Celestic Ruins, Sinnoh Region, October 15th, 1997

“You know, I haven’t been in here for years…”

Lance hummed as he examined the ruins. Cynthia stayed behind him, her Garchomp standing guard as the two investigated the last known civilisation of the Celestic Clan.

Cynthia deftly walked around Lance, placing a hand on the murals, “My grandmother always warned me from spending too much time here. She said it brings bad fortune.”

“Based on your knowledge of this place, I assume you ignored her?” Lance asked, backing up to stand side by side with Sinnoh’s Champion.

Cynthia blushed in mild embarrassment, “I was young, and bored! This place seemed interesting, more so since grandmother avoided it.”

“You would get along with Clair,” Lance muttered, remembering his youth spent running after his younger cousin as she broke into places not meant for little children, “She has a certain disregard for authority as well.”

“It’s not that I disregarded authority…” Cynthia began before muttering, “I just made my own…”

Lance laughed, “You would definitely get on well with Clair.”

Cynthia gave a fake frown before lightening up as she came closer to one of the central murals, “I am really glad I did come here, though. It was lots of fun to see the stories on the walls when life in town was boring.”

Lance turned his eyes to the mural she stood next to, which seemed to depict a trio of pixie-like pokémon guarding large sphere structures. Drawn wisps connected these pokémon to a group of people in the centre.

A blessing, perhaps?

Or a curse?

“You’re here as an emissary for the Blackthorne Clan, right?” Cynthia’s question broke into Lance’s thoughts.

He blinked, “I am. How did you know?”

Cynthia gave a small smile - it seemed melancholic - “The Clan may have died out centuries ago, but we still remember some of the traditions,” She hummed, “Even in death, we honour our fallen brethren.”

Lance nodded as Cynthia repeated one of the maxims of the Elders. After a moment of silence, he said, “I’ve given vigil for this Clan and its sisters. I am not here for prayer.”

“Oh?” Cynthia asked, “Then what are you here for?”

“To learn,” Lance answered, “Elder Yama received this Clan’s wisdom some decades ago. It is now my turn to receive wisdom for my Clan.”

Cynthia nodded, “Alright then… I suppose I’ll try my best to make sense of all of this.”

She looked slightly dubious as she surveyed the ruins, whispering to herself, “ If only I actually understood everything… ”

“It’s - uh - alright,” Lance interjected quickly, having heard her muttering, “I’m not expecting much to be honest. They died out long ago.”

“Yes, well,” Cynthia began, seemingly not having paid much attention to him, “I suppose we can start with something I’m relatively certain on.”

She led Lance to one edge of the ruins, obscured with moss and old growth. The stone was a dark green, almost black. It seemed largely untouched, unlike the other murals, which had largely remained visible, despite their age.

After a few moments, Lance leaned over to Cynthia, “...What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“Oh!” She exclaimed, “I’m sorry, it is rather obscured.”

She stepped right next to the mural, motioning Lance to do the same, “Now see here… You see those shapes?”

Lance could, but only barely, see straight shapes, evenly spaced, with smaller carvings running along them. Based on their appearance, he believed that they depicted pillars.

“You see it? Good. I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be the Spear Pillar - I mean, what else could it be? - except the pillars are whole? So it wasn’t destroyed by then, or at least by the time this event was depicted. Maybe? I don-”

“What’s that?” Lance interrupted before Cynthia could start rambling.

She leaned closer, seeing the figure that Lance was pointing to. The figure was carved in a rudimentary, yet still detailed, pattern. It appeared to be a human with horns, with hair flowing back. A singular eye was drawn, a triangular slit that almost seemed to glow.

Lance saw text scrawled next to the figure, harsh shapes and hieroglyphs, which he could vaguely read as a dialect of Ancient Draconid.

“ Vohl-O ”

To his side Cynthia jerked away. He turned to see her face showing shock before quickly becoming neutral.

It was too late, though. Lance knew what it looked like when someone was hiding something - he had plenty of experience hiding his own expressions from the Elders - “Something you know?”

Cynthia bit her lip, fidgeting for a moment before asking, “How can you read that? I’ve never been able to translate it.”

Lance tilted his head, “I’ll answer if you tell me why you looked so… scared a moment ago.”

After all, he had faced her in combat only a week ago.

For something to scare her… Lance could only imagine what it was.

Cynthia appeared pensive for a few moments before expelling a sigh, “There were… cautionary tales that were told to the children in Celestic.”

At Lance’s nod, she continued, “One of the stories my grandmother often told was of our ancestor,” She stepped back up to the mural, peering at the figure with an almost melancholic look, “According to legend, there came a merchant of knowledge who became known as Volo. He knew many things and impressed the Clans of Hisui with his magic. His ego grew, and one day he climbed the mountain to challenge the Creator. He climbed too high, and saw the Creator. It drove him Mad, and into his mind went distortion…” Cynthia’s voice petered off as she walked over to another figure, which was carved in softer edges as opposed to the merchant’s sharp outline, “The Creator chose a champion to fight against the abomination who chose to defy him… And in the end, Volo ceased to be, and fell unto distortion, where he rests today…”

Lance remained silent as Cynthia finished the tale. It had sounded rather similar to many of the cautionary tales that he was told by the Elders. Don’t defy the Dragon Gods. Know your place, and lose not your vision.

After a moment, Cynthia asked, “So how did you read that script?”

“Hmm?” Lance asked before recalling the bargain, “Oh… It was a dialect of Ancient Draconid,” He grimaced, “The Elders forced me to learn all of the dialects used amongst the Dragon Clans. I swear there were hundreds of them.”

“Huh,” Cynthia’s eyes no longer carried the melancholic gaze and instead seemed to be gleaming with interest, “Could you translate the rest?”

“The rest?” Lance asked, looking back at the mural.

“Yes!” Cynthia affirmed, getting very excited now, “Oh, I’ve just kinda accepted that I wouldn’t be able to ever understand these hieroglyphs. I thought it was a dead language!” She snapped her fingers, “Wait a minute! You said Volo kinda weird, like ‘Volloh’. Does it mean anything?”

Lance blinked as Cynthia babbled all of these words within ten seconds. It took him a few more seconds to process it and respond, “It’s pronounced ‘Vohl-O’ , and roughly translates to ‘Incomplete Completion’.”

Cynthia’s eyes seemed to glow as she breathed, “Fascinating… So is ‘Volo’ not actually his name? It seems to derive from this Draconid language, and I highly doubt his parents would name him something like that. Maybe he chose it as a title? Or the legends eventually made that his name. Or-”

“You said that the ‘Creator chose a champion’ earlier, right?” Lance interrupted once again - Cynthia was as bad as Clair when talking about history - “Because I think this other figure is supposed to be the guy.”

“Oh?” She nearly pushed Lance away in her excitement as she pointed at the softer carving, and the glyphs next to it, “What does it say?”

“ Arkeu-Kin ,” Lance answered. It took him a bit to place the translation, before remembering it from one of the stories the Elders had told him and Clair when they were children, “‘Chosen of the Creator’.”

Cynthia cupped her chin in interest, “Hmm… What about these three?”

Lance looked to where she was pointing, seeing three beasts of different shapes. They appeared draconic in nature, and Lance began to wonder if he was seeing depictions of the Dragon Gods that the Celestic Clan had worshipped.

“ Pahl-Ka , Dahl-Ka , and, hold on… Gaero-Taenna ,” Lance didn’t see Cynthia’s shocked face as he translated, “‘Lord of Space’, ‘Lord of Time’, and ‘Dark Lord of Distortion’. Though Taenna can also translate to ‘Forsaken’.”

He turned and was mildly worried at the literal stars in Cynthia’s eyes. “ Teach me ,” She breathed, having such a tone of reverence that Lance began to feel uncomfortable, “There are so many historical sites in Sinnoh with this language! Oh, I must learn this!”

“Uhh,” Lance uttered somewhat dumbly as Cynthia silently freaked out, “I mean… I’m not gonna be here long, but - maybe - you could send pictures of what you need translated?”

He made the mistake of looking into her eyes as he said this - gods, she even had the growlithe-eyes like Clair! - which shined with joy as Cynthia began hopping up and down like an excitable schoolgirl, “Yes! Yes! That would be wonderful!” Oh, she was shaking him now. He could feel himself shutting down; too much physical contact, “Thank you! That would be amazing! How can I repay - are you alright!?”

Lance had fallen down, his legs not electing to support him once Cynthia let go of him. “I’m fine,” he croaked out, “Just… warn me next time you start shaking me like that, will you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry!’ Cynthia was blushing scarlet, “I just got so excited and - okay, I’m shutting up now!”

She did , in fact, shut up as she helped Lance up - and never in his life was he admitting to being overwhelmed by this woman to Clair. She would hound him relentlessly for it .

He sighed after patting himself down, “It’s… fine. Clair used to do much worse when we were little.”

Cynthia still seemed embarrassed, but quickly moved on, “We have another hour or so before Charles starts wondering where we are! Let’s go translate more stuff!”

“ Wooh, ” Lance muttered in deadpan, weakly raising a ‘triumphant’ fist in the air.

