It jolted awkwardly.

“Suffer while drinkin’ this?”

He shook his head and scanned the diner for Blue and Daisy. They were in a booth. Blue looked like he was close to throwing a fit; his head hung halfway over their tabletop, whispering something fierce. Daisy looked displeased. She had the moment they had all arrived. If possible, it was worse now.

Failing in his poor attempt at eavesdropping, he finished his drink and paid for a burger.

The moment he had spotted the meat on the grill, sizzling and popping away, his resolve had crumbled. It was a brilliant treat. Leaf pined for a half until he gave in, already having sliced it the moment it arrived. She looked more ravenous than himself.

Hard-looking waitresses hurried around with five plates balanced between their arms, their red and white checkered dresses streaming alongside them. It was hard for him not to feel the urge to rush his meal. Some waitresses were busy hastily jotting orders, while others collected cash and delicately filled their tip jars.

Red watched a particularly large woman – her apron stained in layers of grease – stand on a chair, pink chalk in hand, as she whirled words and numbers across a chalkboard. He wondered whether the chalk would snap before one of the chair legs.

“Yer type?” Leaf whispered.

“Yeah, that chair’s sure something…”

She laughed aloud… perhaps too loud. The waitress glared at them.

Red mindlessly stacked four creamers and kept his eyes on his shoes, acting as if he had not seen them in years. What had he been thinking? His mother had raised him to be polite, not cruel. He smiled apologetically the woman’s way, but she was no longer there. That only made him feel worse.

“I can talk to her,” Leaf offered, standing. “How do ye flirt with a chair, Red? Teach me after we leave this pit o’ grease. Fuckin’ ‘ell, I ain’t sure I’ve been so hot before.

She had the right of it. The diner had initially been lukewarm when they took their seats. Now it was uncomfortably hot, more so by the second. Moisture gathered above the grills, slowly running over stripped wood while some dripped into empty coffee mugs on the counter.

Rivulets of sweat crept down his back. He pulled Leaf back to her seat before she got any bad ideas.

A harried waitress with fair hair and pale skin asked if they wanted anything else, a pen and notepad already in hand. Leaf ordered the Minted Quartet – four squared blocks of deep green ice cream, bobbing gently in a puddle of gloopy caramel. He settled on the Dragon’s Ruby – three trapeziums of deep red jelly, spliced laterally with faint ribbons of juicy cherries – as it reminded him of the Carmine Artery.

Leaf stole the largest cherry before he could touch his spoon, rolling it on her tongue teasingly. It popped like a bubble of blood between her teeth.

“You’re welcome,” he said, sullen.

“Someday, I’ll let ye pop my cherry,” she said nonchalantly, tossing another into her mouth.

“You don’t have any cherries.” He grabbed her bowl. “See? Unless you mean to bring us back here… pay for two Dragon’s Rubies… But I can’t imagine that happening, no matter how hard I try.”

Leaf gave him an odd look, followed by a sly smile. Red felt very dim all of a sudden, quite like he’d somehow missed an obvious answer to a simple test.

Blue slumped onto the stool beside Red, running twitching fingers through his long spiky hair. A bowl of salad rattled in Blue’s right hand, his fingers clenched so tight they looked ghostly pale. Daisy sat beside Leaf with the same salad – her hands steady and firm.

“I’ll pay you to kill her,” Blue cajoled. “Make sure it’s messy.” He stole a bite of Red’s jelly. “Now this is a proper dessert! What’s this called? Never mind, don’t answer. I’m so starved I’ll die if I don’t eat something decent soon. I’d hate working here with this selection of food… honestly…”

Daisy placed her glasses on the counter. Leaf lent her a soft burgundy cloth so she could clean her glasses. They started whispering to one another. It made him feel uncomfortable.

“Excited for a Squirtle?”

Blue spooned a leg of greens before dropping it back into his bowl. He looked guilty.

“Yeah. I’ll tame that – that thing. My grandfather hasn’t bothered showing me where our starter Pokémon are kept. It’s like he doesn’t trust me! Personally, I reckon they’re underground. That Squirtle of mine’s probably in a pool – not that I’m scared – no – it’s fine because I can… I can swim. I’m not scared.”

He gave Red a stricken look as if to say, We both know I’m terrified.

