1-1 Icy Path

.

.

.

There exists a cultivation chamber deep beneath the Fantasia estate, hidden within the heart of Mount Sonata beneath layers upon layers of earth and stone and age-old seals. It's a secret passed down from clan head to heiress since the tumultuous Warring Clans Era, when the Blackthorns had conquered us with claw and dragonfire and hoarded us alongside the rest of their treasure; it's a sacred place, a shrine by any other name, where my Deino's egg had been lain and where it was expected to hatch.

It's where I first achieved Soul Consolidation, breathing in Dark and Dragon Aura and stabilizing it within myself, becoming a whole person in the eyes of the clan. It's where I broke through to the Second Realm, age eleven and ambitious and eager for ever more responsibility, and where I expected to break through to the Third, the Fourth, and even the Fifth Realms, should my aptitude not level off.

It's where I hid, when the Blackthorn dragonflight came, and razed the world to ashes.

… My mother doesn't know about it. She was the Outguard Head, commander of external affairs, but the chamber was a Homeguard secret. She would not think to return and loot it of our clan's treasures, our stash of gems and gold and Deino eggs in stasis, our Unovan black rose incense or the Dread Plate our founder stole and was exiled for.

The Blackthorns don't know about it, either; nor would they find it, when they searched the wreckage for survivors and valuables in the aftermath of their Outrage. This was hardly the first time the Fantasia clan struck against our overlords, though it was the first the recompense was so complete. If the Blackthorns of centuries past hadn't found it, the Blackthorns of today never could, so certain in the accuracy of the records they let us safeguard.

It was with a sickening kind of certainty that I knew the chamber was still there beneath the ruins of the clan estate, untouched, unspoiled, unguarded. Compared to stealing from Dragon's Den, reclaiming it would be child's play. There would have been a kind of poetry to it: the last loyal scion of Fantasia, wielding the hidden riches of her fallen clan against the tyrannical Blackthorns and treacherous clansmen.

It was with fantasies like this that I scrounged for food and safety in Icy Path both before and after re-Consolidating my soul and forcing a bond with Razor; fantasies like this that haunted me as I followed the red-eyed trainer back into Blackthorn City, into the Rising Gym and Dragon's Den. It would be the clever thing to do, I would harangue myself, the cruelty and self-disdain in my thoughts only feeding into my Dark cultivation. It would be the righteous thing to do. What is a dragon without her hoard?

The worst part was: it's still not too late. Red's mindset was disgustingly Kantonian, but I have begun to take his measure, and I don't believe he would steal from me. He may even refuse all gifts or attempts at recompense, claiming such tools and treasures would, by easing his path, deny him the full challenge of it, and weaken him in the end.

So, why haven't I done it?

O Lord Giratina, I so despise Dark cultivation.

"Stop," Red commanded, and I withdrew from my trance with hidden gratitude. "We're calling it for the day. Any more and you risk a rupture."

I gave him a confused look at the statement, but let it go. I have long since learned that no amount of arguing or reasoning would change his mind. Red was the kind of man who kept his own counsel, scheming and contemplating with no sign on his face or in his voice, and would only reveal his decisions half the time and behind a layer of obscurement as well. Case in point: I had not known we would be camping in Mount Whitegrave's Ice Nexus until we were already halfway there, and when I asked, had said in a solemn tone that keeping Ice Specialists away from their natural habitat was trainer abuse.

I followed him back to our camp in contemplative silence. As always, Red gave me only a few minutes of peace before asking annoying questions.

"Far be it from me to tell you how to cultivate," Red said, then began to tell me how to cultivate. "But how come you're cycling equal parts Dark and Ice? Dark is everywhere, but we won't find this much Ice ever again, not unless we hit up Seafoam. Seems kinda dumb to me."

I knew better than to dissemble to my teacher about matters such as this, even if he would deserve it. "I want an equal split, not Ice primary. My First Realm is already three parts Ice to one part Dark. Cultivating Dark on a foundation of two layers of Ice would be… slow." I gave him a look, up and down. "I thought you would understand, with a soul like that."

