1-2 Indigo Plateau

.

.

.

Lance was the most powerful human I had ever seen. His soul was like the sun, burning and brilliant, and to be in his presence was to be blinded by his radiance; he never restrained his Aura because to ape weakness was to disrespect the clan. And, who would ask him to? Lance's Aura was coveted and admired by everyone in Blackthorn City, clan, branch, or citizen, and to be in his presence was to be honored in the deepest of ways. Who would deny honor for the sake of momentary comfort?

As a Dark Specialist, I possessed the dubiously useful ability to dampen and distort my own senses. It allowed me to exist in close proximity with Lance without showing any signs of sensory shock or, disgracefully, falling over myself in distraction. I suspected this was, if not the source, at least a factor in his willingness to sacrifice time and effort in teaching me. When everyone treats you like a legend, a blunt and – admittedly – discourteous child like me must have been refreshing.

This realization led, in part, to the manner in which I treat my new master, Red. Though his own advancement is a Realm shy of Lance's, my current advancement is a Realm shy of where it had been when I entered the Dragon Master's tutelage: three Realms shy is three Realms shy. The cold embers of my Dragon's Pride refuse to allow myself to act subservient or demure like Father said a proper spy should be, so instead I act belligerent, and through my boldness subsist off of novelty if not appreciation.

If, when we cultivate together or the sun falls or my dreams turn melancholic, Red's soul burns through my eyelids, I turn the lights down by casting myself in cool shadow, that's no one's business but my own.

I expected much the same from Champion Samuel Oak, the most powerful human in all of Indigo.

I did not get what I expected.

"Red! I haven't heard from you in ages, my boy. So you think you can drop off the face of Indigo and no one would notice, hm? Think you can show up and act like you didn't run off after that mess in Viridian without so much as a by-your-leave? I came this close to putting out wanted posters and making you pay your own bounty!"

"Did you not get my letters by carrier Pidgey?" Red asked in mock surprise.

In a heartbeat the white-haired elderly man had pulled Red over his desk and trapped him in a headlock. Red began whining about how he was a Fourth Realm trainer now and too powerful for this kind of treatment while Champion Oak spoke at great length about irresponsible youngsters and disrespectful protégés.

I leaned against the door and watched, letting my amusement show on my face, stopping the anxiety from doing the same. Champion Oak had none of Lance's raw power, or the Blackthorn Head's stolid demeanor, or my mother's domineering personality. As these were the three strongest people I knew, I thought it only reasonable to assume this is how strong people are, but Champion Oak looks for all the world like a normal, cantankerous old man. His soul was even veiled: all five layers were visible but the radiance, the pressure, was muted, weaker than Red's.

I had attempted to subtly question Red about the Champion on our trek to his office at the crown of Indigo. Red had told me a half-dozen horror stories about being stranded on Mt. Silver as a Second Realm trainer with only a Pikachu and Eevee, or having to care for a beast of a Seventh Realm Dragonite that could blow his eardrums with a roar, or randomly being Teleported cross-region by his Alakazam in the middle of the night. I had believed these stories, so earnestly Red had told them to me, and thought this another instance of my master preparing me for a confrontation with a powerful trainer, in essence no different than the advice he gave me for Blue, Green, and Silver.

Now, I questioned. Were the stories true, and the Champion merely mellowed in his old age, or hiding his viciousness behind this façade? Were they false, just the latest in the absurd things to come from Red's mouth? Were they somewhere in between, or slanted a certain way, to ensure I stood behind Red – or just to rile me up and tease me?

He's so annoying.

"And what's with the girl? You kidnap her, Red? What did I say last time you kidnapped someone, you troublesome little shit?"

"How would I know? Does it look like I listen when you scold me, Old Man?"

"Why, you-"

This went on for another few minutes, and in that time period, Champion Oak had somehow drawn seemingly-accurate info about his health, recent accomplishments, and the state of his team from Red's mouth. Their male bonding concluded with Red flouncing into the plush chair across from Oak with a dramatic huff.

I looked around, unsure what to do with my hands or where I should be standing- or, gods forbid, seated. The Champion's office was large and grand with three glass walls, accessed by elevator – a novel experience, for me – and outfitted like an academic's library and not a beaurocrat's or trainer's office. There were multiple redwood bookshelves flush with thick tomes, ruining the view, and what appeared to be a small computer disassembled on a workbench, next to three open Pokéballs.

There were no Aura defenses I could sense. Was there truly none, or were my First Realm senses too weak to discern their presence from the background Aura flow? The design and location of this office would make it trivial to aim a Dragon Pulse or Draco Meteor at it from anywhere in the Plateau or on the sides of the three neighboring mountains.