Still, he almost wanted to stay here longer than he should.

Might just raise Goodshow’s blood pressure at having two missing Champions. It would be fitting given how much Lance’s own health deteriorated whenever he had to speak with the man for more than two minutes at a time.

Prick.

“Alright,” Lance stood up and followed Cynthia as she practically pranced around the historic ruins, “We’ll do a few more.”

Cynthia remained enthusiastic as Lance learned about and translated the murals. There were a few written in other dialects - primarily 2nd Era Celestic - but most were some form of Draconid.

A number of different mythical stories, beasts, and individuals were scrawled onto the walls. Some were cleaner than others, and a few were obviously purposely hidden from sight.

A few depicted what he learned to be the Lake Guardians ( Yuuk-See, Mesf-Rite, and Ahs-Elv , which translated to ‘Mind See’, ‘Heart Right’, and ‘Soul Drive’ respectively). Another depicted Darkrai (which was actually derived from a Celestic translation of Dark-Rye , which meant ‘Dark Dream’). One particularly old looking one showed a large shape surrounded by five figures with varying appearances. Each appeared to have multiple eyes, though only the central figure had a caption, which was the sole glyph written in 1st Era Celestic, that read Regi-Giygas , which translated to ‘Mover of Continents’.

Across many of the murals, though, Lance noticed a pattern. There was almost always at least one human present in the events depicted, usually all bearing the same caption.

Arkeu-Kin.

It seemed to be the one word that remained the same across dialects. Lance had brought that up to Cynthia, whose only response was an excited squeak, and the scribbling of notes on a notepad she had procured out of somewhere Lance didn’t want to know.

He was currently looking at the last mural before they had to leave - they had already spent nearly three hours in the cave, and even Cynthia was getting claustrophobic . This mural seemed older than nearly all of the others, perhaps even the one depicting Vohl-O .

The mural almost seemed… harsher than the others. More primal. More powerful.

More terrifying .

Cynthia actually seemed slightly unnerved at the sight of it, as she whispered, “This was always one of my least favourites.”

Lance whispered back, “Then why are you showing me?”

She turned to him, eyes set in a determined grey, “It’s best to gain an understanding of that you don’t understand. Especially when you fear it.”

Lance nodded at that, seeing the wisdom behind the saying. He looked across the mural, noting the jagged runes inscribed within and around the beasts depicted - Alpha and Omega - before finding harsh glyphs inscribed next to the beast breathing fire.

It took a few moments for Lance to recall, especially since, unlike the other Draconid dialects, this one was old .

Very old.

“ Grau-Adon ” He breathed, “‘Behemoth of the Land’.”

Cynthia remained quiet, before pointing to the opposite figure, a titanic creature surrounded by waves, “What is this one’s title?”

Lance squinted, searching for the scrawl. Finding it, he read, “ Kaiyo-Gre , ‘Leviathan of the Depths’.”

Lance heard Cynthia whisper ‘ Groudon and Kyogre ’ to herself.

He wasn’t terribly surprised at this. He held a healthy respect/fear for the legends of the world.

Remembering the Dragon God of the Draconids, Lance glanced up and saw it. “ Raa-Ka-Aasa . ‘Serpent Lord of the Skies’,” and the god of the Draconids.

Cynthia took that in before pointing out a small, almost unnoteworthy figure, “...Is that-?”

“ Arkeu-Kin , yes,” Lance answered, before something above it, at the top of the mural, took his interest.

It was like the sun. A light crudely drawn, bearing many hands. Eyes surrounded the ethereal being, giving off an uncomfortable feeling in Lance’s gut.

There was a scrawl above the being.

Arkeu.

Creator.

Order.

God.

“Hold on…” Cynthia crouched onto her legs, pulling away at an old layer of moss near the bottom, “I saw something just now that I haven’t seen before.”

“What?” Lance breathed, turning his eyes away from The Truth turn away lest you be driven Maddd-

“Here,” Cynthia said, pulling the last of the moss away. She pointed to the small, unassuming figure.

A dark shape, almost human…

Yet not.

There was a single glyph. Dark. Imposing. Beautiful, yet terrible.

Oh so similar to the glyph at the top of the mural.

“What does it say?” Cynthia asked in a whisper.

Lance ignored the growing pit in his stomach as he answered.

“ Charkeu. ”

Destroyer.

Chaos.

Devil.

The only sounds in the cave were their breaths. After a moment, Cynthia whispered, “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

Lance turned his eyes away - and he would deny it, but something drew him towards it in a way that its opposite never could - “...Yes.”

To stare into the abyss is to invite in us the Madness.

“...I think - I think I’m done,” Cynthia stood up, dusting off her jacket, “Let’s head back before-”

Lance jumped as her phone started to loudly ring. Cynthia also appeared panicked - although for different reasons - as she hastened to answer, “Yes, Cynthia speakin - oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! Yes, of course, he’s here with me - uhuh… We’ll be there within the hour… Thank you!” She hung up with a relieved sigh, “That… wasn’t nearly as bad as I feared it would be.”

Lance had calmed down enough to grimace, “That was Goodshow, wasn’t it?” At her nod, his grimace deepened into a scowl, “He doesn’t like me nearly as much as you. I imagine I’ll have to sit through a lecture when we get back.”

“Oh, really?” Cynthia asked, seeming genuinely baffled, “He seemed like a kindly old man to me.”

Lance’s scowl deepened, “Don’t let appearances fool you. One doesn’t become head of the World League without being a hardass.”

“Well,” Cynthia brightened up a bit as they took towards the surface, “I’ll vouch for you when we get back. I can say that I dragged you along against your will!”

Lance couldn’t help but be reminded at the times when Clair took the fall for his mistakes when they were younger.

He was about to disagree when he looked at Cynthia, whose face seemed so genuine that he couldn’t help but crack a smile, “You know what? I would appreciate that.”

…

The Hidden Tangela, Commercial District, Goldenrod City, October 18th, 1997

“I dunno - dunno how yeh do it, Gary!”

Red Satoshi hid his grimace behind his cards. Though, to be fair, it would be more apt to call Red ‘Gary’, since the bar he was at encouraged codenames.

This was done in an effort to protect the identities of those who dined and played at The Hidden Tangela. Given that it was in the seedy underbelly of Goldenrod’s Commercial District, much of the business conducted within the bar was of the more illicit variety.

Not to mention the heavy presence of Team Rocket in the bar.

Because of this, Red found it prudent to change his looks, preventing the off-chance that someone would recognise him. He wore a leather jacket pilfered from a drunk biker a few days back, along with black fingerless gloves he found in a dump a couple of blocks down the road.

They were actually in rather nice condition. He may consider keeping them.

He forewent the cap, instead letting his hair stick up. He hadn’t shaved for nearly a month, which paired well with the scraggly hair to give him an unkempt, unassuming appearance.

If only he could change his eyes.

He had learned that they were rather distinctive.

He would have to thank James and Meowth if and when he saw them. For all their deficiencies, they certainly had a lot to teach in regards to disguises.

And stealing.

And engineering (surprisingly).

…And budget.

…

They were actually surprisingly competent in a lot of random things.

Pichu was currently skulking around near the back, using his small frame to weave between table legs and feet. The tiny mouse acted as a lookout for Red, keeping an eye on any potentially dangerous individuals.

Of which, there was a decent amount.

The drunk man he was currently playing cards against went under the name ‘Wartface’, which was an apt name, given the man’s appearance.

Others around the bar that Red had played against generally stuck to simpler names, often copying pokémon. He had beaten a ‘Weezing’, ‘Arbok’, ‘Skarmory’, and a particularly large man called ‘Ursurang’.

That man was actually rather nice, all things considered.

“It’s a gift,” Gary murmured as he switched around two cards, “I bet you that the next three matches will be three free wins for me.”

Wartface leaned forward, whisky heavy in his breath as he gave a golden-toothed grin. Despite the considerable amount of liquor the man had drunk, he still proved to be a formidable opponent at cards - the only one that gave Gary any difficulty, in fact - and he grinned at the challenge, “Yer actin’ rather cocky, my good man! What say we up the ante a little bit, eh?”

“Sure,” Gary intoned coolly, displaying his cards against Wartface’s hand - another win - “Why don’t we bet something a little more exciting than money, such as information?”

“Oh?” Wartface asked, looking mildly disgruntled at losing another match, “Workin’ for the League? Or private investigator for hire?”

“Neither,” Gary replied easily, accepting his hand from the dealer - a flush of diamonds - “I’m a survivor; part of it’s knowing who to look out for and where to avoid.”

“Ah,” Wartface said in understanding, eyeing his own deck, “I c’n respect that.” Wartface cast a considering eye at Gary, attempting and failing to find any tells.

Red had apparently developed something of an incredible poker face. Despite him showing more and more emotions in his expression when around Salvare and Karen, his face remained unchanging when he was on his own.

Karen said that he looked dead inside.

Salvare promptly said she looked dead in-mind.

Gary’s face cracked for a moment - a minute twitch of the lips that seemed to disarm Wartface more than his previous lack of expression - before asking with a small smirk, “Do you fold?”

