Beneath the star filled sky, a man takes a swig from a small flask, his face flushed behind his salt and pepper beard. He sits atop a white coat before a gray monolith, a symbol of the past, dark as it may be. Far in the distance, Prism tower shines as it always does.

“Still mourning an old friend, I see Sycamore.” Flowers in her hands, a beautiful woman not much younger than the man steps up from behind.

“It’s been ten years, Diantha. You’d think I’d be able to let him go.” Sycamore sighs, leaning back on his arms as he looks to the sky. “Such an evil man, yet here we are honoring his memory with our presence. Does that make us bad people?”

Diantha shakes her head, gently placing the flowers in front of the grave. She kneels down, taking a seat beside the drunk man.

“We don’t grieve the man he became, but rather the man we knew.” Diantha chuckles, placing her hands on her lap. “I say that, yet here we are in the middle of the night. I guess that says something about us as well.”

Sycamore snorts, then waves his hand in the air dramatically. “Breaking News! Former Champion Diantha and Professor Sycamore seen at Team Flare Boss Lysandre’s grave! What does this mean for the future of the region?!”

The two old friends share a laugh, but it fizzles out before long. The two sit silently, sharing a moment as they quietly contemplate. Diantha pulls a candle out of her bag, lighting it as she places it beside the flowers. Sycamore sighs as he fidgets with his left hand, then runs his fingers through his hair.

“Diantha…” He mutters, a serious look falling onto his face. “The fading embers we left behind are coming back alight.”

Diantha reaches up and brushes her keystone, looking into the flame of the candle.

“I know, we should have been more careful.” Biting her lip, the former champion turns to look at the Professor beside her. “What do you think of the news from Santalune?”

“The Ruination, hm?” Sycamore tapping his fingers against the ground, glances back at her. “I’m proud of our new kids, for what it’s worth. They proved themselves willing to stand up for their beliefs.”

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

Diantha rolls her eyes, then responds: “You know that’s not what I mean, old man.”

“Ugh, you’re getting more annoying with age.” Shaking his head, Sycamore crosses his arms. “If it’s about if the girl is going to be an issue, it's hard to say. She’s just a kid, a bit of guidance could go a long way in snipping that loose thread.”

Diantha groans. “I get what you’re saying, but I do have responsibilities, Sycamore.”

“It’s better you than me, I’m entirely too caught up in my own mistakes,” The professor murmurs, then takes another swig from his flask, “You don’t want to see another bonfire, do you?”

“Not in my lifetime, if I can help it,” Diantha breathes, her eyes shifting to the tombstone in front of her, “It’s probably best I take an active role this time, anyways.”

Sycamore sighs, placing his flask on the ground beside him. “Thanks, Di. I was gonna ask you to watch my kids, but looks like I’m going to need to call in a favor instead.”

“Really? Him?” Diantha snorts, then smiles as she stands up. “If we’re that desperate, should I ask for someone out of region to come help?”

The professor shakes his head, scratching his scraggly beard.

“We’re not that far gone yet, I think.” Reaching into his pocket, the professor offers a letter to the former champion with a wink, who takes it with a raised eyebrow. “Just in case.”

Placing the letter into her bag, Diantha starts to pull out a pokeball, but stops and looks down at her old friend.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Sycamore. If I were to lose you too…” Diantha shakes her head, then releases her Gardevoir. “I’m not sure I’d handle it well. League please, dear.”

As the former champion disappears in a flash of folding space, Sycamore sighs. He takes a deep drink of his flask, then glances out at Lumiose in the distance. The city had been his home for so many years, yet the last ten had felt longer than the previous thirty. He had gained so much, met so many people. Yet in quiet moments, he felt… hollow.

Reaching out with his left hand, Sycamore slowly runs it down the granite headstone, the words he had engraved upon the stone seeming more and more relevant these days.

“A beacon for humanity,” Sycamore whispers, “Burnt up in his own flames.”

Taking a deep breath, the Professor slams the flask into the ground, then stands up. Sycamore picks up his coat, then smiles as he pats the grave one more time before walking away. He had a lot of work to do soon, sitting around moping got nothing done.

“It’s funny, he had always been the one to brood, to need a little push,” Sycamore whispers, smiling ruefully to himself, “Now, I’m the one relying on him.”

Throwing the coat over his shoulders, the professor’s smile vanishes. His eyes burn with purpose, a single goal guiding him forward. He’d win the damned game he started a decade ago at any cost.

Even if it meant relying upon three brand new trainers once again.