“Even if it’s guarded,” Blue continued, “I’d convince it to join me. I’m a motivational speaker so it should be easy enough. I mean, come on! What Pokémon would turn down the chance to work with me? I’m amazing. I bring joy wherever I go.”

“Until today,” Leaf remarked, popping another cherry between her teeth. She gave Red another strange smile.

Blue sneered.

Red smelled blood in the water.

“Oh? What are you talking about, Plains? Someone like you wouldn’t know much about the brilliant, glorious Blue Oak.” He stood up sharply, a finger pointed Leaf’s way. “Tell me what you know of Blue Oak – about me. I don’t mind waiting… plain Plains.”

Leaf’s smile faded into something awful. Red could see her hand clenching something shiny next to her waist. He chanced a look at the counter – the knife he’d used to cut the burger was missing. This had to stop. He pried the silverware from between Leaf’s cold fingers and hid it on the other side of his bowl, hoping that Blue would not see it.

He gave Leaf’s wrist a soft squeeze.

She looked at his hand, watching his thumb circle one of her knuckles. A strange rash crept up her neck, slowly rising up into her cheeks.

“Are you all right?” he asked worriedly.

Both Blue and Leaf replied at the same time. He heard neither. The clangour of plates, cutlery clinking on tables, and the static from the radio next to the microwave were giving him a terrible headache. Red clenched the ball in his pocket so hard the hair on his arms stood on end.

The broken radio suddenly found a station.

“Huh,” said Daisy. “That radio never works… it’s not even tuned to any particular station…” She put her glasses back on. “When you’re all finished, I shall take you to the professor. Be mindful when you interrupt him, he could be working on something dangerous –”

“Like your ego?” said Blue sourly.

“ – and it would be awful if any of you were hurt by something avoidable.” Her voice was remarkably cold. “You two – Red, Leaf – please be careful around the Fire Chamber. It’ll be the first of three visits beneath the facility –”

“I knew it!” Blue cheered.

“Be silent,” said Daisy. “As I was saying, most of the Pokémon you’ll see today are very young. Do not play with them… for your own good. I would appreciate it if I could place His Lordship in your care. He’s quite afraid of fire, water, his own shadow, and –”

Blue stormed away, red-faced.

“Thank you for helping us earlier,” said Red politely. His eyes followed Blue, slinking deeper into the crowd. “Why do you hate each other?”

“First of all, you’re welcome. Secondly… it’s a one-sided hatred because he’s conceited and immature. He hates me for going to a private school. Ecruteak’s School of Science has the highest fees in Indigo, you see, and my acceptance there was an incredible moment for my family. My parents spent a fortune on my education, even during unpleasant times. It made home life very difficult. Without my grandfather, my parents and brother would have starved.”

Red finished the last of his dessert, sliding a note to the waitress flitting from one end of the counter to the next. He let her keep the change.

“I scored the highest in the country for my exams.” A soft smile found its way onto Daisy’s face. “And who else but my own grandfather to hand me my diploma, alongside my medals and certificate of excellence? I paid back my parents within a year but they died of pneumonia soon after. Blue couldn’t have been older than twelve. I know it’s a private matter, but I think he needs good friends now more than ever.”

“Y’ain’t kiddin’?”

Daisy sipped her small glass of wine carefully. She turned her head their way, though her eyes were fixed on the bleating radio. Red couldn’t recall seeing the barkeep sliding Daisy a drink.

“I’m serious. He won’t last long by himself. That boy hasn’t always wanted to be a hero, but after our parents passed on, it’s all he’s wanted, always rushing headfirst into trouble despite the terrible risks. He’s going to get himself killed. Pokémon aren’t for wish-fulfilment – they should not serve as medals, weapons, or punching bags. I hope you can tell that to my darling brother soon.”

Red felt torn between hating her and pitying her.

He splayed his fingers over the warm orb as a distraction. A warmth spread into his hands, tracing his palm lines all the way up to his wrist. The peace didn’t last long.

“I ‘ate ‘im!” Leaf hissed. “He can take care o’ ‘imself. Campin’ll make anyone nervous near tha’ prick.”

Red eyed the nearest window. I could brave the storm and leave them to it, he thought, or my head really will explode.

Daisy’s lip curled. He could feel their luck fading.