Wartface scrutinised Gary’s face before growling, “Yer a connivin’ ass, Gary,” He tapped his own deck, leaning back, “You ain’t beatin’ me this time. I call your bluff, Gary. Now,” Wartface leaned forward, golden tooth glimmering in confidence, “Do you fold?”

Gary hummed. Wartface usually grumbled and joked in a dry way when he had a bad or even mediocre hand. This extra confidence told Gary that, as far Wartface was concerned, he had a good hand.

Gary tapped his finger against the table, making eye contact for a brief moment before giving a small sigh, “Your loss.”

They played their cards.

“What?!” Wartface exclaimed in anger as his straight lost to Gary’s hand, “That’s fuckin’ tauros shit!” Wartface slammed his fist against the table, causing others nearby to turn towards the growing commotion, “Yer cheatin’, aren’t yeh?”

“You’re over-reacting,” Gary stated calmly - the neon lights within the bar made it so that none of the observers saw his eyes glowing - “Sit down, I think you're confused .”

Wartface growled, but did not say anything further. His weak - simple - mind crumbled instantly against Gary’s mental intrusion.

Wartface shook his head, sitting back down to take another large gulp of whiskey, “I dunno - dunno how yeh do it, Gary!”

Gary did grimace this time. While the others he had played with throughout the evening were not the most skilled, Wartface was actually a rather capable player, usually doing quite well amongst the regulars of The Hidden Tangela.

Normally, Gary would have been fine with testing his skills at cards against someone of Wartface’s calibre. While he wasn’t nearly as good as Salvare when they and Karen had played together on the road - and, seriously, Salvare was a natural - he would like to think that he had improved rather drastically since the times that Brock had introduced him to it, before promptly flattening him repeatedly.

However, Gary wasn’t here for entertainment - he wasn’t yet quite so desperate as to descend to the level required to enjoy this place . Instead, he was here for information.

And Wartface knew something valuable.

“One more game,” Gary reminded the man, smothering the potential empathy he may have felt for taking advantage of the poor man’s mental faculties, “I win, and you talk.”

Wartface only gave a distracted nod - it seemed that the continued mental attacks were having a greater effect; perhaps it was from the whiskey? “Right, yeh,” He rubbed a sweaty hand against his face, “You won’t win this time, pal.”

“Of course,” Gary murmured before promptly defeating Wartface a third time. The large man didn’t even seem angry at the loss, instead deflating almost akin to a balloon.

Red would almost be sad at the sight, if he could bring himself to care. Alas, the man in front of him was but one simple thing in Red’s one-track mind.

An obstacle.

“ Here, ” Red leaned over and poured Wartface a shot of the liquor he had bought - and hadn’t had a single sip of - “ Consider it repayment. ”

“T-Thank yeh,” Wartface mumbled, briefly brushing his hand with Red’s to pick up the shot glass.

The contact, however brief, allowed Red a moment to push his Dark aura into the man’s psyche. Red hoped that, along with the previous use of Confusion and the drinks, would keep Wartface from hiding any detail.

Ironically, this was a trick he derived from Karen’s use of Amnesia on himself.

“ Now, ” Red kept his voice low as he made eye contact with Pichu, “ Word is that you know this city pretty well. ”

Wartface looked up to give Red a suspicious glance - as much as his drunken stupor allowed, anyway - before grumbling, “I’ve lived here all my life.”

“ Of course, ” Red consoled(?). He leaned back, keeping track of his surroundings, “ With that rich a history with the city, I imagine you must have seen quite a lot of gangs over the decades. ”

Wartface’s face almost seemed wistful as his eyes glossed over - a negative side-effect of repeated Confusions; Red needed to move this along sooner rather than later - “Had a Team Storm for a while…” Wartface gave a slow blink, “Team Rocket absorbed them after the war, though.”

“ Fascinating, ” Red muttered - and, to be fair, it was, but it was not the information he ultimately needed - “ Living that long in this city… you must have learned the lay of the land, such as where gangs like to meet up. ”

“Uh,” Wartface mumbled, lightly shaking his head to stay awake, “It’s not tha’ difficult to figure out. They love hangin’ out in abandoned buildin’s and the such.”

“ Any particular type? ” Red pressed.

“Anythin’, really,” Wartface grunted, taking another slight swig of whiskey - it was frankly worrying how much he had that night - “Apartments, hospitals, labs, garages-”

“ Are there any labs in the area that I have to look out for? ” Red asked, adding a slightly artificial tone of concern in his voice, “ I’d like to know where to avoid. Like I said, I’m a survivor. ”

It took a few seconds for Wartface to process that, “I don’ know why you’d consider goin’ to an abandoned lab in the first place, but let’s see…” He sat back, eyes nearly closing as he thought, “Team Rocket has a few, by Dunsparce Lane and Iron Road. There’re some downtown, but they’re owned by Oak and… Elk? Somethin’ like that,” There was a pause, and right as Red was about to snap his fingers, Wartface spoke up one final time, “There was one in the Industrial District, I think. They started buildin’ it a few years back, but it stopped one day… I don’ think any gang has claimed it, since there was nothin’ valuable there… So, I… I dunno…”

With that, Wartface finally succumbed to the, frankly, terrifying mixture of Confusion and whiskey, falling asleep with a rumbling snore. Red briefly wondered to himself how the man had even lasted that long.

Still, for what it was worth, the information the man gave was far more than he had previously.

Was it anything concrete?

No, but then again, even when the League had learned of Team Source, they were hard pressed to find valuable intel on the organisation.

Red had the luck to know beforehand that the organisation had a base in Goldenrod. After all, multiple scientists he had fought against had bragged about their involvement in those bases.

Casting a quick glance to the patrons nearest to him, Red leaned down and stuffed Pichu into his shirt, earning himself an enraged squeak and a harmless shock.

Red walked past the bartender - an undercover Rocket grunt; one of many in the building - placing a small tip on the counter, “For your troubles.”

The grunt gave Red a raised eyebrow before pocketing the change, saying, “I hope you consider coming back, sir.”

“ Of course, ” Red murmured, opening the door without a look back, “I’ll be sure to bring some friends next time.”

Red walked down two blocks before finding said friend - an unassuming police officer on his evening patrol.

Red snuck up next to him, helpfully placed the ID’s of the undercover Rockets (which were pilfered by Pichu while Red played cards), and tapped the officer’s shoulder, before spiriting away before he could be seen.

Later that night, The Hidden Tangela would be surrounded by police tape, and twelve Rockets would find themselves behind bars.

…

“Really, Pichu?”

“Pichu!”

“I don’t even know why this is next to the supermarket . I expected food, not a hat .”

“Pi-Pichu-chu-Pichu!”

“...Hate to break it to you, but you can’t be ‘Detective Pikachu’ without, you know, being a Pikachu .”

“CHU!”

“Hey, you get on me about my eating habits. I can get on you for being tiny.”

Pichu did not like the smart talk. Unfortunately for Pichu, Red was immune to any electrical shocks Pichu tried to hit him with.

Still, the little mouse wasn’t deterred by that, instead hopping onto Red’s shoulder to bite his ear.

But then again, Pichu had tiny teeth.

Red calmly picked Pichu up from both sides and tossed him into the dumpster. Pichu’s loud squawk fell on deaf ears as Red turned his head skyward.

Must be sometime near midnight.

“You know, if you speak loud enough, we may just wake up the entire block and be arrested for dumpster diving,” Red told Pichu. He actually wasn’t entirely sure if that was against the law, but he felt it better to err on the side of caution with this type of thing. “C’mon, I haven’t eaten in almost twenty four hours. Let’s go check the other side of the building.”

Pichu fumbled around in the trash for a moment before shooting off after Red. As Red skulked behind the building, Pichu poked his cheek to get his attention.

When Red turned towards Pichu, he rolled his eyes, “...Fine. I’ll be your loyal stead, ‘Detective Pichu’.”

“Pi-Chu.” Pichu nodded seriously, precariously balancing an old, patchy Stantlerhunter hat on his small head.

Red sighed as he reached the other side of the supermarket, scrunching up his face at the smell, “Oh fun.”

Red plugged his nose as Pichu hopped off, blasting away the sludge of Grimer with a Thunderbolt . After a moment, he allowed himself to smell the air, grimacing as he did so, “ Brilliant. ”

Pichu apparently didn’t catch the sarcasm, instead flexing his (nonexistent) muscles before hopping back onto Red’s shoulder.

And now the hat smelled like Grimer.

“Let’s see if anything’s edible,” Red sighed as he stepped towards the dump, which, unlike the Grimer, caused Pichu’s face to scrunch up.

This seemed to be a common reaction amongst Red’s travelling partners.

Red wasn’t short for cash. It wasn’t as if he was wealthy, but he could afford decent food without too much financial worry.

Despite this, the total amount of times he had bought food for himself in the past month could be counted with one hand, and each of them were in bulk for travel.

When he wasn’t travelling, though, instead of shopping at the supermarket or eating at a restaurant - “Like a sane person,” Karen would say - Red took to the trash.

