Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PART I: SEEKING TRUTH

There's an old adage that history, if forgotten, will repeat itself.

We hear this warning all the time and take it for granted. It’s evident in how our attempts to fight it amount to laughably watered-down history lessons. Here, most school-aged children will leave home before they reach adolescence, so we cram as much knowledge about our nation into the first 10 years of their lives. Somewhere in that time, we end up brushing over the ugly truths of our past to paint an ideal image of our country.

I suppose the excuse would be that reality isn’t an age-appropriate lesson. I don't buy into it, though: Most adults don't even know the truth. Nationalism is a powerful political force, and we do nothing to remove the blinders that limit our view of Unova's darker history—so we have forgotten.

I know we have forgotten, because I sat through those lessons, and I wore those blinders. I didn't know I had them until the war. I was embarrassed to figure out I had them actually, because I always thought I knew the truth better, and that's why I've decided to write this account now.

There is no personal gain—no reputation to save or build, no financial incentive—waiting for me in writing this story. I've made a habit of recording all the events in my life, the failures and the successes, so that I don't forget them. I want to make this account not only so I won't forget, but so that we will never forget again. I know I am one of the few who can record these events with the detail and accuracy they need, because I lived here, and I lived through the war, and I was a witness to the rise of Iris Ajagara, who was only 17 when the conflict broke and the repetition of history was set into motion.

Iris's bare feet fell lightly against the cold marble tiles as she paced slowly, thoughtfully, through an open space in the Opelucid City Gym's living quarters. Clutched in her hands was a fresh sheet of paper, crisply creased with two even folds. The page was neatly covered with personally inked words urgently and carefully written, and Iris had read them at least a dozen times over with the same urgency and care.

She stood alone; the silence, and the emptiness, of the room attested to that. Every slight crinkle her thumb made on the edge of the letter, each deliberate step across the room, climbed the high walls and echoed off the ceiling. Abruptly, noisily, she folded the letter back up and stuffed it into the envelope that she held between her index and middle finger.

Iris carried the letter back into her bedroom and laid it atop her half-packed backpack, which leaned against a misplaced dining chair. She ran her fingers through her hair with a long sigh and glanced toward the clock on the wall. She’d be late if she didn't get ready soon. Reaching for the bottom folds of her yellow dress, she pulled it over her head and carelessly tossed it onto her unmade bed.

Iris didn't have a particularly diverse closet. New clothes were not a high priority, especially since most everything she wore when she was 12 could still fit. She dug through the hangers showcasing apparel she hadn't touched in years, looking for a specific color. Black was not a typical part of her wardrobe; happier, brighter colors as warm as her autumn brown eyes were her preference, but social convention, a nuisance in Iris's mind, required that she show her mourning.

Eventually, Iris discovered the only black item she owned was a shawl. The next closest thing was a never-worn gray dress, the origin of which she couldn't remember. She resigned herself to pulling the gray dress off its hanger and slipping into it. Then, she drew the black shawl around her shoulders and glanced at the full-length mirror. In this, no one would pass a judgmental eye over her—except for one thing. She snatched a hair brush off the table and began to work through several of the many tangles in her long, dark hair.

A morose whine from behind Iris captured her attention. Fraxure, his red eyes drooping with grief, crawled slowly toward her. Iris offered him a weak smile, and she kneeled beside him when he approached. He stretched his leathery neck toward her when she began to stroke his head comfortingly.

"I know," she said. "I'm sad, too."

Iris straightened up again and moved several feet toward her backpack, from which she pulled out Fraxure's Poké Ball. Then, turning, she called him back into it, and when the beam of red light disappeared, she pressed the colored top of the ball to her mouth.

"We won't be there for too long, I promise," she murmured.

Iris slipped the Poké Ball into her pocket, snapped up some black flats laying near the end of her bed, and pulled them onto her feet. She then went to the door and, grasping the handle, cast one last glance toward the letter and her bag. She realized with a painful clutch on her heart there was not much left for her here. Soon, there would be nothing left for her here.

She shut the door tightly behind her, practice for what was to come.

The scent and warmth of summer, though still a way's off, was palpable in the wind that whipped Iris's hair in thin strands across her face and around her frame’s modest curves. She hastily strode down the street past people who shuffled by at an equally anxious and hurried pace. No one ever made eye contact. These, Iris would later realize, were the first signs. It wasn't always this way.

She passed by a newsstand and stopped long enough to observe the headlines of the day: "Three Lynched Outside Driftveil City, Perpetrators Under G-Men Investigation"; "Tensions Rise In Southern Unova With Rash Of Arsons"; "APC Withdraws Contest Hall Plans in Unova After Increases In Local Violence"; "Is A Unovan Civil War On The Way?"; "Long-Time Opelucid Gym Leader Drayden Pollock Dead After Car Accident."

Iris stared ruefully at that last one, until the salesman noticed her and leaned over the counter, sneering, "Hey, you gonna buy something or what?"

She directed a hardened gaze toward the man but fell away with a frown, saying, "No, sorry. I was just looking."

The church was several further blocks away, and Iris went ahead without stopping. She knew she had arrived when she noticed the throng of black-adorned people moving into the austere grey building with a steeple that pierced the pale cloudless sky. Drayden had only a handful of friends in his life, but he had drawn the respect of many, and his death was a sore impact upon what naïvety and blind optimism remained among them.

At least, it would have been if everyone didn't believe he was dead by mere accident.

Iris eventually joined the crowd, hiking up the aged steps that led to the church’s heavy wooden doors thrown open to the public. She recognized a number of faces the moment she entered: gym leaders and Elite Four members and other persons of interest, some from outside of Unova. Iris was unnoticeable in comparison, not that she minded. She didn't want to be noticed.

Her hopes were dashed when a hand rested on her shoulder, and she stiffened. Yet, she managed to relax again when she recognized the voice that followed.

"Iris.” She turned to face the man behind her slowly, letting his hand fall off of her. It had been a couple months since they had last seen each other in person.

"Cilan. I didn't know you were going to be here."

He smiled with a strange, feeble reassurance. Unlike herself, Cilan had definitely grown since their days traveling across Unova with their mutual friend, Ash Ketchum. He was taller, leaner, though he carried himself with the same grace and spoke with the same eloquence—the same genteel tone that rose and fell with polite, measured emotion—that she remembered.

"My brothers and I thought someone ought to represent the Striaton Gym and pay respects to a fellow gym leader," he explained. He hesitated before adding, "But... I wanted to be here for you, too."

"Your brothers aren't here?" Iris asked, ignoring his addendum.

"No." Cilan shook his head. "It's just me. Traveling isn't as easy as it once was, and they were more nervous. Besides, someone needed to watch over the restaurant and gym."

"Yeah..." she mumbled, trailing off. Cilan frowned and inclined his head toward her.

"How are you doing?" he asked her gently.

"Fine, I guess.” She half-heartedly shrugged.

"You and Drayden were pretty close.”

"I don't know if you could say we were 'close.'" Iris averted her eyes from his as she readjusted her shawl. "Do you know if Alder's here?"

"Alder?" Cilan blinked.

"If there was someone who was close with Drayden, it was Alder.”

"I'm not sure," Cilan admitted. "I only just got here myself. I can't imagine he isn't, though."

Iris pursed her lips with discontent. She glanced behind Cilan and quickly scanned the area, but her cursory search yielded nothing. She then let out a tired sigh and folded her arms, raising her eyes toward Cilan's again.

"Well, I'm going to look for him," she decided. "We can catch up later."

"Okay," Cilan agreed with a nod. He watched as she brushed past him and disappeared into the crowd.

Iris easily sidled through the assembly of mourners. She read their grieved and apprehensive faces, waiting for the moment she would find the one she wanted. Yet, it was only when she reached upstream that she found him standing near the front of the church, beneath a stain-glass window that depicted a dragon—the unnamed aboriginal dragon who lived before the Great Unovan War split him into the famous Tao Trio, or so the legend said anyway—with grand silvery-gray wings and red eyes that glowed luminously with the sun's afternoon light. This was only one artistic representation. No one knew what the aboriginal dragon truly looked like; no one even knew his name.

Iris cautiously approached Alder, who stood with the familiar Elesa of Nimbasa City and an unfamiliar young male with wild hair and flaming red eyes. She would not let herself be intimidated by the Champion’s company, though; she had her mission, and if she said nothing now, then it was unlikely anything would ever be said.

"Alder." The man perked up, immediately ending his conversation with Elesa.

"Ah, hello Iris." He grinned at her, but the friendly greeting couldn't hide the plaintive tone with which he spoke. Drayden's death had undoubtedly taken a huge toll on him. Maybe Iris and Drayden hadn’t been close, but Drayden and Alder certainly were.

"I got a letter from Drayden, just this morning." Iris rose her head a little higher and looked Alder directly in the eyes as she spoke, as if to draw him into some secret plot they had both known all along. She watched him carefully, waiting for some change in his expression that would indicate he knew what she was talking about. But Alder's face didn't break. Neither did the red-eyed man's. Yet, Elesa's brow furrowed with sympathy.

"Iris, he's dead," she said slowly, carefully. "The car accident—"

"—It's from him," Iris insisted, cutting her off. The red-eyed man standing near Alder briefly narrowed his gaze, looking at Iris with interest. She continued, "I know his handwriting. Someone was waiting to send it to me."

Alder pressed his lips into a hard line.

“A mystery, indeed," he mused. He neither said nor inquired anything further of the subject. Instead, he gestured to the young man who had been watching Iris for the entire time she spoke and asked, "Have you met my grandson, Benga?"

Iris made a disbelieving noise. She expected Alder might be a little dodgy on the subject, especially in public, and especially if he did send the letter, but this was blatantly evasive. Even Elesa cast the Champion a surprised look.

"I haven't," Iris said shortly. “Alder, the letter—”

"—Aha." Alder offered her a second grin, this one even weaker than the last. "Well, I think an introduction is in order then. Benga, this is Iris Ajagara. She was Drayden's apprentice to the Opelucid Gym."

"It's nice to meet you." Benga stuck his hand out toward her, and the resemblance between him and his grandfather suddenly became obvious. The alike facial structures and hair colors were only a couple common traits shared between them. What truly seized Iris were their similar deep, husky voices; Benga's was undoubtedly more youthful, but if he were to suddenly age twenty years, she would be hard-pressed to tell them apart. The greatest difference was their eyes. Alder's were a tired, sun-stained gray while Benga's were a feisty crimson, not too unlike the reddish brown that highlighted Iris's own features.

"Same." Iris shook his hand, though she made no effort to sound genuine. She still eyed Alder, who was definitely taking care not to look directly at her.

"So I guess this means you're the new gym leader, huh?" Benga withdrew his arm, folding it into his other. Iris’s gaze flicked toward him. He stood tall and proud, not with the intention of making Iris feel smaller than she was, but as a consequence of a perceptible, outgoing confidence in his air. Even in the somber atmosphere of the church, she could feel it.

"I guess so," Iris said impassively. It wasn't something she had dedicated a lot of time to thinking about. She didn't think she would be enjoying the full responsibilities of a gym leader for much longer anyway.

"Drayden would've been proud, Iris," Alder broke in. "He always knew you would do great things. I know you'll do great things."

Iris ignored the sentiment and was ready to press the issue of the letter again, but then Elesa turned over her wrist to check her watch.

"Alder, sir." Elesa gently touched his shoulder. "We should be starting soon."

"Right, right," Alder said, nodding. He looked back toward his grandson and Iris. "Well, I'll leave you to yourselves then."

They disappeared. Iris gaped after him before letting out a loud huff. 

“He’s a real character, isn’t he?” Benga asked. His tone was light, too light, and Iris wasn’t in the mood for entertaining any pointless chit-chat.

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” she grumbled. 

Benga smiled—sympathetically?—before his eyes rose to the stained-glass masterpiece above them. "Would you like to sit with me?" he offered.

A hard no. Iris had little interest in talking to anyone who wasn’t Alder.

"Thanks, but I'll pass." She looked away and wandered where her gaze carried her, without bothering to cast another glance toward where she left Benga. 

The people were beginning to seat themselves, and Iris eventually found Cilan in one of the pews when he waved helpfully at her, and she was quick to join him.

"Did you find him?" Cilan asked her in a low voice when she slid into the open space beside him.

"Yeah," she answered. Her tone indicated she didn't want to talk about it, so Cilan didn't press the matter further.

A hush swept over the crowd when Alder stepped up to the podium near the front. Iris flicked her head back to remove a loose piece of her dark hair from her line of vision. Cilan briefly looked at her when she did this then turned his head forward again.

"My dear friends," Alder's powerful, deep voice—the voice of a leader—reverberated through the stony church passages, "we have gathered here today to honor the life of a great man: a man who was a teacher and an inspiration to many; a man who cared deeply for the welfare of his country; a man who would fight and die for the people and Pokémon he loved. Drayden Pollock was not just an adviser and a source of wisdom to me, he was a friend. He—"

Cilan was looking at Iris again, and this time, she noticed. A low growl emerged from the back of her throat as she jerked her head in the direction opposite to him.

"Stop it," she warned.

"Stop what?" he inquired.

"Stop looking at me like I'm something to pity," she said.

"I'm not—" Cilan's voice faded, and he drew into himself. Iris felt her eyes burn suddenly, but the sensation departed as quickly as it came. Alder's speech, passionate and pained, carried on.

Nearly an hour after the memorial service had ended, Iris had still not left the church. She knew it was breaking the promise she had made to her Fraxure, but after the memories and honors of her mentor were put to rest and the people who had gathered there began to leave, Iris had sunk on the corner of a step outside the church, and she could not bear to move.

Some, recognizing she was the former student of Drayden and the successor to the Opelucid City Gym, stopped to ask if she was okay or offer their condolences. Yet, Iris had dismissed them all with the reassurance she was fine and that she merely needed some time to think. Cilan had overheard her dismissals, and so he waited inside the church, watching her from one of the back pews, giving her the space and time to think as she claimed she desired. He didn't notice, but he wasn't the only one.

When the sun began falling behind the horizon, Cilan decided he had waited long enough, and he rose from his seat to approach her. Yet, she felt his presence before he said a word or even revealed himself, and she was the first to speak.

"Don't you find it suspicious there's not a body?" she asked him. Cilan drew back with surprise.

"Excuse me?" he asked, mildly appalled by the bold and morbid question.

"No body," Iris repeated, turning her head back toward him. "Isn't that strange?"

"I... hadn't thought much of it," Cilan admitted. He sat beside her on the steps. His knees rose awkwardly high into the air, and he shifted uncomfortably for a moment, attempting to better situate himself.

Iris looked at him, unimpressed.

"Mhm," she hummed after a short while. Cilan read her behavior as more conspiratorial than she intended, and he looked at her gravely, feeling obligated to set the truth straight in the face of whatever living tenets of hope to which she still clung.

"Iris... Drayden is dead," he said gently.

"I—" Iris stopped herself from snapping at him. She wasn't sure why everyone seemed so ready to believe she was in denial of his death, but it wasn't fair to lash out at Cilan, of all people, for it. "I know that. I'm not saying he isn't. I'm just saying—" She stopped again and pulled her fingers through her hair before letting her hand fall into her lap. "... I don't know. I just think if he died in a car accident, there would be a body. Besides, it's not like this is some tragic thing where he left me in the gym late at night to pick up groceries and was killed by a drunk driver."

"What do you mean?" Cilan asked.

"He left a month ago," Iris elaborated. "He said he had some extended business to take care of, and he left me in charge of the gym. And then, I found out he'd died. And then, I received—"

"Received what?" he pressed when she hesitated to finish.

"Nothing," Iris said quietly, shaking her head. "Never mind."

"Iris, you can talk to me," he half-pleaded with her. Her gaze connected with his, and she felt her chest swell with the words she'd intended to say, but she let them go with a sigh.

"It's really nothing." She rose to her feet, then asked, "Are you heading back to Striaton City?"

"I'm taking a cab to Lacunosa and catching a bus, yes." He stood, too. "Would you rather I stayed for a couple days? My brothers would understand."

"No, go," Iris said with a couple flippant waves of her hand.

"Iris..."

"Just go," Iris insisted, looking away. "It's fine. I'll be fine." Cilan was silent, unsatisfied, and so Iris carefully cast a concerned glance at him over her shoulder. "Stay safe out there, okay?"

Cilan frowned.

"Same to you," he eventually gave in. Iris nodded and trotted down the rest of the steps, sliding her hands into the pockets of her gray dress. She felt the smooth surface of Fraxure's Poké Ball with her thumb. Cilan, meanwhile, watched her leave with worry creased in expression, but he eventually decided there was nothing further he could do. He started down the steps, too, heading in the opposite direction.

When Iris was halfway across the lawn, however, she realized with a sinking feeling in her gut that she didn't want to leave Cilan on this note. So, she spun on her heels, toward him.

"Hey!" she shouted at him, grabbing his attention. When she had his eyes, she added in a more measured, though still audible volume, "Thanks for talking to me."

He stared. Then, he cracked a small smile.

"Anytime," he said.

They parted with some type of mutual understanding, one that couldn't be defined, not even by themselves—at least, not at that time. Thus, Iris set off toward the home that would not be a home for much longer. She had honestly believed its role would end before the evening began, but her delays meant she had one last night to suffer the loneliness now haunting the gym.

"Ay, Iris!"

She perked up in alarm and turned to see Alder’s grandson running to catch up with her. Iris waited for him with tension pulling her shoulders taut.

"Benga, right?" she asked when he met her, giving him only a moment to regain his breath. That was all he needed. He was definitely fit for his age, whatever his age was—Iris guessed he was older than her but younger than Cilan, who had celebrated his 20th birthday several months earlier, before any of this had really begun.

"Yeah, you got it," Benga said, straightening up.

"What are you talking to me for?"

"A straight-shooter, huh?" 

"Sorry," Iris mumbled. "I'm just tired, and I have some important things to do."

"Well, I won't hold you long, then." Iris said nothing; she only looked at him expectantly, so he went on, "That letter you were talking about—from Drayden?—what you're thinking about, it's true."

Her breath caught.

"Did your grandfather send you to find me?" she asked with renewed vim.

"No, I came on my own," Benga said coolly. "Still, why do you think he introduced you and me? I didn’t offer for us to sit together for no reason."

"So do you know anything?" Iris pressed.

"Look, if you want the truth—" Benga raised his left index finger upward and emphatically tapped the surface of his nail with the middle of his right index, forming the shape of a capital "T," three times. "—just remember liberty. Because the truth will set you free."

Iris's expression fell listless again, and she looked at him with exasperation. Then she made an annoyed noise and sent her gaze away from his with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh geez," she sighed.

"What?" Benga glowered at her.

"Nothing. I just wouldn't have taken you for—well, whatever." Iris briefly rubbed her temple before dropping her hand to her side and saying in a more amicable tone, "Thanks. I'll keep it in mind."

At first, Benga was visibly unsure of what to make of her response. He settled on a positive opinion and shared a grin that was strikingly similar to his own grandfather's.

"Hope to see you again soon, Iris," he said.

He left, and Iris watched him disappear around the corner. She stood there, uninspired, before sighing again and turning back toward the direction where she was originally headed. The streets, she noted, were now near-empty. Hardly anyone went out after dark.

Chapter Text

Of course, we all know the origin legend of the Tao Trio. You can't be Unovan and not know it. It's in our parents' bedtime stories and our animated children's shorts and epic PG-13 action flicks and adult novelizations. We love the story. Really, ask any Unovan, and they can recount their own version of the tale. The gist is this: Many years ago, before Unova had established itself as a modern nation, two heroes who sought to build a new society fell into conflict over their polarizing ideologies. What ensued was a war that tore the heroes apart and split the dragon—the aboriginal dragon whom they loved and deified, and who stood to help them build their society—into Reshiram and Zekrom. Kyurem was the shell of the dragon that had been torn apart.

Usually, the heroes of the legend are referred to as brothers. Others say they are father and son, or sisters, or mother and daughter, or any family combination you can think of. There are also adaptations of the story where no blood relation exists between the heroes, including ones where they’re lovers.

We know this story in all of its forms, except one: the historical. So, here's a history lesson for you, a real one.

Thousands of years ago, Hoenn and Unova were connected by a land bridge. The Draconid people were an ancient tribe of Dragon-type trainers who lived in Meteor Falls, Hoenn, and revered the legendary Rayquaza. For reasons historians still haven’t pinned down, the tribe split, and half migrated across the land bridge and were the first to settle Unova. There, they found the aboriginal dragon, who became their new protector.

Later, explorers from the country of Solaria looking for new lands arrived on the shores of Unova. They met the Draconid people and established friendly relations, and everything was fine between them for a while. The Draconid people taught the explorers about their faith and culture, and they showed them the natural wonders of old Unova—and eventually, they introduced them to their deity, the aboriginal dragon, too.

The leader of the explorers, Vero Albinus, was impressed by everything the Draconid people had shown him, and he eventually decided this was where they would build their new society. This didn't go over too well with the chief of the Draconid people, Taima, who, in romanticized accounts at least, had called Albinus a "brother.”

Taima was upset because the land didn't belong to the explorers, and he probably also wasn't too thrilled with the explorers trying to erase the traditions of the Draconid people in order to “civilize” them. But, he was definitely offended by the explorers wanting to use their deity, the aboriginal dragon, as a means to create their new society. Today, we oversimplify this conflict into its most basic form: truth versus ideals.

The conflict did turn violent. If there's one thing I've learned about war, it's that there are no winners: only people who lose more. If I'm being honest though, I'm not sure what happened between the Draconid people and the explorers was a war. If you look around today in Unova, you'll have a hard time finding any descendents of the Draconid.

No one wants to say the word "genocide" though.

Iris's head hung low into the safety of her hand to hide the tears that had pricked her eyes and stained her face. Although she had managed to travel a day uninhibited by her own emotions, there came a point when her grief weighed so heavily on her that she stuck herself onto the trunk of a fallen tree and cried her first genuine set of tears since Drayden's death.

Yesterday, she had risen at the first signs of morning and set herself to work. Drayden had inexplicably kept a pile of junked wood, old pallet boards and planks mainly, behind the gym, and Iris intended to make use of them. She had always assumed he was saving them as firewood, despite the fact he never burned any fires. She now realized perhaps he was gathering them for more apocalyptic means.

The enormity of the gym warranted several hours of labor, though it was hastened with the help of her Pokémon. She required it anyway, since the lower half of the gym—the base containing the battlefield—featured no windows; rather, they were all higher in the structure, bringing light into the living quarters. Yet, Iris closed them off to the rising sun one by one, until they were all boarded and no natural light could pour into the dimming rooms.

Inside, Iris retrieved her backpack, ready for travel. Yet, she stopped and stood at the door of her bedroom as she had done the day before, feeling herself begin to swell with longing for something that was no longer there. The unpacked clothes had been folded and put away, the sheets of her bed made, the curtains drawn over dark windows, the misplaced chair returned to its rightful spot in the dining room. It was as though she had never been there, as though she, a misfit of the city, had never made a home there. She, a product of the outside world, would have never expected herself to attach sentimental value to a place with velvet curtains—something she had never, and still didn't, care about—but she had.

