"There's still strength in me."

With a trembling hand, Raymond put the letter aside. Again and again, the old man had read its lines. They only contained four or five sentences but turned his life upside down. Impersonal and standardized phrases, written down with the empathy of a blunt axe. First, strike the keys of the typewriter. Then, when the ringing sound announces the end of the line, return the writing cart. A slow death, wrapped in a mechanism of keystrokes, presented on a piece of paper.

Raymond believed in doing things the old way. He preferred to read a handwritten letter. Just like the one he received today. With neat handwriting, his name was written on top of a beautiful envelope, that smelled of perfume. The sender had folded a dried flower and placed it into the letter.

"How did she find me?" Raymond wondered. Twelve years had passed since he withdrew from the world. And now fate once again dragged him back into the spotlight of the tragedy called life. Sighing, Raymond put both, the letter and document away. Either way, the time for change had come.

He hummed an old melody and wound up the phonograph's spring motor by moving the crank. A brake prevented the platter from rotating immediately. Raymond carefully placed the shellac-pressed record on the plate and lowered the sound box with the needle. As soon as the needle hit the plate, the disc brake turned loose. Music emanated from the tiny funnel and spread across the room.

Remarkably! Despite their natural limitations, your species has not only managed to capture sound waves but also developed a mechanism to reproduce them. Alakazam commented on the inventiveness of mankind. The long whiskers of the vaguely human-looking Pokémon had turned gray. Alakazam was old, just like his trainer.

"Indeed! The trick lies in releasing the brake with gentle pressure. The needle is essential, in this regard. Albeit, to prevent wear and tear, a needle should only be used once. Its whole existence is, in some respects, centered around this one performance. One last grandiose appearance in the spotlight, before the needle leaves the stage forever."

I gather from your words that you have made up your mind.

"We'll see, old friend. Twelve years of seclusion should probably be enough. Maybe the time has come to put our old bones into meaningful motion in a final act of defiance. Ultimately, it depends on Victoria. In her letter, she may have succeeded in disguising her true intentions with nebulous words. If we meet face to face, she will not succeed by doing so. Although I already have a premonition. But to whom do I say this? Of the two of us, you're the smarter one."

In the background, the soothing voice of Nicholas Girard sounded from the phonograph. Raymond fetched a shaving brush made of Linoone-hair from a bowl of warm water. There was a glass next to it in which Raymond was foaming soap. He was careful to get the timing right.

Raymond felt that one should not be satisfied with the coarse bubble foam, which developed very quickly. Nor was the fine-pored one suitable, which needed about a minute to come into existence. Both variants had the bad characteristic of collapsing quickly. However, Raymond was convinced that shaving should be done with the calm and care it deserves.

His secret was to spread the coarse foam into an extra bowl. It took a bit of experience to get a sense of when the required amount was reached. The next step was to whip the foam into a new vessel without adding any more water. Gradually, the foam would then turn into a small-pored cream. A procedure that took about two minutes. As a result, a foam with a stable shape that lasted for an hour was obtained and could now be applied to the skin with the shaving brush. After shaving – which was also a science in itself – the foam could be rinsed or wiped off with cold water. This was uncomfortable, but closed the pores, thus contributing to his body care.

"The blue tweed suit, if you'd be so kind." Raymond critically eyed his own reflection in the mirror, concluding he was up to standards. Alakazam's eyes glowed. A cedar coat hanger rose up from the wardrobe as if by itself. Under Alakazam's precise telekinetic control, the hanger floated effortlessly towards Raymond, who gratefully accepted it.

Classic menswear was one of Raymond's passions. Usually, his suits were custom-made for sums that easily could be used to buy a Pokémon or two. According to old prices, of course. Before the costs multiplied exponentially. Not that money had ever been a problem for him. His career as a trainer was a story of success and glory. Until the war came and changed everything.

Raymond tied his brown leather shoes, slipped the wool coat over the three-piece suit and put on his hat. He took a deep breath, looked in the mirror one last time, and left the house.

The Parc de l'Amitié was a place where one could get away from Lumiose without leaving the city. The popular destination for excursion was located on the site of a former quarry, in the north-east of the metropolis. Under the reign of His Highness, Dominique d'Arnauld, the quarry had been transformed into a landscaped garden in Galarian style.