“I’ll check on him twice a month when I get a Silph One,” Red promised. “I – I actually don’t even know how expensive they are, but I’ll get one soon.”

Daisy’s shoulders fell. He found out – once Blue rejoined them – that Silph One Devices were only sold in large cities. Leaf told Daisy how many ‘SODS’ she gave about Starly Wimp’s feelings as they walked deeper into the laboratory.

Blue called his sister a grim Politoed as they entered an elevator, standing far out of her reach. They argued until Red heard a bing followed by a whoosh.

The air in the diner had been harsh, but it paled compared to that which swept through the red room at the end of the hall. Red thought the gates of hell in chapter six of The Yellow Stalk and its Stark Fury far more inviting; scorched sandstone narrowed into faint whip-like slashes across the marble floor, reaching for them all in a bid for freedom. It looked intentionally threatening.

A pale haze of heat danced across his vision the moment he took a step closer to the Devil’s Inner Sanctum. The Fire Chamber, in Red’s opinion, was too kind a name for such a place. Sulphur filled his nostrils despite the ventilation system whirring in the ceiling.

Leaf fared worse than Blue, who was retching behind them, hardly able to stand still without wobbling. Her skin was paler than a cloud of ash; when she rubbed her eyes, tears trickled down her cheeks.

“We should turn back,” he said worriedly.

But Daisy was hearing none of it. The only way she could convince Blue to leave his nest was by calling him a pussy. Leaf smirked knowingly. It worked, as Blue somehow found the strength to stomp toward them. He took refuge in his sister’s shadow, however, and could not be convinced to go any further alone.

“Why are the walls so dark?” he asked aloud.

“Shut the –!” Blue paused. “You’re gonna wake them up, you melon!”

Daisy pushed her glasses up her nose, looked up at something, and then clapped her hands. Snowy light filled the ceiling. She clapped again – steam hissed around his ankles, lighting one bridge followed by two others a faint apricot.

He felt half his shoe tilting southward. The floor either side of them was… very far away.

Red gulped.

“Welcome to the Fire Chamber. You will find no better place for fiery Pokémon here – some will wake any moment now, so please mind your step.” Red knew she was staring at Blue. “This chamber took fourteen years of drilling, building, and testing to guarantee the safety of both people and Pokémon alike, so you can be assured of your safety. It spans one hundred feet north to south and the same east to west. The walls are made of obsidian, and the floor of peridotite and olivine. Very fancy indeed.”

He looked into the abyss; emerald crystals the length of his leg jutted out of the wall like the Emerald Cliff in Olivine City. Or so the stories claimed. Fissures further northeast glowed an ominous red, slanting deep and sudden… almost like the rock had been dug with long, sharp claws… even then the stone was incredibly thick… He thought back to the streaks of sandstone and felt his heart beating harder and harder in his chest.

Blue seemed to feel the same, sending him a terribly uncomfortable smile as the crimson light crept up his face.

Daisy led them over the first bridge until something went wrong. He hadn’t braced for the glutinous belch, the viscous bubble of lava, as it popped like a fat pustule into the air and came rushing down just as fast. It missed the tempered glass by an inch, perhaps less.

“No – no – no – no – no – no,” Blue whined. “Why did I look down?”

Veins of steaming blood breathed like a living thing beneath them all, swallowing ashen-white plants and cresting the lower ridges in a steady swell. The blood could only spit at them before falling again like a tide of hematite. It made him think of the thing that had attacked them earlier; knowing most of it had remained hidden beneath the blood-red waves made him feel sick.

Daisy hadn’t stopped walking. She was over the bridge still talking to herself. He believed she would have started for the second bridge if she hadn’t noticed how quiet they had become.

She didn’t hide her disappointment when she came back to retrieve them.

He sat on the bench with a stiff smile. Blue and Leaf hadn’t moved their eyes from the bridge, the former looking up and the latter looking down.

“This place is amazing,” Leaf sighed.

“I like the blue fires,” he replied.

“A match made in hell, red and blue.”

He pulled her nose. They fought – pinching, kicking, and slapping – until Leaf bit him. He conceded defeat when Daisy glared at them.

“Enough!”

Leaf kicked his leg when Daisy stopped looking. She was too busy telling Blue not to run back over the bridge to realise they had been shuffling around the bench, searching for any Pokémon that may have woken to their yelps and screams.

One did.