There was a lingering thought in the back of her mind, however, that it was not the walls and the floors and the materials objects for which she ached, but rather the person who had left these things to her a month earlier.

She closed the door.

Downstairs, when she was midway across the battlefield, Iris swung her backpack off one shoulder and searched through the front pocket for a particular Poké Ball. Finding it, she straightened herself up and held it out, releasing the Pokémon inside: her Dragonite. He grunted, apparently confused why she was letting him out now, and turned to face her with a suspicious expression.

"Dragonite," she started carefully, "I need you to do me a favor, please."

He grunted again, granting her permission to proceed.

"I'm leaving for a while," Iris told him. "I'm not sure for exactly how long, but—" She paused, struggling for words. "—I—need—someone to watch over the gym, make sure no one tries to break in or anything. Can you do that for me?"

Dragonite considered her plea, longer than he should have, for no reason other than his own pride. Still, he eventually nodded, and Iris let on a relieved smile.

"Thank you," she said. "And..." She swallowed. This was the hard part. "I want to come back for you. I plan to. But if... if I'm not back here in a month, 30 days, then you can just assume I won't be coming back, and you're free to leave."

Iris suddenly snapped out of her memory and into the present when she heard an agonized, angry roar. She jumped to her feet and saw the flock of Pidove flying from a nearby grove of trees. Iris recognized the cry as characteristic of a Dragon-type, but she couldn't distinguish the species. She had heard the bawls and bellows of many Dragons throughout her life, yet this one was unfamiliar.

She tore through some brush, toward where the Pidove had fled, ignoring the snaps of thin branches that left tiny welts and cuts in her skin. Then, she came upon a heartrending scene: A Noivern chained to a tree that was half-uprooted from him trying to escape. The web of his wing was torn with fresh blood, a self-inflicted wound while trying to break free.

The poor creature was also choking himself on the chains as he pulled against them. The tree and earth to which it was tethered was crackling and humming with the Noivern's efforts, and Iris quickly realized he would be crushed if he succeeded in uprooting the tree.

"Hey! Hey !" Iris ran up to him, waving her arms. "Stop that! You're going to kill yourself!"

Noivern snapped at her and hissed a weak blue fire. The flames would have been more deadly, but Noivern was clearly dehydrated, and the chains pressed against his neck were depriving him of the oxygen necessary to fan his fire. Iris realized she would need to change her approach.

She quickly backed off of Noivern and retrieved one of her Poké Balls.

"Excadrill, use Metal Claw on that chain!" Iris ordered. Excadrill obeyed, albeit with a brief moment of hesitation seeing the enraged Noivern. He managed to dodge Noivern's erratic movements and cut the chain, freeing the Dragon. Noivern collapsed to the ground wheezing. Iris called back her Excadrill and looked toward the Noivern, considering her next move.

"Hey..." Iris began gently. She started moving toward him, slowly and carefully. Noivern was still flat on the ground with labored breathing, but he kept a cautious eye on her. "It's okay... I'm not going to hurt you..."

Noivern shifted his body, looking defensive. It was a sign he would attack if she got closer, so Iris stopped.

"I just want to help you," she told him. "I just want to..." Her words changed. She seamlessly transitioned into a language only she and Noivern could understand, and Noivern perked up and loosened the tension in his muscles as she spoke her reassurances.

She started moving toward him again, and he let her. Finally, she was able to reach out and stroke Noivern's snout. She then gently trailed her hand down toward his neck. The chain had cut into the skin. Now close enough to better assess the damage, she also glanced at his wing. If it wasn't treated, he would never fly again.

Iris moved her eyes toward Noivern's again and cupped his face with both hands, now having gained his trust.

" Thank you, " he told her.

"Of course," Iris replied. She stepped back and made a gesture for him to follow her. "Can you move okay? I want to take you to my village. The people can treat your wounds there."

Noivern appeared unsure, but Iris again outstretched her hand toward him and motioned for him to come, and he eventually agreed. He rose from the earth to his full stature and left the chains that had shackled him.

Cilan was surprised, to say the least, when he arrived at the bus station and saw a near-riotous throng of people crowding the ticket counters. The mob was so restless that even some local officers were on standby in case anything turned violent. Cilan wetted his lips and looked around, wanting to inquire what was happening—and he ended up seeing a familiar face standing just outside the mass.

"Stephan?" Cilan asked cautiously, in case he was mistaken, as he approached a red-haired trainer.

"Hm? Oh, hey Cilan!" It was Stephan, and he grinned from ear to ear upon seeing the connoisseur. It had been a while since they last met, but they had always been on friendly terms.

"What's going on here?" Cilan asked, motioning toward the crowd. Stephan suddenly frowned.

"Well, uh—" he started, but paused and scratched his face, thinking over how he should best explain the situation. Cilan waited patiently. "... Last night, one of the company buses got into a 'bad accident.' But... some are saying it wasn't any accident. They say the charred remains of the bus had lightning bolts slathered in blue paint all over it."

Cilan's breath caught at the news. Stephan continued, "Lot of the bus drivers at the company walked off the job—too dangerous now. So, long story short, there's a bus shortage. They've started a waiting list to get a ticket."

"How long is it?" 

"It was three days about an hour ago. Now it's a week.”

"A week!" Cilan’s voice cracked with surprise.

"Yeah, it's a real bummer." Stephan folded his arms and looked toward the ticket counter, which was barely visible through the horde. "I'm not gonna wait around that long. If the paint story is true, then it sounds like traveling by bus is just as dangerous as traveling on foot—if not more. I feel like a bus is more likely to be targeted than one person."

Cilan let out a long breath and contemplatively lowered his head. This certainly threw a wrench into his traveling plans. He would need to call his brothers and tell them he would be home much later than expected. Remembering he was in company, Cilan looked up again and asked, "Where are you headed?"

"Castelia City."

"Is… that your hometown?”

"No, it’s, uh..." Stephan hesitated, looked all around him, then discreetly raised his left and right hand to form a "T" with his index fingers. Cilan watched, expressionless, as Stephan tapped the nail of his left index three times with his right. When Stephan lowered his hands, Cilan flicked his gaze toward his companion's again.

"I see," was all he said.

"Are you headed there, too? You and I could go together," Stephan offered.

"The offer is kind, but I must return to Striaton City first," Cilan said politely.

"Gotcha." Stephan nodded with understanding. "Well, if you and your brothers ever wanna catch up—just remember liberty, 'cause, you know what they say: 'The truth will set you free.'"

"Thank you. I've taken note of it." This wasn't the first time Cilan had heard it. He knew it likely wouldn't be the last. Stephan smiled again—the same genuine, full smile Stephan had worn since they were younger, a rare kind of smile, especially now; Cilan hoped he didn't lose it—and stepped back, apparently ready to leave.

"See you around, Cilan," Stephan said. "Stay safe in the meantime."

"Same to you, Stephan," Cilan replied. "Good luck."

Stephan waved as he left, and Cilan offered a small wave, too, before the other trainer disappeared. Cilan then glanced at the crowd one last time before turning away and heading in a different direction. He became entrenched in thought as he replayed the brief conversation with Stephan over in his head, and a revelation that a return to Striaton City might not last long began to sink into him.

It was this thought that made him realize that he wasn't ready to return—not yet.

"Shannon!" Bare feet pounded against the earth as two young girls, their arms full of white and yellow flowers, ran down the patchy hill. Shannon, who sat near an aging Druddigon while feeding him a Yache berry from her hand, perked up when she saw the children headed toward her.

"Hello Malia, Flo." Shannon smiled, finished her feeding, and stood up, brushing the dirt off her skirt. "Where's your brother?"

"Dakota is still picking his," the younger, Flo, said. Her eyes, a currant red, were alive with anticipation, and her tawny cheeks were pink with a similar joy. The older, Malia, was in less high spirits; not unhappy, but solemn and hopeful that their work would bring smiles. She was old enough to see there were less of them in the village now and mature enough to understand why.

Shannon frowned, asking, "Why did you leave him?"

"He was taking forever ," Flo complained.

"He kept cutting the stems too short," Malia added.

"Well, then you ought to help him," Shannon said. She took the flowers from each of the girls and carefully laid them on the ground. "I'll take good care of these. You go find Dakota, okay?"

"Fine..." Flo begrudgingly agreed.

She pulled on Malia's hand to lead her back up the hill, but they stopped when their brother, Dakota, suddenly appeared at the top, breathless and flowerless. He lit up when he saw his sisters and sprinted toward them, yelling, "Hey! Iris is back! She's coming back!"

"What? Really?!" Malia dropped her sister's hand and clasped hers together excitedly. Shannon overheard and looked on with slightly widened eyes.

"Yeah, yeah!" Dakota answered, nodding quickly. "I saw her! She's coming in with some Dragon—one I've never seen before!"

"Let's go see, Malia!" Flo begged. "We can make flower crowns later. Let's go see!"

"You don't have to ask me twice," Malia said before she ran off with her siblings.

Shannon relaxed into a smile again and settled herself beside Druddigon once more. She could hear other village children running out to greet Iris and see "the new Dragon," too. Iris had become quite popular, a small-time celebrity and role model, in the settlement since she'd gone to train with Drayden at the Opelucid City Gym. The children especially adored her and honestly believed she was famous, or going to be famous, and they flocked to her anytime she returned home.

Shannon ran her fingers across the stems of the flowers the girls had picked, a cursory check for whether they were long enough—they were.

A smiling Iris soon appeared on the crest of the hill, surrounded by nearly a dozen children, some as young as 4 and some as old as 14. Iris's right hand clutched that of young Flo's while the other rested upon the visibly injured neck of a restless Noivern. Iris's calming touch kept him at bay, however, and ensured that no ill would fall upon him—or the children.

"What is it?" a different village boy, Shilah, asked, looking at the Noivern curiously.

"A Noivern," Iris answered. "You don't see them in Unova, usually. They come from a faraway place called Kalos." The children ooh'd at this and became even more excited at the realization that they weren't just meeting a new Dragon—they were meeting a rare one.

"Where'd you find him?" Dakota asked.

"Just outside the village," Iris replied. "You see his wing? He accidentally hurt himself while stuck to a tree, and he needs someone to take care of him."

The children's expressions turned more serious. Malia asked, "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Iris didn't answer initially. She noticed Shannon sitting nearby, and their gazes connected meaningfully. They broke when Malia repeated the question, and Iris, a tiny bit flustered, answered, "Uh—yes!" She let go of Flo's hand and placed her own on Noivern's snout. "Malia, Dakota, Flo—is your father here?" she asked, looking toward the three siblings.

"Yeah, he is," Dakota answered.

"I want you to take Noivern to him," Iris said. "He'll know what to do." She looked toward the rest of the children, too. "Can I trust you all to escort him safely?"

Her request was met with a resounding "yes," and Iris turned to the Noivern, pressed her face against his, and mumbled something to him that few of the children could understand. Iris pulled away, and Noivern seemed placated. Malia stepped up to Dragon, cautiously placed her hand on his neck as Iris had, and said her own enigmatic words to him before beginning to lead him away with the rest of the children—except one—in tow.

"Is something wrong, Flo?" Iris asked the one remaining child, crouching beside her. Flo looked down and shuffled her feet nervously.

"I just have a small question," she began.

"Sure. What is it?"

Flo looked up again and asked, "Are you the Opelucid Gym Leader now?"

Iris stared. The question was unexpected, and yet, she knew she should have expected it. Benga had asked the same question at the funeral, but she had expected it then, because she was there, in that city, and she lived in that gym. Now she was gone, and the inquiry had turned painful. Iris straightened up, sobered.

"Yes... I suppose I am," she said, not knowing what else to say. She was, but she wasn't. She had boarded up the gym. She wasn't accepting challengers, obviously. Then again, Iris wondered to herself, were any gym leaders accepting challengers? Still, Flo nodded, satisfied by this answer, and ran off to catch up with the rest of the children. Shannon had watched the entire scene unfold, and now that she had Iris alone, she stood again and approached.

"Flo doesn't have a good filter," Shannon remarked.

"She's 5," Iris dismissed. "Most 5-year-olds don't. I didn't."

Shannon smiled weakly. Iris had seemed so bright and good-humored, maybe only a little off, when she first returned—undoubtedly a front for the children. Now that they were gone, she was vulnerable and sad again.

"How are you doing?" Shannon asked gently.

"As good as I can be doing, I guess," Iris replied with a shrug. "You don't seem surprised to see me here."

"I knew you were going to come," Shannon admitted. "I mean, I didn't know know , but I had a feeling. As soon as the news of Drayden reached us, I knew you'd want to come here."

"... Is there a reason for that?" Iris asked.

"I knew you'd want to speak with the Elder," Shannon said, a little surprised Iris had questioned it.

Iris raised an eyebrow. She carefully analyzed her friend's face, as though she were looking for some secret sign or insight, which quickly unsettled Shannon. No longer able to stand Iris's peeling gaze, Shannon asked, "What is it?"

"Nothing." Iris shook her head. "You're right. I am here to see the Elder. How did you know?"

Shannon became more exasperated. "I don't know—I just guessed! Why are you so suspicious of me all of a sudden?" Iris drew back, realizing Shannon knew nothing and feeling guilty for pushing her.

"No reason. Sorry." She started down the path, and Shannon did a double-take between her and the flowers and Druddigon. She resigned herself to following Iris, however, supposing the children would no longer be interested in making flower crowns now that Iris had set them to work.

"How has the village been?" Iris asked once Shannon had caught up. She had assumed her friend would follow. "I mean, since Drayden..."

"Well... of course people are upset. He's a legend around here. Kind of like you," Shannon said. Iris scoffed and nearly protested that she was not a legend—sure, the kids liked her, but to compare her to Drayden felt like an insult to his memory. Shannon continued, "The only family he has left around here, though, is the Elder. We haven't seen too much of her."

Hearing this depressed Iris, but she pressed on with her questions. "What are people saying about his death? How he died, I mean," she asked. Shannon gave her an odd look.

"It's... a tragedy," Shannon said, unsure of what Iris wanted. "There isn't much else to say about a car crash."

Although Iris knew this was coming after Shannon's initial reaction, the response still cut deep. She pursed her lips and averted her eyes, disappointed. She had earnestly hoped—earnestly believed —that talk in the village would be different, and she was dispirited it wasn't.

"Right..." Iris trailed off. The Elder's home came into view, and Iris stopped. "I'm sorry. I know I'm acting weird. I guess Drayden dying has really gotten to me."

Shannon nodded understandingly and said, "It's okay. I understand." She started to move away, recognizing that Iris wanted to speak to the Elder alone. "Well... good luck."

She left, and Iris watched her go. Once she had disappeared from sight, Iris turned toward the home again, sucked in her breath, and strode toward the door. After ambling up the wooden stairs, she pushed away the curtain covering the open wooden door—the Elder rarely closed it, except when it was cold—and peered inside. It was dark; the fire was unlit, and most of the windows were closed, letting little natural light inside.

"Elder?" Iris inquired, moving inside. There was no response, and for a moment, Iris wondered if the matriarch was there at all. Then—

"Iris? Is that you?" From the shadows of another room, Iris saw the aging woman step forward.

"Yes, it's me, Elder," Iris said, going to her and grasping her hands. Iris was taller than her now, which spoke more of the Elder's stature than Iris's, given that Iris barely cracked 5 feet.

"It's so good to see you again, child." She gently touched Iris's head and bowed it down so she could kiss her hairline. "I knew you'd be coming here soon." The Elder then let go of Iris's hands and sank to a comfortable position on her knees in front of the table. Iris followed suit.

"Shannon said the same thing," Iris remarked, adjusting herself on the cushion.

"Shannon is a bright girl," was all the Elder said in response. A pregnant pause followed, and the Elder rose her eyes toward Iris and perceived the uncertainty in her expression. "It seems the distrust of these times has affected you."

"Distrust?" Iris repeated.

"You're hesitant to be open with me," the Elder observed. "Why is that?"

Iris curled her fingers into the fabric of her skirt, suddenly nervous. "He was your son," she said. "I don't want to be insensitive." The Elder said nothing for a while. She reached out toward a ceramic pitcher of water and matching cups at the center of the table and poured herself a drink. Then, she poured a second drink for Iris, who was watching her senior in anticipation, and pushed it toward her.

"The funeral was a couple days ago, wasn't it?" the Elder inquired, pulling her own drink toward her. "I'm supposing you're wondering why I, his mother, wasn't in attendance."

Iris blinked and appeared even more unsure than before. She hadn't wondered, but the Elder wouldn't have brought it up unless it were somehow relevant.

"You're—You're not in the same health that you used to be. Traveling is harder," Iris excused her. "Besides, it's really unusual for the Elder to leave the village for any reason."

"That is all true," the Elder said with a slow nod. "But, it also would have been too upsetting to grieve for a fictitious accident."

Iris's eyes widened suddenly, her breath catching as they did. There was the point.

"Wait—so then—" Iris fumbled for the right words as she grew more excited. "You know, too. You know it wasn't a car crash." The Elder again said nothing, only taking a sip of her drink. Feeling vindicated, Iris quickly pulled her bag off her shoulder and rummaged through it. She eventually pulled out a torn envelope and held it toward the Elder, saying, "I received this letter, from Drayden, just the other day. Were you the person who sent it to me?"

The Elder didn't reach for the letter.

"No," she answered.

Iris stared. Her enthusiasm deflated, and her hand, the one holding the letter, slowly fell to her side again.

"... No?" Iris voice became smaller, quieter. "I don't understand. Who sent it to me then?"

"I think you know," the Elder said candidly.

"Well, I thought it was Alder," Iris admitted, "but I asked him about it the other day, and he wasn't being straight with me."

"Which gives you plenty of reason to believe it was him," the Elder pointed out. She laid her cup back down on the table and folded her hands. "Alder is justified in staying quiet. To do otherwise could potentially put you, him, and anyone close to either of you in danger."

Iris pursed her lips.

"It sounds like you know what's in this letter," she remarked.

"Drayden came to see me, too, after he left the Opelucid Gym," the Elder confessed. For some inexplicable reason, Iris felt like crying again. She didn't, but the feeling of disappointment, of grief, rose back into her chest. The Elder must have sensed her emotional ailment, because it wasn't until the feelings passed that she asked, "What are you planning on doing?"

Iris lowered her brow, looking confused.

"I have to finish what he started," she said as though it were obvious. The Elder let on a depressed, wrinkled smile, which troubled Iris.

"You remember the legend of the Tao Trio, don't you?" the Elder asked.

"Of... Of course I do," Iris answered, unsure of where the Elder was going with this. "You used to tell it to me all the time when I was young."

"Then you also must remember that, according to the legend, Reshiram can only defer to the Hero of Truth while Zekrom can only defer to the Hero of Ideals." The Elder's expression darkened before she added, "Drayden could speak to Dragons like you can. He was not, however, the Hero of Truth."

If the Elder's goal was to rattle Iris—it worked.

"I-It's just a legend, Elder." Iris stammered only a little when she spoke.

"Based in historical truth," the Elder reminded her. She then rose to her feet and clasped her hands together, and Iris followed suit. She knew this was a sign the Elder would be ending the conversation. The Elder went on, "I know I won't be able to convince you, though. Please, child, be careful. Drayden is not the first person I've lost to this legend. He is not the first person you've lost to this legend either."

Iris licked her lips and glanced down. She realized she hadn't touched the water the Elder had offered her at all.

"I know," she said quietly.

Iris smiled contentedly as she settled into the warmth of her mother's arms, her lap, near the glow of a robust fire. Her small fingers, still inflexible from the storm beating against the windows, clutched a cup of warm water that had been boiled prior to her family's arrival. She and her mother sat at a table across from the matriarch of the Village of Dragons—the Elder, a woman Iris had not met up until then—while her father stood near one of the shaking windows, watching the snow pile in massive amounts outside.

"The storm is getting worse," he said worriedly, looking toward his wife and the Elder. "Has Kyurem ever been this angry before?"

The Elder drank from her cup, then calmly answered, "No one has been foolish enough before to disturb him."

Iris felt her mother, who perceived the Elder's response as a jab, tense up. Her father cast her mother a careful glance, a silent plea to control her temper, but she proceeded anyway, saying, "Elder, people have died in this storm. It has spread everywhere in Unova. Even if it were to clear up tomorrow, much of the nation's harvest has been destroyed, and there will be food shortages. If we don't do something—"

"Nadie, there is nothing we can reasonably do," the Elder told her gently, "except give Kyurem the space to recover. This started because of the radicals who attempted to capture him. To visit him now could exacerbate the problem and cost you your lives."

Nadie drew into herself, bringing Iris closer to her as she did. She kept her head low for a while, her crimson eyes searching the ground beneath her for a response, while both her husband and the Elder looked on. Finally, she straightened up and said, "Elder, Mukul can speak to Dragons, too. I've taught him how. He can speak better than most of the people in the village."

The Elder, however, merely frowned and shook her head, saying, "It will take much more than just an ability to speak to Dragons."

"What will it take?" Mukul spoke up. The question appeared to surprise the Elder, at least briefly. She had not expected either would ask, but she nevertheless settled down to explain.

"While Reshiram and Zekrom are fated to start wars, make no mistake: Kyurem is every bit as dangerous, if not more," the Elder warned him. "Kyurem carries the grief of their conflict. He mourns the loss of when they were one. The only way to truly—to permanently—assuage him is to end that conflict, to restore peace between Reshiram and Zekrom."

Nadie closed her eyes and sighed.

"There is no way..." she started. "We don't have the time for that."

"You're right," the Elder affirmed with a nod. "There is no time for it, and it would be a task more perilous than this one. We're better suited to wait for Kyurem's rage to subside on its own and for him to fall back into his dormant state."

"By then, it might be too late, and Unova will have frozen over," Nadie said. The Elder pressed her lips into a hard line, and Nadie apologetically, quietly, added, "I'm sorry, Elder. But we have to do this."

The Elder said nothing. There was a deep, widening pool of emptiness in her dark magenta eyes; she had grown distraught by what she perceived as a failure to persuade one of her own, a member of her clan, to avoid inevitable death. Mukul's expression showed he sympathized, even if he agreed with his wife, who remained firm even in the face of inner torment.

"Will you watch our daughter while we go?" Mukul requested kindly after a long period of silence.

The Elder hesitated, glancing at Iris, and then back at her parents. She opened her mouth to reply but shut it again.

"No," she eventually decided.

"No?" Nadie appeared shocked.

"To agree to care for your daughter would be to condone this mission," the Elder explained. "I cannot condone it. I'm sorry. You'll have to find someone else."

Nadie looked and sounded exasperated when she said, "There is no one else. You know I have no more family here."

"You'll figure it out," the Elder tacitly replied. She rose to her feet and clasped her hands together. "I know I won't be able to convince you, though. Please, child, be careful."