"What, don't have another chair for my student? Your hospitality sucks, Old Man," Red said, baiting the most powerful man on the continent.

"That chair is for your student. You can leave and think about what you've done."

Red snorted. "How about, instead, we think about what we haven't done yet, huh? Where's Blue? I thought he would be here by now, but he hasn't checked in at a Center in two months!"

"He just arrived last night, and came to see me first thing like a dutiful grandchild," Champion Oak said, in a tone that screamed unlike you. "Knowing him, he's lazing around my house, eating my food and using my training fields. Go bother him."

Red made a disrespectful sound in the back of his throat. "Fine. Gold, let's go, we got what we came here for."

"You can go," the Champion said pointedly, "The girl – Gold, was it? – can stay. I'll have Alakazam Teleport her over when we're done, no foul."

Red turned and looked the Champion in the eyes, and a sudden tension filled the office, thick and cloying. Red was honor-bound to stay, and not allow himself to be commanded to leave his student behind in unfamiliar territory. Champion Oak was a Realm above and his own mentor besides, and his words were absolute. Was Red so impetuous that he would refuse?

For a moment, it looked like he would.

"Fine, whatever," Red said, then rose from the chair and left. As he passed me, he put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, but I only felt cold.

"Please, sit," the Champion spoke, and most of the aggressive attitude melted away like snow in summer. "I always said that Red had an aptitude for the Rock-type. Like drawing blood from a stone, trying to get something honest from that one. Only way you can break through the rock to get to the gemstone within is to bash it against another rock."

"That sounds like Red," I said carefully, delicately lowering myself into the chair. It was still warm.

The Champion sighed. He leaned back in his own chair, taking off his glasses to clean them with his shirt.

He didn't look like a terrifying and fearsome trainer, but neither did Lance's mother, with her heart-shaped face and smile lines. It was in the eyes: a sharpness that saw more than other people could, that read people's weaknesses like ink on their skin. It was in their smiles, too, a kind of self-assurance that said I've seen the world as it was, and carved myself a place on top of it.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Champion Oak lacked that sharpness, that assurance. He looked almost like the plush doll I used to have, after a decade of use wore it out at the seams and left it a ragged, hollow thing, wearing its age like a cloak. His hair was white, his skin leathery and wrinkled, and even his Aura had a kind of… looseness to it, like he hadn't cultivated in a long time.

I wondered, suddenly, how much of a fight he was going to put up, when Lance came for his title. Not that he was weak – but that he was tired, and old, and maybe happy to pass his burden off to someone else.

…I dismissed the arrogant thoughts. A Fifth Realm trainer is so far beyond my comprehension that there's no surety to be had in deciphering their motivations. Whatever I see when I look at him, I can only assume it is precisely what he wants me to see. I should be much more worried about what he sees in me.

"I'll not waste too much of your time," the Champion said at last. "I've been around long enough to see the signs for what they are. Who shattered your cultivation, and assuming Red hasn't buried them yet, who are they so I can do it myself?"

I froze.

If I say 'Lance Blackthorn,' would that provoke Champion Oak into using his not-inconsiderable power to block Lance's Elite Four bid? If it did, then with two words I would torpedo the lifelong ambitions of two people I once loved like family. Could I even lie? I could say Red took care of it, or make up a target, but would any story I weave be believed by a man so experienced, cunning, and with such large quantities of Dark and Psychic in his soul? …Would I even want to lie?

I hated Lance Blackthorn. I am a Dark cultivator, so I know this to be true, and not a delusion born of grief and pain. It might be an illogical feeling born of grief and pain, but it's true regardless.

"I am deeply sorry, to bring up such painful memories," Champion Oak said, and seemed honest in it. "However, as Champion of Indigo, I have both a moral and legal responsibility to intervene when evidence of such malicious wrongdoing is made known to me. I can assure you, you are not in any trouble for anything that happened. I will protect you from reprisal: you have my word."

I will protect you.

How long have I waited for someone to say those words to me?

I was still crying when Red returned several minutes later, incensed and raving about how Blue wasn't there and the servants hadn't seen him in months.

.

.

.

I was given my own room at the Oak Estate to… convalesce.

"How humiliating," I mutter. I can't believe I cried in front of the Champion of Indigo. Without the Dragon's Pride to shore up my ego, it seems I have become a trembling, weepy thing. Blake Fantasia would be quite judgmental, were she here to witness Gold's atrocious behavior.

I can't even cultivate to take my mind off things. Red has forbidden me from cycling until my soul has stabilized, after our prolonged stay at Mount Whitegrave's Ice Nexus. I would do it anyway if I genuinely thought it a good idea, but a cultivator of Red's talent would be able to tell with but a glance, and I'm not so reckless as to defy a clear order.

