Stormwinds rolled over the Isle of Swords at the coming of dusk, and did not dissipate for as long as the night lived. Those holding guard outside had to weather the storm, lest the Corrupted washed on the beaches like a tide of death. Didn’t matter the rain, they had to stay. Didn’t matter the lightning; they had to stay.

Vigilance often required sacrifice. They were lucky it wasn’t their lives on the line, for now.

Alas, though the storm might not be the cloak hiding a dagger underneath, it affected the island’s inhabitants regardless. Spare those bright enough to get a fire going in the hearth, or those whose homes had an internal heat source, all who slept were left dealing with the cold. Among them was George, stirring in his bed, trying to keep the itchy fabric from waking him… or so he looked on the outside peering in.

In truth, the thunder had been a fitting ambiance for what George saw in his dreams that night. This time, he had no body to speak of. He was but a voice in his own hell, the sight of the red eyes sinking deeper and deeper into his eyelids.

Look at you, George. Still adamantly hanging out with folks you don’t like, and to where? This time, his voice echoed with a rumble. You know fulwell how this story ends if you don’t stand up for yourself. You’re disposable. Someone they all can lose, and it’s no fur off their chest.

‘You’re lying…’ George answered, in much the same fashion as he’d done hundreds of times before. ‘You know you’re lying. Stop already!’

His voice, however it worked in this realm descended into a growl. How many times had this son of a bitch disturbed his sleep? All with the exact same taunts, the same promises, the same threats, and always the same corny voice. Forget the tendrils, forget the eyes; blood could drip from the former and the latter could pierce the soul, for all that mattered. Nothing got under the skin quite like that voice.

That damned voice.

Hoo-hoo! Are you sure about that? You don't sound convinced!

For a moment, George felt his body stirring, straws wedging into his fur. That was a first. Usually, that sense was drowned out. Blood rushed through his vessels at speeds great enough to burst them. Couldn't spit, couldn't scream. All he had left was half-silent protests.

So he threw a scalchop at the eyes. Half-silent.

‘SHUT IT!’

The scalchop vanished into the darkness without a sound. It didn’t take long for the Renegade to fill the void, however. If George had made him laugh already, what happened now paled in comparison. Tendrils flying, eyes squinting; for a brief moment, stalactites flashed red as well.

HOO-BOY! Don’t I look silly now?! I take it back George, I kid! You really are devoted to these ideas of yours! Me, a liar? The beast’s eyes went back and forth, shaking his head without revealing himself. I’m laughing now, but that is bad, George! See, I don’t like treating you with clown gloves on! Clowns wear gloves where you’re from, right?

George scowled at him, keeping the answer sealed behind his lips. Fists clenched, defiant, brave. That’s how he pictured himself, in spite of knowing beasts didn’t see that. Godly beasts, even less so. A lonely boy all alone. An ant. Prey.

Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, now! It hasn’t been that long!

‘I hate clowns. And I’m looking at one right now!’

Pfft. That’s weak, and you know it. Do I look like I belong in the big top?

‘Why yes actually, you do! You don’t even have the guts to show yourself to me, even now! No name, no face, that’s right! You’re a clown! They all go by nicknames, too!’

George fetched his remaining scalchop, then held it against his chest. His fingers caressed the surface, itching to grip on tight.

‘You’re one coward deep down, you know that. Right? Can’t show your face to me in the real world, instead you visit my dreams. You’re like a zit on my face I can’t pop! Won’t ever leave me alone, yet doesn’t show his face. Instead you get my parents to do the dirty work for you. If that’s even really them! I’m surprised they’d ever give a damn about me, dropping me off at some rundown dump to get beaten and spat on. And you bring them up. Like goons. Mafia goons!’

He stopped to catch his breath, forced to use his nose. For now, he kept his second scalchop by his side; the thought of throwing himself at those waiting tendrils lingered in his head. Doing so wouldn’t have been a protest, but a statement. Alas, only he was around to hear him say it.

This time, the laughs were quieter, and delayed by a few seconds. Well, well, well. Tell me how you really feel, lad, said the Renegade eventually.

