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PART I
A New World
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Even the mightiest forests begin with one mere sapling. No matter how bad the storm, no matter how cruel life gets, the sapling finds a way to grow into something marvellous. It’s the story promised by so many things in life, whether school or books, tv shows or movies. Such a pleasant idea, that all too often turned out to be a mirage.
Reality was often a slap in the face. And George, who’d been living in a foster’s home since he was five, got one daily. Even on his thirteenth birthday, about the only thing he’d be celebrating was his eight year of being here. Right after midnight, rain sputtered up against the window, the wind howling past. A typical birthday gift.
‘...We are through! We have contact! Quick, it might break again!’
‘...Yes, yes! We must hurry now! There he is!‘
In a dusty room, together with dozens of his peers snoring away, George twisted and turned in his bed. The lightning thundering in the distance had kept him up all night, much to his frustration. Now, just when he thought he’d gotten some peace and quiet, voices began talking to him.
‘...George, George! There’s no time for us to explain, but you have to listen to us, okay?’
‘Come on, I’m trying to sleep here. I don’t need another smack on the fingers for everyone to laugh at.’
‘...Your entire world is about to get turned on its head, but we have no choice. We need you. Everyone in Eravate needs you…’
‘Ngh…’
‘...the saviour is a Trojan Horse. The shackles around Eravate are tightening, and you can break them. You’ll be what you always wanted to be, we promise!...’
‘Let me have a halfway decent birthday for once, for the love of god….’
‘...We know how you feel about your life. Your struggles. Your pain. I have felt it myself through the ripples of time.’
‘...This’ll be a rude awakening, George. We’re so sorry. But you’ll have so much more if you stay strong.’
‘Empty promises, voice in head. But might as well accept it. Not like life here’s going anywhere.’
‘...Just open your eyes in a moment… ’
The darkness surrounding George vanished in a flash, and the sounds of wind and rain assaulting the foster’s home disappeared with it. Everything went silent as a mouse. A sample of death before the faint singing of birds reached his ears, as did an ache creep up his chest. He opened his eyes to a bright blue sky.
“Nrghhh… what in the world…”
George pushed himself to his knees, a heave spilling out of his mouth partway through. Somehow this morning was worse than usual. “Urgh, did I fall asleep under a closet last night? Wouldn’t put it beyond her to make me,” he said, rubbing his head, before it hit him.
‘Wait… What is this place? Another dream? Great, a fancy dreamland before waking back up in the foster’s home, just what I needed.’
Gone were the city and the others sleeping in their beds, gone was the cold hardwood floor and the door leading out of the sleeping room. Instead he was face to face with a stream, with trees surrounding him on all sides. His nostrils teemed with the scent of fresh grass, crisp leaves and blooming flowers.
The grogginess persisted as George stood up. Nothing felt right; face, chest, arms, legs, everything seemed condensed. Strangest of all was the feeling flowing out his spine. The only thing normal was how thirsty he was. Without thinking, he waddled to the stream and dipped his head down to drink from it. There was no filthy taste or lecture from the headmistress to not drink dirty water - on the contrary, it was clear. Refreshing. Wonderful to even touch, and all that despite being a dream.
George put his hands in and splashed his face, then drank some more. Cold water in the middle of a forest, and yet he couldn’t be happier.
‘Ah, this is fantastic! This is the best tasting water I’ve ever had! It’s even better than the-’
He froze as if a poisonous needle pierced his skin. Down in the water was a reflection, but George did not see himself staring back. Instead, he saw a small, otter-like creature staring back; first with a happy, then dire expression.
“Wha- What?!” his foot shifted back across the grass. The animal’s reflection followed. George shook his head; nothing changed. The reflection remained the same. A small creature with a white face, black eyes and triangular ears on both sides of the head. His chest was covered in light blue fur and sported a seashell. George slapped himself with his small hands.