For all that the Storm enforced the importance of using every available resource to their fullest, Red found the world around him to be… appallingly wasteful.

He didn’t bother being mad about it - to a certain point, he could understand how comfort can make one lax - instead seeing it as an opportunity.

Whether it was in the form of a 5-star meal or an expired can of macaroni, food was food, or at least Red thought so.

So what if it was often stale, having bad taste, and may or may not be plagued with bacteria? Red had eaten worse, and after three years of scrounging up scraps for food, his immune system was strong enough to fight off anything truly bad.

Salvare had even tagged along on one of his trips in Olivine, providing a surprising amount of help in Red’s quest for food.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He hadn’t looked like he enjoyed it, but the stony look on his face indicated that he had experience.

“Huh, ‘expires 10/7/97’.” Red hummed to himself, holding the can of expired green beans against the moonlight, “Should be fine.”

Pichu gave a doubtful grunt, making an exaggerated face of disgust as Red opened the can.

Red paused as he saw Pichu’s gaze, “Just because the one was badly poisoned doesn’t mean that all of them are.”

Pichu grumbled, obviously dissatisfied with Red’s nonchalant attitude towards his health.

For his own part, Red thought back to Olivine City, when Judg- Salvare rather aggressively stopped Red from eating one of his finds, apparently sensing the potency of its poison with his aura.

Red… hadn’t allowed himself to dwell much on the kid over the last week. With both the revelation of just why he looked so familiar along with the looming psychic presence niggling around in the back of his mind, Red had started to act rather distant towards Salvare.

It… It wasn’t fair to the kid. Red was well aware of that. While he hadn’t acted any meaner than he usually was, there was a certain robotic tone that entered Red’s voice when he talked to him.

Despite the lost and worried looks that Salvare had - and why did he care so much for him? - and the scathing looks he was beginning to draw from Karen, Red couldn’t help it.

Red couldn’t help but see Salvare bleeding out.

Begging for death.

absolution.

So, after arriving at Goldenrod nearly a week ago, Red spent almost every waking hour of his time in the city, piecing together, little by little, where Team Source could have set up their base.

For the first few nights, Red hadn’t even travelled to the Pokemon Center to sleep, instead finding a nook off the road to scoot in for a four-hour nap. He was well aware of the homeless look it gave him - which Karen helpfully pointed out repeatedly - which only served to help his primary guise of being a ‘survivor’, a street urchin.

And, again, when he said this, Salvare only had that vaguely knowing look that he occasionally adopted.

In the time that Red had spent delving into the city’s underground, Karen had taken it upon herself to pick up Salvare’s tutoring in Aura.

It turned out that Salvare was something of a prodigy in Poison Aura, which Red had overheard from Karen was one of her elder’s specialties. He had an instinctive grasp on Poison Jab - which Red suspected to be the move he used against him and Karen on Route 39 - and, amazingly, had a pretty hearty Belch when he ate more than he usually did.

Which was not a lot. The kid was incredibly skinny.

Apparently, Poison Aura was best suited towards healing, stealth, and, obviously, poison .

Salvare seemed rather gifted in the latter two - Karen was actually able to teach him Thief after only an hour - though the same could not be said for the former.

In an odd way, Red felt almost… proud? He couldn’t quite define what he felt towards Salvare at the moment. Pride? Guilt? Worry? Suspicion? Care?

Red shelved that all away, willing himself to unpack it later, if the time ever came in the first place. Had there been nothing else important going on, he may have decided to process it.

But there was.

There hadn’t been any more mental outbursts since the 7th, but there remained a constant presence in his mind. Calling, screaming , begging for help…

Before going silent for hours at a time.

Red blinked away stars every time it happened. Though it was never as visceral as it was outside of Cianwood, there was always a vision of shadows, then a light so bright that everything burned .

And then… silence.

The silence scared Red. Every time, a part of him worried that the silence would stay, and that the one who needed his help would never wake up.

Yet, thus far, they had woken up, only to be subjected to more light, laughing light, let there be light, and the light burns, it burns it burns

it burns

it burns

it burnsssssssssssssssss ssss sssss ss ss s s s

…

Northeast Battling Ring, Goldenrod City, October 20th, 1997

“Care to explain where you were for the last three fucking days?!”

“ No. ”

Salvare shook his head as Karen descended onto Red like a rabid dog, her harsh whispers quickly growing into a quaking shout, drawing stares from the battlers around them.

Though, to be fair, Red deserved it.

Salvare scowled to himself at the thought, banishing it away. Even if he felt angry at Red for disappearing for so long, he reminded himself that Red must have had a good reason.

Right?

Salvare sighed to himself. He wasn’t sure .

He had been travelling with Red for over a month now, and Salvare generally felt that he was a good person.

For the most part…

Sure, Red was very rough around the edges, but Salvare was of the mind that if someone wasn’t , then either something was wrong with them or they were lying.

Red had faults, but at least he didn’t try to hide them. Red was cold, snappish at times, and could be surprisingly cruel when he wanted to be. But Salvare had repeatedly seen Red act nice, supportive in his own offbrand way.

For a while, Salvare had slowly been seeing more and more of this side from Red. Whenever he did particularly well in a training session - which translated to lasting longer than thirty seconds - Red had offered genuine praise, even when Salvare’s achievements paled in comparison to Red’s.

Something changed after the televised fight they watched between the Champions. Outwardly, Red acted the same: cold, standoffish. However, there was one thing that was new.

Red actively avoided him .

Before, while he may have avoided Karen like a plague, Red never had any issue with Salvare’s presence. Oftentimes, his mentor seemed to be in his element when tutoring Salvare.

A part of him glowed on the rare occasion that Red called him a great protégé.

For a few days after, Salvare wondered if Red was feeling tired, like he had after his fight with Jasmine.

And, oh, he listened to a whole slew of theories as Karen rambled on and on while Red slept.

Salvare retained this notion for three whole days before they arrived in Goldenrod, before it was utterly discarded when Red just left .

Without letting either of them know.

At this, Salvare did allow himself to scowl at the memory. It had been a sleepless two days, in which both he and Karen had asked every person they could find whether or not they had seen Red.

Despite Karen’s conflicted feelings towards Red, Salvare knew that she cared about him, somewhat, maybe . Karen had been unusually frantic upon learning of Red’s disappearance, seeming genuinely frightened in a way that was different to the primal fear Salvare observed in her whenever Red’s eyes glowed.

And his eyes glowed, so what?

Salvare was aware that Karen considered Red a danger, but he liked to think that she may have also been worried for a friend. Although, Salvare wondered if she even did consider Red as a friend.

He knew for a fact that Red did not consider her one.

For his own part, Salvare considered Karen as a friend. Weird, yes, but a friend nonetheless. He still slept at night with a switchblade under his pillow, just in case she decided to come in and stab him in the back, because that’s what friends did in his experience.

Red was different. He wasn’t a friend. He was his leader.

Salvare cast his eyes once more towards Karen and Red, and upon seeing - and hearing - that Karen wasn’t even close to finished with raging at Red, he turned his attention towards finding another opponent.

Over the last week, when he wasn’t with Karen looking for Red, he was at the Battling Ring. While the previous towns the three of them had stopped at were fairly lukewarm in terms of the people and the challenges, Goldenrod was a veritable goldmine for such things.

There were four Battling Rings throughout the city, each packed with a variety of trainers of varying specialties, skill, and experience.

Salvare was losing far more than he had in Olivine or Cianwood, but he was learning so much more through his defeats than the multitude of victories he and Red had stacked up previously.

Four days ago, Gastly evolved into a Haunter, allowing Salvare to push it past its previous limits to be a more dangerous combatant.

Croconaw had also mastered Aqua Jet to such a degree that he could go an entire battle without touching the ground once . He had also improved his Bite into a Crunch , along with beginning to develop Ice Fang to go with it.

Magneton was proving to be a varied attacker, tapping into fire, electric, and ice attacks in its increasing arsenal.

Zubat was nearing evolution, based on the subtle increase in the size of its mouth. It was still rather frail, but counteracted that with its high speed. Recently, instead of focusing on raw offence, Salvare began working on moves such as Screech, Confuse Ray, Whirlwind, and Toxic to outlast the opponent in a prolonged match.

Sitting within Salvare’s new fifth pokéball was a Cacnea he had caught in the Safari Zone. Karen had been rather pleased with that, calling Salvare her ‘Dark Buddy’ after catching a Houndour for herself .

Despite being a new member of Salvare’s team, Cacnea proved to be a crafty little bugger. It had taken Salvare a solid thirty minutes of traversing various traps the pokémon had set in the Safari before he was able to catch it, and that skill transferred over to battling.

While Cacnea wasn’t able to tank many hits, he supplemented that by making it costly to hit him. A potent mixture of Spikes , Grassy Terrain, Spiky Shield (Which Salvare later learned was incredibly rare for unevolved Cacnea to learn), and Toxic Spikes made it so that any normal trainer would have to make serious preparations before going after the pokémon, lest they suffer potentially fatal wounds and/or poison.

Salvare, however, turned out to be immune to said poison.