Iris opened her eyes, awake in the present with the Elder's words ringing in her ears. Morning had come again. She could hear the songs of Pidove outside her window, punctured by the familiar roars and cries of Dragons that were ever-present in the village. Yet, Iris didn't move, only staring at the wooden ceiling, decorated with elaborate paintings of flowers and Dragons, for a while before finally letting out a shaky breath.

"Well, good morning."

Iris blinked, then furrowed her eyebrows as her head fell to the side and she saw Cilan standing near the door in her room. A low, mildly annoyed grumble emerged from the back of her throat.

"Geez, have you been watching me sleep?" she asked dryly, her voice still hoarse with drowsiness. There were a hundred other things she could have asked him—"What are you doing here?", for instance—but this was the first question that came to mind.

"No, I just walked in," Cilan replied coolly.

"You creep," Iris scoffed as she slid her pillow out from beneath her head and threw it at him. He caught it with ease.

"I'm not lying," he insisted.

"Right, right." Iris sat up, stretched, and pushed her hand through her long hair. She then smiled and teasingly added, "It would be 'ungentlemanly' to watch a lady sleep."

"Not without her permission," Cilan said cheekily, and Iris wished she had another pillow to throw at him.

"I thought you would have been back in Striaton City by now," Iris remarked as she peeled her covers off her and slid to the edge of the bed.

"I would have, but there was a hold-up at the Lacunosa bus station," Cilan explained. His eyes followed her as she stood and passed him on the way to her bag, where she kept all her clothes. "I decided to come looking for you, but when I made it back to Opelucid City, the doors to your gym were locked and the windows were all boarded."

"So how did you know I was here?" Iris asked, pulling out a yellow blouse and shaking it, as if doing so would rid it of all the wrinkles of travel.

"It was either here or on the way to Castelia City," Cilan said. "I guessed here, and I guessed right."

"Uh-huh." Iris appeared no more impressed. "You know, I'm half-surprised you haven't run off to Castelia yet."

Cilan inhaled before admitting, "I might, but I have my brothers to consider."

"All three of you, then."

He folded his arms and suddenly looked uncomfortable. Iris stopped her search for an outfit and watched him with a tilted head and lowered brow, confused as to why he had so quickly sunken into consternation. Whatever internal struggle he was having, he finally overcame it and said, "I imagine we might be following your lead on closing up the gym after I return."

Iris said nothing at first. She watched him for a moment, then turned to her bag again and pulled out a pair of jean shorts. "Is that why you came to find me first?" she eventually asked, a little sharply.

"Excuse me?" Cilan perked up, surprised by her tone.

"You want me to join the Truth Seekers with you and your brothers, don't you?" She said it as if it were a dirty accusation, as if he had actually been watching her sleep.

"You say that with such disgust. I'm surprised. I thought if there was anyone who would be prime for joining a revolution, it would be you—especially given what happened a few days ago."

Iris scoffed.

"It's not a revolution—there's nothing revolutionary about them," she said. Cilan raised an eyebrow, about to inquire what she meant, but then she added, "Besides, I have some other business to take care of."

Abandoning his questions about her distaste, Cilan asked, "What kind of business?"

"Business that isn't yours," Iris dismissed. She laid her blouse and shorts on the back of a chair and glanced back at him, casually ordering, "Turn around."

He did so without comment or complaint, and Iris pulled her shirt over her head. If there was one thing Iris appreciated about Cilan—and there were admittedly a lot of things she appreciated about him, despite all the grief she had given him over the years—it was that he acted under no false pretenses. He presented himself as a gentleman, and he was one. She knew there would be no chance of him craning his neck to steal a glance of her undressing. As if he would be tempted, anyway.

Her brief moment of admiration faded into more serious considerations, however, at the implications of his visit, and she asked—half-demanded, really—"Why would you want to join the Truth Seekers?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Cilan threw back at her without missing a beat. If Iris was willing to invest the time and risk the toll, she could have constructed an answer—a meaningful, well-thought-out answer—but she had just woken up, and to answer would mean she would need to dig into more personal, more intimate, areas of her history, areas she wasn't willing to share, even with him. So, she said nothing.

Iris pulled the last button of her shirt through its corresponding loop and said, quietly, "It's safe now."

Cilan faced her again, and she folded her arms, averting her eyes.

"When are you leaving?" he asked gently.

"You assume I'm leaving."

"I know you," Cilan said. "There's no way you're staying."

He had a point.

"Today," she answered.

"Today," he repeated.

Guilt struck Iris. He had taken a detour from his journey back home just to see her, because he wanted her to travel with him, and she was leaving—without him. Even if she didn't have her own mission to fulfill, she still wouldn't go with him; she wanted nothing to do with the Truth Seekers. Iris zipped up her bag and dragged it with her back toward her bed. She plopped down on the edge and looked up at him, trying to find the right words to say—an apology, maybe, for inconveniencing him—and he was evidently doing the same.

"There's a Dragon-type I'm looking out for right now," Iris finally said after clearing her throat. "Would you like to meet him?"

Cilan managed to work up a smile.

"Sure," he agreed.

Summer was closer today than it was yesterday and the day before that. Iris found herself raising a hand to wipe away a line of perspiration on her forehead as she and Cilan moved down the path to the lower end of the village, where the breeder—Malia and her siblings' father, the man to whom Iris had entrusted Noivern—lived. As they approached the cabin, however, Iris perked up when she spotted Shannon sitting with the children outside, and she jogged forward to meet them.

"Hello Iris!" Flo beamed and waved at her. In her tiny hands was a half-finished flower crown. A pile of completed ones sat at the center of a group semicircle.

"Hello," Iris greeted, bending down so she could meet the children, and Shannon, at their level. "What are you all doing?"

"Making flower crowns!" Flo exclaimed, holding hers up.

"I can see that."

Cilan caught up with Iris, and the three children collectively dropped their reddish eyes and tightened their arms, as if afraid. Iris frowned and flicked her gaze toward Cilan, wondering if he would notice and half-hoping he wouldn't. He had, and it puzzled him—he had visited the village before and had always, up until then, been welcomed as a guest rather than treated as an outsider—but he took it in stride.

"Good morning, Shannon," Cilan said, focusing instead on his old acquaintance and Iris's friend. Shannon smiled weakly, sympathetically; she was cognizant of children's behavior, and her expression was apologetic.

"Morning," she greeted as she plucked another flower from the collection and threaded it into her crown. "The children thought that, maybe to cheer some people up in the village, we should make flower crowns and give them out."

"What a wonderful idea," Cilan commended, smiling at the siblings. They remained reticent, furthering his unease. Now sure he was aware of his exclusion, Iris furrowed her brow and looked pointedly at the oldest, Malia.

"Malia?" Iris pressed.

"Thank you," Malia said quietly, finally acknowledging him. She threaded one last stem into her crown then held it out toward Iris. "Here, you should take this."

Iris blinked in surprise.

"Me?" she questioned.

"Yeah," Malia responded. She stood and placed the flower crown on Iris's head. "I think you need one."

Iris was touched; yet, the gesture also subdued her. It was a painful reminder, albeit unintentional, that they were still in a period of mourning. It made her itch to leave, and Iris hated that. It was a lonelier realization to want to leave the Village of Dragons, where she had spent the better half of her youth, than to want to leave the Opelucid Gym. She had lost her sense of home both here and there.

"Thank you," Iris said, reaching up to touch one of the petals. She slowly rose to her feet again before asking, "Is your father here?"

"Uh-huh," Dakota affirmed. "He's inside."

"Okay," Iris said, nodding. "Thank you again for the crown, Malia."

She headed toward the cabin and indicated for Cilan to follow. The door was open, so Iris didn't hesitate to enter, but Cilan did, unaccustomed to their cultural sociability. Iris, however, again gestured for him to follow, so he did.

"Jolon?" she called once she had Cilan on her heels. "Are you there?"

A beat of silence followed. Then, "Is that Iris I hear?" A middle-aged, rugged man appeared at the top of the stairs. "Ah, so it is!" He descended to meet her, but his smile disappeared and his red gaze hardened when he noticed Cilan with her. Again, the connoisseur was caught off guard by the sudden unwelcome air.

"Who's this?" Jolon asked, a little stiffly.

Iris had apparently anticipated this antagonism, because she quickly, coolly responded, "This is Cilan. He's a gym leader from Striaton City. He and I have been friends for a very long time." She then added, reassuringly, "He's nothing to worry about."

This eased Jolon somewhat, but he remained wary.

"I'm guessing you're here to check up on your Dragon?" he asked, folding his arms.

"Mm-hm.”

"I treated the cut on his neck for infection and patched up his wing. It should be all right, as long as he takes it easy. No battling, or anything like that. The stitches'll dissolve on their own," Jolon explained. "Last I saw, he was out meandering near the river. He's not gonna want to be here long. He barely tolerates me n' Malia—seems to like you all right though, from what Dakota was saying."

"I rescued him, so I guess that comes as no surprise," Iris admitted.

"Still—you're leaving, aren't you? You ought to consider catching him and taking him with you," Jolon suggested. "He's likely to wander off and get into a scuffle with one of the other Dragons if he stays here. He'd be better off in your care, even if you're traveling."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Iris doubted. "I'm—" She stopped short. She did not want to say her journey would be unsafe, not with Cilan standing there, because then he would worry and question her.

Iris's pause incited Jolon's own misgivings, however, and he suspiciously asked, "Where are you headed anyway?"

"I'm not joining the Truth Seekers, if that's what you're thinking," Iris dismissed. Cilan looked at her incredulously, but Jolon relaxed again.

"Well, anyway—I really do think taking the creature with you will be for the better," he said.

Iris pressed her lips tightly together. Both he and Cilan were watching her, so she gave in and agreed. Jolon turned around and headed toward a desk pushed up against the wall. He pulled open one of the drawers, retrieved an empty Poké Ball, and offered it to her, but Iris shook her head.

"I already have one, but thank you," she said. Yet, he insisted, grasping her hand and pressing the ball into it.

"Take it. You never know when you'll need an extra," he told her.

It wasn't until they had left the cabin and were out of the earshot of any villagers that Cilan considered asking Iris why he was being treated with such contempt—but for a person trained to speak in decorous prose, he was having trouble figuring out how to phrase his question, and he doubted whether he should bring it up at all.

Yet, his internal wordsmithing was interrupted when Iris mumbled, "Sorry about all that back there." Cilan knew what she meant, but he looked at her pointedly, waiting for an elaboration. She smiled weakly and continued, "The Village of Dragons might be remote from most of Unova, but we're not immune to what's been happening. Try not to take anything personally. People are just more cautious of strangers, especially ones that look like you."

"Ah, do I look like a Truth Seeker, then?" Cilan asked lightly.

"You do, actually," she half-laughed. The twinkles of laughter then disappeared in her eyes, and she added more seriously, "We have our reasons for disliking the Truth Seekers."

An uncomfortable tension lingered behind those words. Iris realized she wasn't going to convince him, and Cilan realized if—when—he joined the group, he would inevitably upset Iris. He wanted to press for her reasons behind her disapproval of the Truth Seekers, but he was unable to do so as Iris suddenly perked up and exclaimed, "There he is! That's him!"

She hurried ahead, and Cilan watched as she met a slender, purplish Dragon whose scales were marred by fresh scars and wing was newly bandaged. 

"A Noivern?" Cilan questioned, slowly approaching the pair. He wasn't naïve; running up beside Iris could potentially agitate the Pokémon and put both trainers in danger. But Iris laid her hand on Noivern's snout comfortingly and signaled that it was okay for Cilan to come.

"Isn't he beautiful?"

"He's certainly rare around here." Cilan hesitated before lifting a hand and gently stroking the Dragon, just below the cuts on his neck. Noivern tensed at first, but Iris cooed at him, and he relaxed again.

"He's not wild," Iris eventually explained. "He was abandoned by his trainer."

Cilan frowned. "That’s terrible.”

"Yeah, well," Iris started with a shrug, "there are a lot of irresponsible trainers out there. Dragon-types are the hardest of all Pokémon to raise. People catch them when they're little, and after they evolve, they don't know how to take care of them or how to manage their behavior—so they just leave them." On that note, Iris pulled out one of the empty Poké Balls in her bag and held it out toward Noivern. The Noivern stared at it for a while, then looked at Iris, unsure.

"I know you've had a bad experience," she began, "but I'm not going to let that happen again. If you come with me, I promise I'll take good care of you. Trust me, I know how to speak to Dragons."

Noivern carefully considered her offer, and Iris patiently waited with a smile. Cilan watched with some fascination—and admiration. She had come a long way since they were children, and the proof presented itself when Noivern finally nudged the button on the front of the Pokéball and let himself inside. The ball locked, confirming her capture, and Iris's smile widened.

"Well done," Cilan complimented.

"It starts with trust," Iris said as she slid the Poké Ball into her pocket.

They started for the village again silently, knowing a parting was soon to come. Yet, a troubling question started to weigh heavily on Cilan, and he eventually cast his companion a sideways glance.

 "Iris?"

"Yeah?" She looked at him, too.

"Will you hate me if I join the Truth Seekers?" he calmly asked her.

Iris stopped and stared at him with wide eyes.

"N-No, of course not!" 

"You hate the Truth Seekers," Cilan pointed out. Iris folded her hands under her arms and averted her eyes from his, now uncomfortable.

"I just don't get why anyone would want to join them," she said.

"Why is that?" he pressed. Her eyes didn't rise.

"It's hard to explain," Iris began, starting to move again. Cilan followed her. "You have to understand the history behind them, I guess. It's the idea of them, really."

As attentive as Cilan had been, had wanted to be, her voice soon turned static. He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening at something ahead of them. Iris's head was still low, so she couldn't see.

"Iris..." he started with a slight tremor in his voice.

"It's all rooted in this old—" She continued, not paying attention.

"—Iris," Cilan said more firmly.

"What?" Iris faced him, annoyed. Yet, when she saw the look upon his face—the drained, horrified appearance—her irritation transformed into alarm, and she spun around to see whatever he was staring at.

Her stomach dropped. From the trees, she could see a pair of scorched human feet hanging below a canopy of leaves. Trickles of dried blue paint had run down the skin, between the toes, and formed a puddle, now cracked under the heat of the sun, on the ground beneath the body. Iris sucked in her breath; she couldn't see the face through the leaves, and without considering the nightmares that would follow, she moved under the umbrella and looked up. It was a male, his face charred from whatever had burned him and distorted from the rope that hung around his neck. She realized the blue paint was applied in the shape of a lightning bolt.

She turned away, disgusted. Cilan, color returning to his face, shook his head and said, "And you wonder why anyone would want to join the Truth Seekers?"

Iris's bottom lip quivered. She couldn't find anything to say for a while. She felt sick to her stomach, and she knew it didn't make any sense, but when she saw the face of the corpse, she saw Cilan's own countenance. The realization that he would be traveling alone suddenly terrified her.

Eventually, Iris managed to bring her eyes toward Cilan's again and ask, "You're still going to Striaton first, right?"

Cilan looked at her with incredulity. The question seemed wildly inappropriate in their new scenery.

"Yes... ?" he answered, put off.

"Well, I—" Iris paused and wrung her hands together. "It... It just so happens I'm headed in that same direction. We should go together."

Cilan seemed to understand then.

"... All right," he agreed with a small nod.

Iris turned away again

"We need to go back," she said softly. "We need to tell someone. One of the men in the village will take care of the body."

"Right." Cilan nodded again.

They left, deeply impressed, deeply disturbed, but above all, deeply afraid.

Chapter Text

As a nation, we're really good at making stuff up—pretending. And I don't just mean the kind of pretending when you're 5, when you're out with your friend down the block, and one of you plays the Hero of Ideals while the other is the Hero of Truth, and your families' Herdier and Houndour are dressed up in black and white capes. It's different. It's more deceitful. It's the kind of pretending where you imagine a new reality—an idealized reality that conveniently fits your narrative—to replace the truth.

No one—no one who's sane, at least—wants a war. There were some who so adamantly didn't want a war, though, that they tried to ignore its existence. They created their own echo chambers; they listened to the radio hosts, the television anchors, to the writers, and to the friends who affirmed their own beliefs and labeled those who spoke differently as crazy. The new period of denial was why so many readily accepted the story that Drayden Pollock died in a car accident.

But for every person in denial, there was another who silently thought there was more than what we were being told. That's how the Truth Seekers ended up getting so popular. It capitalized on a demand to know the truth and turned into a growing underground army against the "other" radicals whose ideals sought to change everything we knew against our own comfort.

And yet, we were all still pretending. They wore the black cape, and the Truth Seekers wore the white.

Iris could see her mother's fingers trembling as she tensely pressed each button on her coat through its corresponding loop. This was the third article of upper-body clothing her mother had pulled over her head that morning, starting with a thermal, then a sweater, and now this. They were inside, near the fire, and despite the persistent snowfall that had lasted for days by then, Iris was sweating like the summer had never vanished under dark gray clouds.

"There," her mother declared in a breathy tremor, "all finished." She rose from her knees and looked directly at her husband, who was packing up the last few essentials. He felt her worried gaze fall upon him though, and he stopped and swept toward her, grasping her shoulders.

"Nadie, are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her in a low voice. He was prepared to give her an out, let her retreat, but she shook her head.

"We have no choice," she said. Yet, Nadie's eyes turned to her daughter, who looked two sizes bigger in her layers of clothing, and drew in a shaky breath. "She comes first, though. Out there—she comes first."

Mukul's hands slid down her arms.

"Of course," he agreed with gravity. Any other option was unconscionable. Nadie nodded and drew away, wrapping her arms around herself.

"There's no reason to worry anyway," she said more firmly. "We'll be fine." She turned away and left the room. Mukul watched her go then focused his attention on his daughter. He sank to his knees before her, as her mother had, and he readjusted her coat so her tiny shoulders filled it completely.

"Iris, my dear," he began tenderly, cupping her face. "We're going on a—another journey. It's very cold out there. If you stay close to your mother and I though, I promise nothing bad will happen to you."

Iris stared, feeling unease at her father's words. Her life had been one long never-ending journey. They were travellers living a rootless existence driven by her parents’ wanderlust. Her family had been on the move trekking through deserts and mountains and forests ever since she had drawn her first breath. She couldn't understand why he sounded so serious now, why his eyes were filled with such uncertainty now as his hot, anxious breath heated the tip of her nose. Nevertheless, she nodded and, in a quiet voice, said, "Okay."

Iris's nose wrinkled at another warm puff of air in her face. She cracked open her eyes and found herself staring directly into the deep red, puppy-like eyes of her Fraxure. He was lying on his side, next to her sleeping bag, his face being a mere few inches away from his hers. This was not the first time Iris had woken up to such a sight; the occurrence of waking up with Fraxure uncomfortably close to her was so common, in fact, that it had stopped surprising her entirely.

"What?" she grumbled, and Fraxure whined as he sat up and looked longingly at some nearby brush. Iris sat up, too, and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes before trying to find whatever had Fraxure so upset.

It didn't take long to figure out: Emolga was out of her Poké Ball and protectively squabbling with Gabite over a stockpile of a Pecha berries. Gabite had put on his best Scary Face, trying to get her to fold, but Emolga—as stubborn as ever—refused to budge. Excadrill sat nearby, his claws crossed, with an annoyed eye turned toward Emolga; Cilan's Crustle appeared equally irritated but was disinterested in getting involved and was hoping Gabite would resolve the issue; Stunfisk was expressionless; Noivern was the furthest removed from the group, and he looked on with deep distrust.

"Emolga, don't hoard," Iris reprimanded, her voice still a little hoarse in her post-dream state. "Share some with the other Pokémon, too."

Emolga glowered at her, and Iris shot a warning look back, but Emolga remained unwilling to stand down—until a particularly large, ripe Pecha berry dropped from above, hitting the Electric-type squarely on the head. Emolga threw a tantrum, but Pansage, hanging in the tree above, merely chuckled. That was when Emolga finally gave in; she snapped up a couple berries and stormed away to eat by herself while the rest of the Pokémon enjoyed the—quite literal—fruits of their victory.

Except one.

Iris nodded appreciatively at Pansage, who beamed in response, before she went to pick up a few of the berries left untouched by the hungry Pokémon. From there, she turned toward Noivern, still a fair distance away, and made sure she had his gaze before approaching. Once she was close enough, she held out one of the Pecha berries to him. Noivern looked at it and then at her suspiciously.

"It's okay," Iris encouraged. "It's sweet. You'll like it."

He remained unsure. He sniffed at the berry in her hand and cast one last skeptical glance at his new trainer before taking the whole fruit into his mouth, tearing into the soft, pink flesh with his teeth. The berry's juices dribbled down his chin and past the healing gash in his neck, and his changing expression showed he liked the taste. Now with no hesitation, he reached for the other berry in Iris's left hand, quickly devouring that one too. Iris laughed and rubbed his snout affectionately.

"See? I told you that you would like it..."

The smell of breakfast carried her to Cilan next. He was further central to their makeshift camp and therefore blissfully unaware of the conflict between their Pokémon. But, Iris decided not to bother him with the details as she settled cross-legged on a patch of grass next to a low-burning fire, over which their meal cooked.

"Good morning," Cilan greeted her with a smile when she arrived.

"Morning," Iris replied. She leaned closer to the pot, trying to catch a glimpse of their food. "What's on the menu?"

"A Pecha-spice breakfast soup," Cilan answered. He stirred the ladle through the broth for a couple rounds before retrieving a bowl and filling it. "Pansage found a tree growing nearby." Iris's lips twitched into a weak smile.

"I noticed," she said as he handed her the bowl and a spoon. "Thanks."

Iris dipped into the soup and brought the first spoonful to her lips, blowing the steam off the top before indulging in her first taste. It was thick, sweet, piquant, and, of course, delicious; she would not have expected anything else from Cilan's cooking. Yet, even as she enjoyed her complimentary meal, her mind began to wander into last night's dream, and Cilan noticed the distraction in her eyes. He cleared his throat to speak, snapping her out of her trance.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," he began tentatively.

"Mhm?" Iris hummed, indicating he had managed to gain her attention.

"We're less than two miles away from Nimbasa City," Cilan went on. "One of the campuses for the Pokémon Connoisseur Association is located near the heart of the city. Gerard Poltiere is the President of the PCA and a former professor of mine, and I've been thinking I ought to go see him."

"For how long?" Iris asked.

"Oh, just a quick visit," Cilan assured her. "We'll be back on the road in the early afternoon.

Iris pressed her lips together, hesitating. She didn’t want to head into the city, but she also didn’t want to separate, so she sighed, "Okay. Fine."

"Are you sure?" Cilan immediately sensed her reluctance.

" Yes , I'm sure," Iris asserted. "You should see your professor."

Cilan was unconvinced and a twinge guilty at having brought it up; Iris still refused to tell him what she planned on doing, but there was an urgency in everything she did, and he didn't doubt she saw this detour as a setback. Still, he thanked her, and she nodded to him but said nothing further. 