‘Still not good enough for you?’ George replied. On the one hand, his eye twitched. On the other, he spun his tongue around his mouth. One point in his favour. You had to celebrate the small victories, too.

This time, the red eyes remained open whilst they panned back and forth, pupils focused on the Dewott’s forehead. Oh, it’s good enough, alright. Just a crying shame… Not to worry, though. I have plenty more tricks up my sleeve, and all the time in the world to do a little convincing! Some people need effort to win over. Stubborn for the sake of being stubborn, no matter how bad it gets! Just means you have to do it the hard way, that’s all.

The glow in the beast’s eyes intensified suddenly. George squinted, groaned, then shielded his eyes with his arms. A wind forespelling doom rushed on by, stirring and tangling the hairs atop his head. In the blink of an eye, a biting cold dug into his fur, seeped into his skin.

‘What are you doing?’

Why, I’m giving you exactly what you want, Georgie. You say you want to see me, no? Remember what your parents never told you… Be careful what you wish for.

A droning hum ringed through the void. At first, it resembled static coming from a television. It wasn’t alone. Seconds later, a distant rumbling approached. Pressure built up on George’s ears; first they went flat against his head. It only got worse. He buried them under his hands, teeth gritted.

‘What is that noise…?!’

Slowly, the rumbling reached the empty ground under George’s feet. He wobbled, struggled to keep himself standing, and barely kept his eyes peeled. Glow, pressure and static, all united together in an assault on the senses. George was but a sapling in a hurricane.

‘Nghh!’

George’s heart drummed as the darkness rippled. The Renegade appeared to pierce the veil. A triangular shape appeared under the eyes, shining a dim yellow. The first part of its body surfaced. George kept watching. He forced himself to. He had to see for himself just what he’d been up against all this time.

First came the mask, in all its yellow glory. The eyes followed, revealing a head bearing a mask like a crown. A grey, serpentine body followed, black tendrils coming in last. The Renegade towered over George like a behemoth, spikes jutting out his sides, red stripes running along his belly. Armor covered the upper portion, where the tendrils had sprouted from like a fungal infestation.

Pleased to meet you, George! Hope you’ve guessed my name!

The Dewott eyed the Renegade up and down, his body growing cold at the sheer size of what faced him. He had his guesses, and his fears. The previous dreams had been a preview, the kind which should nullify any surprise. But seeing it for himself had brought out a primal fear. To run far and far away, to the ends of the universe to hide. Where he wouldn’t see those eyes, nor the millions upon millions of scales that made up his body.

George knew who he was dealing with. Deep down, he’d always known; Pokemon feared and spoke of his name only in legends. To be a Pokemon meant to know his name, and it had sat snug on the back of his tongue, a lump that no doctor dared to touch. He didn’t know how it got there; being a newcomer to this world, he never knew the name by heart.

But experience and stories had long filled in the gaps, and to dismiss a legend when in its presence was beyond foolish. The Renegade needed no further explanation.

‘You don’t need to tell me. You don’t… Giratina, was it? Why are you doing this? ’

The Renegade spun around, swinging its tendrils like rags on a stick. BRAVO, GEORGE! Bravo! Took you long enough, but you finally managed! Giratina is the name, pleased to meet you. He raised a tendril to his chin. Though, of all the questions to ask, why one you’ve already asked me before? You wanted to see what I really look like, without trying to hide? Well, here I am! Wasn’t hiding, just keeping the people I’m talking to safe! Then you want to know why I do what I do? I’ve told you already! The Creator and his lackeys are all the scum of the universe, and I am here to save the world from ‘em. Simple, right?

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

‘Not at all!’ George shouted through a clenched throat, his voice echoing. ‘None of what you want makes sense! Saving the world?! You’re destroying it! Don’t you see what you’re doing?! Turning everyone into mindless zombies that just do whatever you want ‘em to? I don’t buy that story of yours! No one who’s an Anomaly still has their mind!’

Giratina chuckled. Fufufufu. Didn’t know you were such an expert on my own plans, George! And you’re a scholar in my abilities too, isn’t that dandy?