"It is indeed a pleasure to see you." Raymond greeted a handsome woman in her mid-forties, whose name was Victoria. She had intense eyes and wore a flat cap over her medium-length hair. A brown wool coat with a stiff collar and a scarf completed her well-groomed but somewhat wild appearance. Victoria smiled, stood on her tiptoes and indicated kisses on both of Raymond's cheeks as a typical kalosian greeting.

"You look good. I almost feel shabby next to you!" She smiled.

"Convenience is an argument, but it must never be a priority." Raymond’s gaze lingered on her flat cap, his eyes narrowed into slits. "I see you've stayed true to your awful habit of wearing your hair short instead of letting it grow. Any other woman of impeccable reputation would have long since sunken herself into the ground due to shame."

Victoria grinned. "Different. And proud of it! Do we want to?"

The two left the entrance area. Only a few visitors had strayed here this morning. At most, Raymond could make out dim silhouettes in the distance. A light fog had settled over the park, enveloping it in a mystical atmosphere. The network of paths was branched and the terrain was hilly. Again and again, bridges managed to cleverly connect the different hills with each other.

Other places offered large meadows, inviting people to relax. Small watercourses shaped the landscape in a harmonious way. There was no sign of the typical Kalosian preference for symmetry. Among the many attractions of the Parc de l'Amitié was a small island with a shrine to Xerneas, that was carved out of slate. Xerneas was a Pokémon that had always been revered as a life-bearer in Kalos. Raymond didn't know whether the stories surrounding this mythical Pokémon had a true core or were in the realm of sagas and legends.

[https://i.imgur.com/TLcDiSy.jpg]

"Have you been here before?" Victoria asked. The two stood on a bridge that crossed the man-made lake surrounding the shrine. Raymond rested his elbows on the stone wall, his eyes fixed on the water. He clicked his tongue disparagingly.

"They call it a place of freedom where hierarchies, classes and differences disappear. A place, where everyone may find their happiness between pines and cedars. It's nothing more than a mirage. The crown's promise of happiness is an elaborate myth. It is not for nothing that the Parc was built in the seventh arrondissement – far away from the misery of the city and as close as possible to the rich and famous."

"I suppose that means no."

"An assumption most correct. Did you know there was a gallows hill on this piece of land before the Civil War began? It's ironic when you consider that the rotten corpses of the oppressed now serve as fertilizer for the garden of Kalos upper class. Even in death, they still have to work and suffer."

"I didn't know about the gallows hill. Hmm, however. As I wrote you, there’s something important I’d like to talk about. Would you like to bring in Alakazam? What I have to say concerns both of you. Besides, you won't make a decision without your emotional protuberance anyway. Hey, did you notice?! I too, know difficult words."

Ignoring Victoria’s cheeky grin, Raymond started to stretch and circle his shoulders. The moisture wasn’t good for him. Sighing, he opened a Pokéball.

Charming as always. Alakazam projected his voice into Victoria’s and Raymond's minds.

"Good to see you." Victoria greeted the Psychic Pokémon with a smile.

"Okay, let’s talk business. I'm planning something. As you may know, after the end of the war, I became involved in the anti-government movement. Working behind the scenes, trying to strengthen the opposition, weaken the crown, and so on and so forth. Well, didn't work out so well as it turned out." At her last words, she laughed embarrassedly.

"Hmm, what you don't know: in a few days a new law will be passed in which the opposition parties will be declared banned groups by parliament."

Raymond's eyes widened. He’d been on the political stage long enough to understand the implications.

Stolen story; please report.

"What about the prophets?" Raymond asked. It was always difficult when religion and politics were mixed. Especially when there were different currents within the respective institutions.

"Special position. I don't know, probably the parliament will wait and see how they react."

"Parliament." Raymond snorted in disdain. "You certainly meant the puppets of monarchy."

Organized resistance is the most likely conclusion, Alakazam noted.

"Yep. Various groups are already forming. Some with a soft, others with a hard approach."

"Let me guess your agenda, then. You see a hidden worth in bringing a veteran back to life and want to recruit me for your purposes." Raymond's lips deformed into a weary smile. "I’ll have to disappoint you. There's not much left of me. I've seen my share of bloodshed – more than enough of it for many lifetimes. Why should I again put myself at the forefront of a conflict? I'm much more interested to find out how you managed to track me down. Which, by the way, I congratulate you on. Until now, I was firmly convinced that I had successfully managed to fall into oblivion."

"Ever since we faked your death twelve years ago, I've never let you out of my sight. Admittedly, it wasn't always easy. Didn't think you'd change your name and place of residence once a year. You paranoid old man."