It wasn't long before Cilan could feel her growing distant again; he had no idea where her mind might be, except that it certainly wasn't with him.

"Iris?" he inquired, and she snapped her head toward him again. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, why?" Her tone made it sound like he was inventing all her behaviors in his head.

"You seem a bit... off this morning," Cilan said carefully. Iris seemed to understand what he meant then.

"I just had a weird dream," she mumbled. "That's all."

Burgundy craned her neck, looking hopefully at the flouncy waitress who appeared to be coming their—her and Georgia's—way, but she passed by without a glance. Burgundy glowered, and her eyes tried to burrow into the back of the waitress's neck as she attended to other customers in the busy breakfast diner, as if she would be able to feel the resentment in it. Yet, when the waitress finished chatting with the other patrons, she wordlessly passed by again, and Burgundy sunk into her chair with a groan.

"If our server could come back with the bill in the next 10 years, that would be fantastique ," she grumbled, to which Georgia craned an eyebrow.

"What's got you in such hurry?" she asked dryly.

"Today's the Exchange," Burgundy answered as if it were obvious.

"The what ?"

"The Exchange," Burgundy repeated. "Every month, the PCA offers its students the chance to transfer their Pokémon between campuses for a blind evaluation—" She stopped and, seeing Georgia's blank stare, clarified, "—that is, an evaluation without the trainer—and there are people saying that one of the S-Class cohorts at the Striaton are participating this time, so I want in on it."

Georgia appeared oddly skeptical. She folded her arms on the table and asked, "So, how many of your Pokémon are you sending?"

"All of them.” 

Georgia let out a disbelieving laugh in response. "Is it even a guarantee they'll be seen by these S-Class students?" 

"N-No," Burgundy admitted. "I can request they be sent to the Striaton campus but... that's exactly why I have to send all of mine! It'll increase the chances, and if just one of my Pokémon were seen by someone in that cohort..." She briefly trailed off; the dramatic ache in her voice was evident, but Georgia's expression didn't change. Burgundy continued, "They're not fully certified S-Class Connoisseurs yet , but they're still top-notch, and do you know how expensive it can be to get an S-Class evaluation?"

"Beyond what you can afford, I'm sure.”

" Oui ," Burgundy affirmed shortly. "That's why I've got to try." A pause. "Hey, you know, it's not uncommon for connoisseurs to bring in their friends' Pokémon for the Exchange. Maybe you would like for me to take in Beartic for you, or perhaps Bisharp... ?"

"Ah-ha, no ," Georgia immediately refused. "I am not putting my Pokémon through a machine and shooting them off to a city that's more than 100 miles away. Especially not during these times." Burgundy looked at her incredulously.

"'These times'?" she repeated as if offended. "You know, I've done this before. They'll be back tomorrow afternoon at the latest."

Georgia opened her mouth to reply, but there was a hitch in her voice, a hesitation, before she said, "Well, I'm not going to be here tomorrow afternoon."

"Why not?" Burgundy demanded, both confused and irritated. Georgia initially remained silent however, thickening the air between them, causing the frustrated features in Burgundy's expression to fade. She realized there was something serious on Georgia's mind, and she inclined her head toward her friend, imploring that she give the answer.

Burgundy didn't know what to expect—but it certainly wasn't Georgia discreetly raising her index fingers into the shape of a T with three beats against her nail. Burgundy's breath caught.

"... Are you serious?" she managed after a moment.

"Completely." Georgia dropped her hands again. She didn't want anyone else in the restaurant to see.

"Is that why you wanted to have breakfast with me today?" Burgundy asked quietly. "So you could say goodbye?"

"No, actually," Georgia answered in a matter-of-fact manner. "I wanted breakfast so I could ask you to come with me."

Burgundy's somber disposition evaporated instantly, and she looked incredulous again. "Y-You want me to join the—" She was pointing to herself, but she wouldn't finish that sentence; she wouldn't say the words aloud.

"Yes," Georgia said bluntly.

Burgundy was so bewildered she didn't notice the waitress finally returning to their table to drop of the check. She jolted upon seeing her, and the waitress merely smiled and asked if there was anything else she could do for either of them. Burgundy couldn't answer, so Georgia dismissed her with an assurance that they were fine, and the waitress left with thanks for their patronage. It was then that Burgundy managed to snap out of her daze, and she leaned closer to Georgia, hissing, "You've completely lost your mind."

"Oh, yeah, I'm the crazy one," Georgia snapped in an equally low voice. "At least I'm not in denial." Burgundy was visibly taken aback—and insulted—by the accusation.

"I'm not in—I'm just—" Burgundy quickly faltered seeing Georgia's expression, and suddenly, she realized Georgia really was serious not only about leaving, but about her coming. Burgundy swallowed as the proposition sunk into her, and a knot formed in her stomach. Georgia's gaze demanded an answer though, and Burgundy inhaled shakily before answering, "I'm... I'm so close to my A-rank. Classes have been going really well this semester, and things are just... good right now." She shook her head conclusively. "I don't want to leave it."

Georgia's features shaded with both disappointment and disapproval.

"Burgundy, none of that is going to matter in a month," she persisted. "It might not even matter tomorrow."

"You're springing a lot on me all at once," Burgundy quickly retorted.

"Sorry," Georgia shot back sharply. "Would you have rather I never asked? That I just left?" She snapped up her bag and slapped some money on the table before rising to her feet. "I've already made up my mind. I'm leaving tomorrow morning. Let me know if you're coming or not before then."

She stomped away, and Burgundy opened her mouth to call out to her, but the words were stuck in her throat. Georgia was gone, and Burgundy slumped into her seat, staring ruefully at nothing in particular. Guilt seeped into her conscience, and she began to second-guess herself; maybe she hadn't given Georgia's proposal enough consideration, but then again, Georgia hadn't given her much time to consider it...

Burgundy reached into her purse, deciding to call Georgia and apologize. Yet, her Chatot—the last app she had used—immediately popped up on her screen and refreshed the feed. A Chat from The Unovan Tribune appeared at the top: "2 women found dead with evidence of sexual assault outside Driftveil."

Burgundy couldn't bear to click on the link. She set the phone face-down on her table.

"Here we are!" Cilan flourished, gesturing toward a large, white building, the Neoclassical architecture of which caused it to stand out among the far more modern Nimbasa City. Iris, who was several paces behind, didn't stop to take in the sight quite like Cilan would've hoped, but the twitch in her eyebrows suggested she was at least impressed with the enormity.

"It's nice," she acknowledged evenly. And it was: Even though the construction sharply contrasted that of the rest of the city, it would be too much to say it was "misplaced"; it was a genuinely nice building, and Iris might have been more excited if she cared at all about the aesthetics of buildings, like how Cilan apparently did. Cilan smiled at her once they met again and started to head up the long, stony steps with her in tow.

"I've never brought you to one of the PCA campuses, have I?" he asked, casting her a quick glance over her shoulder.

"Nope." Iris shook his head.

"Well, it's really something else," Cilan went on, passing by the row of Ionic columns. "I should give you a tour."

"Aw, I'd love to, but..." Iris started, her voice becoming thick with sarcasm, as they reached the top of the stairs and he held open one of the glass-pane doors for her. "Well, while I obviously have nothing important to do, I couldn't possibly keep you from the Truth Seekers." Cilan immediately tensed up at the public mention of the group.

"Not so loud," he hushed her, his eyes shifting toward a group of other students heading inside. "Point taken, though."

The interior was even more elaborately decorated than outside. Here, Iris stopped, her breath catching as her eyes rose toward the fresco on the high ceiling. It was a fantastic scene depicting what Iris guessed was the end of the Great Unovan War. She could immediately identify Reshiram and Zekrom with artistic renditions of the Hero of Truth and Hero of Ideals, yet it was what stood central to the painting that captured her attention. It was the Aboriginal Dragon, but its form was crumbling in the division of its soul, leaving behind the yellow-eyed shell of its former self: Kyurem.

"It's splendid, isn't it?" Cilan prodded after a moment. "There's such a beautiful sense of antiquity in it. The austere colors and linear design really emphasize the gravity of the moment."

"Yeah," Iris agreed, nodding. It was an underwhelming response, but there was sincerity in her tone.

"It's a little more than 260 years old," Cilan added. "It's as old as the building, which is older than modern Unova itself."

"I didn't realize the PCA had been around that long," Iris admitted.

"Well, it's complicated," Cilan conceded, and Iris sucked in her breath and sighed. Here we go, she thought to herself miserably. She hadn’t meant to set off one of his encyclopedic rants, but after years of friendship, she recognized when it was coming from his starry-eyed expression alone.

"The profession originated in the Union de Pokémon Sommeliers, which was founded in Kalos in 1907, but the Unovan charter—the Pokémon Connoisseur Association—wasn't established until 1954. This building was previously the Vero Albinus College of Pokémon Anthrozoology as part of Nimbasa University, the fifth-oldest university in Unova, but it's now home to the PCA's Nimbasa campus." He paused before appending, "Nimbasa University was the PCA's first partnering institution."

"Fascinating," Iris said flatly before he could go on any further.

Cilan let out a flustered chuckle. “Too much?”

“Maybe a little.” 

“I’ll save the lesson for another day then. Come on.” He led her toward the elevators. Cilan pressed the button to head up and waited alongside her. Only one person—a pale, red-haired male in a gray jacket—was inside when the doors slid open, and he brusquely moved past Cilan and Iris, accidentally bumping into her shoulder as he did.

"Oh, sorry," Iris said upon the collision, but he only gave her a strangely cold look before moving on. She raised an eyebrow and exchanged a quick, vexed glance with Cilan before shrugging it off and stepping into the elevator with him.

"So what's so great about this—" Iris started, but she stopped short, grasping for the name.

"—Gerard Poltiere," Cilan provided it as he pressed the button to the sixth floor.

"Yeah. What's so great about this Gerard Poltiere anyway?" she asked him. "Why did you want to see him so much?"

"Well..." Cilan began, standing back as the elevator began to ascend, "... aside from being the president of the PCA, he's an absolutely brilliant mind in the profession." He hesitated before adding, "He's been a sort of mentor to me—taught me everything I know."

"Including how to be annoying?" Iris teased.

"That was already a part of the package, I'm afraid," Cilan played along with a smile.

The doors opened again. Cilan stepped forward and took a left, gesturing for Iris to follow. A set of white-framed double doors were at the end of the hallway, and when Cilan pushed them open, Iris found herself meeting an aging, round-faced receptionist typing away at her computer.

"Good morning, Cilan." She beamed upon seeing him. Cilan had evidently been there a number of times.

"Morning, Mrs. Dean," Cilan greeted, equally pleasant.

"I'm presuming you're here to speak with Mr. Poltiere?" she asked. Her eyes started to drift behind him, now noticing Iris. There was a trace of mistrust in her gaze; Iris quickly felt the underlying message that she didn't belong there and retreated further behind Cilan.

"I am, if he's available." Cilan nodded. Noticing Mrs. Dean's wary stare, he clarified, "She's with me." Mrs. Dean's gaze fell away from Iris at this remark.

"Ah. Go right inside." She gestured toward the door on her right. "He's still in his office."

"Thank you." Cilan nodded to her before gently pulling Iris along. He carefully turned the handle and peered inside, before swinging the door fully open and ushering Iris in with him. A pair of wizened dark eyes rose over a pair of golden spectacles and lit up at the sight of who had come to visit.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise." Gerard Poltiere stood with a wrinkled, courtly smile and rounded his oak desk to greet Cilan. Iris side-stepped away from the two men, giving them full access to each other.

"I'm sorry to drop in on you so suddenly, sir," Cilan apologized.

"Nonsense, you're always welcome," Poltiere dismissed. His eyes turned toward Iris next with a gaze reminiscent of his own receptionist's. "And who might this be?"

"Ah, this is Iris," Cilan introduced, reaching out and lightly touching the back of her shoulder. "She and I are traveling together."

Iris would have rather not been acknowledged. The only reason she came upstairs was to keep Cilan on schedule. He was prone to chat for hours if she wasn’t there to tap on his wristwatch for him. Still, she moved forward under Cilan's gentle persuasion to meet Poltiere's extended hand. "Hi," she said, shaking it.

Poltiere flicked his gaze back and forth between the two trainers, apparently attempting to gain a read on the nature of their relationship.

"I see. It's nice to meet you, Ms. Iris." Poltiere drew away. "Are you two here for the Exchange?"

"No, actually," Cilan corrected. "I just came to visit you."

"Well, I'm on my way downstairs to it." Poltiere retrieved his suit jacket, and this abruptly struck Iris as funny, and she almost laughed: It was one of the most pompous things she had ever seen, wearing a thick, stuffy suit jacket when summer was upon them, though she supposed she would have expected nothing less of the President for the PCA. She managed to hold her tongue though, and Poltiere gestured toward them, saying, "Come, walk with me," as he headed out the door.

Iris fell behind as they returned to the elevators, managing to keep a slight distance between her and Poltiere and Cilan as they descended a couple floors. Poltiere struck up a conversation with Cilan, asking how his brothers were doing, and Iris's attention faded.

The doors opened, and they began to proceed down another hallway that featured a bright red velvet rug that extended the full length of the room. A row of ceiling-high, white-pane windows with curtains to match were also a part of the grandiose interior design, and it reminded Iris of the stately academy she attended in Opelucid as a child, except twice as pretentious.

A row of various marble busts lined the rug, between every beam of light falling from the windows. Iris meandered toward them, furthering the separation between herself and the others, to inspect them. The first bust, according to the gold plaque below it, depicted Degory Nimbasa, the first president of the local university for which it and the city was named. The second Iris found featured Vero Albinus, the "Solarian explorer who discovered Unova." She frowned and moved on.

"So, have you signed up for your classes next semester?" Poltiere inquired of Cilan, transitioning into a new topic. "I imagine you're well on your way to earning your S-Class certification."

"Ah, I—" Cilan hesitated. "I-I haven't looked at the course catalogue yet, actually."

"Why's that?" Poltiere raised an eyebrow, but there was an anticipative glint in his eyes that suggested he already knew the answer.

"I was planning on doing so when I returned to Striaton City, but..." Cilan began tentatively, but he floundered, wondering how to approach his confession.

"But you're joining the Truth Seekers," Poltiere finished for him, catching Cilan by surprise. "You've come for closure."

"... How did you know?" Cilan asked, confounded—for more reasons than one. It was shocking enough that Poltiere had managed to so quickly identify the reason for Cilan's visitation, but for him to so brazenly name the group aloud was entirely different, even if they were alone in the hallway. He could expect Iris to be bold, but not his amenable mentor.

"Enrollment is dropping in the PCA," Poltiere said plainly. "It's not difficult to guess why. Are Cress and Chili leaving as well?"

"I... haven't brought it up to them yet," Cilan admitted, "so nothing is truly definite."

"Well, I certainly hope they talk you out of it."

"Excuse me?" Cilan was as taken aback as before, but Poltiere didn't elaborate. Instead, he turned an eye toward the lingering Iris, who was still exploring the row of busts. Cilan pressed his lips into a hard line and looked toward her, too, unsure what was on the president's mind.

"I must say, she's not the type of girl I would have imagined for you," Poltiere mused after a moment. "A bit on the younger side, wouldn't you think?" Cilan was initially startled at the implication. It hadn't occurred to him that someone might perceive them as a couple, and Cilan might have wondered more deeply about what had given Poltiere that impression if he hadn't grown flustered.

"Oh, it's—" Cilan laughed nervously. "It's nothing like that. Iris and I have been friends for a long time. And, she might not look it, but she's actually 17."

"Ah. My apologies." Poltiere faced Cilan again. "Is she joining the Truth Seekers with you?"

"No." Cilan shook his head before glancing at her again. "Iris kind of marches to her own—" Iris nearly knocked over a bust of Théophile Blanc, a famous Kalosian S-Class, and Cilan winced. "—beat."

Poltiere raised a judgmental brow.

"I can see that," he said evenly. Then, as Iris was resetting the bust on its pedestal, he called out to her, "Say, young lady—Iris, was it?"

Iris snapped her head toward him, bewildered and possibly embarrassed at having been seen. She shuffled away from the head of Blanc and affirmed, "That's me."

"Come over here." He gestured toward her. Iris stood, unmoved, for a moment; she had half-convinced herself Poltiere was about to chastise her like a child, and her gaze moved toward Cilan, looking for help. The uncertainty of his expression did nothing to reassure her, and she let out a short breath before finally going ahead to meet the two men.

"It's my understanding you're not joining the Truth Seekers with Cilan here," Poltiere said, gesturing toward the younger connoisseur. This immediately drew a frustrated, disbelieving look out of Iris, directed at Cilan, who flinched in response. He knew how it must have appeared to her: That he was trying to use Poltiere to somehow sway her into joining with him.

"That's... true..." Iris said cautiously.

"Why is that?" Poltiere asked.

"I have my reasons, but I don't have to justify them to a stranger.” By then, Cilan was regretting having come into the city, but Poltiere only laughed, which managed to surprise both of the youth.

"Well, you certainly have a voltaic effect," Poltiere commended. "There's no need to be sharp with me, though. I agree with you."

Iris stared.

"What?" she eventually asked, confused

"Sir—" Cilan implored Poltiere, wanting him to drop the issue, but Poltiere cut him off again.

"We are of the same opinion: Joining the Truth Seekers would be a mistake," he avowed, but Iris remained wary.

"You don't like them either?" she inquired. She was admittedly interested in what he had to say; she had never met a person outside the Village of Dragons with an expressed distaste for the Truth Seekers. Poltiere nodded to her slowly before looking toward one of the windows.

"The war is constructed," he said, and Iris drew back; Cilan appeared equally uneasy. Poltiere continued, "It sells the papers, garners higher ratings, gives you more column inches. The Truth Seekers are engaged in a misguided effort. They're responding to a breed of radicalism that has no ground on which to stand. The media has glorified the power of the radicals, though, and therefore romanticized the efforts of the Truth Seekers."

Iris was thoroughly unimpressed.

"You think Team Plasma isn't a threat?" she asked; there was a sharp, grated edge in her tone.

"I think their idealism is so ludicrous that their 'activism' will ultimately go nowhere," Poltiere candidly answered. Iris's gaze narrowed with bitter contempt, and her jaw clenched. Cilan held his breath while he inwardly groped for a resolution.

"We do not have the same opinion," she spat. She jerked her head toward Cilan. "I need to go. I'll meet you outside." She spun on her heel and stalked back toward the elevators.

"Iris!" Cilan called out to her worriedly, but she disappeared through the doors. He sucked in his breath, then addressed Poltiere again, saying, "I'm sorry, she—"

"—marches to her own beat," Poltiere finished with a curt nod.

Burgundy was resisting the urge—rather, the bad habit—to chew on the end of her pen as she filled out the last of the four transfer forms she had acquired for the Exchange. The technician working the Pokémon Transfer machine had been surprised when Burgundy requested that many forms—two were typical, and some did three—but she was insistent. The tech was eventually obliged but warned Burgundy sending so many would have her busy all day.

There was the catch: For every Pokémon she sent, she would need to perform a blind evaluation on someone else's Pokémon. Not that she terribly minded. It was good practice, albeit difficult. The lower-ranking connoisseurs often received help from older ones, but Burgundy had always been too prideful to accept any offers.

Burgundy's eyes drifted away from her form, toward the counter again. She had found she was having trouble keeping focused; her mind kept slipping back to Georgia and her offer, and Burgundy knew if she finished her forms and sent her Pokémon away, she'd be finalizing her decision. Once she was locked into the Exchange, she would be fixed to Nimbasa City until her Pokémon were sent back, and Georgia was leaving for Castelia in the morning.

Burgundy signed her name at the bottom of the form and stood up.

"All ready?" the technician inquired when she reached the counter.

"Yes." Burgundy laid all four forms on the counter and reached into her bag to pull out all four of her Poké Balls: one for Samurott, one for Sawsbuck, one for Stoutland, and one for Darmanitan.

"All right." The tech nodded, taking her Pokémon. He checked off all of her forms and circled the unique number at the top of every right-hand corner. He then peeled four white, circular stickers from a roll, stuck them onto the red head of each Poké Ball, and copied down the corresponding number onto the sticker in permanent marker. He copied the same numbers onto four square cards and handed them to Burgundy, saying, "Make sure you hold onto these. You'll need your trainer card and your Pokémon's numbers to pick them up."

"Of course," Burgundy said quickly. "I've done this before."

The technician took all four of her Pokémon, slid open the transparent shelf on the Pokémon transfer, and laid the first Poké Ball into the designated circular pit. He closed the shelf again and started entering a string of numbers—Burgundy realized it was the code for the Opelucid campus—using the keypad.

"W-Wait," Burgundy called out to him before he could go any further. "Could I ask they all be sent to the Striaton campus?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder, raised a questioning eyebrow, but shrugged it off.

"I suppose," he said. He cleared the Opelucid code, entered the one for Striaton, and pressed send. The Poké Ball inside the shelf immaterialized and disappeared. Burgundy eagerly watched this process repeat itself four times until all of her Pokémon were sent, and she fell back with a smile.

The technician turned to direct her down the hallway to where she would perform her blind evaluations, but a sudden, upstairs blast that shook the whole floor and left Burgundy's ears ringing overpowered his words. The fire alarm blared immediately afterward and was accompanied by several panicked screams.

"W-What was that?" Burgundy stammered, clinging to the edge of the counter after nearly losing her balance. She naïvely added, "A fire drill during the Exchange?"

"This is no drill," the technician breathed, coming out from behind the counter. "We would’ve known in advance."

Iris's mind was still reeling.

She had been seething on the way back down the elevator, incensed for a number of reasons: Poltiere's ignorance, the suspension of travel, the loss of her own temper, the stupid row of busts, but above all, that Cilan had idly stood by through the entire ordeal. There was a fraction of her—a more reasonable half—that told her she was being irrational, that she wasn't being fair to Cilan. He had been placed into a difficult situation and was himself patronized by his own mentor; even so, Iris wasn't quite willing to let go of her anger yet.

Until she heard the blast.

She had just stepped out of the elevator on the first floor when the explosion—if that was what it was—shook the building. With a sharp breath, she stumbled toward the wall and threw her head toward the ceiling, wondering what had happened. The fire alarm went off.

Chaos among those in the lobby ensued. A tour group dispersed, employees left their posts, and students on their way to class were now headed straight for the doors. The hysteria affected Iris, too, but instead of running toward the exit like everyone else, like how she was supposed to do, her terror rose in her throat in the form of a name: "Cilan!"

She had no idea what had happened, but it sounded bad, and he was still upstairs. She sprinted back toward the elevators and fervently pressed one of the buttons to go up, but it wouldn't respond; it had automatically shut off with the fire alarm system. She fell back and drew in a shaky breath, trying to think straight. She needed another option. Stairs.