Despite Karen of all people warning him against it, Salvare tracked down the rogue Cacnea, eventually capturing it after Gastly struck it with a well-timed Curse .

Red had actually seemed rather impressed when Salvare regaled him of Cacnea’s tricks, and how he got past them. While Karen fussed over the poisonous spikes that still stuck to his feet and legs, Red simply nodded and said, “Well done.”

Salvare preened at that.

Cacnea was the first to find a fight while Karen and Red tore at each other’s throats, wearing down an overconfident Poliwrath over the course of five minutes. Once it became clear that Poliwrath was about to succumb to Cacnea’s defences, the opposing trainer recalled him, netting a victory for Salvare.

It was an interesting experience for Salvare. While he wasn’t winning back to back, the victories he did get felt far more earned . He had begun to be recognised as a competent battler throughout Goldenrod, and stronger trainers reached out to him for battles that were far more intensive than anything Salvare faced before, sans the Gym matches.

He still shuddered when remembering Clair’s feral grin after defeating him a fifth time.

However, if Salvare was asked what he thought the source of his improvement was, he wouldn’t waste a second before pointing to Red.

Salvare hadn’t truly realised how… he didn’t know how to say it. Different? Revolutionary? Groundbreaking?

…Beautiful. Beautiful, yet terrifying. That is how Salvare would describe Red’s training. For a while, Salvare hadn’t fully comprehended how alien Red’s style was until he went a week without it.

Traditional pokémon training involved practising moves, teaching special commands, and generally improving pokémons’ physique. This was the tried and true method, allowing battling legends such as Lance or Professor Oak to create teams of true monsters , redefining the existing boundaries of their species.

In recent times, especially after the end of the war, this training method was built upon by making personal connections with one’s pokémon. Over the last two decades, numerous studies had been conducted that proved an increase in a team’s capability when the trainer made personal connections with their pokémon.

Salvare saw Karen as a perfect example of this. She was a fiercely passionate trainer whose drive was reflected in her pokémon when she battled. Even in matches where Karen face type disadvantages or status inflictions, Salvare had yet to see her lose aside from her one battle against Red.

However, Salvare had seen the other end of the spectrum, where the trainer raised their team dispassionately, finely honing them as perfect weapons, rather than creatures.

If there was one thing in life that Salvare never wanted to become, it was that type of trainer. He may not have high standards in other areas, but after seeing what Team Rocket did-

He… He couldn’t stomach it. When he first released the Totodile he stole from a lab, he vowed never to descend to the level of his… No. No, he would be better.

It may have been slow going. It may have been faster, easier to raise a team of dispassionate monsters - tools - but he wouldn’t. Totodile had grown to be his best friend, the family that Salvare never truly had.

And Croconaw nearly died at the Lake of Rage.

Salvare’s face grew dark, slightly scaring the opponent he was currently facing. Salvare wasn’t at a great place when he went to the lake, having had a run-in with Team Rocket in Mahogany, along with nearly seeing him for the first time in four years…

Had Croconaw died…

…

Salvare wondered how he would have lived.

But, Croconaw didn’t die. If anything, the crocodile was more alive than he ever had been before.

Salvare looked up to see Croconaw flying through the air using Aqua Jet , mystifying a bird-keeper and his Xatu. Salvare hadn’t even given any verbal commands in this match, giving Croconaw the agency to decide how to use his own skill set without Salvare’s aid.

This brought Salvare’s mind back to Red, and how much he learned, how much he changed under him. Every time they had a training session, Salvare would walk away with a new strategy, a new skill, a new understanding in his mind.

Unlike every other trainer Salvare had met, Red didn’t fit in the existing training spectrum. Instead, Red had his own style that was both graceful yet disjointed, brutal yet soft, grand yet subtle.

Beautiful yet Terrifying.

Group fighting. Trickery. Preparedness. Stubbornness. Improvisation. Trust. Stealth. Brutality. Aggressiveness. Speed. Cunning. Wisdom. Sacrifice. Indomitable Will. All of these merged together to form a style - no, a force of nature - unlike anything Salvare had heard of outside of folk legends.

And yet, amazingly, frustratingly , Red didn’t - couldn’t - recognise it. He seemed adverse to the very notion that he was special. That he was extraordinary .

Salvare would have seen it as a blessing.

Red almost acted as if it was a curse.

Red had secrets, and he was very good at keeping those secrets.

But he had slipped on occasion .

Salvare never mentioned it to Karen, knowing that she would blow it out of proportion, but he had heard Red mutter two names - titles? - on rare occasions.

‘The Chariot’.

And ‘Judgement’.

The latter was once, during the televised match back at Cianwood. Red’s eyes had been glowing rather fiercely, but Salvare kept his own council. Besides - he really didn’t like to admit this - he was curious.

Because Red had muttered the former title in a tone that Salvare hadn’t ever heard from him before.

Was it rage?

Was it grief?

Was it obsession?

Salvare shook his head, dispelling the thoughts as Croconaw finally intercepted Xatu with an aerial Ice Fang , crashing onto the ground with the bird between his jaws.

He cast another glance to where he last saw Red and Karen - it had been a solid twenty minutes of shouting - only to see that they were both gone.

As he began to turn around, a voice called out, “Salvare.”

“Red,” Salvare greeted, feeling somewhat off kilter, “Uh, how are you?”

“Fine,” Red stated in monotone, marching in front of Salvare, “Today, we’re going to train.”

“Oh,” Salvare perked up, before unwittingly asking a question before he could stop himself, “Is Karen forcing you?”

Red paused, giving a quick glance across the battling ring - Karen was currently venting her frustrations by crushing a poor psychic trainer - as he gave a small, empty smirk, “ As if she could . No…” He turned to Salvare, “You-” Red seemed to be evaluating Salvare, eyes glowing in judgement, “-are my protégé,” His smile became bitter, “It’s my job to teach you, isn’t it?”

Ok, Red’s acting odd.

“Sure,” Salvare drawled before crossing his arms, feeling a little bolder than usual, “Care to explain where you’ve been running off to the past week?”

“Ask again and I’ll take back my offer,” Red replied in a tired voice, “Are we going to train, or not?”

Salvare wasn’t one to look a gift Ponyta in the mouth, “Yes.” Salvare motioned Croconaw towards him as Red walked to an unused corner of the battling ring, not saying a word as they walked.

Salvare had a feeling that whatever Red had been dealing with hadn’t been resolved.

But then again, when were his own demons ever laid to rest?

…

Northwest Pokemon Center, Goldenrod City

“You know, for being the kid’s mentor, you’ve been a shit teacher.”

“ Are we really going to continue this? ”

Karen reigned in the instinct to growl, instead allowing Houndour to do the honours at her side. She began counting with her fingers, “The kid’s a natural with Poison Aura, and you’ve spent zero time teaching him the basics . He’s caught a new pokémon for his team - which would have probably killed him if he wasn’t immune to poison, by the way . Lastly-”

“ Stop ,” Red’s eyes glowed briefly before he blinked them away - and Karen was finding herself more annoyed than scared by them at the moment - “First off, I never agreed to teach Salvare Aura - Nope!” Red held up a hand as Karen opened her mouth to interrupt, “You may have decided that, but I never did-”

“You are aware that’s bullshit, right?!” Karen asked in a hysterical tone, “The kid needs a teacher! Or else he’ll overdo it and hurt himself!”

“ And you’ve been doing fine on your own, haven’t you? ” Red asked in a harsh rasp. On his shoulder, Pichu crooned in a feeble attempt to stave off Red’s growing rage.

“Only because you’ve been gone!” Karen shouted back, “He’s only skatin’ by with me ! I can tell he’s hurtin’ when you leave him in the dust! Only to come back looking like you had a nice cup o’ tea with Giratina!”

“Excuse me, but your both hogging the PC-”

“SHOVE OFF!” “ Leave. ” Karen and Red shouted/growled at the same time, causing the poor random girl to scurry away in fright.

“Judg- Salvare’s adaptable,” Red intoned, crossing his arms, “He’ll live.”

“Yeah?” Karen jerked her face up to Red’s, her nose nearly touching his, “What will he do when you don’t come back, huh? What will we do when you wind up dead in an alley?”

“ He would move on ,” Red rumbled, meeting Karen’s eyes with his own, unrelenting stare, “One of the first lessons I taught him was to move past loss.”

“Really? Because I’m telling you he wouldn’t ,” Her tone became marginally softer, “He worships you. Gods only know why, but he does,” Her eyes grew harder, darker , “So help me Red, if you go off and die on us, I’ll raise you from the dead just to kill you again .”

“ I’d like to see you try ,” Red snarled back, eyes actually sparking with malevolent crimson.

Karen’s face shadowed, twisting into a feral snarl that made her appear far more dangerous than she ever had previously, “You know what, Red? Fuck. You. ”

Red stood there, eyes blazing scarlet as Karen stomped away towards her hotel room, slamming the door loud enough to shake the entire building.

Red quickly tapped the last few keys to register himself and Salvare for their Gym matches before Nurse Joy walked up to him, wringing her hands nervously, “Sir, if you could please-.”