‘Stop joking around! Come out with it, already! You’re still hiding from me!’ the Dewott yelled back. His heart raced, pumping his vessels full of adrenaline. If he just said something – anything – it might just save him from locking up.

Hiding? Pfft. The Renegade shook his head. I’ve thrown all my secrets out onto the carpet and it still isn’t good enough? You’re one choosin’ beggar, laddie. I’m not brainwashing anyone, they just see the value in working with me! Pokemon around the world are accepting me into their lives. Why do you think humans back home worship their god?

George kept his fists clenched, grumbling and shivering. ‘W-well?!’

Because it benefits them. Makes them feel more at ease, knowing there’s a greater power looking out for them. Wish I could say the same. Wish I had friends. Too bad my family prefers casting their disdain upon me. Spit. Giratina nearly keeled over to spit himself. You’re in the same boat with me, aren’t you? Constantly looking for validation, some way to stop being treated like dirt for the crime of being alive... Only to end up getting spat on.

The Dewott said nothing.

See? You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? We’re a lot more similar than you want to admit. Forget powers, size difference, age, whatever metrics you’re thinking of. We both pulled the short end of the stick.

‘You’re a god.’

Why yes. Whole load of good that did me, didn’t it? I’m hiding out in a random world from my family, sharing my problems with others. Instead of fixing them myself, I drag others into my problems. Fantastic, isn’t it? All this work, just to get back at ‘em.

‘Why do you do it, then?’ George asked, frowning. ‘If you hate it so much, why put in all this effort? You’re whispering in the whole world’s ear, now. For someone who doesn’t want to bring everyone into this, you sure have everyone listening to you.’

Because… The Renegade laughed. Because, George, it’s extremely enjoyable to help others out with their problems. And by golly, wouldn’t you know, the Pokemon of Eravate have so many little thoughts and urges they struggle with. It takes just a few whispers to put them on the right path. Isn’t that lovely?

‘Lovely?! You’re lying to people! You’re not helping them!! You’re just here for yourself!’

Giratina cackled maniacally, head and tendrils shaking back and forth as he drifted in the void. OH! Oh, sure! You’re the expert on what I’m looking for, how could I forget? I’m sure all those productive conversations I’ve had with everyone only existed in my head. No wonder all your mentors want to have a talk with you!

‘Mentors?!’

Speaking of mentors, I’ve heard the princess and the corpse are after you. Don’t want to keep ‘em waiting, do you?

The last thing George heard from the beast was his cackling, echoing endlessly in the darkest reaches of his mind.

* * *

A throbbing head greeted George as he woke up. It had been many weeks since the canoe landed on the Sword’s edge, yet the unfamiliarity never ceased. All the sparring, classes and people left enough unexplored to last a lifetime. So many Pokemon he’d never truly meet past a passing glance. So many towns, woods and fields that his eyes passed over, as if they were black holes of boredom.

But the struggle wasn’t that deep. Perhaps the mist had gotten to him. Here he was, fully in isolation from the world, and the universe past it. How far removed was he from Eravate’s shores? From Greenfield? The former Alliance base? Or god forbid, the orphanage he’d come from? The mist made all of them seem light years away. Even that felt exaggerated. Stars were unfathomable distances away, yet you could still see them.

That explanation too felt overblown. Mist seeped into his body with each breath. Gods forbid he’d ever figure out who created it, or what said creator put into the mist. Magical chemicals. Toxic miasma. A concept no textbook had taught him of.

Speaking of gods, no one else knew where this thinking came from. Headaches make the mind do funny things.

Alas, it was up and at ‘em for a new day. After weeks of meditation and practice, he hoped he’d have gotten good enough for a break. Swords rusted when they rested, unfortunately, and the three Swords all saw George as a knife. Smaller weapon, similar points. No break for him.He groaned on his way to music practice - for all intensive purposes, that’s what his time with Terez amounted to.

‘At least the Swords will leave me alone today… blegh. Swords sounds too noble. What about ‘ions’? That’s a nice name for ‘em.’