I made it sound like an insult, but it wasn't, not really. Red was a generalist, and his amalgam soul had twelve types in great amounts: Electric, Psychic, Grass, Poison, Fire, Flying, Dragon, Water, Ice, Steel, Dark, and Ground. It was hard to tell, looking upon a soul three Realms greater, but I think the foundation was mostly Electric, which was a notoriously poor foundation for other elements. He even had the other five types contaminating his soul in greater-than-normal amounts. The Blackthorn in me – in truth, the Fantasia in me as well – wanted to judge him for what seemed to be sloppy cultivation, sure to topple or cave in at any moment, but I had felt him break through into the Fourth Realm. His cycling was clean, efficient, his foundation sturdy.

My own soul, before Lance had shattered it, had been equal parts Dark and Dragon at every Realm. I intended to at least attempt the same with Dark and Ice, now, as a matter of convenience; I would be greatly fortunate to encounter another Dragon in the wild of Indigo, but Ice-types were not uncommon, if you knew where to look.

"A worthy goal," Red assented, "But that doesn't counter my point at all. You don't need to cycle equally to have an equal soul, just have the proportions right when you advance. Seems quicker to gather the Ice here, where it's thick, then the Dark later, since it's, you know. Everywhere."

I frowned up at him. "Are we leaving soon? I assumed we would linger until my advancement. It shouldn't be more than two or three weeks off."

He frowned back. "If you try advancing so soon, your soul will rupture and you will be back at zero again. Or die."

We both looked at each other in equal parts confusion and judgement. Eventually, it dawned on me. "…You don't have any stabilizing regents."

"What, do you mean Berries? I'm not made of money."

There are hundreds in stasis beneath the Fantasia estate, I thought, and pursed my lips.

"I've used some before," Red admitted, but his face was still all frowny and disdainful. "They do reinforce an Aura enough that a protracted cycling session won't cause damage. Does jack-all to protect against the mental contamination of that much cultivation, though. If the Blackthorns eat enough Berries that they take them for granted, then no wonder they're all such assholes; Dragon is already one of the five most dangerous types to cultivate, and they're doing it so quickly that they can't acclimate to what they have 'til they pile on more."

"The Dragon's Pride is not contamination," I said in instinctive offense.

"You even have a fancy name for it," Red said in a tone of horrified fascination. "This explains so much."

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"Shut up!"

"No, you shut up!"

The argument only devolved from there.

I had always looked down upon those outside the clan with amalgam souls, or who were 'behind' in their advancement. It had, truthfully, never occurred to me that they didn't have access to Aura-rich foods to strengthen and stabilize their souls, or had refused such on philosophical grounds. I had been on such a diet since before I was born, had centuries of development behind my cycling methods, and was set to advance to the Third Realm by my fifteenth birthday; this was normal, I would assume and not think, and everyone else is lazy or untalented.

I wanted to dispute Red's words, in earnest and not just habit. It's hard to find the anger, though, when the rage of the Dragon had been stripped from me with my Aura, and all that remained was the cold and the dark. If I was now who I had been then, I would have already challenged him to an honor duel, all fire and fury and Dragon's Pride.

Maybe the Fantasia and Blackthorn way was wrong, I think, and feel like a heretic.

I did so hate Dark cultivation. If the use of Dark energy is to deceive and trick, then the cultivation of it is to strip all lies away: to be brutally honest with oneself, to look within and despise what you find. If I had not just spent eight hours meditating and breathing Dark and Ice into my soul, I would not be thinking on Red's words so critically, and would be able to dismiss him out of hand. I wouldn't have to be painfully honest with myself.

I still won't give him the satisfaction.

.

.

.

Red had us leave two days later. "Your soul is getting a little thin around the edges," he said in a tone of great empathy, eyes soulful and mocking. "Any more and it'll leak little drops of Ice out like condensation on glass."

It's only half the reason. A week prior, Red started moving our campsite around the tunnels, bidding me to sleep and cultivate at odd hours. Someone else was using the Ice Nexus, and either Red wanted to evade their detection – perhaps they were stronger, or outnumbered us – or there was some kind of etiquette in play I wasn't aware of. I confronted him on it, and his only response was that my constitution was too fragile for the shock of witnessing a confrontation. I applauded him on his improved vocabulary and paid his words no mind.

We'd been in Mount Whitegrave for a little over three weeks; it was now mid-November. The Indigo Conference runs the last week of December, hosted on the Indigo Plateau, only a few mountains east. Hence my earlier conclusion that we would linger here longer: with appropriate regents, I wouldn't embarrass Red by being in the First Realm when he hit the arena.