‘That’s an Oshawott…’ he thought, then grimaced in the blink of an eye. ‘Wait, did I get knocked on my head again?! ‘Oshawott’? What is that?! How is that the first thing I come with, and not otter?’
George backed away from the stream. It had to be a dream, or so he believed with all his heart. Regardless of what was right and wrong, far more pressing was the situation at hand. Stranded in a place he had never seen before, with no one around to help, if they were even willing to. Frowning, he sat down against the stump of a tree, fiddling with the seashell on his chest, which was strangely sturdy and sharp for a seashell.
‘Okay… This might be a dream, but I’m not waiting around here for it to end, oh no. No chance someone’s getting me out of this mess, and there’s gotta be predators that would love to take a chunk out of me right now-’
“This way. We must be getting close now.”
“Hah, been one big walk just to find ‘im! What kinda Pokemon d’ye think he’s turned into?”
“That doesn’t matter. Let’s get this over with, and save the whole world a lot of bloodshed. End of story.”
George’s ears sprang up. Company. One heavy, beast-like voice, and a feminine one that sounded authoritarian, like the headmistress had come to this world as well. Fearing the worst, he jumped and ran into the bushes, his steps clumsy and unfocused, all while the thumping of heavy footsteps approached. Branches prickled him on all sides, and tree roots made him trip face first. No matter how much pain and muddy smears he’d receive, he had to leave. His lone source of nourishment was gone, just like that.
“Haha, I ain’t afraid of a lil’ water!”
“Skal, you’re part rock. Your attitude will get you killed one day.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“‘Ey, I know that, Terez. Ain’t stoppin’ me. Ain’t stoppin’ the Othersider either!”
* * *
George kept running. To where, he didn’t know; anywhere removed from the voices at the stream. From bush to branch, from stump to dirt knoll, he was breathless, but he didn’t dare to stop for even a slight rest. No matter how painful the constant trips and scratches got, he couldn’t stop. What if they caught up with him? What merciless fate awaited him then?
‘Where on earth do I go? I can’t stay around here. Those footsteps sounded like a giant dinosaur. I’m not going to become a dinosaur’s lunch, damn it!’
Adrenaline had taken control, causing him to bump into an oddly shaped spotted bulb. George fell over backwards on the ground; a strange murmur filled the air.
“Shiroo!”
“Ah!”
The bulb, no, the Shroomish turned towards George. It cried out while glaring at him, then began to shake. Terrified, George jumped back to his feet and ran. The peace of the forest was disturbed, as other Shroomish became alerted by the cries, their anger focused like a laser on the trespasser in their midst. Tears began to well up in George’s eyes.
‘Why can’t I just wake up already?!’
His vision now blurry, and his feet aching harder than ever, George was at his wit’s end. Slowly it dawned on him that this wasn’t just another dream gone awry, or a fantasy he was bound to snap out of. The pain, the exhaustion, the dirt under his feet, it was all too vivid for that. A cold wind shrieked behind. It sounded as if nature itself cried out in pain. Whatever it was, the murmuring stopped. No sounds replaced it. Safe for the moment, George crashed against a tree and slid down the bark, panting in the process.
The escape had not been kind on him: He was covered in mud and scratches from the many falls and branches he had scraped by. The mud wasn’t just staining his fur, he tasted it in his mouth too, and no amount of spitting made the taste go away. His throat was sore and his head throbbed, his feet felt like they were about to rot right off. Confused, George’s little body slumped down, his hands resting on the shell attached to his chest.
‘Those voices… what are they? Why am I being followed?‘
George looked around. A gentle breeze swayed the nearby vegetation; the rustling of the leaves above was a small comfort he desperately needed. It gave him an opportunity to think. About the voices in the darkness, about the voices following him in the light, and his own body most of all. The aching was fading, but his eyes were not playing tricks on him.
‘So, I was in my bed, just waiting for my birthday to start. Then voices came, gave me a vague talk, and now I’m an ‘Oshawott’. In the middle of a forest, being chased by other voices, and living mushrooms. ‘Shroomish’. Ugh, somehow that rolls of the tongue, just like ‘Oshawott’.’