Music practice that day started out in easy fashion. Terez wanted to practise the songs she’d already shown before, and George had no complaints. He’d fallen on his face enough times on that material, which meant he was set up for success. Or at least, not messing up as much.

Terez taught him the basics of flute playing, from breath control to shifting between notes, as well as developing his musical instincts. She largely relied on her own, teaching him folk songs as well as melodies she’d come up with herself. Nothing that would fill a stadium, but pleasant enough to listen to.

“That’ll be good enough for now, no?” the Gardevoir said at the end, putting her hands on her knees while gripping her wooden flute. “That’s everything we’ve played together before.”

“Mhm, sure is,” George replied, holding his wooden flute next to the half-complete Azure Flute dangling from his neck, sacrilege be damned. What value did a priceless artefact have, if it was little more than a mantlepiece?

“Say, have you come up with any songs yourself?” Terez asked, tilting her head. “We could try those.”

George shook his head, whiskers drooping. “No, nothing yet,” he said, voice monotone. “I’ve been busy. Or… distracted, rather. Can’t think of anything fun to play.”

“What have you been trying, if I may ask? How often do you practise, and for how long?”

“Err. Not very often? I sit down for about… fifteen minutes, jamming out patterns I already know.” ‘They’re not really melodies if they’re eight notes long, are they?’

The smile on Terez’ face faded, her disappointment evident. “Maybe that is what we should work on. Writing songs together, seeing what we can come up with. You’ve got to get your creative energy flowing.”

George flicked his ears backwards. “Do I really, though? It’s not like this thing is ever going to be complete, is it?” He raised the Azure Flute with one hand, giving it a good shake. “The odds the Crest or the Alliance haven't destroyed that final piece is so small, I feel dumber for thinking otherwise.”

The Gardevoir sighed, folding her arms. “First, no sane ‘mon would dare touch the Creator’s masterwork. Never say never, George. You’re letting his whispers get to you. You’re giving up. Don’t do that. And even past the Azure Flute and the crisis, music is so enriching in day to day life. I wish you’d see that.”

The Dewott kicked his feet around. Music enriched life in the right times. You can’t just put music on and expect your mood to swing positive ways. In times of crisis, what use was playing music going to do? Even if you could actually play it, and even if that hour of distraction worked wonders, you still had to face the music. Literally.

‘I’m sure playing happy music will make everything better.’

Terez shook her head, sighing for the second time as she fixed her hair. “Right… Well, I have something I want to try with you, actually.” She pulled out a book from behind the log they’d been sitting on; it had a hard surface, and a blue cover simply titled ‘’Music’. “I’ve shown you this before. Playing from a sheet.”

George nodded. “Yeah? What about it?”

Terez opened the book about halfway, on a page titled ‘Sun Dance’. Below the name, sheets covered in Unown runes littered the page. She tapped the very first rune from the top of the page several times with a single finger. “Why don’t we try this together, and see what happens?”

“...Sure?” ‘Might as well, if she’s doing this for the first time.’

Though the song was new, their playing certainly wasn’t. Terez serenaded the angels while George sounded ‘avant-garde’, as some fanatics would describe it. Playing completely out of sync had its fans, somewhere. It took a few times to get right: The song moved and sizzled back and forth like a Sandaconda through the desert, moving from high to low notes in rapid tempo.

In a way, the song reminded George of the desert. The ol’ Kronn with its communes and mystery dungeons. Desolation had its own beauty to it. Sure, dust and wind rather than marble and diamonds, but everyone could relate. Being stuck with what you had was better than being spoiled by things you’d never have, sometimes. At least you had friends in misery.

They played the song for a while, Terez encouraging George to keep at it, regardless of how crummy he played. Eventually, the notes worked their way into his mind, and he began to play the song with some cohesion. Played properly, the song didn’t just remind of the desert; for all intents and purposes, they might very well be standing in the middle of the dunes, playing the tune of the sands while the sun’s heat scorched them from high above…

…Which made the drops of rain that began to fall all the more jarring.

“Eh?”

George blinked right as a drop hit the back of his hand. “Some sun dance this is!”