She quickly found them, because it wasn't long before people from the second floor started coming through the stairwell doors. She pushed against oncoming the crowd with determination, but a pair of hands—stranger's hands—grabbed her shoulders, stopping her ascent before she could reach the third step. He was an older male, a professor probably.

"Are you out of your mind, young lady?" he chastised her. "The exit is the other way!"

"There could be people or Pokémon in trouble up there," Iris retorted, pushing his hands off her.

"The firemen and rescue team will get them," he persisted, and he pressed her forward. Iris resigned to her more reasonable senses and went along with him, but then there was a voice—a real voice, she was certain—crying for help. She tried to turn again and head toward it, but she was pushed back once more and swept into the mob headed toward the exit.

By the time Burgundy had made it the stairwell, she could smell the smoke. It was from a higher floor, she was certain, but the scent was there, and it confirmed a terrible reality: Whatever had happened, it had caused the building to catch fire. She pulled up the collar of her shirt.

The noxious fumes became less pronounced the further she descended however, and there was a massive sense of relief when she reached the first floor and saw the entrance doors; she would be okay. The clutch of anxiety loosened when she made it outside and was able to breathe her own air again; there were only two stairwells, and the one she had taken, at least, had been packed.

Once she made it past the columns and to the bottom of the outdoor steps, she turned her head to see the flames and black plume of smoke emerging from the fifth floor. It was the floor above her; she knew some of the classrooms there were being used for blind evaluations, and it chilled her to think if she had finished her forms earlier, she could have been sent to one of those rooms.

"Burgundy!" Burgundy was spun suddenly into a tight embrace. She was bewildered by the gesture, and it wasn't until her company pulled back and cupped her face that she saw it was Georgia. "Are you okay?! Oh Arceus, I'm glad you're out."

Burgundy remained dazed for a moment, confused why Georgia was there, but was eventually able to regather herself and reply.

"I'm fine," she answered, her hands falling upon Georgia's. "How'd you know?" Her mind was still so jumbled that she couldn't word herself in quite the right way, but Georgia seemed to understand anyway.

"I saw it all over my Chatot feed," she said, pulling back. Her eyes then moved past Burgundy, to something that was behind her. "I saw— that —all over my Chatot feed."

Burgundy wasn't entirely clear on what Georgia meant until she turned around and saw what her friend was pointing at. Her breath caught. On the front of the building, in bright blue paint dripping from a hasty job, read the statement, "LIBERATION FOR ALL POKÉMON." It was punctuated by a distinct lightning bolt.

"How did anyone even—" Burgundy began breathlessly. "How did no one see them?"

Her question went unanswered, as one brunette from the crowd sprung forward and yelled back to the masses, "If any one of you has a Water-type Pokémon, come help until the fire department arrives!" She enlarged the Poké Ball in her hand and called out a Samurott before breaking toward the flames with several other trainers in tow.

"You—" Georgia started, jerking her head toward Burgundy. "You have a Samurott, too; go help." Burgundy sucked in her breath upon his order though, feeling her stomach knot.

"N-Not anymore," she said, her voice wavering. "I sent him to Striaton City." Georgia pressed her lips into a hard line and looked at Burgundy with a stiff, disappointed expression, and Burgundy’s heart fell.

"Hey!" Georgia pricked up when a hand grabbed her shoulder and she turned to see, much to her shock, Iris behind her. "What's going on?"

Georgia stared at her blankly for a moment before letting out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, saying, "Well, I guess it's a small world after all."

"You didn't answer my question," Iris snapped, annoyed Georgia was laughing now.

"A fire, obviously," Burgundy broke in. She was grasping for her usual brusque disposition, but she was clearly still shaken.

"A terrorist attack," Georgia said more bluntly. She was willing to be straightforward, to explicitly name what it was, and it rattled both Iris and Burgundy. Seeing or reading about such attacks in the news was one thing; experiencing it yourself was another entirely, and the moment became scarily surreal.

Iris, recovering, wetted her lips and asked, "Is the rescue team here yet?"

"The firefighters aren't even here yet," Georgia replied shortly, which bothered Iris even further.

"Have you seen Cilan?" she pressed. The edge of desperation in her voice was growing, but she hadn't lost her cool yet.

" He's here?" Burgundy asked incredulously, though she was unable to work up any sense of disgust or displeasure in her tone.

"He was on the fourth floor," Iris said. Her concern was rapidly becoming more evident.

"I was on the fourth floor, so he's probably around here somewhere," Burgundy assured her. Iris remained unsatisfied by this response. She sucked in her breath and whipped her head back toward the building, and the bright blue words proclaiming liberation seared themselves into her mind.

( Help me... Help me… )

The voice Iris had heard inside returned, and she clutched her head as if it were aching. She had heard its echo multiple times since leaving the building, and she had tried convincing herself she was so consumed with worry that she had invented it herself. Yet, this time, she was able to sort out the language in her mind, and she realized it was real.

"You okay there?" Georgia asked. Iris didn't answer. She lifted her eyes to the building and, without warning, took off toward the entrance.

"Wait!" Georgia called after her. " Wait , where are you going?!"

They were some of the last to reach the first floor, Cilan was sure. The thickening, ruinous air had Poltiere coughing as they headed down the last few steps, with Cilan supporting him nearly all the way. Poltiere's age had showed itself plainly during their descent; he was an elderly man, and while in relatively good health, tackling several flights of stairs required far more effort now than it did when he was twenty years younger.

Outside, Cilan let Poltiere pause to gasp in the fresher air. The younger connoisseur, his hand supporting his mentor's shoulder, leaned closer to Poltiere and worriedly asked, "Are you okay sir?"

Poltiere didn't respond. He rubbed his eyes—now red, irritated by the smoke—and glanced back at the building behind him. In horror, he read the warning message spray painted on the front and breathed, "What—What is this?"

Cilan looked, too, and felt himself briefly go rigid with fear—a kind of fear that preyed upon the securities that once comfortably resided inside his own mind, securities which ensured unappreciated luxuries like normalcy, routine, and familiarity. They were stripped of him in that instant, and if he didn't believe his life would be normal again before, he certainly didn't believe it then.

The firemen and Pokémon Rescue Team had arrived. They hurried past Cilan and Poltiere, into the furnace.

"W-We should step away from the building," Cilan suggested with a slight stammer, pulling Poltiere down the steps with him. Poltiere had nothing to say; he was distraught by then, his sense of normality having been shattered, too. Cilan turned his head and scanned the crowd, his thoughts swinging toward his next source of dread. He perked up when he saw several familiar faces among the throng of students and professors and horrified bystanders, and he left Poltiere's side to see them.

"Georgia, Burgundy!" he anxiously called. "Have you seen Iris?"

" There you are." Burgundy, strangely, sounded half-relieved to see him. "Yeah, we saw her."

"Oh, thank goodn—" Relief began to settle within Cilan, until Burgundy cut him off.

"—She ran back inside.”

"She what ?!" Cilan blanched.

"She headed back inside," Burgundy repeated. Panic seized her for a moment, seeing the color drain from his face. It was an expression she wouldn't forget for a while, to see Cilan, normally so calm and collected, look so utterly terrified.

"Oh Mew," he breathed, looking back toward the building. His steps started slow, steady, but his uncertain pace eventually increased to a run, and he was headed back up the steps.

"What?! Not you, too—" Georgia tried to yell after him, but he had already disappeared. She fell back, shaking her head incredulously. "Arceus, he's no better than Iris!"

Cilan coughed immediately upon re-entering the lobby, and he pressed his hand to his mouth, trying to suppress it. His more logical senses were screaming that this was a wildly irresponsible charge, but he couldn't bear the thought of letting Iris go alone at whatever insane mission she had assigned herself, so he suppressed those senses, too, before bolting for the stairs—the set he and Poltiere hadn't taken.

He called for her several times, and about midway up the second flight, he heard a set of light feet above. The hope that it was Iris possessed him, and he stopped with a protective hand cupped over his mouth and waited. Yet, what passed him was a quick-footed Vaporeon, and on her tail was one of the men from the Pokémon Rescue Team, carrying an injured Patrat.

"Hey, you're not—" the rescuer started, but he stopped short when he realized he knew the other man. "Cilan?!"

"Virgil!" Cilan exclaimed. It had taken a moment to identify him under the heavy gear, but Cilan was certain: This was definitely Virgil, one of his and Iris's and Ash's acquaintances from when they traveled together five years earlier.

"Cilan, you're not properly equipped to handle this situation," Virgil reproved him, not out of spite, but serious concern. "It's dangerous. You need to leave."

"Virgil, Iris is in here," Cilan desperately appealed to him.

"Iris is—" He stopped and pressed his lips together, thinking—but only for a moment. "Okay. You take this Patrat and get out. I'll go find her."

"Virgil—" Cilan remained uncertain as the Patrat was passed onto him, but Virgil wouldn't relent.

"—Go!" he ordered. "I'll take care of it." He whistled for Vaporeon and, together, they ran back up the stairs. Cilan let out a shaky breath before turning and heading back down.

( Help me... Help me… )

Iris had left the stairwell and was on her hands and knees, crawling toward the voice she was now certain was calling for her. She had first checked the fourth floor, calling for Cilan several times, but seeing as he wasn't there, she ditched those efforts with the prayer he made it out and went up a level. The fifth floor was the site of the blast, and it was there that the voice cried out to her.

Yet, it was also there that she found the fire and could feel its dire heat; her vision had blurred several times from its effects, and she viciously rubbed at her eyes a number of times. Her throat and chest were burning, too, and she had pulled the collar of her shirt up to her mouth, trying to filter out the smoke in the air she breathed.

The voice, once a distant, faint cry, was now much louder and much more desperate. Iris knew she was close. One of the classroom doors was cracked open, and Iris sidled up to it, pressing it further open. She could hear him clearly; he had to be in there.

The room appeared empty. There were multiple tables set up with numbers and clipboards and pens, and Iris guessed students were doing evaluations there before fleeing. One of the white tablecloths near the right end of the room had caught fire and spread to other tables; the flames had grown so tall in some places that they licked the ceiling. Iris swallowed all her fears and proceeded forward, still crawling.

( Help me... Help us… )

"I'm here!" Iris yelled out. "Where are you?!"

Her mouth was dry, and it hurt to speak. Strangely, it was then that Iris remembered a poem—she didn't know where she had heard it or why she had even heard it; she never read poetry on her own—but it was a poem, written by a Unovan author, about the end of the world in fire or ice. Death was inevitable, and if the poet had any say in the matter, he’d die by fire. She remembered it now because she had been on the brink of an icy tomb before and was moving toward a fiery one, and she honestly couldn't choose which would be the better way to go.

A whine drew her attention to one of the tables. She scrambled forward and pushed up the white cloth, revealing a Deino—the owner of the voice she had heard—and a Vullaby cowering together.

"There you are," Iris said, relieved. She extended an arm to them, saying, "Come on—I'm here to save you."

A crackle. A portion of the ceiling collapsed, bringing one of the fluorescent lights down with it, and Iris yelped as her left leg was trapped beneath it. She turned and tried to push the debris off her while simultaneously trying to pull her leg out. The rubble shifted slightly, but her hand slipped and she cut her palm on sharp fragments from the light. Iris hissed in pain, and Deino and Vullaby cried worriedly before rushing forward to help push the detritus away.

A click. One of Iris's Poké Balls opened on its own, and Noivern rose to his full stature in a white glow. The light faded, and he looked down upon his trainer with valorous eyes, causing Iris's breath to catch. He thrust his snout into a pocket of space below the fallen ceiling and threw it off his trainer, freeing her. He then extended his wings to their full length and roared as a ring of water emerged from near his feet and burst forward, dousing some of the flames that had started to block their escape.

"Water Pulse," Iris breathed. She had no idea he was capable of such a move. Noivern looked down at her again, and Iris raised a hand to his cheek. "Good boy."

Iris then whipped her head toward the door. Someone was calling her name.

Cilan was nursing the Patrat by himself on the curb, keeping one of the available oxygen masks gently pressed over its mouth. Yet, he would consistently cast anxious glances over his shoulder, back toward the PCA building. The fire department seemed to have finally gained some control over the flames, yet Cilan had seen neither Virgil nor Iris since leaving the forge himself. He was desperately trying not to think the worst, but he was so overwrought with distress that he worried might grow sick there on the curb.

"You're an idiot."

Cilan snapped his head forward again to see Burgundy and Georgia. The former was panting angrily, though her eyes were brimming with terror.

"Have you seen Iris?" he asked, having nothing to say in defense of himself. Her insult wasn't unwarranted. What he had done was undeniably foolish.

"No." Georgia shook her head. Cilan bit his bottom lip.

"One of the rescuers is looking for her," he said as though he were trying to reassure himself. Georgia frowned and looked toward the building again. Something there caught her attention, and she perked up with a quick breath.

"You mean that one?" she said, pointing. Cilan jerked his head back, and sure enough, there was Iris and Virgil heading down the steps with a Deino and Vullaby, respectively, in their arms. Another worker from the rescue team came by and took the Pokémon away for medical treatment, and Virgil followed him.

"Iris!" Cilan scrambled to his feet. An acute relief fell upon his expression; Iris, by contrast, appeared confused upon hearing her name, but even more so when she found herself briefly being suffocated by Cilan. "Oh, thank goodness you're alive," he said. He quickly pulled back, pushing a long, perspired lock of her hair out of her face before demanding, "What were you thinking?!"

The look of shock in her face changed to relief, too. Her lips twitched into a smile that grew into an elated laugh, happy he was okay.

"I heard that Deino crying for help," she replied, her voice a little raspy. Yet, she seemed to have lost half of Cilan's attention; he had pulled further back, looking her over. "I had to go get him. I'm fine, though." Something about Cilan's face showed he disagreed. He drew in a sharp breath and wrapped an arm around her upper frame.

"Iris, you need to sit down over here," he said seriously, trying to guide her toward the curb. Iris gave him an odd look.

"I'm fine, Cilan, really," she insisted, though he still forced her to sit down. He retrieved an oxygen mask connected to one of the nearby tanks and pulled it over her head, but Iris immediately pushed it down off her mouth so she could continue to speak. "Cilan—"

"Burgundy, go find a paramedic," Cilan ordered, turning his head toward her. The connoisseuse nodded with wide eyes and hurried off.

"Cilan, I'm—" Iris started again, annoyed, but Cilan cut her off.

"—Iris." His hands fell to her shoulders, his gaze dead-locked onto hers. The look in his eyes told her something was wrong, but Iris didn't know what—until Georgia spoke.

"Arceus, what happened to your leg?" she asked, aghast. Iris blinked and, for the first time, looked down at herself. What had everyone in such a frenzy, she figured, was the fact her left leg was raw, blistered, a bright red where she was bleeding, and a ghostly white where her skin was falling off. The ceiling, she had forgotten, had actually been on fire when it fell on her.

The adrenaline that had been pumping through her veins and feeding her courage abruptly cut. With it no longer there to obscure the reality of her injury, an excruciating pain scorched her nerves, taking its revenge upon her rash heroism, and Cilan crying out her name was the last thing she heard.

The first sensations Iris felt were those in her right hand. Before she ever fully opened her eyes, she fisted her hand and felt the rutted edges of the gauze wrapped around it. The cut beneath her bandages wasn't deep, but she could feel its sting; yet, such a minor affliction was the least of her concerns, especially when the pain centralized in her leg shot through her whole body again.

Iris regained the entirety of her consciousness suddenly, as if by electricity. She inhaled sharply and let her uninjured hand fall to her burned leg. Her teeth gritted as she tried to regain control of herself, to adjust to the pain. It was only when Iris managed to stabilize herself that she tried to take in her surroundings: white room, white curtains, heart monitor, IV drip. She was in a hospital.

She lolled and lifted her head to the left and saw Cilan next. He was curled up in one of the chairs, eyes closed, head propped up on one of his hands. He had several of the hospital's complimentary magazines in his lap, indicating they had been there for a while. Iris smirked, letting her head fall back into her pillow.

"I thought you were supposed to have permission to watch a lady sleep," she teased. Cilan's eyes fluttered open, and he raised his gaze toward hers. A small smile graced his lips.

"I wasn't watching you," he corrected, straightening himself out. "I was asleep, too."

He pulled his chair away from the wall, moving toward her bedside. His hand fell upon hers, grasping it with a tense consolation, as he asked, "How do you feel?"

"Well, my leg feels great," Iris answered sarcastically.

"You have a second-degree burn. The doctors have been applying a Rawst ointment periodically," Cilan informed her. A pause. "It's fast-acting. You should be completely healed in as few as ten days."

Iris frowned. Ten days might as well have been ten years.

"What happened?" she asked, prompting a strange expression to briefly cross Cilan's face.

"You ran into a burning building to save a Deino," he reminded her.

"I remember that part; I don't remember how I got here," Iris clarified.

"You passed out," Cilan told her simply, now understanding. Iris frowned again. The memory was returning, slowly but surely: Cilan hurrying her to the curb, Burgundy rushing off for medical help, Georgia's horror-struck inquiry... the sight of her own, burned flesh...

"In front of Georgia?" Iris groaned. "That's embarrassing."

"She was worried. We all were," Cilan tried assuring her, Iris shook his words off. She wanted to move on. She felt uncomfortable enough drawing Cilan's sympathies. It was worse thinking Georgia and Burgundy offered theirs, too.

"What about you?" she asked him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Cilan nodded. "Poltiere and I were on the floor below the blast. It took us a while to get out, because I was helping him. He's okay, too, though."

"I don't care about him," Iris said with evident distaste. "I only care about you."

A pregnant pause followed. Cilan lowered his head, his lips pursed; perhaps he was touched, but Iris wouldn't have been able to tell from his unreadable expression. Yet, he weakly patted Iris's hand before looking up at her again and saying gently, though firmly, "What you did was incredibly reckless."

Iris nearly rolled her eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry that I embarrassed you in front of your mentor," she said dryly. "But it's worse, I think, denying there's a problem."

"Come on, you know I don't mean that; you're justified in being upset with Poltiere," Cilan said tacitly, which caught Iris by surprise. She didn't think he would even implicitly acknowledge Poltiere as wrong. Iris suddenly surrendered some of the fragments of anger she hadn't realized she was still holding. Cilan continued, "I meant you going into the burning building."

"Yeah," Iris said flatly, quietly. Yet, she added with a spark, "You know, I actually prefer the word 'brave' instead of 'reckless.' It sounds less patronizing."

"You're taking this too lightly, Iris." Cilan's voice rose as he became more exasperated, but it quickly fell again, and he grew softer. "I was... incredibly scared. You are my—" He raised his other hand, the one that wasn't on hers, as if he was trying to physically grasp the right word. "—closest friend. I don't know what I do without you."

Iris felt her chest tighten. She remembered the fear she had felt herself, for him, when she had first heard the explosion and later when she couldn't find him in the crowd. She remembered his face when they reunited, and Iris realized he had been just as afraid as she was.

Iris turned her hand up so she could grasp his, too.

"I'm sorry I scared you. I was scared for you, too, and I'm not sure what I'd do without you either," she admitted. Yet, a hard thought weighed on her with this confession. Iris swallowed the lump in her throat before adding, with a hitch, "I guess we're going to have to learn, though, because you're joining the Truth Seekers, and I'm not."

Cilan faltered, his eyes briefly closing as he sighed.

"I suppose so," he agreed.

Iris slipped her hand out of his and extended her arms to him, pulling him in for an embrace. Although he promptly fastened his arms around her in reciprocation, he just as quickly pulled one back to cup the edge of her face so he could kiss her temple. He then securely laid his hand on her upper back, closing the space between them once more and letting her rest her face in the crook between her arm and his neck. The contact felt strangely foreign to Iris, even though she had initiated this time: She didn't think she had ever hugged Cilan before that day, and it had, funnily enough, happened twice within a matter of hours. Yet, she—and he, too—especially needed it then with the mutually painful realization that they would inevitably part, and they did not want to.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Iris unraveled her arms from Cilan's neck as they quickly pulled apart. Virgil was standing in the doorway.

"N-No, not at all," Iris said. "Come in."

Virgil smiled weakly, and there remained a modicum of hesitancy in his step as he approached Iris's bedside.

"I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing," he said. "Glad to see you're awake."

"Glad to be awake, I guess. How's that Deino and Vullaby?"

"Doing great," Virgil answered, pleased to at least be able to deliver this scrap of good news. "Their trainers are coming down from Opelucid City to pick them up."

Iris immediately knew there was more. She leaned forward, toward him, cautiously asking, "And the other Pokémon... ?"

It was apparent Virgil had not wanted her to ask, or had hoped Cilan would have already told her. Yet, the connoisseur's gaze averted from both of theirs, making it clear he had said nothing of the matter. So Virgil sucked in his breath.

"Twenty-three Pokémon are unaccounted for," he finally replied. "Seven people are missing, too."

The large number was a despairing blow, and Iris's expression withered with grief. That many missing. Except, they weren't missing, she knew. By then, it was a matter of recovering what had been left behind.

"Those people... those Pokémon..." Iris's voice shook as she spoke. She fell back against her pillow. Suddenly, her heartache grew to anger. "Twenty-three. Twenty-three versus seven. How selfish. How many of those Pokémon were left to burn alive while the people responsible for them got out?"

Cilan was surprised by this bitter question but also disturbed by her point.

"We saved a lot," Virgil tried to comfort her. "You and Cilan both should be proud."

Iris blinked.

"Cilan?" she inquired.

"He carried out a Patrat," Virgil elaborated. Cilan winced as Iris suddenly turned a disbelieving gaze on him.

"So you'll chastise me for running into a burning building to save a Pokémon, but it's totally fine when you do it?" she questioned him. "That's not hypocritical." Cilan briefly tightened his jaw.

"I went in after you," he firmly defended. "You're different."

"You mean to say you think I'm worth more because I'm human," Iris retorted with a huff, and Cilan remained silent. When she realized he wasn't going to reply, she let a low, incredulous growl emerge from the back of her throat as she jerked her head away.

The Nimbasa Pokémon Center was a wreck. Even hours after the attack, dozens of Audino were scrambling around the lobby and in and out of doors with trays of food and potions and other medical necessities; extra Pokémon doctors and nurses from other cities had been called to assist the high volume of patients; there was talk about a shortage of Burn Heal and other treatments; trainers, mostly connoisseurs, were in a frenzy trying to locate their Pokémon, for the transfer machine had presumably been destroyed in the fire, and it was unclear what procedures were in place to regain and return misplaced Pokémon.

Burgundy was among those trainers looking for answers.

Georgia sat alone on a bench in the lobby, watching the chaos around her unfold. She had tried to jump in earlier to help, but quickly learned her lack of medical expertise only meant she was getting in the way, so she pulled back again. Now, instead, she had been half-watching news coverage of the incident through the television mounted on the wall. It had traveled internationally—Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, Kalos, Solaria, Orre, everyone, had heard of the tragedy and seen the gruesome images on air and online.