“ Already am ,” Red growled, closing the computer before stalking out of the Pokemon Center.

He briefly heard Salvare rushing down the steps, calling his name to come back. Red didn’t turn back, instead disappearing into the streets of Goldenrod.

Even though it was night outside, the light was so bright bright bright bright.

The light was so bright.

…

The light was bright enough to drive him Mad.

…

World League Embassy, Jubilife City, Sinnoh Region, October 24th, 1997

“A fine evening, isn’t it, Professor?”

Although Samuel hadn’t expected the voice, he didn’t jump or otherwise show any indication of surprise. After all, especially given the source of the voice, it was hardwired into the ageing man never to show weakness.

“I suppose it is, Giovanni,” Samuel answered as he looked down onto the celebratory ball. Sinnoh had officially become the fourth region in the World League just hours ago, which made Oak excited, because it meant he would finally be able to get back to his lab after three agonising weeks of waiting .

And Mew above, if he had to deal with Delia calling him again after Bill ran off to do something asinine, Oak would bash his head in.

Giovanni stepped forward to stand next to Samuel. While Oak simply wore a dress shirt and khakis, Giovanni attended every function over the last three weeks with a full 3-piece suit.

“It’s a good thing,” Giovanni began after a moment, “Uniting the regions.”

Samuel nodded, not entirely wanting to have a conversation but not seeing any easy way to escape.

Giovanni took a measured sip of his champagne, “I imagine this will mean an update to your pokedex within the next few months?”

Samuel hummed, “Yes, though most of the information regarding Sinnoh’s pokémon have already been recorded. It’s mainly a matter of configuring the technology to recognise them when a user encounters them. Why do you ask?”

“This is a historic time,” Giovanni answered smoothly, gesturing towards the crowd below, “Look below you. Leaders from Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, even Unova have come together,” Giovanni idly twirled his drink before continuing, “Why, if someone told me twenty years ago that this is where we would end up, I would have punched them,” Giovanni’s face twitched into a half smirk, “Maybe worse. Spirits were rather high at the time.”

Samuel nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on the crowd rather than Giovanni, “It almost makes you wonder if we’ll ever see Kalos join our ranks.”

Giovanni snorted, “Please. It’ll be a rainy day in Orre before we ever let Kalos off its leash.”

“I don’t know,” Oak mused, “Goodshow has plans regarding Kalos. We may just be surprised by what he has in store.”

Giovanni gave a small huff, “For such an ambitious man, he is remarkably foolish in certain ways.”

Oak didn’t respond to that, instead allowing the silence between them to linger for a few minutes.

At a certain point, Giovanni must have gotten the clue that Samuel was done talking about that subject, because he asked about another subject, “What do you know about Mew, Professor?”

“Pardon?” Oak hadn’t expected the question, especially not from someone like Giovanni, “What brought this on?”

“I’ve heard some fascinating stories during my time here,” Giovanni answered, eyes drifting towards the central mountain of the region, “The people here have many legends that are rather intriguing . It made me wonder about Kanto's own legends.”

Samuel tilted his head, “You’ve never struck me as the religious type.”

“I’m not,” Giovanni acquiesced, “But that doesn’t stop my curiosity.”

Oak’s face grew slightly pinched as he considered Giovanni. Samuel had known the man since they fought alongside each other in the war, and while Giovanni hadn’t ever done anything truly egregious in that time, Oak never particularly trusted the man.

There was just something about him that was… off.

Still, as Oak thought over it, he didn’t see anything malicious with Giovanni’s question. “Mew is said to be the ancestor of all pokémon, sharing DNA with all of them,” Ignoring Giovanni’s sudden intense look, Samuel continued, “Researchers believe that Mew were capable of using any known move, along with shapeshifting into any form it wants. Many of the legends surrounding the creature prop it up to a godlike status, which I personally don’t believe, since all modern research suggests that the species is extinct.”

“Interesting,” Giovanni murmured, “Though I can’t help but question how a creature that could shapeshift and use any move would ever go extinct.”

“The most common theory is that they had difficulty reproducing,” Oak explained, “Over time, their numbers would dwindle until there was no chance for recovery.”

“Is that so?” Giovanni murmured before turning to face Samuel, “Thank you for the information, Professor. You’ve given me much to think about.”

Samuel waved his hand away, “You would find a whole bunch of crackpot theories on the pokénet. I told you what’s been proven ,” Oak sighed lightly to himself, “Either way, enjoy the rest of the night, Giovanni.”

“I will,” Giovanni said in a bland tone before raising an eyebrow, “Are you going to enjoy it as well, or are you just going to stand there the entire time?”

“I’ll go down eventually,” Oak answered.

Giovanni shrugged before rejoining the party below. Oak remained where he was standing, wondering to himself just why Giovanni seemed so interested in Mew.

Samuel shook his head, not wanting to devote brainspace to the man. He had enough to worry about, given Bill’s troubles and Ash’s involvement in them.

Not to mention the genuine terror Samuel felt at having to confront Delia when he got back home.

Somehow, despite Ash’s involvement with the burning lighthouse being kept secret from the media, Delia learned of her son nearly meeting his demise at such a young age.

Oak still winced, idly rubbing his ears as he recalled the call he received from the woman. He had been planning to tell her what happened in-person when he came back, which, in hindsight, was somewhat idiotic of him to assume that she wouldn’t find out beforehand.

Damned mother’s intuition.

It wasn’t even Ash that told her - the kid was still unconscious when Delia raged at Oak - so Oak had no clue how she knew in the first place.

Still, she learned of it, and after raging at Oak for two solid hours, she became oddly melancholic, saying something about Ash taking after his father.

Oak had only met the man once, months before Ash was born. They hadn’t spoken, and Samuel hadn’t even recognised the man as Delia’s husband until after she told him years later. By then, the man was nothing more than dust in the wind, a mere month after Ash was born.

Oak almost felt relieved at that.

That man felt dangerous.

With Ash, though, Samuel felt more than a little worried for the kid.

While he hid it well, Oak could see the way Ash’s eyes would momentarily dilate with fear, could hear the way his voice faltered, even if it was only for the smallest moment.

It was times like these that Oak became thankful that Ash had found friends to travel with. While Oak hired bodyguards to act as cheerleaders for Gary, he couldn’t do the same for Ash without putting a target on his head for being favoured by the famous Samuel Oak. He was glad that Ash found others to travel with, both for safety and support.

Oak’s attention turned back to the party. It had died down at this point, though individuals such as Alder still produced enough volume to sound like an entire crowd.

He noticed a small group to the side, no longer dancing as they engaged in what seemed to be intense discussion.

He made his way towards them, hearing Juniper as she finished off whatever tangent she had gotten into, “-you would see it if you got past your hubris and listened !”

“Really?” Rowan grunted, his face stretched into a glower, “Because I have been listening, and it seems like all the ‘evidence’ Sycamore has cooked up is a hodgepodge of theories and dreams.”

Juniper made a frustrated noise as Oak slid in, “What are we arguing about?”

“ They’re arguing over the existence of a ‘Fairy’ type,” Lorelei answered before the other two could. She took a sip of her drink, looking distinctly amused, “I’m just here because I find it humorous.”

“It does exist!” Juniper stressed, glaring at Lorelei as the redheaded woman merely stared benignly back, “There are numerous examples of moves like Gust and Flash having greater effects on Dragon types when they shouldn’t! Not to mention, pokémon like Mawile have shown to be immune to Dragon moves-”

“Mawile is a Steel Type,” Rowan interrupted, looking incredibly frustrated, “Steel resists Dragon moves. It is not immune -”

“ How long have they been going at this? ” Samuel whispered in question to Lorelei.

“Over an hour,” Lorelei didn’t bother lowering her voice, given that it was nearly drowned out by Juniper and Rowan.

“Huh,” Oak rubbed his eyes, feeling incredibly tired, “I’m looking forward to coming back home.”

“I understand,” Lorelei said soothingly, her eyes drifting towards the greater party, “It’s very overwhelming.”

Samuel grunted in agreement, crossing his arms as the two of them alternated between watching Juniper and Rowan’s squabble and the crowd at large.

This relative peace was interrupted when a glass shattered. Oak swerved around, reflexively palming the pokéballs on his belt, before seeing the cause of the sudden commotion.

Lance was staring wide-eyed at Sinnoh’s Champion, who was holding - what was it? - an egg. A broken glass rested by his feet, having been dropped by his shock.

She shuffled her feet nervously as the din around the ballroom reduced to a hum, which contrasted rather heavily with the confident look that Cynthia was known for.

Lance remained absolutely still as Cynthia held out the egg, saying, “A gift, from one Clan to another. Even in death, we still honour the tradition.”

Oak’s eyes narrowed at that - he hadn’t known that Sinnoh’s Champion was a clanswoman. He thought Sinnoh’s had died long ago - watching with a keen eye as Lance robotically took the eggs into his own arms, “I accept this gift, as my Clan accepts your name,” Some colour began to return to Lance’s face as he said, “Know that, in the name of Blackthorne and all of my clansmen, you may look to us for aid in your time of crisis.”