He ran a few fingers through the blue fur around his seashell. Since he was an Oshawott, it was no ordinary seashell, but a weapon. Sturdy enough to slice one’s fingertips off, if he wasn’t careful. Slowly, his breathing calmed to a somewhat ordinary tempo. What passed for ordinary in a body this small, anyhow.
“This is me now.. Just when things couldn’t get any stranger… Life is just one surprise after another, isn’t it,” he whispered to himself. “And what did they say again about needing me? Well, I always wanted to do good in the world. Make a difference, help those who need it. Not that I know how, but the idea is pleasant.’'
George’s eyes were drawn to the surrounding area, his ears twitching back and forth out of curiosity. From the thick canopy overhead, to the massive patches of vegetation, the forest had a primeval look to it. Wild, out of control, with just the vague suggestion of a trail here and there. No more order than an animal could bring.
Alas, that idea was disproved by a nearby tree. Chunks had been cut out of its bark, in a pattern that resembled letters of some kind. It resembled… prints, of some kind. As if someone had doodled shapes in the sand, and attached meanings to them.
And yet, despite never having seen lettering like it, George could understand what it said. Perfectly.
THE DRAGON KNOWS - DON’T DENY YOURSELF
He hopped off the stump, tail dragging across the dirt as he got a closer look at the text. The wood underneath looked worn, somewhat damp from old rains. George gulped.
‘Okay… so there is a civilisation here. I’m not alone, I guess… but who wrote this? And what does it mean? Who is the dragon? And… Why can I read it? Ergh, I guess it’s the same reason why I know what Oshawott are, or why I am one myself-’
All of a sudden, the bushes nearby shook violently. George stirred from his thoughts, and shielded his chest with both arms.
“Who’s there?!” he yelled, forcing his way through the pain in his feet to stand up. He wasn’t taking any chances. Not after the first chase. Little fists clenched, teeth gritted, he watched as a reddish arm poked out of the bush.
And just as he was prepared to face his new visitor, so too was he ready to book it.
“Aahh!!!”
He muscled his way into the bushes. They were thicker than any plants that came before, and he struggled to keep balance. It wasn’t long before he fell into a dark patch of vegetation. Twigs from all sides poked and prodded - George struggled his way to a point of light up ahead, his lone ticket out.
Once close, he threw himself forward, eyes closed, hoping for the best. With a thud, something his size collided against him, and he fell back on his rear.
“Ow!”
“Aah! Hey, watch out!”
“Ow… ow…” George rubbed his forehead before reopening his eyes. He was greeted by the sight of an orange lizard staring at him.
“You could have gotten hurt there!”
The triangular ears on George’s head went flat against his head. “Y-you can talk?!” he said, with eyes wider than a bug’s. The lizard chittered, his flaming tail flickering behind him.
“Um, yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”
George’s cheeks flushed red. “Oh, ehrm, well, I’m not used to seeing li- I mean, I’m not used to seeing… Charmanders talk, that’s all.” ‘Please tell me there’s others who’d say that.’ “Um, haven’t ever heard one talk before. Not where uh, not where I’m from.”
The lizard, whose telltale orange body and flaming tail were unmistakable for anything else, crossed his arms. “You’re weird… Where are you from?” he asked, tilting his head rightwards. George clicked his tongue; his ears once again fell backwards.
‘Okay, what have I gotten myself into. I’m covered in dirt and now I’m talking to a Charmander, all while being an Oshawott. And now it’s asking me questions? What do I even do?! I can’t just tell him the truth, can I? Would he even believe me? Would he attack?’
George put his hands against his chest, and breathed in deep. ‘Gotta come out with it now. I can’t even convince the headmistress I did my homework properly.’ “Okay, this is going to sound weird, but I’m actually a human. Even though I-”
The Charmander jumped backward, wide eyed. “A human?! B-but you look like any ordinary Oshawott!”