It should have felt unreal that a calamity of this magnitude could happen in Unova. It didn't though, and that was the worst part. The increases in violence across the country had been such that it had not been a question of if, but when something this terrible would happen. The aspect of it that was unreal was that Georgia had been there to witness it.

Burgundy returned, sinking beside Georgia on the bench with a long sigh. Georgia looked at her expectantly, waiting for whatever news she had to share—presumably bad. Yet, Georgia was surprised when Burgundy actually smiled and revealed, "I found out they're all in Striaton City, safe. I was on hold for a while, but I finally managed to talk to someone on the campus there, and they confirmed my Pokémon were received. They're all being moved to the Pokémon Center to be taken care of in the meantime."

"That's a relief," Georgia breathed. "We'll leave to go get them tomorrow."

Burgundy blinked, confused.

"I thought you were off to join the... you know..." she said.

"It can wait," Georgia dismissed with a wave of her hand. "It's not like you can get to Striaton on your own anyway, because you were an idiot and sent all your Pokémon away."

There was a change in Burgundy's expression; a look of utter, genuine appreciation marked her features, and she might have cried if it weren't for the fact Georgia probably would have made fun of her for it. Burgundy's hands curled in her lap.

"I've made a decision," she declared suddenly, causing Georgia to crane an eyebrow. "I want to join the Truth Seekers with you." Burgundy's brief stint of determination faltered, and she hesitated before appending, "But..."

"But what?" Georgia prodded her. Burgundy's bottom lip quivered as she rapidly became overwrought with anxiety; she stood again and spun around to face Georgia.

"How do we expect to get there? How do we even expect to get to Striaton?" she quickly, almost frantically fired off these questions. "How will we be able to take care of ourselves?"

" Relax. Unlike you, I still have all of my Pokémon," Georgia replied, estranged by her sudden, increasing mania. "I can give you my Sylveon to hold onto in the meantime."

"That's not enough." Burgundy shook her head. "Even with our Pokémon, do you realize what could happen? Do you know what could happen to girls like us traveling alone?" She had said too much, and Georgia grew angry, both out of exasperation and a touch of the infectious fear Burgundy harbored.

"Arceus, calm down Burgundy," Georgia snapped. Burgundy clamped her mouth shut, and Georgia drew in an uncharacteristically shaky breath, smoothing out her nerves before continuing, "Look, if you're that scared... When we were at the hospital, I talked to Cilan for a little bit, and he said he and Iris were on their way to Striaton City before all this happened." Burgundy started to look wary, but Georgia pressed on. "Maybe, if you're willing to swallow your pride, they would be all right with letting us tag along."

"Make sure you apply it over the affected area every eight hours," the doctor instructed, holding out a prescription, Rawst-based ointment toward Iris. "Take over-the-counter painkillers as needed and get plenty of rest."

It was morning again. Nearly a day had passed since the attack on the PCA Nimbasa campus, and Iris was itching to leave. The condition of her leg had improved surprisingly well; the ointment was indeed fast-acting. Still, the doctor had relegated her to a wheelchair for the next step in her recovery process, and it was evident from her expression that she wasn't pleased.

"Got it," Iris said flatly, receiving her prescription. "Thank you."

Cilan could tell she definitely wasn't happy.

He took her out of her room and down the hallway, into one of the elevators. Iris was in such an insufferably bad mood, though, that when the wheelchair jolted as Cilan pushed her through the open elevator doors, she made an audible, irritated noise. As soon as Cilan pressed the button to return to the bottom floor and the doors closed again, Iris abruptly stood up and pushed the wheelchair toward the wall, half-folding it.

"Iris," Cilan chastised.

"What? Not like we can take it with us," she flippantly replied.

"Take it with—" Cilan started incredulously. "Iris, the doctor said you should be resting. We can't travel until you're better."

"I’ll be fine.” The doors opened, and she staggered ahead. Cilan let out a frustrated sigh and followed her.

"You're walking on a limp," he pointed out.

"The limp isn't that bad," she stubbornly retorted.

"Iris—"

"I appreciate the concern," she cut him off, spinning toward him, "but I'm on a tight schedule."

"Where do you need to be so quickly? What are you doing?" Cilan asked, exasperated. It was the first time he had directly asked her where she was journeying toward, and for what purpose she was journeying toward it, since she had first rebuffed him in the Village of Dragons. Yet, she tightened her lips, and Cilan did the same. He realized he wasn't going to be getting a straight answer any time soon, even before she replied.

"It's not where I need to be, it's who I need to come back to," Iris answered with a solemn strain in her voice. Cilan had no idea whom she meant, but his expression showed he was clearly dissatisfied, prompting Iris to demand, "What? What makes you want to stay here longer? Do you want to see Poltiere again or something?"

"No, I'm—" Cilan realized he was speaking in a tone far too harsh for his own taste. He paused, recollected himself, and started again. "I'm not interested in seeing Poltiere again right now. I'm just worried about you."

His willingness to soften disarmed Iris, and she felt a twinge guilty. She was, admittedly, being difficult, and he had reason for concern. Still...

"I know my limits, Cilan," she replied calmly. "We'll take it easy, but I don't want to stop moving."

They were at an impasse. Cilan was watching her, considering her words, but still hesitant to budge on this issue. Iris had glued her feet firmly to the ground, though. Before he could respond, however, the entrance doors to the hospital slid open, and in came a couple of familiar faces.

"Well, look at that," Georgia began wryly, catching sight of Cilan and Iris, "it's just the people we were looking for." Cilan managed to work up a smile and politely greet both her and Burgundy as they met; Iris, on the other hand, remained silent, keeping a wary eye on them.

"How's your leg?" Georgia asked with what sounded like a speck of genuine concern.

"Awesome," Iris answered shortly. "Never been better. I feel like I could walk 100 miles on it." She shot Cilan a pointed glance, and it was hard for him not to look annoyed.

"A simple 'fine' would have sufficed," Georgia grumbled, though she sensed a thick tension between the pair. Nevertheless, she laid a hand on Burgundy's shoulder and pushed her forward. "Well, Burgundy, you're up." Burgundy cast Georgia a disbelieving, irritated look before facing Cilan and Iris again.

"Ah..." Burgundy tentatively started. Under Cilan's and Iris's respective questioning and irked stares, she folded and turned to Georgia again, telling her in a low voice, "This is stupid and humiliating, let's go."

"No," Georgia immediately refused, forcing her to turn toward Cilan and Iris again, "because I know if we leave, then you're going to cry again about how scared you are."

"Is there something you need to ask us?" Cilan civilly prodded. Burgundy pursed her lips, but sucked in her breath.

"I heard you're going to Striaton City," she finally said.

"We are." Cilan nodded.

"So are we." Burgundy gestured to both herself and Georgia. "My Pokémon were transferred there yesterday in the Exchange, and I need to get them. So... if we're, you know, headed in the same direction, then maybe we should, I don't know, go together?" She started to speak so fast that her words crashed into each other, but Cilan, at least, seemed to understand. She couldn't look him in the eye; her face was reddening, her pride aching with embarrassment. She quickly added, "For safety, obviously. There's strength in numbers, right? And it would be good to have someone like—" She didn't want to say it. Still, she raised her hand toward him, mumbling, "—you—someone like—your gender—around."

Cilan drew in an inaudible breath. Iris, who had up until then been unconcerned with their cause, suddenly looked toward Burgundy with wide eyes, realizing just what she was scared of. Burgundy's eyes were turned toward the ground, angry that she had become so vulnerable. Georgia's arms were folded, her weight slung to her left hip, as she watched both Cilan and Iris with stiff anticipation.

"Fine by me," Iris suddenly agreed, but she turned an expectant eye toward Cilan, waiting for his response. He knew what she was doing: She was putting him on the spot, wielding Burgundy and Georgia's predicament to bend him to her will. He resented it, especially because it was working.

He sighed.

"Iris is hurt," Cilan began frankly. "But... I'm all right if you want to travel with us, as long as we keep her wellbeing in mind." Iris appeared vaguely smug. Only Georgia noticed because Burgundy still wouldn't look up.

"Sure," Burgundy mumbled. "That's not... unreasonable."

"Good," Iris said with a click of her tongue. "I hope you're ready to leave now then, because I am." She limped forward, toward the doors. Cilan needed another moment to collect himself, lest his newest companions catch the embers off his crackling frustration. Georgia could feel the heat though, and she did a double-take between him and Iris.

This was going to be an interesting journey.

Chapter Text

Team Plasma wasn’t just good at making people believe in Pokémon liberation; they were good at making people believe that Team Plasma actually believed in it.

And it was hard not to believe they cared about it, at least in some kind of twisted way. Team Plasma used any means necessary to advance its public agenda. The group blazoned its message across buildings; they slathered their symbols onto the bodies of those they claimed were oppressors; they used violence to capture the headlines, and they used passion to capture the hearts of people who would turn against their neighbors.

It might have been a radical concept, but it was accompanied by fiery rhetoric that could sway anyone with a bleeding heart, a conspiratorial head, and a set of ideals for a better Unova: "Pokémon are slaves to the selfish desires of humans!"; "The League and its subsidiaries hold up a system of Pokémon oppression!"; "Champion Alder is a tyrant who condones the injustices against Pokémon!"; "The Truth Seekers are a dog to the League and only seek to create their own convenient truth!"; "All trainers must release their Pokémon; only then will people and Pokémon truly be equal!"

Yet, for every person they recruited, the Truth Seekers recruited another, and another was driven to leave Unova, until there was only the left and the right and no space in between.

Iris hastily pushed open the bathroom stall and, staggering inside, threw down the toilet lid before dropping onto the seat. She reached for the end of her left legging and began to roll it up, emitting a sharp, short hiss when her fingers brushed too roughly against the sensitive skin beneath the day-old bandages.

Ten days had passed since she had left the hospital. Ten days, and the burn on her leg should have been healed. And it might have been, had she folded under Cilan's insistence that they hold off on traveling until her injury had healed. She wasn't willing to give him the satisfaction though—a wounded pride was worse than a wounded leg—and, regardless, she would have chosen to keep traveling even if she knew the cost ahead of time.

She slid her backpack off her shoulder and pushed a long, misplaced lock of hair out of her face after she bent down to unzip the front pocket. She groped for the half-empty tube of Rawst ointment prescribed to her at the hospital and, after pulling it out, clumsily unscrewed the cap so that she accidentally dropped it, and it rolled across the tile. She paid little mind to that, however, as she squeezed out a generous dollop of the medicine onto her finger and pressed it against her reddened skin.

Iris let out a shaky breath and leaned back, letting the ointment take effect. Just a touch was always met with a sharp, burning sensation that cooled into relief, and the pain subsided, at least temporarily. Iris always did this alone. She would be embarrassed if her companions learned of her appetence for the remedy; Cilan because she didn't want to reinforce his condescension about her wellbeing, Georgia and Burgundy because... it was Georgia and Burgundy, and she didn't want to give them any more reason to pity her.

Once the relief had set in, Iris dressed her burn with a fresh set of gauze and retrieved the roaming cap from the floor. She screwed the cap back onto its tube, returned all her tools of medical care to her bag, balled up the old set of gauze, and tossed it into the trash can while on her way out of the bathroom, wearing an expression that gave no hint of her plight.

The small breakfast café, formerly a local hotbed of activity in the a.m., was sparsely populated that summer morning. Much of Striaton City, in fact, was noticeably more bare upon their arrival less than an hour earlier. The exact whereabouts of the city's inhabitants was unknown, but there were several theories forming in the minds of Iris and her companions: Perhaps the residents had retreated into the deteriorating security of their own homes, or perhaps they had—as some news reports would indicate—joined the growing wave of Unovans leaving the country for safer grounds. Maybe they had joined the Truth Seekers or, alternatively, Team Plasma.

The reasons behind the desertion were easier to guess at. The case against staying was growing every day, strengthening with each new incident, until the arguments were stacked so high that any opposing justifications seemed petty in comparison; the truth was, those who did stay were too stubborn or too poor or too paralyzed to leave.

"Thank you," Cilan mumbled as a sleepy waitress refilled the cup of grainy coffee he'd drained within minutes of receiving. His hands were anxious, visibly so, and he kept them at the handle of his mug to avoid rapping against the wooden tabletop and drawing the ire of his company. His breakfast, though—he'd barely touched it, if at all.

He was seated next to a tall glass window, offering him a view of the seasonally-uncharacteristic gray sky. Across the table, huddled together, were Georgia and Burgundy. Georgia's attention was buried in a yellowing copy of a two-day-old newspaper she'd picked up for free, and Burgundy was looking over her shoulder, a better option than having to make small talk with Cilan. Iris joined the table without comment, seating herself beside Cilan. She watched his fingers tap nervously along the the rim of his cup before raising her eyes toward Georgia and Burgundy on the other side. The physical divide between each end of the table gave a generally accurate read of what their journey together over the past ten days had been like.

Georgia suddenly, audibly scoffed, her fingers crinkling into the edges of her paper.

"'The reason for the collapse of the Skyarrow Bridge is still under investigation, and we ask that the media not draw any hasty conclusions,'" she repeated aloud with evident disgust. "Bullshit. They know the reason; the reason is obvious. There were lightning marks in blue paint on the west end of the bridge."

"Allegedly," Cilan quietly reminded her.

"Didn't you see the pictures on your feed when we got in?" Georgia asked. The services that normally supplied their Xtransceivers and other communication devices didn't work well on the isolated route they had taken from Nimbasa to Striaton, causing them to go the span of several days without any idea of what was going on in the rest of the world. Today was the first they'd learned of the bridge, which had actually fallen a couple days earlier.

"I did," Cilan tacitly replied. "They could have easily been photoshopped." Seeing her annoyed expression, he added, "Believe me, I'm not trying to write off the political violence that's been happening as exaggerated. It's undeniable at this point. I just don't want to get caught up in a ferment of half-truths; so much can get distorted when people get emotional, and I want to know what's real."

Something about his phrasing intrigued her. There was a subtle softening in her expression, a new look of contemplation as she studied him. Iris recognized that look because it hadn't been too long since she had felt the same revelation, and she tightened her lips. Cilan's eyes were too preoccupied with his lukewarm drink to notice Georgia's peeling gaze, but she eventually released him from her scrutiny and returned her attention to the paper.

"Oh—they ran a story memorializing all the students who died in the Nimbasa attack," Georgia remarked after another brief spell of silence. She laid the paper down in the center of the table to show the content of the spread: seven mugs of the deceased, their names, ages, ranks, followed by the story. Cilan, Iris, and Burgundy all leaned forward to get a look at it.

"I don't know any of them," Cilan concluded, his voice low.

"Neither do I," Burgundy added, equally reticent. "I recognize some of them, though—I mean, I've seen some of them before."

Iris remained silent, scanning the page. Then, she looked toward Georgia, asking, "Was there anything about the Pokémon?"

"The Pokémon?" Georgia repeated.

The question seemed to annoy Iris. "The Pokémon," she pressed. "There were twenty-three Pokémon who died in that fire, too. Aren't they mentioned anywhere?"

"I don't know. I didn't actually read it." From Georgia's tone, it was easy to tell she was now equally irritated. "I just thought our connoisseurs might be interested in it."

The dispute stopped there. The dissenting parties turned their eyes toward Cilan and Burgundy expectantly. The article remained open in the middle of the table. Cilan's gaze was still turned low, though, and Burgundy frowned before snatching the paper up for herself.

"Well, since I'm the one who apparently cares..." she mumbled. Cilan didn't react to her jab, but Iris—already in an agitated mood—did. Her gaze, which had since gleaned an intense shade of red, hardened toward the connoisseuse, and there was poison in her voice when she spoke.

"Oh, so you're the caring one," Iris retorted. She flicked her head toward Cilan when she added, "He hasn't seen his family in weeks, and we're sitting here in a café in his hometown eating pastries because he was too nice to object to us coming here when you wanted breakfast."

"Don't talk like I don't get it," Burgundy snapped back. "I'm anxious to see my Pokémon. And you also wanted to stop here. But, whatever. If he wants to leave, then he can leave."

"That's enough," Cilan cut in before the fight could escalate any further. "I apologize for my reservation. I didn't mean to imply indifference." He reached for his backpack and stood up. "I should return to the gym, but I can meet up with you later at the Pokémon Center."

"Why?" Despite Cilan's efforts to defuse the situation, Burgundy still spoke with belligerence, causing Cilan to straighten in surprise.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"Why?" Burgundy repeated. "We joined up to make sure we'd get to Striaton safely. Well, we're here now. There's no sense in drawing this out." Georgia raised her eyebrows and glanced toward Iris and Cilan, but made no motion to object. Iris herself gave a quick nod, apparently agreeing, before looking at Cilan. He caught her gaze and, feeling himself the odd one out, resigned to a goodbye.

"Right," he said, better securing his bag around his shoulders. "Well, it was a pleasure regardless, ladies. I wish you the best wherever you're headed next."

Iris rose beside him. Her unfriendly gaze had locked onto Burgundy again, and Burgundy returned the look. Georgia rolled her eyes when it became apparent neither were going to offer any parting words, and she cleared her throat.

"Thanks Cilan," she said plainly. "You too." He nodded to her with an amenable smile, and he and Iris left the café without further delay.

"What a pleasant note to end on," Georgia said wryly once they were gone. Burgundy fell back into her seat with a huff, folding her arms as she did.

"Iris is more of a chienne than I remember," she grumbled.

"Yeah, she's you on a good day," Georgia snorted. Burgundy glowered at her but didn't retort. She instead resentfully resumed her breakfast, leaving the newspaper unoccupied again. Georgia reached for it, deciding she didn't want to try to converse with a surly Burgundy.

She decided to read through the article memorializing the PCA students. There wasn't a mention of the Pokémon. It was bad reporting, Georgia silently agreed. She wouldn't have even thought to look for it if Iris hadn't mentioned it. She didn't even realize that many had died.

Georgia flipped through several more pages—and then her breath caught. "Oh Mew..." she breathed. She nearly knocked over her chair when she stood up and bolted toward the door, causing a scene among the few patrons that were there.

"Cilan?!" she called out his name once she reached the street. "Cilan!" Her voice reverberated eerily in the near-emptiness of the city. Cilan and Iris were already gone.

"I'm sorry." Iris was the first to break the silence after several blocks. Cilan blinked and glanced her way. Her arms were folded and pulled tightly to her, while her eyes were low with penitence. "I hate it when people speak for me. I should've known better than to do that to you."

Cilan's lips twitched into a smile. "I knew you were coming from a place of caring," he said graciously, welcoming the apology. Iris seemed more at ease with his forgiving response, and she loosened her arms.

"I guess Burgundy was really grating on me," she went on. She paused then, shaking her head. "I don't know how you tolerate her."

"She's on edge. We all are—you included," Cilan said. Iris said nothing in return; she knew he was right, Cilan could tell, though she didn't want to openly admit it. He continued, "You know, I was fine with stopping. None of us had eaten, you needed to change your bandages—" Iris flinched. "—and I wanted some time to think."

Iris finally brought her eyes to his again. "To think?" she repeated. 

Cilan pressed his lips together, considering how to word his response. It was a delicate topic, he knew, and there was quite possibly no way of mentioning it without ruffling Iris's temper.

"I have to admit, I'm nervous about asking my brothers about going to Castelia," he finally elaborated. "I'm not sure what to say."

Iris frowned. "Well, don't ask me for advice," she said. It was a mild reply, and Cilan was grateful for that. He supposed she'd lost much of her charge from the spat in the café.

The gym was around the upcoming corner. It occurred to Iris that maybe she didn't want to go in with him, and that maybe he felt the same. He was going to proposition his brothers about joining the Truth Seekers; there were no two ways about that. Her being there would complicate matters. Their final parting was fast coming anyway. They too had travelled together for safety, and in that sense, Burgundy had a point: Why draw it out?

The same question must have been on Cilan's mind, because he soon cleared his throat and asked, "When will you be leaving?" His voice was quiet, strained. It was much more difficult to broach this topic than anything else.

Iris shrugged. "Probably in the morning," she replied.

"You ought to stay the night," Cilan offered. "Cress and Chili wouldn't mind. They'd be happy to see you."

"You don't think they'll wonder why I'm not going with you?" Iris said with an uneven smile.

"Of course they will," Cilan answered bluntly. "But, you won't even tell me where you're going, and I have to live with that. They will too."

Iris pressed her lips into a hard line. "I guess," she said. Chili and Cress didn't know her as well and would be more suspicious than Cilan. She wasn't sure she was willing to put up with that, but at the same time, she wasn't willing to say goodbye just yet.

They were passing through an unbusy strip mall, and Iris saw an upcoming electronics store with a news broadcast playing on a flatscreen in the window. The anchor was covering the collapse of the Skyarrow Bridge.

"I'm going to stop here for a little bit," Iris announced suddenly. Cilan gave her an odd look, doing a double take between her and the store.

"Here?" he questioned. The merchandise did not appeal to Iris's typical interests, to say the least.

"I just think you need some time alone with your brothers," Iris explained. "I'll catch up with you later though."

Cilan appeared uncertain, even if the proposal was sensible. "Well, thank you," he said. "You will come by though?" He wanted the reassurance she wouldn't leave without a proper goodbye.

"Yeah." Iris nodded.

"Okay." Cilan seemed more willing then. "Well, in that case, I'll see you later." He continued up the street, and Iris watched him for a moment before heading inside.

There were two other people in the store: the middle-aged clerk and a brunette trainer, her back turned away from Iris, browsing through the latest collection of new Xtranscievers. Iris passed slowly through a different aisle from the other trainer, looking through a variety of used devices: Pokétchs, Pokégears, a Holo Caster... It was with utter disinterest that she looked at them, but she didn't want the appearance of only being there to watch the news.

"... So what update can you give us at this time, Cara? "

" Well, Spencer, officials are still investigating the exact reason for the collapse of the bridge. It seems the investigation is only now just getting started with the recovery of the final missing person's body this morning. They have not released the name of that person and won't until they have contacted the family. "

" So there's no indication whether Team Plasma is behind the collapse? "

" Nothing is confirmed yet, Spencer. "

The clerk must have noticed Iris was keeping an eye on the screen because he leaned over the counter and said, "Terrible, isn't it?" Iris snapped her head toward him in surprise.

"Uh, yeah," she answered quickly.

"It's hard to watch, but I can't seem to tear myself away from it," the clerk went on, shaking his head. "It's bad for business, too. I had a boom with people coming in lookin' to get stuff that works overseas, but now, there's hardly anyone here to get anything. I'm thinking about closing up myself and heading out, especially with what happened in the city last week."

Iris furrowed her brow, feeling a tiny prick of alarm at his words. "... What happened in the city?" she asked cautiously.

"You didn't hear?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "I mean, if you want to see for yourself, Striaton Gym is just around the block."

Her trepidation became paralyzing at that. She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment before movement found her again, and she inhaled sharply before running out the door and up the empty street. 

Around the corner, and she saw it; or rather, what was left of it.