Cynthia bowed - and, oh, she had no idea how others would interpret that - “You have my gratitude, brother .”

Oh. Shit.

Oak’s eyes widened in the same way that Lance’s did, both of them knowing full well the implications of that statement.

While the unenlightened masses began to applaud, not truly understanding what had taken place, Oak gripped the table behind him to stay standing.

They just gave the Rites of Brotherhood.

Having fought both the Blackthorne and the Tao Clans during the Great War, Samuel Oak had taken it upon himself to learn everything he could of their culture. How it operated. How it changed. How much it stayed the same .

He learned its strengths. He learned its weaknesses.

Know thy enemy, as they always said.

Oak had learned that, at one point, there had been thousands of Dragon Clans across the world, ranging in size from medium-sized villages to single families.

Each of them held different traditions, such as their icons or their rituals, but over time, they began to merge together into bigger coalitions that combined these traditions into four distinct cultures.

Blackthorne. Draconid. Tao. Celestic.

They went on to become the Major Clans, governing over several Minor Clans within their ranks.

While Minor Clans may differ in small ways, they all held onto the same gods and Principles.

Blackthorne worshipped the Ancient Dragonite, and held to the Principles of Endurance and Will.

Draconid worshipped Rayquaza, and held to the Principles of Protection and Independence.

Tao worshipped the Ancient Tao Dragon, and held to the Principles of Truth and Ideals.

Celestic worshipped the Creation Trio, and held to the Principles of Knowledge and Strength.

Samuel had learned of their histories and cultures, using their quirks to gain the advantage over them in battle.

There was a reason why his name was uttered as a curse in Blackthorne.

One of the aspects of their culture that actually remained mostly the same across the clans were the Ancient Rites.

There were five in total, though only one was commonplace nowadays.

There were the Rites of Transgression, in which one clan declared enmity with another. This usually acted as a precursor to war, back when the clans could afford such things without facing extinction on both sides.

On the opposite end were the Rites of Absolution, which formally forgave one clan’s transgression against another. Oak found that this usually happened after the clans had already waged war on each other for over a generation.

Next were the Rites of Union, which were used when Major Clans adopted Minor Clans into their ranks. Based on the wording of the ancient texts that Oak had retrieved, it also technically meant that Major Clans could unite into one supermassive clan, but something of that calibre had never happened before, and Oak rather doubted that it would happen in the future.

The most commonplace were the Rites of Matrimony, which placed the union of two clans members to be judged by their gods. Most of the time, their union was approved - which Oak interpreted as meaning that nothing blew up . However, there had apparently been one rather note-worthy instance of the gods denying the union, though Oak was unable to translate the details.

Right now, though, was something massive in terms of Draconic culture.

The Rites of Brotherhood were rare. Even in the texts that Oak had, he had only heard of them being enacted once in the last five centuries. And that instance had apparently led the Draconid Clan to its ruin, having bound themselves to a warlord from the times of Samuel’s grandfather.

Unlike the others, the Rites of Brotherhood could not be reneged. Even the Rites of Union could break apart if the invited clan transgressed against the greater clan.

But the Rites of Brotherhood could not be broken . Whereas the other Rites bound a clan to clan, person to person, the Rites of Brotherhood bound a person to a clan.

When the clan called for aid, its brother would be the first to arrive.

And just the same, when that individual needed aid, they would find themselves having the backing of the entire clan behind them.

For Cynthia to start the Rites of Brotherhood, and for Lance to accept … It had implications that threatened to split Oak’s head open.

Lorelei pressed something cold into his hands - ice, where did she get ice? - “For your head. It looks like you need it.”

Samuel accepted the gift with good grace, eyes still wide as he stared at the crowd, unknowing that the Champion of the Sinnoh region now had the backing of the entire Blackthorne Clan .

Absolutely mad, the lot of them.

Absolutely Mad.

…

Industrial District, Goldenrod City, October 26th, 1997

let there be light

And there was light. Red winced as he walked the streets of Goldenrod, blinking away the stars in his eyes as the shadows danced. dancing shadows. they surround me. what do they want? WHAT DO THEY WANT?

Red forcefully shook away the voice in his head. The voice of the other . He ran a risk every time he allowed himself to feel what the other felt, to see and hear what the other felt.

The lines between them were getting blurred.

The visions were nightmares nightmares , and had occasionally seized motor control from his paws, purple purple purple paws .

He was having seizures, they were rest, finally rest . The worst of it hit back on the 18th, when the light light light nearly fried his brain.

He didn’t wake up for nearly 48 hours.

It was getting dark out, which meant the light would get painful painful .

But Red wasn’t done, couldn’t be done . They were getting desperate desperate , it was only a matter of time before the light caused me to fall asleep.

and never wake up.

Go Forth.

Go awayyy!

Red stopped as the shadows closed in, blocking the light . He could feel it, so close so close , it was so close .

Just out of reach.

He was in the Industrial District. He had been for the last week. Only once had he gone back to the Pokemon Center, and that was to heal Pichu after being nearly crushed under a collapsed roof.

They were out to get him.

they dare?

Red coughed, slinking away into an alley, unseen from the scant passerby as his spit drew blood.

He could feel the light

it hurts

He looked like garbage, silly! he was well aware of that.

When people on the street gave him cash, mistaking him for a homeless person, he knew it was bad.

Focus, damnit! Red clutched his head, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

He(We) is dying. We(They) didn’t have much longer.

Red stumbled forward, punching the wall hard enough to shatter the brick.

So what if the building fell. No-one lived in this part of town.

Red had become intimately familiar with the Industrial District, which spanned a solid quarter of the entire city.

And for the largest city in Johto, that was a lot of ground to cover.

The thing about Wartface’s information was that it wasn’t specific .

Yes, there was an abandoned lab mid-construction around the area. It was just surrounded by several more abandoned labs.

Apparently there had been some sort of research initiative that began a decade back? Red wasn’t sure, and the information he could find on the pokénet didn’t say much more that he didn’t already know.

It also seemed that the funny man with warts had outdated information with regards to people occupying these labs. Red had encountered more than a few homeless camps, powder dens, and Team Rocket bases ( for some asinine reason ).

With the lack of rest, please let me rest he was getting, along with the connection he had with me! , Red was beginning to feel a little silly silly silly!

“ Zap me if I fall unconscious ,” Red’s voice seemed distant as he commanded Pichu on his shoulder, “ I’m feeling lightheaded .”

Pichu crooned in anguish as Red stumbled through the streets, looking more like a drunken bum than the last survivor of the Storm.

He had chosen this chosen this . To help me , save them, please please!

He didn’t care about the pain . He didn’t care about the hatred .

He didn’t care if Karen hated him. She had always hated him , what was so different now?

We didn’t care if Judgement hated him. He had more than enough reason to, anyway.

He didn’t care if he fell asleep .

As long as he was able to help me, he saw no need to place himself firstttttttt-

The clock turned - eight in the evening, sundown - and Red found himself in another building.

It was large, larger than many surrounding it. It was dark too, where was the light?

The light.

They fell asleep, and Red breathed . Yet he couldn’t breathe.

Because what if they didn’t wake up?

Red walked in a dark room - very dark - not paying particular attention, causing him to hit his side against a bookshelf, nearly being flattened by it as they both fell to the floor.

Stupid. Pay attention or get yourself killed, Red.

Red shook his head as he got back up - he wasn’t even sure where he was . He looked around, scanning for any identifiable clues.

After a moment, he found one. In the adjacent room, stripped of everything but the bolts on the steel floor, there was a plaque on the wall, reading, ‘ This property was donated by- ’ a smudge on the ink prevented Red from reading a few words ‘-Research Foundation.’

Red rubbed his eyes after reading that - when had he last slept? - before whirling around to the sound of footsteps.

Standing in the doorway between the two rooms, a somewhat shaggy-looking man stood in shock as he stared at Red.

There was silence for a moment - aside from a few sparks from Pichu’s cheeks - before the shaggy man coughed, “Uh, are you also homeless?”

“...Yeah,” Red answered, somewhat bewildered but no less cautious. A gleam of white against the streetlights outside caught Red’s attention, “Are you wearing a lab coat?”

“I am,” the shaggy man answered - Red’s calling him Shaggy - “I found it when I came here.”

“You’re using this place for shelter?” Red asked. At the man’s hesitant nod, he pressed, “Do you know of anything odd that goes on around here?”

“Wha?” The man mumbled before rubbing his face with his hand, “Just - I don’t know, man. If you’re going to stay, then stay. If not then get lost.”

Pichu growled before Red palmed his head, calming him, “Okay,” Red raised his hands up, trying to appear non hostile, “I’ll leave.”

“Alright, just-” The shaggy man waved his hands exasperatedly, “Do me a solid and don’t call up the police, yeah?”

“Alright,” Red agreed easily enough. He rather doubted that the police would care about a single homeless man in the first place . “I’m going.”

Red left shortly afterward, frowning when he saw the bookshelf propped back up against the wall.

Hadn’t it been moved a metre away from the wall when he ran into it?