Razor has fully recovered, though, I realize- and didn't Champion Oak mention there were private training grounds?

A servant leads the way, and I let thoughts of advancement and progress consume my mind.

The training ground is a simple thing, a plain of blasted rock a few hundred meters wide, Psychic barriers keeping the destruction within and spying eyes out. The moon was dim and waning in the night sky, scarcely more radiant than the stars, but no Dark Specialist needed light to see. A few, scattered training dummies were off to one side, shaped like Tauros and Raticate and Machoke, with a bag of clay Pidgeys. I doubted any Pokemon above the Second Realm trained here, unless it was for something nondestructive like Reflect or Iron Defense.

I couldn't have done anything meaningful with Drama, my Dragonair.

I dismissed my guide and released Razor from his ball. The black-furred weasel immediately ran in an excited circle, looking for new areas to explore or people to play with, before dismissing the training ground with a whine and returning by my side. He tugged on my leg with a hopeful look, his blade-like claws tearing a hole in my leggings but not scratching my skin.

I knelt, gently extracting his claws before they could snag further and giving him a small smile. "Good evening, sweet thing. Are you ready to practice with your Ice some more?"

Razor nodded, red eyes wide and excited.

Ice manipulation did not come easily to Sneasels. Though their Auras had enough Ice to be classified Ice-secondary, and they were native to and operated best in frozen hellscapes like Icy Path, their instincts and skill-sets revolved around stealth, speed, and vicious slashes with their claws. This kind of behavior was well in line with the Dark-type, and so Razor found it easier to call upon that energy; the kind of stillness, patience, and icy clarity needed to channel Ice was much more difficult, for him.

I didn't let it get to me, and made sure to leak no discontent through our Aura bond; Razor had the innocent eagerness to learn of a newborn Pokemon, and I didn't want to spoil that with my unreasonable expectations. I knew well how Sneasels were best trained, their strengths and weaknesses, what they learned faster or slower, how to motivate them and how to teach them discipline for when motivation failed. Sneasel was the most common Dark-type in the Fantasia clan, after all. Common, nearby, and type-effective against Dragons, why wouldn't they be?

Pokemon didn't cultivate like humans did- or, rather, though they could, they wouldn't without human instruction. They also wouldn't learn moves, with a few notable exceptions (like the entire Psychic type). This is because the way humans cultivate is artificial – designed, rather, an approach created through reason and the knowledge of those who came before – while Pokemon just exist, acting in accordance to their instincts.

As a trainer in the First Realm, almost all of my soul's capacity was taken up by my bond with Razor. A small piece of his soul was nestled within mine just like a piece of mine rested within his, and through it Razor and I could understand each other implicitly, able to feel each other's emotions as if they were our own. A Pokemon, though, has a much more formidable soul than a human, and could channel much more Aura.

It's like a river, my mother had explained to me, when I was first training my Dratini. If a soul is like the earth, then a move is a groove in the rock that Aura can pass through like rushing water. All Dratini can harness Dragon-type energy and control it freely, but if they want to do so with the speed, control, and power to be viable in battle, then they need to practice a single, narrow use of that power so many thousands of times that it erodes a furrow in their soul.

The first move I had taught Razor was Slash. Through our bond, I guided his Aura from his soul and pooled it in his claws, strengthening and sharpening them, so his targets were cut not just by the curved blades but by his Aura as well. Night Slash came after: the exact same technique, but with Dark-aspected Aura instead of typeless, or 'normal,' Aura. Winter Slash would be next. Technically, all three of these were the same move, using the same 'furrow,' differentiated only by what kind of Aura flowed through the channel.

Razor's soul was small, weak. First Realm. It was big enough to house the splinter of my soul and engrave two, maybe three moves on its surface. By the time he was as strong as my Dragonair, midway through the Third Realm, he could have eight or nine.

That's all for the future, though. For now, Razor still needs to learn to channel the Ice Aura in his soul.

"Ice is stillness," I began the mantra, voice precise. "Ice does not grow or move: it eats, ever-hungry, and in so doing, spreads. Ice is not the cold: it is where the warmth is not, defined by what it lacks, not what it has. Ice does not feel: not envy but apathy, not rage but dismissal, not cruel but not kind. In this way, Ice is entirely unlike Dark, which is very full of feeling…"

Through our bond, I channeled Ice, and with clumsy, uncertain motions, so did Razor. Cold aura flowed through the Slash channel, and frost crept across his claws.

"Close," I praised, "But Ice will not rush through your soul like Dark, because Ice does not move: it eats, ever-hungry, and in so doing, spreads…"

Some time later, after cloud cover has shrouded the moon and Razor has successfully used Winter Slash two and a half times, Red appeared.