The Striaton Gym was a point of pride in the city, at least according to Cilan. It was one of the oldest buildings there—established at the outset of modern Unova—a mansion that had stayed within the family for generations before it was eventually converted to house both a posh restaurant and gym. And now, it was reduced to ashes.

Iris's breath was uneven, and her hands trembled slightly as she passed through the gates leading toward the extirpated gym. She pulled down some yellow police tape tied between two decorative columns that still stood and continued on uninhibited. She stepped over what was left of the grand entrance doors and into the dining area: ashen, unusable, but still recognizable.

Half of the building's walls were fallen or lost to a fire. The blueprint laid plainly in gray before her. She could see most everything: the kitchen, the battlefield, the stairs leading to the now-missing living quarters of the gym. Iris pressed forward apprehensively, blinking in the sight, hardly believing any of it was real. She'd been there many times over the years: First to watch Ash battle the trio of gym leaders, then for holiday parties and birthday parties, or just to visit her long-time friend. Those memories, along with the countless of its tenants, now rose in a thin, dusty smoke.

Iris nearly jumped when she stepped and heard glass crack beneath her feet. She stepped back and saw she had cracked a large, surviving frame that showcased what appeared to be a very long and detailed family tree.

She snapped her head up again. "Cilan!" She cupped her hands around her mouth and called for him, but there was no reply. She moved forward quicker now, rounding one of the several walls that still stood, and there she saw him. His back was toward her; he was on the southern end of the battlefield, facing another wall. She hurried to his side. "Cilan," she repeated his name.

He didn't respond again. His head was locked forward in a hollow stare, and dread curled inside Iris's chest before she looked where he did and, stiffening, realized what had him trapped in a benumbed daze. There on the wall, spray painted in blue, were the words, "POKÉMON LIBERATION."

"I don't know where they are." When Cilan finally spoke, his voice was shaking, watery around the edges. Iris did not need him to elaborate, but he added anyway, "I don't know where Chili and Cress are. I tried calling them already, but it just goes to voicemail."

She exhaled. "Cilan..." she breathed, unable to say anything else, not knowing what else to say. His eyes were glassy, and he briefly turned his head away and pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bottom half of the lids, sweeping his digits toward the bridge of his nose, collecting the tears before they could fall. She'd seen Cilan cry before, but not like this—not in raw, candid grief.

Iris reached for the open hand hanging at his side, pressing her thumb against his knuckles. He didn't reciprocate her grip, nor did she expect him to. She doubted he was even conscious of the fact she was holding his hand. Yet, when a series of loud barks tore through the air, his fingers reflexively folded into her palm, and they both turned to see a Herdier traversing over the detritus toward them.

"If you're wondering, your brothers made it out fine." The voice was deeper, but familiar. From behind the wall where Iris had arrived appeared a lean, blond male in his late teens, perhaps the same age as Iris. He raised a Poké Ball from his front pocket and called back the Herdier with the usual red beam of light, and Iris's eyes widened with recognition.

"Trip," she remembered. "You're Trip. What are you doing here?"

"I saw you running up the street, and I thought I recognized you," he answered shortly. "I sent my Herdier ahead to find you."

Trip's words finally catching up to him, Cilan inhaled sharply and, letting go of Iris's hand, burst out, "What do you know about them?! Chili and Cress?" Realizing he was speaking louder than usual, he pulled back the volume, and asked more composedly, "How do you know about them?"

"I was in the city when it happened," Trip explained. "There was a systematic attack on Striaton by Team Plasma. The Striaton Gym was one of the targets."

Iris and Cilan both needed a moment to let this news sink in. They exchanged a long, uneasy glance. It was no wonder Striaton City was depleted of nearly all its citizenry.

"What were the other targets?" Iris asked quietly.

"The Fennel Research Lab, the Trainer Preparatory School, the Pokémon Center..." Trip listed them off on his fingers, but he stopped suddenly, flicking his eyes toward Cilan specifically. "That's how I know your brothers are all right. I was staying at the Pokémon Center. I saw them both later, talking to Nurse Joy, before they left the city."

At that, Iris quickly turned toward Cilan and said, optimistically, "They must have left you a message with Nurse Joy then. They knew you were coming here, and they knew you would have to go to the Pokémon Center at some point."

Cilan appeared relieved with this revelation. Yet, there was an unsettling detail that stuck with him, dissipating that relief. He asked, "What happened at the Pokémon Center?"

Georgia and Burgundy were sitting alone in the Pokémon Center's lobby when Cilan and Iris entered in a rush, with Trip a few slower paces behind them. It was immediately evident there had been an attack of some kind. An entire section of the lobby's left wall was missing, and in its place was a heavy-duty plastic sheet, covering the area until it could be rebuilt. Nurse Joy and her Audino were still behind the also slightly-damaged counter. Typical operations had to carry on despite the devastating losses.

Burgundy was turned away from the doors, her face hidden, buried, but Georgia noticed their arrival immediately and quickly rose to greet them.

"Cilan!" she addressed him first and singularly. Her miserable expression foretold that she knew what he now did. "I tried to tell you—I saw something about it in the paper right after you left." She, demoralized and uncharacteristically flustered, was grasping for something to say. "I'm so sorry. Your brothers—"

"—left me a message here." Cilan stopped her there, the politest signal he could give that he didn't want to talk right then. "Excuse me." He stepped around her and headed toward the counter. Georgia watched him for a moment before looking back at Iris.

"Are Burgundy's Pokémon okay?" Iris asked, though she already knew the answer from seeing Burgundy drawn wretchedly into herself on that bench.

Georgia shook her head and let out a long, heavy sigh. "They're gone," she said. "Team Plasma took them in the raid. Burgundy had numbers 90, 91, 92, and 93, and none of them are here."

Iris's chest tightened, even though she expected this response. It was unconscionable; first the Striaton Gym, now this. She was not even directly affected by either circumstance, but natural sympathy gripped her heart and reduced her to a smaller, unguarded version of herself. Georgia folded her arms and averted her eyes. The same had happened to her.

Iris couldn't stand to see her own former rival looking vulnerable, so she pushed past her, too, and seated herself beside Burgundy. The connoissuese wasn't crying, but she clearly had been. There was no concealing the pink, damp ring beneath her violet eyes, vacant as they were.

"I'm sorry," Iris started in a low voice. Burgundy did not move at all; she was in the same insensate state as Cilan had been. Iris tried to add hopefully, "Team Plasma supports 'Pokémon liberation.' If they really believe in what they say, then they wouldn't have hurt your Pokémon. They have to be out there some—"

"—Iris," Burgundy cut her off. Her tone was callous, unfeeling. "I know you're trying to help. You are not helping." That said, she stiffly stood up and left to join Georgia. Iris frowned and glanced back toward Cilan, who was receiving a closed envelope from Nurse Joy, for which he thanked her. She nodded to him, and he stepped away so she could help the next in line: Trip.

She watched Cilan pull the one-page letter out of its envelope and tried to read his expression as he looked over its content. Whatever it said, it must not have been long, because he quickly folded it back up and held it close to him as he headed toward the bench to sit beside her. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to share what his brothers wrote. He kept his gaze low for a while, however, before he finally, quietly said, "They went to Castelia City,"

Iris blinked. He unfolded the paper just enough to give her a peek at what it said:

Cilan,

We're sorry we couldn't wait here for you.

Leaving without you was the hardest choice we had to make, but it wasn't safe for us to stay anymore.

We want you to stay safe, too, and we want you to do what will keep you safest until we can meet again.

If you want to find us though—

It was there that Cress—unsteady as it was, it was definitely Cress's handwriting; Chili's was messier, and he would have been far too emotional to compose such a piece—drew a large T that took up most of the page. Below that, he wrote, " Remember liberty, because the truth will set you free ."

Cilan folded the letter up again, and Iris drew in a long breath.

"That's good," she said. "That's what you wanted. You're headed there anyway, and you'll find them there."

Cilan's grip tightened on the letter. He apparently did not share the same positive view of the situation.

"Skyarrow collapsed two days ago," he remarked anxiously. The mention brought the reporter's saying that the final missing body had been recovered at the site of the bridge to the forefront of Iris's mind, but she quickly dismissed thought.

"They would've left four days ago," Iris assured him. "They wouldn't have reached it by the time it collapsed. They're probably just barely making it to Nacrene City, and they're learning about it the same way we did."

"I know." Cilan nodded. He then offered her a weak, meaningless smile. "But it begs the question: How are they going to get there? How am I going to get there?"

"Go around it," Iris said as if it were obvious. "Head north to Black City and take Marvelous Bridge, then down to Castelia from there. I bet you they're going to do the same thing."

The conversation halted there as Georgia approached and, folding her arms and slinging her weight to one hip, said, "Burgundy and I are staying the night. What are your plans?"

A brief spell of silence followed. Iris wasn't keen on giving an answer, and Cilan needed a moment to think of his. Finally, he responded, "I'm going to look for my brothers."

"Where are they?" Georgia asked.

Cilan hesitated.

"I'm not sure," he replied. He was not going to reveal their going to the Truth Seekers, but he cautiously added, "... Iris thinks, probably rightfully so, that they're on their way to Black City." Burgundy fell to Georgia's side. Suddenly and unreasonably fearing he'd said too much, Cilan changed the subject, asking, "What are you and Burgundy planning to do?"

"We're going to get her Pokémon back," Georgia said bluntly, without pause.

"And how do you plan to do that?"

They turned their eyes toward Trip, now joining the circle with his hands in his pockets and a look of doubt on his face. Nurse Joy had retreated into the back room of the Center to attend to some other matter. Georgia, instead of responding to the demurring remark, narrowed her gaze, giving him a once-over.

"I recognize you," she said. "You're Trip McGonnigal. You're a part of the Don George competitor circuit."

"Used to be,” Trip said.

"What are you doing here?" Georgia asked. "I thought you were from Nuvema."

"I am," he affirmed. "I was just passing through, and I happened to be here the night Team Plasma attacked the city. I tried to help defend against the raid on the Pokémon Center, and I and some other trainers drove them out before they could get their hands on all the refugee PCA Pokémon staying here."

"Well, they got their hands on enough of them, didn't they?" Burgundy muttered bitterly. If Trip took offense to her comment, he didn't show it. He merely glanced her way for a brief moment, then returned his attention to the full group.

"I'm the only one of those trainers who's still here," he continued. "My Serperior was hurt. I haven't been able to travel since. Nurse Joy said I can take him tomorrow, though. And then we're going to Castelia City."

The mere mention of Castelia City was enough to set off a growth of a cautious—or, in Iris's case, suspicious—intrigue among all the parties. Only Georgia was bold enough to act on her curiosity, however. Her lips curled into a sly smile.

"Oh, I see," she said.

"What's that tone for?" Trip glowered at her.

"You're joining the Truth Seekers, aren't you?" Georgia asked plainly, and both Cilan and Burgundy inhaled sharply.

"Georgia, we're—" Burgundy started, but Georgia waved her off before she could continue.

"—in an empty lobby," she finished confidently. Iris leaned back against the wall and folded her arms. She could appreciate Georgia's forthrightness. Georgia looked directly at Trip again and, pressing for an honest answer, said, "I'm right, aren't I?"

Trip exhaled.

"Yes," he answered, and Georgia looked satisfied with herself.

"That's where Burgundy and I are headed, too," she said. "That was our plan all along, but now we have an extra incentive: Join the Truth Seekers, go up against Team Plasma, and then maybe there's a chance we can get Burgundy's Pokémon back."

"Well, that just works out so nicely for all of you," Iris interjected dryly, "because that's where Cilan is headed, too." Cilan flinched, unsure whether wanted the others to have that knowledge, but there was nothing he could do to change it now. Georgia's smile only widened.

"I thought so," she said coolly, glancing at the connoisseur, "the way you were talking earlier."

"My brothers are going there," Cilan weakly excused.

"But it was always your original plan," Georgia asserted, and Cilan couldn't contest that—mainly because it was true—so he didn't. Georgia's immodest attitude receded, and she took on a serious tone when she said, "In that case, we ought to resume our traveling party. We've got a longer journey ahead and a bigger group to match."

Trip knew the "bigger group" referred to him, and he looked uncertain. "I don't do well in groups," he said.

Georgia whipped her head back toward him. "Not many of us do, but wise up: You're better traveling with multiple people than alone."

Trip pressed his lips into a hard line, holding her gaze, considering his options. Knowing she was ultimately right, however, he resigned to her insistence with a nod.

"All right," he agreed. "7 a.m. tomorrow, toward Black City." He turned to leave, brushing past Burgundy, whose gaze was still fallen and whose hands were clasped tightly together and were anxiously wringing themselves.

Yet, when he passed Iris, he stopped.

"' That just works out so nicely for all of you .’” He repeated her words from only minutes earlier verbatim. Iris immediately tensed up.

"What?" she half-demanded, though there was little power behind her voice to generate the forbidding sound she wanted.

"Interesting word choice, that’s all. You said it works out nicely 'for all of you,'" Trip elaborated, speaking in a slow, stern manner. "You're not coming."

Georgia and Burgundy realized he had a point; Cilan, already knowing Iris never wanted to join the underground group, turned a careful gaze on her, wondering how she would respond. Iris's firm expression didn't break, but she wetted her lips in preparing for her reply.

"I was never on my way to the Truth Seekers," she admitted. "I overshot my destination so I could go all the way to Striaton with Cilan." This was news to Cilan, and his speculative expression transformed into surprise.

"Where are you headed then?" Georgia asked, now leery of the Dragon-type trainer. Therein lay the reason why Iris never wanted anyone else to fall under the impression she and Cilan were moving on different tracks, true as it might be. Cilan's amenability concealed the need for any outside concerns about where she was going. Cilan's uncertainties alone she could handle, even if it was a pain; his combined with Georgia's, Burgundy's, and Trip's were a far different story though.

"What does it matter?" Iris said as casually as she could manage. "North is where I need to be going anyway, so if you don't mind, I'll stick with you guys for a little bit longer."

They wouldn't protest—but they definitely minded.

There were next to no others trainers staying in the Pokémon Center that evening. They could have each had their own room if they wanted, and Nurse Joy had offered such, even if it was technically against policy. Yet, it was only Trip who agreed to the suggestion; he'd been staying in his own room for several nights by then anyway. Burgundy and Georgia had opted to stay together though, and somehow, so had Iris and Cilan.

The room was pitch-black. It was far past lights-out, and yet, Iris couldn't find rest. The glow of the digital clock on the nightstand separating her and Cilan's beds read 2:11 a.m., and Iris grew increasingly frustrated with every minute that slipped by, especially knowing they were supposed to be departing in less than five hours. Every time she closed her eyes, however, the anxieties of the day filled her head, but if she opened her eyes, the anxieties of tomorrow painted ominous pictures across the ceiling.

"Can't sleep?" Iris was surprised when Cilan's crisp voice cut through the darkness. He must have heard her shifting around in bed.

"No," Iris answered, laying her hands atop her chest.

"Me neither," he admitted. Iris realized he must have been having an even more difficult time sleeping; he had more reason for it. She closed her eyes again and sucked in her breath.

"Tonight wasn't supposed to be like this," she said. That morning, she imagined, Cilan had envisioned a happy reunion with his brothers in a home that bustled with even just a few patrons who still remained in the city. They would enjoy a nice meal amid serious talk, but it would be together, and they would go to bed—their beds—uncertain but reassured that they were all united in their decision.

A short silence followed. Then:

"Cress and Chili are alive," Cilan said quietly. "That's all that matters. Everything else—they're just—things. Material objects. They don't mean anything."

"It was your home," Iris said gently. "It's okay for it to mean something."

Silence followed again, but this time, it wasn't broken. Iris could see the outline of Cilan's form turn over so that he was facing the wall, facing away from her, where he finally found sleep.

Chapter Text

Passion can be a dangerous weapon if it's used by the wrong people for the wrong reasons, and it was definitely used by the wrong people for the wrong reasons. People will fight for the things they care about, but they'll do so much more, and so much worse, for the things they're passionate about. The tenets of basic human decency are forgotten; it becomes okay to lie, to steal, to destroy, to kill, as long as it's in the name of their cause.

Team Plasma capitalized on passion: "We all love Pokémon. Our entire culture is built on Pokémon. But if you really love Pokémon, wouldn't you want them to be happy? Wouldn't you want to do right by them? If so, then you've got to free them—and you've got to fight to free the rest of them, too, no matter what it takes." Once Team Plasma hooked in someone, they could them to do anything.

On the other end of the spectrum, it's universal wisdom that the oldest and the strongest kind of fear is the fear of the unknown. The rest of us—the ones who weren't swayed by Team Plasma's rhetoric—were scared. Our sense of normalcy had deteriorated beyond recognition. We did not know what was happening—it seemed no one did—and there were active efforts to keep it that way. The leaders and mentors and teachers we had traditionally relied on for guidance were gone. Our systems of communication were destroyed. We were conditioned not to trust anyone.

The Truth Seekers benefited from fear. Fear combined with ignorance creates a mob; the mob had questions; the Truth Seekers had answers; the Truth Seekers turned that mob into an army, and they became a force that could stand up against Team Plasma and wipe out any other idealistic detractors in the name of restoring our normal.

The conflict created a terrible kind of dichotomy: us vs. them. If you're not with us, then you must be against us. The nuances were lost to blocks of black and white. That was goal, though. If you could turn everyone against each other, boil a complicated mess of issues into a slogan, then you could get what you wanted: a civil war, and whoever was left standing would be in charge.

It almost worked, too. That's the terrifying part. The only reason it didn't was because there was someone who didn't run away, who didn't ignore the conflict or try to stay out of it, but instead stood directly in the line of fire, refusing to jump into either of the trenches.

It was no-man's land: the middleground.

Iris remembered the symbol: A shield divided straight down the line, black and white, with a stylized P blazoned in electric blue on the front.

Her sight was bleary at the time from the cold, and the sign was difficult to make out in the torrential weather. It had been snowing nonstop for weeks by then, but the more they had journeyed forward and up, the sharper the flakes felt, and the more erratic their patterns became. At the time, Iris couldn't understand why her parents wanted to come this way when they could have stayed in the village: safe, inside, warm.

But then there was the man. She couldn't say anything about how he looked now; she didn't think she was able to really get a good look at him anyway. All she could remember of him was the symbol, and she could remember her mother marching forward to confront him with Poké Ball in hand while her father held her close, a Poké Ball also raised—defensively, in contrast to her mother's offensive stance.

"You leave this place!" Nadie ordered.

The man said something in return, a refusal, though the words were beyond Iris's recognition. Nadie gave no further warning: Her massive Salamence emerged from its safe holding and with him came a blinding roar of fire. Iris couldn't remember anything further of the man after that.

Iris sat alone atop her sleeping bag, unmoved, despite having awoken from her restless sleep perhaps ten or even fifteen minutes earlier. Drayden's letter lay unfurled in her lap. She had read it again, twice again, for the upteempth time, and now her thumb trailed along the edge of the paper, dulling from both the rigors of travel and multiple revisitations. It hadn't occurred to her how terrible a death by fire would be until recently. Now it was on her mind a lot.

Georgia and Burgundy were socializing near the low-burning morning fire. Cilan was somewhat being included in their conversation, thanks to Georgia. Trip, meanwhile, was nowhere in sight, but the presence of his sleeping bag indicated he couldn't be far off. 

Iris folded up Drayden's letter, carefully slid it back into its envelope, and stored it away in her bag before rising to her feet.

Doing so was just enough to call attention to herself. Georgia and Burgundy fell silent, and suspicious gazes followed. Cilan, only half-attentive at the time, realized something was awry with the the abrupt lull in conversation, and he looked up, confused, before seeing that three young women were staring one another down. He appeared alarmed, then unsure of how to respond, but Iris deprived him of the opportunity, because she turned and headed in the opposite direction.

Beyond a small grove of trees there was a creek from which they'd been collecting their water since stopping. That was where she found Trip, just at the edge, washing his face. Iris hadn't meant to find company, and she almost turned back around before remembering that Georgia and Burgundy would be worse to deal with, especially with Cilan's indecision. So she plodded down the incline and sat on a large rock protruding from the bank's edge, only a couple feet away from Trip.

"Good morning," she greeted a little stiffly.

Trip didn't respond as he cleared his face of the dripping water with a small hand towel. He then cast her a sideways look, giving her a once-over.

"What do you want?" he asked. The question wasn't posed aggressively, but Iris still frowned.

"I don't want anything," she said. "I'm just acknowledging you. It's nice to be acknowledged."

Trip stood up, wiping his hands next, before storing away the hand towel along with his other toiletries.

"You're being passive aggressive over the fact Georgia and Burgundy aren't talking to you because they don't trust you," he said bluntly, and Iris perked up in surprise. "I don't see why you would care—or, if you do, you don't care enough to clear anything up."

"Clear what up?" Iris asked dryly.

"You do realize it's highly suspect that you're not joining the Truth Seekers?" Trip went on. "It calls your motivations into question. If you were just leaving Unova, you might as well just say you're leaving. But you're not. You're not saying anything, which suggests you're planning something the rest of us would find damnable."

"Like joining Team Plasma?" Iris said, unafraid to confront what he was implying. Her words hung in the air for a moment, but Trip's expression didn't betray any shock at her nerve. This, Iris had discovered in the days they had traveled together, was the interesting thing about Trip. He was thoughtful, analytical, and he considered the possible outcomes of every situation, so it seemed there wasn't much that could catch him off guard.

"Yes, like that," he said.

"And what do you think?" Iris asked. The question was driven by a mix of genuine intrigue and indignation.

Trip let out a short breath to start. "I don't get you," he admitted, "and I don't get what game you're playing. But I do think you care way too much about Cilan to actually be on your way to Team Plasma. Anyone who was truly serious about joining Team Plasma would never do the kind of things for a gym leader that you do for him. More importantly, they wouldn’t do it for a Truth Seeker, but you will." Iris drew back a little, suddenly a little wary of what he might be insinuating. He continued, "Overshooting some vague destination just so you can make sure he's okay? Sticking with him even now just because you're not ready to let go? Most friends wouldn't even go that far. Joining Team Plasma would be a personal betrayal to Cilan, and you could never do it, even if you seem to think he's doing it you by joining the Truth Seekers."

Trip then brushed past her, back toward camp, leaving her to marinate in his words.

Iris couldn't let it go, though; only a few steps, and she broke out, "I was never thinking about joining Team Plasma." Trip stopped and threw her a look over his shoulder. She continued, "It wasn't like I had some plan to join them and then spending time with Cilan and seeing him in pain from losing his home caused made me rethink my position. It was never like that."

Trip craned an eyebrow.

"All right then," he said with a shrug. "It was never like that."

He disappeared and left her alone for the space of several minutes. She would have been content to remain alone longer, but of course, Cilan eventually sought after her. As she half-expected, he had nothing to say on the matter of her ostracization.