I did want to embarrass him, just not in public. Despite my resolve, Red has so far done right by me, and I wasn't so ungrateful as to wish him harm for it. It didn't matter to me, that he has ulterior motives for devoting so much time and care to me. He is the only man in all the world who is supporting me, and I wish to support him in turn, despite my lack of ability.

Even if he made it hard.

"Blue's apprentice is going to antagonize you and try to draw you into a battle," Red was saying, cheerful. "It'll be hard, but try not to look too pathetic in front of my rival, okay? And whatever you do, don't battle. He'll crush you. I'll act all mysterious and knowing, so Blue will think there's something secret and powerful about you, and since he's the cautious sort, he'll tell your rival to cool it and gather intel. You just have to get through that first encounter, then stall until you advance a realm or two and become useful, okay?"

"Yes, big brother," I said dryly.

He snapped his fingers. "Yes, do exactly that. It'll be hilarious."

Red often instructed me on conduct and schemes such as this. It was a funhouse mirror to the lectures Mother and Father would have for me. Where they shaped my behavior and mind into the picture of a clan heiress, perfect and prideful and sharp as a naked blade, Red instead taught me how to solve his friends and rivals like puzzles. He made no comment on how I acted or thought or portrayed myself, as if ignorant to how my appearance would reflect on him. His only concern was for victory.

If he knew I was working to apply these values to him as well, work to decipher him like a coded message and understand how best to speak and act to manipulate his behavior, I think he would laugh.

Those first few days after leaving Blackthorn, I kept waiting for more rules than the two he had given me: to refer to him as family and to refer to myself by his chosen name, Gold. I knew the power that came with naming things, knew that by acquiescing to these two rules I was allowing him to shape our master-student relationship how he wished, but they cost me nothing I wasn't prepared to give. No, I waited with a heavy heart for the more serious rules.

Would I be expected to tithe a portion of any tournament or conquest winnings to him, in recompense for the food, shelter, equipment, and time he has given me? How about reputation: how often and to what extent should I attribute any accomplishments to his tutelage? If he ever started a family or chose another student, what would my duties towards them be? Would I be tasked with managing his mail, raising and breaking camp, the feed and care of his Pokemon, cooking and cleaning, tending house (if he even has one, the vagrant), running errands, battling his enemies?

In these three weeks, I have learned that Red can't speak plainly to save his life. He talks often and obliquely, cracking jokes I don't have the context to understand, straightforward only when the topic at hand is cultivation or training. I'm left to interpret his speech and make educated guesses, which I despise.

From these labors, I can conclude that there are five more rules beyond the two he spoke explicitly and early and must value most:

Rule Three: I must show off and show up Blue's apprentice as grandiosely and as often as I can. As a sub-rule, I am to refer to the boy as my rival.

Rule Four: I am to speak to him aggressively and countermand his suggestions frequently. I can only assume this is for the sake of our brother-sister guise, but his motivations are frequently unfathomable to a mind as orderly and logical as mine.

Rule Five: I am not to feed or tend to his Pokemon at all, with the exception of brushing Espeon and Pikachu at night, and even then only if he doesn't do it first.

Rule Six: I am not to put in more work (defined as both labor and time spent) on mundane tasks like cooking and setting camp than he is. An infuriatiangly mercurial rule, as Red seems allergic to following any kind of routine or schedule.

Rule Seven: I am to cultivate a generalist's soul, like Red himself, though I am allowed to maintain an Ice/Dark primary.

This last rule is the only one I almost refused out of hand, only refraining because it's the rule Red takes most for granted. I was taken utterly by surprise when he mentioned swinging by the coast to "cycle that salty Aura" together, knowing that Dark and Ice would be far from the ocean waves. Despite his lax attitude and general permissive mien, I know that there is no defying my master, especially while he is three Realms above me.

What punishment I would be subjected to was kept as mysterious as the nature of the rules themselves were. That makes it all the more terrifying. I will simply have to do the best I can to follow his half-hidden rules- that, and cultivate enough Dark that I can slip away undetected should this arrangement no longer work to my benefit.

.

.

.

We arrived at Indigo Plateau on the twentieth of November, 81 AU. It is the furthest I have ever been from home.