"Rightly so, as it turns out." Raymond snorted. "Even if it was a fruitless endeavor, in the end. Otherwise, I wouldn't be standing here, listening to you trying to persuade me to take part in a coup d'état. Again, I’m sorry to disappoint, but the battle is over, Victoria. Monarchism has triumphed. Unlike others, I learned my lessons."

"Still, we’ve made Achievements! The crown had to give up power! The ordinary citizen--"

Enraged, Raymond thundered his fist on the railing of the bridge, cutting Victoria off. His voice was hard and sharp, like polished steel.

"—Three million deaths in four years! This is our Achievement! Destroyed cities, families torn apart. Children who lost their parents and parents who lost…" Raymond swallowed the last words like a bitter pill. He took a deep breath and ignored the pain of the wooden splinter drilling into his skin. His voice was shaky. "No. Death and misery – that will be my legacy. People will remember me not for who I was, but either for my deeds in Coumarine or my defeat in Péribonne."

"Who fought for you in Péribonne, Raymond?! Farmers, sellers, innkeepers and teachers. Unskilled trainers! You never stood a chance. By Zygarde! Most of your men had probably never seen the inside of an arena. It's a miracle how long you've managed to hold the flank. What happened twelve years ago was as cruel as inevitable. This time though, it's different! We can make a difference. Ray, our group will consist of a small elite. The best you've ever worked with. Even better than those who followed you in Coumarine. Trainers as good as you used to be!"

"As good as I used to be?!" Raymond made a derogatory sound. "What do you know. Nevermind, those are trivialities. How good or how bad I am or was as a trainer doesn't matter anymore."

"Is this really the Raymond I know?" Victoria hissed furious. "The Iron One? The Champion? The Curse of Coumarine? Advocate of a democratic-meritocratic separation of powers? You were one of the first and loudest supporters! Is that it? Is this what your retirement looks like? An embittered old man who’s hiding from the world?!"

It does indeed seem like two different lives. Alakazam’s mocking was audible to all.

"You too, Alakazam?" Raymond asked resignedly.

Whatever it takes, to get you out of your apartement. This time, the Pokémon's voice rang out only in Raymond's mind, who then engaged in a silent conversation with his partner.

"You know she wants to use me."

Of course, she wants to. Still, you should hear her out. There's a good chance you'll be able to take advantage of each other. You both don't make trades without an equivalent value.

The hint of a smile flashed across Raymond's face.

"You know very well that we humans speak of a mutually beneficial partnership in such a situation."

If it makes you feel better, feel free to sugarcoat it.

"All right, I'll listen. However, I would like to clarify from the start: I have neither an interest in installing a new ruler nor establishing a new political system. The promises of our society are lies since their foundation is for one to submit so the other remains rich and powerful. In exile, I came to the firm conviction that man should live self-determined and free from such constraints. Only when we smash the world into pieces can a new dawn emerge from the ashes of old."

Raymond imagined many small cogs spinning in Victoria's head as she thought about the best way to manipulate and incorporate him into her plans. In secrecy, she looked left and right, then lowered her voice.

"I have a radical approach in mind. I can imagine no one better suited for it than you. Guerrilla tactics. As I said before: a small, capable troop with everyone knowing his stuff. We strike where it hurts the crown the most. Not everyone is suitable for an undertaking like this. We need trainers with special qualities, free of moral scruples. I can imagine you playing a major role in our first part of the plan."

"Which presumably consists of destroying the current government." Raymond ran his hand thoughtfully through his beard. Victoria nodded with the determination of a person, willing to go to extremes.

"Will you accompany me if I choose this path?"

We are two sides of the same coin. Welded together by a bond that runs deeper than blood. I will go with you to the bitter end, even if I have to turn the whole world into an enemy. Still, I haven't given up on you yet.

Victoria watched the silent conversation between the two. It was a familiar sight, reminding her of days long gone by.

"If I'll help you--" Raymond began. Victoria couldn't suppress a cry of joy and burst into a radiant smile.

"I said if I help you, I want to be privy to all of your plans. From the very beginning! Who do you want to recruit, your specific goals; the means by which we will try to achieve them. Under no circumstances am I content with the role of vicarious agent or assistant. We will meet as equals and I will have the same decision-making power as you."

"If it was anyone else, I would have rejected him by now at the latest, but with you it’s different. Should those be your terms, I'll accept them. Welcome back to the Resistance, General West!"

Victoria gave a sharp salute, laughed heartily and threw her arms around him.