George winced, then took another deep breath. “I know. But I’m not lying, I swear! No one expects to be sleeping one moment, then wake up in the middle of the woods right after! It feels like I’ve been run over by a car!”
“A ‘car’?”
“Oh, uh…” George looked off towards a neighbouring patch of grass. ‘Of course he wouldn’t know what a car is, let’s see here…’ “It’s like this big metal box. Really fast. It’s uh, it’s kind of like… like getting hit by… a… steel… ‘Miltank’, I guess?” he said with puffy cheeks and an awkward smile.
The Charmander stared at him; nothing was keeping him or George company aside from a howl of the wind, before the red lizard burst into laughter.
“Haha, you really aren’t from around here, are you?”
George nervously laughed back. “I guess you could say that.” ‘Looks like I won’t have to fight out of this one.’
“You’re weird. But I like you!” The Charmander took a step towards George, who merely stood and watched. For a stranger in the middle of the woods, he sure was one jolly fellow. Especially for a lizard with a tail that’s on fire. “Do you have a name?”
George looked off to both sides first before daring to reply. “Well, my name is George.”
“George? That’s a strange name…”
“Is it?”
“It sure is! Must be a human name, right? Makes sense, actually! Yeah, George! I think I like it, it’s unique!” The Charmander put on a strong, confident smile. “I’m Blitzer!” he said, one finger pointing towards his chest. The Oshawott clicked his tongue.
‘And he said I’m the one with the weird name.’ “Alright, Blitzer I guess. That’s unique as well, right?”
“Darn straight! Nothing beats being unique! I’m sure you know all about it, right George?”
“I… sure do!” said George. “No one’s more unique than me!” ‘Well, unless there’s other people turned Pokemon walking around here.’
“That’s the spirit! You and I… we’re going to be the best of friends, George! I can feel it!” The flame on Blitzer’s tail flared. George shielded his eyes from the light. Somehow, he had somewhat forgotten that flame burning on the end of Blitzer’s tail.
“Hey, what’s the matter?”
“Oh, it’s just the fire there, that’s all,” George said, pinching his cheeks.
Blitzer laughed. “Haha, you’re not the first! I get complimented on it all the time! ‘Ooh wow, Blitzer, you really are full of life!’ It’s great!”
“That sure is neat.” George looked down at the seashell on his chest. “Do you think people would notice my scalchop, too?”
“Sure! I think I remember hearing that Oshawotts are destined to become great warriors through those shells!”
George raised an eye. ‘Warrior? Me?’ he thought to himself. He was so taken aback that he jumped from a sudden poke to the chest.
“Hey, I know, why don’t we go back to my home? I’m sure my parents would love seeing you! And I want to hear more about you too!”
“Oh, yeah, that sounds fine, but wouldn’t they uhm, don’t I look a little dirty?” said George as he scratched the back of his head, much to the Charmander’s amusement.
“I always come home looking like that! You’ll be fine, don’t worry. The village is not so far from here.” Blitzer pointed George to an inconspicuous part of the woods. “Come on, let’s go! Oh, I almost forgot! The rest will be happy to see you too!”
And just like that, George and Blitzer got on their way through the forest. George breathed easy, even as the aching in his body kept at it. It was nice knowing that not everything in this world would attack him right away. Furthermore, some kind of civilization was just around the corner. Nothing spectacular, in all likelihood, but after living in a grey city for years, that wasn’t a bad thing.
Still, what would happen now? Those voices from the stream are still out there. He had lost them for now, but there was no chance they would have simply given up. Could he avoid them forever? There didn’t seem to be a way back to his bed. But even more impactful was the Charmander he had met.
‘We’re going to be the best of friends, George!’
Countless questions lingered in George’s mind, but he didn’t doubt Blitzer for a second. Young, full of energy, happy and optimistic at just about everything George had told him. They might have only known each other for ten minutes, but George felt confident following in his footsteps. Perhaps he would lead to a better life after all.