Nestled in-between cloud-piercing mountains, the Capitol was built more vertical than sprawling, with the League Headquarters at the crown where snow fell year-round. I saw ambassadors, clansmen, Aces, and a thousand other kinds of movers-and-shakers that made the dual – and often fractious – civilizations of Indigo tick, and for every one I saw I saw three Pokemon and ten support staff. The Plateau had been where Kanto and Johto had reluctantly struck the White-Silver Accords under the greedy gaze of Unova in the mask of the Pokemon World League, and in the decades since it had only grown in prestige, influence, and raw commercial capacity.

It wasn't the rival of Saffron or far-off Goldenrod and was entirely lacking in industry or farmlands, but it was here that the beating heart of Indigo lay. Saffron and Goldenrod might be the economic powerhouses of their respective regions, but Indigo commanded both, and in recent years the League had been making inroads to Kalos and Galar, causing an ocean of foreign goods to flow into the Continent. Though the Plateau was the city furthest inland of all (or, I considered, all that mattered), it was here that taxes on those exotic products went, and its here where that wealth concentrated.

Blackthorn was rich in tradition, in reputation, in martial and socio-cultural power.

Indigo was rich in money.

"There's the arena," Red said, pointing like a peasant. I made an appreciative sound.

The Grand Arena was open-air with seating to fit eighty thousand. It was located at the Plateau's lowest point, in the valley between Mt Silver, Ashwick, and Javelin, and I knew from clansmen's stories that there were numerous viewing-towers with telescoped glass walls to artificially boost its capacity to two hundred thousand. Even from here, I could feel its Aura presence, the unleashed might of Pokemon up to the Seventh Realm every year for eighty-one years creating a mixed, violent Nexus.

I couldn't imagine living here, having to feel that every day. The Heart of the Dragon in Mt. Blackthorn was at least consistent.

"I wonder if Blue is already here," Red said cheerily. "He likes to play it up as me just being late, but he's always early to things. If he ever missed a project deadline on his academic degree I think he would throw a tantrum. Hm, maybe I could…?"

To avoid being roped into sabotaging the education of the Indigo Champion's son, I prodded Red down another line of thought. "We could check the Pokemon Center. We could read the update tag on his public profile to see when he last stepped into a Center or Gym."

"My little sister has so many creepy ideas," he said aloud. A passing trainer crossed to the other side of the street. "That part of your spy training?"

It was. "No. It's just obvious."

"Sure," he said, dragging it out obnoxiously. "If you got separated from me, how would you find me?"

His Aura was unique enough I could track it for miles. "I'd follow the explosions."

Red laughed.

The Pokemon Center was identical to the one in Blackthorn City. Indeed, it was identical to the Centers in Hoenn, Sinnoh, Unova, and recently Alola, too, all following the same blueprint, though ours lacked the advanced technology Unova was so slow to share. I hated it like all clan kids did. The Pokemon World League was a farce and they ruined everything they touched; luckily, Red seemed to agree with me about the merits of not being totally honest with the records that we were, by international law, obliged to keep of ourselves.

I omitted Razor's Pickpocket ability. I wrote down a brief description of Deino's egg but kept what grew within a mystery. No one could prove that I knew. The rest, I was honest with: I had remarkably little to hide, because I had remarkably little at all. I fed the paper into the Public Record machine and contented myself with the knowledge Lance had to do this, too, and must hate it twice as much.

Red had more to write, so I had privacy with the machine for a minute longer. Feeling around me with tendrils of Dark Aura, I made sure there was no attention my way then, quickly, printed out a copy of Lance's profile and secreted it away in the black-and-gold messenger bag Red had acquired for me in Blackthorn. It wouldn't list moves or abilities, that was confidential, but what Pokemon he had and what Realm they were in? Valuable. Even if Lance lied on it, too.

A few minutes later, Red was complaining again.

"Two months! He hasn't been scanned in two months! He got his eighth badge in Violet, so he could be anywhere in Indigo right now and we have no clues, none. He must be in isolation, training day and night with Silver, preparing to defeat me in the Conference, and we can't spy on him at all!"

"How unfortunate," I said as sincerely as I could. "I guess we're out of options then. With no one to ask, there's nothing we can do except go into isolation ourselves to train and prepare." And I won't have to deal with this Second Realm rival you're setting me against.

"You're a genius, Gold," Red noticed. "We just need to ask his father. He should be here, in the Capitol!"

We just need to what?