"I said if – my final decision hasn't been made yet." Raymond was aware he didn’t sound convincing at all.

"Of course. And now back to the metro, we go! I want you to take a look at someone." A mischievous grin was written on Victoria’s face.

"The metro? It was so much easier when teleporting and flying within cities wasn't banned." Raymond complained. He pulled out his Pokéball and grimaced. "I'm sorry, my friend, but we'd better hide you. We don't want to attract any prying eyes."

After their conversation in the parc, Raymond and Victoria had left the seventh arrondissement, making their way through downtown Lumiose. The further south they got, the closer the passengers crowded together, almost as if they tried to suffocate each other. They had arrived in the southern border area between the city center and the outskirts. The shopping street they headed to was only a few hundred meters away from the station. The sound of Raymond's clacking leather shoes echoed through the rue d'oiseau rouge.

For Raymond, Lumiose was synonymous with densely built-up streets and rows of houses. Cuboid on cuboid, gray in gray. Just the other day, he had seen a newspaper advertisement offering a dark hole of nine square meters for a price of 800 Poké dollars a month. Away from the pageantry, Lumiose was crowded and dirty.

In almost claustrophobic conditions, an average of about 15,000 inhabitants lived on one square kilometer. With an urban area of about 300 square kilometers, this meant over 4.5 million people who sought their fortune in the crowded metropolis. In the past, the city had attracted visitors with fashion, art and culture. Nowadays, the rural population flocked to Lumiose for the sole purpose of finding work. Most of them were unlucky and ended up joining an ever-growing army of unemployed. Economists called this migration pattern rural exodus.

Raymond's expression darkened at the throngs of people milling about on rue d'oiseau rouge. The decay was obvious. Like many others, Raymond blamed the government for this. In his opinion, the attempt to rebuild the region after the civil war and bring it back to the interregional political stage had led to rigorous economic policies, resulting in significant social discord. Lumiose was plagued by slum development and growing crime. It was inhabitated by a population that was dissatisfied with the government. Over and over again, discontent was expressed in protests. Sometimes ending in violence.

"It's hardly surprising that the anti-government movement has received such support," Raymond grumbled.

"Hmm. People don't have it easy." Victoria raised her head, looking around in all directions. She had been doing this for nearly two hours.

"I'm probably right in assuming that your recruit doesn't know anything about his dubious luck."

"You're such a killjoy! Besides, it's her dubious luck." Victoria pouted.

"Arceus, lend me strength!" Raymond said a sarcastic prayer to heaven.

“Hmm, I think that’s her! There, the blonde girl with the Skitty. Take a close look at them and then tell me what you notice.”

Raymond froze. Repressed feelings from days long past spread through him as the crust of old wounds broke open.

"It can't be..." he began, his eyes widened in shock.

"Should be about her age. The resemblance is striking, isn't it?" Victoria whispered. Her warm hand wrapped around Raymond's wrinkled fingers, squeezing them gently. The old man withdrew from the affectionate gesture. Raymond shook his head as if trying to sort his thoughts. He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure.

"Whatever she has on the leash, it’s not a Skitty, at least not a normal one." Raymond stated matter-of-factly. His eyes narrowed. “Look at the musculoskeletal system. It lacks Skitty's natural elegance. This is something you can’t imitate--”

"Would you like to talk about it?" Victoria asked quietly. Raymond continued undeterred.

"--A shadow is missing, too. Which means we can exclude Ditto. This in turn leaves only one conclusion."

"All right, let’s talk about Skitty." Victoria resigned. "So, do you know which Pokémon is behind the shapeshifter?"

"Of course." Raymond said smugly. "Don’t you? Well, it’s hardly surprising considering our difference in expertise. I'm curious: tell me what you already know and what you suspect!"

They watched the girl entering a small jeweler's shop.

"All I know from my informant is that the Pokémon can change its form. Shapeshifter, then, that much is clear. Unfortunately, this is where it gets tricky. Apart from Ditto, I don't know any. Also, I believe that the transformation isn't just limited to the Pokémon--"

"--and your hypothesis is correct!” Raymond interrupted her. “What are you basing your assumption on?"

"Last time I saw her, she still had burn scars on her face." Victoria shrugged in embarrassment but couldn't quite suppress a grin.

"Which, my dear Victoria, gives rise to the entirely legitimate question of what is real and what is illusion."

Raymond’s feet automatically led him to the jeweler's doorstep. He pushed down the handle and entered the store.