I ignored him, at first. Razor was in a flow state, every attempt to channel Ice quicker and more efficient than the last, his entire being so intent on his task that the approach of a Fourth Realm trainer wasn't noticed at all. I'd be a poor trainer if I disrupted him from his learning, wouldn't I? And, it's just Red- no one important enough to get distracted over.

Then, Red began channeling Ice of his own: slowly, at first, so as not to startle Razor, but continuing well past my own peak, until my Aura sense tells me I am seated next to a glacier, and not a human. With so much Ice in the air, powerful and pure, Razor's channeling accelerated greatly, his mindset slotting into place as his Aura, mine, and Red's resonates.

There's a shriek and a rush of movement, and the Raticate dummy was cleaved clean in two, frost sparkling brilliantly along the 'wound.' Razor crooned in satisfaction, turning to me for praise.

… Us. Turning to us for praise.

"Good." My voice is clipped, despite my best intentions. "Now, again, without our aid." I pulled away the Icy grasp from our bond, and, after a moment, Red stopped channeling.

Razor… deflated, but made a noise of agreement, and called upon Ice once again, slower than before.

With the Ice in my own soul, I smothered the guilt.

"Damn, that's my fifth fuckup today," Red said, voice irreverent as always but not quite so extra about it, for once. "I'm sorry, Gold. I shouldn't have sprung Champion Oak on you, shouldn't have gave you false expectations of what he was like, shouldn't have left you with him, shouldn't have told him your story after you were Teleported here, and shouldn't have intruded upon your training with Razor without your request or permission. Those are all my mistakes, and I'll own them, and make it up to you, if you'll let me."

Being apologized to is a novel experience, for me. It made something in me glow and turn towards him, like a flower to the sun. "You told Champion Oak who I was?" I asked instead, because I am, apparently, worse at emotional honesty then even my disaster of a master.

"I did it as one last character test for the Old Man," Red answered, which I hadn't expected at all. Red frowned. "I shouldn't have used you for that, but… before I said what clan you were from, the Old Man was making all these promises: that he'd bring justice to them, wield the might of Indigo in defense of the law, so on and so forth. Then I told him, 'it was Lance Blackthorn, and swept under the rug as a clan matter,' deliberately phrasing it to be as bad as it could possibly be, and he just… sighed, and shriveled, and aged twenty years before my eyes, and said Indigo had no power over the old clans. The coward."

I gave him a careful look. "I've never heard Champion Oak called a coward, before." The Blackthorns – and, truthfully, we Fantasia as well – certainly thought of the man as a menace. His track record was the stuff of legends.

"He was always a towering mountain in my mind, when I was young," Red said, voice distant. "Like Mt. Silver. Unyielding, invincible, omnipresent. No matter where I was, what I was doing, or who I was with, just like I could turn and see Mt. Silver in the distance, the tallest mountain on the continent casting its shadow over me, so too could I see Champion Oak. Escaping his shadow is what drove me so far, to be strong enough to climb that mountain."

Red turned, then, and I saw what he was looking at: Mt. Silver, a wild area so dangerous and inhospitable that the two strongest clans of the Warring Clans Era, the Blackthorn and Whitegrave, couldn't claim it for their own. The White-Silver Accords written by Unova and which united Kanto and Johto were to be signed on its peak, Indigo City to be built atop it, but not even the superpower of the Pokemon World League could conquer it, and the Capitol was built here, on the Plateau, instead. Champion Oak was much like Mt. Silver in the minds of trainers across the continent, more myth than man.

"It's not what drives me anymore," Red admitted. "Being Champion… it's broken him, killed the man I looked up to and left his Ghost to haunt his skin. I've been telling him to retire for years. He's tried, a few times, over the decades, but he claims none of the Gym Leaders or Elite Four have both the strength and the motivation to block Unova from encroaching without favoring Kanto or Johto over the other. He doesn't, either, but the Old Man's too arrogant to listen. So I'll have to grow strong enough to knock over Mt. Silver and become Champion myself."

"You'll have to race Lance," I said, but my voice wasn't challenging or taunting. "He's got a headstart on you."

"Finally, a worthy opponent," Red said with eagerness, and I giggled, happy.

I rooted through my bag for the crumpled-up public profile on Lance, retrieved from the Center earlier today. "Here, I grabbed something earlier. I'm sure he's got tricks he hasn't shown me, but I've watched him train hundreds of times. His ace, a Seventh Realm Dragonite, has cultivated Dragon energy to the exclusion of all else, and has an incredible mastery over Draco Meteor…"

It's a kind of revenge, training the man who'll destroy Lance's dreams, right? And kind of fun, being the teacher for once.