Red nursed his head, groaning as the familiar migraine came back to replace the mental dysphoria he had felt earlier.

Red wandered aimlessly for a few more hours, but with the other no longer being conscious, it almost felt as if he was more lost .

Yet a part of him felt so close all the same.

It was just past eleven at night when he made it back to the Pokemon Center, and he barely made it two seconds into the building before Salvare bounded up to him, looking far more concerned than Red deserved.

Karen’s eyes bore into Red from across the plaza, the bags under her eyes betraying the lack of sleep she had while Red was away.

There were a few words that Red didn’t really listen to. Salvare’s Gym match was tomorrow? Great! He would be there, for a little bit at least. His own Gym match was scheduled afterwards? He could reschedule. He had more important things to do anyway.

the light hurt so much.

He was in bed, sleepless despite not having slept in days.

The voice was back. I said hello.

And you were so close, silly!

I always liked reading.

Red shook his head, feeling another, worse headache coming. The other was so nice, so innocent, so silly!

I think they’re preparing something.

The shadows seemed scared.

…

I think you were here.

I can see their minds. Oh look! A bookshelf! Why is it on the floor-

let there be light

Red shot awake as - let there be light - everything connected.

The abandoned - let there be light - lab, the - let there be light - bookshelf, the lab - let there be light - coat, the plaque, the

let there be light

The bookshelf was moved after Red knocked it over.

let there be light

It was a metre away from the wall, yet when he moved back-

let there be light

-It was against the wall.

let there be light

“Do me a solid and don’t call up the police, yeah?”

let there be light

That man with shaggy hair, he wasn’t homeless.

let there be light

He was a member of Team Source.

let there be light

let there be light

let there be light

a n d t h e l i g h t w a s o v e r w h e l m i n g

…

Northwest Pokemon Center, Goldenrod City, October 27th, 1997

“Are you alright, Red?”

Salvare stood outside of Red’s door, Karen standing behind him with her arms crossed.

He had his final Gym match in an hour, and while Red had seemed somewhat dazed when he said it, he did tell Salvare that he would be there.

Red had yet to break a promise like that.

After a few minutes of calling Red’s name, Salvare began to wonder if his mentor had another one of his mini-comas, like the one at Olivine.

It would be better than the alternative.

Salvare was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice Karen standing next to him until she started pounding on the door, “GET YOUR ASS UP, RED! OR SO HELP ME-”

“ Karen! ” Salvare hissed, directing Karen’s attention to the nearly unhinged door she had slammed open.

“...Oh,” Karen muttered before stomping right in, “Well that makes things a little… and, he’s gone.”

As Karen began to silently rage, Salvare withdrew into himself. Small, terrible whispers began to creep into his mind, suggesting that, maybe, Red didn’t care , that he didn’t matter , that Red left Salvare behind because he was a burden.

Before he descended into a spiral, Karen’s voice reached his ears, sounding almost dead, “He left a note.”

“He did?” Salvare came up next to Karen as she handed him a small slip of paper ripped out of a small journal.

“ Salvare, ” He read, “ I won’t be at the Gym match. I should be back by the end of the day. If not, then I’m likely dead or close to it. If this is the case, then keep your head pointed straight and move on. ”

After a moment, Karen hissed, “ That’s it? ” She snatched the note out of Salvare’s hands, eyes darting back and forth in growing rage as she read the note.

It was beginning to smoke.

“That-” She wasn’t even able to articulate her anger, instead desperately trying to reign in her aura as the note went up in flames.

Salvare became distinctly uncomfortable when Karen started cackling , her aura wrapping around her to make her seem insane , “When he gets back, I am going to kill him.”

…

(4:35 A.M.) - The_Empress has opened the chat.

(4:35 A.M.) - The_Empress: @The_Emperor

(4:35 A.M.) - The_Empress: @The_Magician

(4:37 A.M.) - The Magician has logged in.

(4:38 A.M.) - The_Magician: I know that it’s getting to be late back here so I can only imagine what dreadful hour emperor has to wake up to

(4:38 A.M.) - The_Empress: Doesn’t matter. This is very important.

(4:39 A.M.) - The_Magician: Well you hardly ever call a meeting

(4:39 A.M.) - The_Magician: Maybe it is important

(4:43 A.M.) - The_Empress: Have you heard from Chariot recently?

(4:44 A.M.) - The_Magician: No

(4:44 A.M.) - The_Magician: You know how he is

(4:44 A.M.) - The_Magician: Only talks when he wants to

(4:46 A.M.) - The_Magician: Maybe you can ask emperor

(4:46 A.M.) - The_Magician: He at least talks to chariot somewhat regularly to my understanding

(4:49 A.M.) - The_Empress: Does any of us know who Chariot is?

(4:50 A.M.) - The_Magician: I don’t what brought this up

(4:51 A.M.) - The_Empress: He dropped off something to me.

(4:51 A.M.) - The_Empress: Not at any of the labs.

(4:51 A.M.) - The_Empress: But where I live.

(4:52 A.M.) - The_Magician: Ah

(4:52 A.M.) - The_Magician: That is somewhat worrisome

(4:55 A.M.) - The_Magician: I was under the impression that we were to remain anonymous to each other

(4:56 A.M.) - The_Empress: We were.

(4:57 A.M.) - The_Magician: Hmm

(4:57 A.M.) - The_Emperor has logged in.

(4:58 A.M.) - The_Emperor: Is there an emergency?

(5:00 A.M.) - The_Empress: No. I wanted to let you both know that I’ve received the trace energy from The Chariot.

(5:01 A.M.) - The_Empress: Also, I was under the impression that this was meant to be a silent retrieval.

(5:02 A.M.) - The_Emperor: I made it clear to him that Bill was to be kept alive, and to his credit, Chariot kept his end of the bargain.

(5:03 A.M.) - The_Empress: You are aware that Bill was an excellent source for research? The destruction of his lab may have inadvertently slowed down our goals.

(5:04 A.M.) - The_Emperor: Rest assured, I have spoken to The Chariot about it.

(5:04 A.M.) - The_Emperor: The energy he delivered was untainted, correct?

(5:06 A.M.) - The_Empress: Preliminary tests indicate its purity.

(5:06 A.M.) - The_Empress: The readings also match those of the power wave.

(5:07 A.M.) - The_Emperor: In that case, I see no major issue with how it was handled.

(5:07 A.M.) - The_Emperor: It may have been sloppy compared to Chariot’s usual fare, but he faces the least scrutiny out of all of us.

(5:08 A.M.) - The_Magician: It seems to me like you know who he is

(5:10 A.M.) - The_Emperor: We have an understanding.

(5:11 A.M.) - The_Magician: Does he know who we are

(5:12 A.M.) - The_Emperor: I cannot say for certain, but it is probable.

(5:12 A.M.) - The_Emperor: Was there anything else?

(5:12 A.M.) - The_Empress: There is one more thing.

(5:13 A.M.) - The_Empress: I compared the sample I received to personal energy readings I retrieved from my sensors in Mahogany.

(5:14 A.M.) - The_Empress: Between the dates of September 9th-12th and on the 18th, the sensors flared periodically before returning to normal levels. I compared the data to both the initial power wave and the readings I have from the trace energy and have found them to be almost exactly the same.

(5:15 A.M.) - The_Empress: I do not know who or what is causing this. Regardless, this tells me that the power wave at the end of August was not a one-time occurrence.

(5:16 A.M.) - The_Empress: If this is the act of a singular being, then it is moving.

(5:16 A.M.) - The_Empress: If it is not, then that makes the situation considerably more dangerous.

(5:18 A.M.) - The_Emperor: Interesting.

(5:19 A.M.) - The_Emperor: Consider the timing.

(5:20 A.M.) - The_Emperor: 1st power wave on Aug 31. Mount Silver Range. On Sep 9 it’s in Mahogany, stays there, then retraces its steps six days later.

(5:21 A.M.) - The_Emperor: Most human beings do not have the natural capabilities or the discipline to travel that distance in that amount of time. While most pokémon should be able to, very few would have reason to travel that distance.

(5:27 A.M.) - The_Empress: Are you still there?

(5:29 A.M.) - The_Magician: He hasnt logged off

(5:42 A.M.) - The_Emperor has shared a file to the group.

(5:42 A.M.) - The_Emperor: This man has just broken into the Goldenrod Base. He is en route to Changeling. Who is he?

(5:42 A.M.) - The_Magician: what

(5:43 A.M.) - The_Empress: Red Satoshi.

(5:45 A.M.) - The_Empress has shared a file to the group.

(5:46 A.M.) - The_Empress: Very Strong Trainer, Almost Nonexistent Record, On Indigo Watchlist.

(5:46 A.M.) - The_Empress: I believe The Tower was looking to analyse him.

(5:55 A.M.) - The_Emperor: No need to worry about the source of the power waves.

(5:55 A.M.) - The_Emperor: He is the Source.

(5:56 A.M.) - The_Emperor: Tell Tower that Red Satoshi had become a top priority for her. I will not be in contact for the next two weeks. Take care.

(5:56 A.M.) - The_Emperor has closed the chat.