Terez grimaced as she shielded her face. “I wasn’t expecting rain today. This is unfortunate…”

The Dewott raised an eye at her. “It’s been dry for the past few days, and we’re in the middle of winter, though. Isn’t no rain more of a surprise?”

The Gardevoir bit her lip. “From a certain point of view, yes,” she said, sounding like she was lecturing herself. “Say, why don’t we seek shelter? I prefer not getting wet.”

Minutes later, the two were standing in a wooden shed, whilst the outside world was being battered by a deluge. Judging by the wall of sound beating on the roof, Water pelted, splashed and soaked every blade of grass and piece of ground it came into contact with. George’s instincts had failed him. Had he stayed outside, he was in for an evening of fur drying. Going to bed felt rough to even think about.

“So… how long are we staying here?” the Dewott asked.

“Until this calms down,” Terez replied. George was flabbergasted.

“Uh, hello? You do realise that can take a while, right? And besides.” He glanced over his shoulder. Tools, pots of seeds and a variety of other junk littered the shed. It smelled like tilled soil, and out of all the crap littering the place, no one had bothered to leave a chair or stool of any kind around.

“I know. But we’ll manage, the three of us.”

“Three of us?”

A ghostly echo reverberated off the walls, as a Dusknoir rose through the floor. “Yes, the three of us,” he spoke, the solid floor being no different than a staircase to him. George flinched for a second, then tucked his ears back.

“Hey. Ever tried using the door? And how long have you been listening to us?”

The Dusknoir shrugged. “A few minutes, give or take. It couldn’t have been that long, given that I only heard one song of yours.”

Terez rolled her eyes. “So, about thirty minutes, at least.”

The ghost folded his arms. “Blimey. It couldn’t have been that long, could it? You only played one song.” He paused to fold his arms. “Then again, time does blend together after a certain age, I suppose.”

George glanced away, his tail nervously slapping a broom jutting out nearby. Regardless of what terms he and Hein were on, he wasn'to pleased that someone had been watching without him noticing. Speaking of not being aware, the slapping made the broom tip over and crash into a cabinet. George’s cheeks turned red, and his eyes turned blue.

“I see someone is happy to see me.”

Hein scoffed at George, much to the latter’s chagrin. He put the broom back into place, then tilted head sideways.

“So… is this just normal between the two of you? Him popping up out of nowhere and you being fine with it?”

“Mhm,” Terez hummed. “Popping up out of nowhere is not accurate. I can sense when he is around, as can you. Remember?”

“Yes?”

Hein cracked up, floating his way towards a cabinet to lean against. “Talk about dishonesty. You and I have met many times. Surely you know when I am around, provided you’re paying attention?”

“Urgh…” The fur in George’s neck stood upright. ‘Can’t play volleyball without a ball, and I’m the ball.’ “You got me, I wasn’t looking out for you. This time.”

“Should’ve realised that sooner, lad. But I digress.” Hein placed a hand on the base of his neck, or the closest thing he had to a neck. “Pray, I had time to spare. So I thought to drop in, see how everything was proceeding.”

“Doing juuust fine,” George groaned. “Actually, since you’re here with us, and since we’re not going anywhere…” He glanced at Terez, who gave a short nod as an answer. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re both like this? Half fighting, half messing around, half best friends, half professionals. That’s four halves, I know, but still.”

“That is a long story,” said Terez as she made her way over to a wall, leaning her back against it. “Quite a lot to go over. We didn’t just bump into each other on the street. What do you say, Hein?”

The Dusknoir shrugged. “If he’s interested in hearing it, sure. Why not? This one won’t be quite so miserable to explain. It’s a story with a happy ending for a change.”

“Thus far.”

“Pfft. Pessimist.”

George, sighing, dropped down upon the cold floor. He’d been promised answers a while ago, and he still felt like they owed him. If only because others doing as he requested was nice for a change, and that wasn’t worth missing out on. Especially from authority figures, no less. “Let’s hear it.”

“As you wish,” Hein replied, snapping his fingers. “Should I start, or should you do it?”

Terez fixed her hair up. “I’ll have this one, thank you very much. We can start from the very beginning, long before old Hein was ever in the picture.”