"Breakfast is ready," he informed her. "Georgia wants to get moving, so I think we'll have a quick meal before continuing travel for the day."

Iris sucked in her breath. A surge of anger seized her, but she hid it well in both her expression and her tone.

"I'm not going with you," she declared evenly, and Cilan appeared taken aback.

"What?" he asked, blinking. Iris stood up and faced him, folding her arms as she did.

"This is where we have to go our separate ways," she asserted as firmly as before. Cilan's expression fell into disappointment, and the fortifications Iris had briefly been so confident she could uphold already started to crack. She looked away to prevent them from further weakening, adding, "Don't look at me like that. You knew this was coming."

"I suppose," Cilan sighed. "I just wish it was different." Iris lowered her gaze further.

"I do too," she admitted.

"Perhaps we can come to some sort of compromise," Cilan suggested, managing to pull her eyes back to him. Yet, Iris frowned at this.

"I have no ground to give," she said, "and I couldn't possibly ask you to give up any of yours. You need to find your brothers." He stared for a moment, now starting to fully comprehend her immovability and the depth of their impasse.

"At least tell me where you're going.” It was a simple enough request in his mind. For a while, he only assumed Iris was concealing her destination to be obstinate, as she was wont to be. Otherwise, it was because she'd always been private about personal matters that, while of no consequence on his opinion, were sensitive to her. But Burgundy and Georgia's virulent suspicions had crept up on his conscience, and they demanded an answer. Yet, his seemingly simply request visibly drove Iris into distress, and it stirred the worst of his doubts.

"I can't." She wouldn't give in.

"Why not?" he pressed.

"I can't—" Iris's voice cracked for a moment. "I can't—tell—a Truth Seeker."

There it was, out in the open. Cilan knew it was validation enough to question her more seriously about her loyalties, but instead, he only felt hurt.

"Iris, I'm much more than—" he started, but he stopped short and changed his approach. "I'm Cilan. I've always been Cilan, your friend who cares about you and worries about you. I was Cilan before I decided to join the Truth Seekers, and I'm the same person now."

Iris smiled weakly and let out a short, hollow laugh.

"I know, and I also can't tell you because you're Cilan, my friend who cares and worries about me," she said.

"Iris—" He was cut short, hearing Georgia now call for him.

"Cilan, where—?" She appeared at the top at the top of the knoll with Burgundy in tow, but she paused mid-way through her sentence upon seeing the two at odds with each other. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, I was just leaving," Iris dismissed.

"Leaving?" Trip was back now too, perturbed as to why all his companions had vanished to this spot.

Cilan quickly looked back at Iris, muttering, "Iris, please don't turn this into a scene." She refused to back down.

"Cilan, you're making this harder than it needs to be," she persisted with a flippant wave of her hand. Her every word, every movement was thinly covered with nonchalance, but under the veil was a rigid sense of regret. "Let's have breakfast, and then I can pack up and get out of your hair. Burgundy and Georgia don't want me around anyway. Trust me, this is ultimately easier for everyone."

Cilan then grew frustrated, saying, "It'd be so much easier to trust if you would just say where you were headed." Iris's already-diluted determination dwindled further as he added, "Or even if you just explained why you dislike the Truth Seekers so much. Maybe then they would understand. Maybe then I would understand."

"The Truth Seekers—" Iris started a little sharply, but she quickly stopped herself. Her companion's gazes were piercing, though; Cilan's, especially, implored her to finish, so she sucked in her breath and began again: "The Truth Seekers are the underbelly of the League. They're advocates of the League—always have been—and... the League does not always have the best interests of Pokémon and all of Unova at heart."

She kept it short, simple, not too inflammatory. Yet, Burgundy scoffed and, glancing at Georgia, muttered, "Where have I heard that before?"

Iris tensed up at this, and the strain only worsened when Cilan sighed and said, "Iris, that's just some conspiratorial anti-League rhetoric that's been popularized by Team Plasma."

Iris looked at him incredulously.

" Conspiratorial? " she repeated, offended.

"What you're saying isn't real," Cilan affirmed gently, and Iris looked disgusted.

"I knew it was no use," she muttered angrily before spinning on her heel and stalking back up the incline, scraping past the others, and heading toward their camp.

"Iris!" Cilan called after, but she had already disappeared into the trees. He fell back with a huff whilst his misgivings began to churn uneasily inside him. The same mistrust was reaching the boiling point within his associates however, and one eventually blew her whistle.

"Are you really just going to let her leave?" Georgia demanded, locking her gaze on Cilan. "You heard what she said—she's revealed herself, and she knows where we're going. We can't let her take that back to wherever Team Plasma is. It could compromise the Truth Seekers."

Cilan looked back at her with wide eyes for a moment before snapping his head forward again and hurrying after Iris.

"Iris, don't be unreasonable," he said aloud, hoping she'd hear. When he reached camp again however, he stopped, briefly paralyzed by the sight before him: They had been ransacked, breakfast knocked over, their bags turned upside down and the contents spilled out.

Georgia, Burgundy, and Trip were not far behind, and they too stopped, also stupefied by the sight.

"What... happened... ?" Burgundy questioned. In the heat of that moment, none of them would have put spitefully marauding the camp past Iris, but realistically, she couldn't have possibly afflicted this amount of ruin in the short time she had separated herself from them. Burgundy's question went unanswered as Cilan stepped forward to investigate first, but a voice pulled him back.

"Cilan, look out!" It was Iris. Cilan barely whipped his head halfway back around to see that a Team Plasma grunt wielding a black escrima had jumped from a tree above him, and there was no escaping when the Plasma landed a blow on the back of his head and knocked him to the ground.

"Noivern, go!" Iris—standing at the head of the camp—ordered, calling forth the Dragon-type. Before Cilan's attacker could even raise the escrima for a second hit, he was tackled by a Pokémon that had at least 60 pounds on him. Trip and Georgia scrambled to join the fight, but quickly—and horrifically—realized that neither had any of their Pokémon on them, leaving Iris the sole defender against two adult male Plasma grunts, another having just revealed himself.

The other grunt, realizing his partner was down, reached into his back pocket, but Iris was already two steps ahead.

"Get him!" Iris ordered next, and Noivern sprung off the Plasma grunt that had attacked Cilan and tackled the other. He fell to the ground hard, and the bag around his shoulder fell open, spilling a couple Poké Balls. Noivern tore the bag off his shoulder with his teeth and flung it to his trainer, who managed to catch it.

Although pinned to the ground, the other Plasma, still successfully retrieved a Poké Ball from his pocket.

"Braviary, get us out of here!"

The massive Flying-type emerged with a screech. He knocked back Noivern, freeing his trainer, who then climbed on his back. They swept over to his partner and picked him up, too, before taking to the skies in their escape.

"Hypocrites!" Iris yelled after them. "You say you support Pokémon liberation—at least, for everyone except yourselves!"

They were gone. It was over as quickly as it started, and everyone was still reeling. Iris, adrenaline still running, ended up being the first to recover, and she whipped back around toward Cilan.

"Cilan!" she cried worriedly, hurrying to his side. "Cilan, are you okay?" He was still conscious, and he was trying to sit up as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Yeah, I just — " He stopped, bringing his hand forward to reveal spots of blood on the tips of his fingers. Iris sucked in her breath, her fingers tightening on the broken bag strap her Noivern had retrieved.

"I still have bandages in my backpack," Iris said, looking toward the others. "Burgundy, go get them."

"Right!" Burgundy nodded and scurried off. Iris handed her spoils to Georgia while Trip went off to collect the Poké Balls that had scattered across the ground in the fray.

Burgundy returned with the medical supplies, and Trip and Georgia conferred together over the Poké Balls. The latter eventually announced, "I think everyone's accounted for. … Why didn't they just leave after getting these out of our bags?"

Iris started to unravel her leftover gauze and touched the base of Cilan's neck.

"Burgundy's bag was empty," she said plainly. "They assumed one of us had to have our Pokémon on us." Burgundy's chest tightened at that, but she said nothing.

Trip, meanwhile, pursed his lips, then said, "Well, they weren't wrong apparently."

Iris paused, suddenly feeling the odd mix of estrangement and confusion and gratitude in her companions' gazes upon her. Regardless of their previous doubts, she had saved them from losing their Pokémon and being left utterly defenseless in the middle of nowhere. Iris drew out Noivern's Poké Ball  and returned him.

"I always keep at least one with me when I go off alone now," she said, sliding the ball into her back pocket.

The morning plans they had for picking up their travel had been dashed. Cilan needed time to recover from what was undoubtedly a concussion—at least, recover enough to travel to the next city, where he could see a doctor—and everyone else needed time simply to recollect themselves. Being attacked while en route to Castelia City had always been a possibility; it was the entire reason they traveled together in the first place. Knowing the possibility, however, left them no less shaken.

Making a new meal was put on hold, as if any of them still had an appetite anyway. A pot of water was boiling over the fire again, and in it, Burgundy was soaking a cloth, disinfecting it. Cilan was resting, a hand pressed hard against his aching head, whilst Georgia and Trip waited upon him. Iris returned to the camp with some pine needles and other small brush to keep the fire going.

The melodrama of the incident had abated, and little had been said since then. Yet Iris, having had quiet time away from the others to think, now finally had something to say:

"Still think I'm going to join Team Plasma and sell out the Truth Seekers?" she asked, looking directly at Burgundy from across the pit. Burgundy appeared uncomfortable but didn't answer.

"Can you really blame us for doubting you?" Georgia threw back in Burgundy's stead.

The inquiry grated on Iris, and she retorted, "I can, actually." She rose to her feet again and folded her arms. "Is it really that hard to think that— maybe —I don't want to be a part of either side? That I see some truth inside of what Team Plasma says, even if I hate what they do to people, and I don't want to join them? ... And I know the Truth Seekers want to bring peace to Unova again, and I do too, but that doesn't change my feelings about them."

"This is war," Trip said flatly; his gaze was distant, somewhere not entirely there. "If you're not a part of the effort, then you're in the way."

Burgundy found her voice again and added, " Bien sûr. Neutrality makes it look like you're helping the adversary."

Iris stared with ire at Burgundy for a long moment. Then, she quickly spun around, went to her bag, and pulled out an envelope. She returned to Burgundy, thrusting the letter out toward her.

"Read it," she ordered. "Out loud."

Burgundy looked at the envelope and then Iris disdainfully. Her natural inclination was to refuse. Yet, an air of intrigue became palpable among the group upon the letter's appearance, and even Burgundy couldn't resist. She stiffly took the envelope from Iris, pulled out the single printed sheet from inside, and began to read:

" Iris, " Burgundy recited, " I am sorry that I left you without a proper explanation. My hope was to put an end to the war before it could break, and to protect you. Since you are reading this, you know that, in one way or another, I have failed this nation, and I have failed you. I specifically arranged for this message to be sent to you if I died, and I am sorry that I must now push the burden of my knowledge to you: Team Plasma, the agitator of this growing conflict, has captured Zekrom ." Burgundy's breath hitched; a horrified look fell upon the other's faces, but Iris's expression held firm. Burgundy's voice shook slightly as she continued, " I do not know how, and I do not know to what extent they have him under their control. But I do know this: The only hope we have to end the conflict against them is with Reshiram. You will find him in Dragonspiral Tower. I earnestly hope you will have more success than I did. Have faith in yourself, for I always have. "

Silence followed. Burgundy stared at the bottom of the letter, as if she couldn't process what she beheld.

"It's signed Drayden Pollock," she finally said.

More silence. Iris's gaze had lowered by then, but Cilan was watching her wide-eyed. He recalled now, with perfect clarity, their conversation on the steps following Drayden's funeral. Her words— Don't you find it suspicious there's not a body? —echoed inside the dead air, and he realized she had known all along that Drayden had not died in a car accident and that she had been hoping he would grasp the true implications of her inquiry. He hadn't.

Trip, ultimately, became the first to speak.

"Reshiram is at Dragonspiral Tower?" he asked. This, above all else, was what attracted his attention.

"Where is that?" Burgundy added on.

"It's maybe a mile or two outside of Icirrus City," Georgia explained briefly. Her speech had become oddly clipped. "I don't see how you'll get anywhere close. The area is closed off to the public."

"I think I have a right and reason to be there," Iris said bluntly.

Georgia didn't respond to the remark, but asked, "So that's where you were planning to go this entire time?"

"Yes," Iris finally admitted, now showing no hesitation. Though emboldened now—it was highly satisfying exonerating herself of the others' judgment—she would quickly come to regret this breakthrough.

"No." Iris turned her head quickly toward the speaker, Cilan. He stood and straightened himself up, continuing, "No, I can't let you do that."

Iris, like Burgundy, didn't take too kindly to being told what to do, or rather, what not to do.

"And why not?" she half-demanded, and he sucked in his breath to reply.

"Iris, you are a very talented trainer, but you are not as experienced nor as skilled as Drayden was." His voice and words had an unusually harsher tone. It was the most forward he had been with Iris in a long time, and in another situation, she might of appreciated it. Now, it inspired only irritation. Foregoing any polite euphemisms—a sign of how serious his concerns were—he continued, "It's apparent he was killed in his attempt to acquire Reshiram. The same will happen to you."

She briefly faltered but didn't let herself fold.

"I don't claim to be a better trainer than Drayden," she corrected tensely, "but he wouldn't have sent me that if he didn't think I could do anything about it."

"You still can," Cilan said.

Iris narrowed her gaze. "Do tell."

A pause. Cilan was considering his response, the argument he could make, the points he could bring up, the reasons behind he was right. Iris knew this, and she wasn't anxious for when he would speak again.

"Likely the only reason Team Plasma could succeed in capturing Zekrom is because they have the manpower to do it," Cilan started carefully, and Iris already knew where this was headed. "If we go to the Truth Seekers—"

"—Stop there." Iris held up a hand. "I'm not going to the Truth Seekers. If Drayden wanted the Truth Seekers to be involved, he would have never sent this to me."

"The Truth Seekers were a little-known force two months ago," Cilan persisted. "He—"

"—Drayden knew about the Truth Seekers long before any of you did, trust me on that," Iris dismissed.

"Drayden said himself he did what he did in hopes that he could protect you, and he would not condone a—suicide mission!" These last words in particular were sharp, severe, and yet, there was a real fear lying beneath them.

Iris didn't pick up on it, though—or, if she did, she was too angry for it affect her—and she snarled, "Don't speak for Drayden like you knew him."

"You're not listening to reason," Cilan went on, growing increasingly exasperated. "This is not the time to let your selfish pride cloud your judgement."

"Selfish?" Iris spat the word.

"Yes, selfish." Cilan didn't back down. "I'm acting in behalf of my country. This is my home. On whose behalf are you acting? I'll tell you, your actions are driven by an irrational grudge and idealism that has no ground in reality."

That, above all else, crossed a line.

"How dare you," Iris hissed. "This is my home, too. This was my home long before it was yours or the Truth Seekers, and neither Drayden nor I would be willing to lay down our lives for it if we didn't care about it. And since you've shared what you think about me, let me share what I think about you—" By then, Iris and Cilan had nearly closed the several yards of space previously between them, now up in each other's faces, and Iris showed no restraint when she venomously began, "You're arrogant and condescending, and you act like you know a lot for someone who actually knows so little."

Her index was pointed straight at his chest, and she had stepped menacingly forward again, finally breaking the personal space barrier between them, causing him to start backing up. He only took several steps before he realized what was happening and stopped, holding his ground. The others looked on full-eyed, shocked by both parties' vitriol: Of all their group's members, Cilan and Iris were contestants for the closest, and to see them turn on each other with such nasty contempt was appalling.

Burgundy, in particular, was horrified. The words Iris spoke now were all things she'd enumerated to Georgia before in huffy rants, and to see them in action with more power behind them than Burgundy could have ever mustered on her own was stunning in the worst kind of way.

"Your convictions are more important than my feelings, and you'd rather treat me like a child than actually listen and try to understand," Iris went on. She then shook her head, adding, "Why do I hate the Truth Seekers? It doesn't matter when I try to tell you anyway, so why pour my heart out to you and watch it be trampled on?"

That last statement seemed to weaken Cilan's certainty. He drew back, blinking, as if genuinely confused. Iris did not stick around to see whether this sudden irresolution would turn in her favor. She snapped up her bag, pulled out a Poké Ball, and left for the river.

The sky had darkened before Cilan came after Iris. It was the longest he had ever waited to resolve an argument with her; though, calling it an argument was an understatement. They had gone through their disputes throughout the years—more recently now than ever before—but this was by far the worst. They needed the hours apart first to recollect themselves and second to consider how they would want to move forward.

Iris's shoes were off, and her feet were tentatively dipped into the water below her. Her Fraxure was also out of his Poké Ball, and his head rested on her lap. It was strange, Cilan thought, seeing the large, bulky Dragon-type snuggled against his trainer like a domestic pet when, earlier in the same day, he'd seen a different Dragon-type's terrifying might under her command. Iris was on the same rock she'd claimed earlier in the day, and that was where Cilan joined her.

"You should be resting," Iris said flatly before he'd even fully settled in beside her.

He paid no mind to this admonition. Instead, he folded his hands together and, despite the fact that neither of their gazes were connecting, cast his eyes downward. 

“I'm sorry,” he said.

"I'm not," Iris retorted. "I meant every word I said."

"I know you did. So did I," Cilan replied diplomatically. "But I still regret hurting you."

With that, he had dismantled her antagonism. One of hands fell to her right thigh, the one uncovered by Fraxure's head, and she rubbed its length anxiously before casting a careful, perhaps even remorseful sideways glance.

"In that case, I'm sorry, too," she said.

Cilan smiled at her weakly and reached out to pet Fraxure atop his head. They said nothing for a while; nothing needed to be said then. They needed to sit in their apologies for a bit, let them sink in.

Eventually, Cilan cleared his throat and asked, "Am I really as arrogant as you say?"

Iris hesitated, but answered, "Sometimes." She paused again before adding, "You condescend to me a lot."

"I don't mean to," Cilan said apologetically.

"I know you don't," Iris conceded. "... And I know I'm really stubborn, too, and that drives you crazy because you hate it when you think people won't listen to reason. So you end up pushing me, and I end up digging in my heels even further, and you push harder."

Each had a hand on Fraxure by then and were petting him. He stretched out his leathery neck contentedly, pleased by the amount of attention he was receiving.

"I suppose our worst traits are also each other's biggest irritants," Cilan mused. Iris frowned, and he appended, "It's not as bad as you might think. We have to work harder at our friendship, which means we have to work harder on ourselves. It's good for us in the end, and I think it brings us closer together, too." She distanced her eyes from his again. Yet, Cilan inclined his head toward her and said, "I still think a compromise is in order."

Iris sucked in her breath.

"I'm listening." Her first concession.

"I want to come to Dragonspiral Tower with you," Cilan said. "If you successfully capture Reshiram, then I won't say anything to the Truth Seekers." He didn't need to share the other half of the deal in order to know what it was. He was too polite to put into words, but she was too frank to let it go unsaid.

"And if I die, then you'll go to Castelia and tell the Truth Seekers all about it," she finished candidly. Cilan seized up. He hadn't just refused to say it to avoid hurting her feelings. He'd refused because he didn't want to hear it said at all.

"Iris—!" he started, aghast.

"—No, it's okay." Iris nudged Fraxure, and he lifted his head from her lap. She returned him into his Poké Ball and stood up again. "Thanks for trying to word it in a nice way." She glanced back toward the trees. A dim orange light, the campfire, was visible beyond the brush. "How do you plan to account for Trip, Georgia, and Burgundy?"

It was a much-wanted change from the previous topic, and it was one that fell squarely into his comfort zone. Relaxing his shoulders, he said, as if it were the surest thing in the world, "They'll come with us."

Iris raised an eyebrow. Cilan was often confident in his assessments—obviously—but something was different here. Iris was capable of cracking that arrogant tenacity—obviously—and drawing forth any lingering doubts, but she sensed there was not a single one hidden beneath his words.

"What makes you so sure?" she asked.

"Because of Trip," Cilan answered simply. "I don't know his motivations, but I could see that the possibility of seeing Reshiram in the flesh appealed to him. He'll want to come. As for Georgia and Burgundy—Burgundy is without her Pokémon and refuses to travel with just Georgia, and Georgia will never leave Burgundy behind. So they will come too if I'm right about Trip, and I'm quite certain I will be."

Iris was half-impressed. She had no holes to shoot.

"How's your head?" she asked, changing the subject yet again, a signal that, for once, she trusted his judgment. Cilan blinked and touched the back of his head.

"Sore," he answered. Then: "Pounding."

Iris nodded slowly, having expected a response akin to the one he'd given.

"I have some dried Cheri Berries in my bag," she offered. "They can help with headaches."

She reached for his hand and helped him to his feet. She didn't immediately let go when he had risen. Neither did he. She was too cautious to bring her eyes up to his though; eye contact would have been uncomfortably intimate then. He, however, watched her carefully and pressed a hand against her upper arm, coaxing her into loosening her grip.

"Good for you to join us again," Georgia said wryly as Iris strolled back into the camp and claimed a spot near the fire. Cilan flicked his gaze toward Iris, wondering how she would respond—she had been absent for a long time, and the others were undoubtedly curious about what had been said in their conversation. He would leave it to her to share as much or little as she wanted in this case.

Cilan drifted past the others, toward Iris's bag, without their noticing.

"So are you still going to Dragonspiral Tower?" Trip asked Iris when it became apparent she didn't plan to respond to Georgia's quip.

"Yeah," Iris answered shortly. "I just got delayed." Cilan flinched only inwardly at the obvious reference to him. He unzipped Iris's bag and began the hunt for her handful of Cheri Berries. The search proved itself as a challenge, given he had little light to work with.

"How much would you mind some extra accompaniment?" Trip added carefully, testing the waters. Iris raised an eyebrow and briefly glanced Cilan's way. He didn't look back, but she knew he was listening.

"I already have some," she replied, looking back at Trip. "Cilan is coming with me."

Cilan soon grew exasperated and pulled out his Pokégear. The signal was dead and had been for days in that wilderness, but the flashlight function still worked. He switched it on and peered inside her bag. What he found was not quite what he expected.

"I figured," Trip said coolly. "That's why I said extra."

Iris waited, as if to give it serious consideration, as if to make it seem it would be generous of her to let him come.

"I wouldn't mind," she eventually answered with the same nonchalance.

Drayden's letter was apparently not the only memento Iris kept in her bag. Cilan lifted out an old, faded photograph depicting a young Iris—no more than 4 or 5 years old—and whom he was certain were her parents. He was only sure of it because of the striking resemblances she bore from both of them: She shared her father's rich skin color and dark, thick hair, but the structure of her face was a near-perfect replica of her mother's. Iris looked more like her mother actually, in Cilan's opinion at least. There was a similar, warm glow that seemed to emanate from both of them, and yet, there was something fierce in their expressions, in their eyes in particular. Her mother's irises were a bold crimson, and Iris presented a similar color alloyed by her father's gentler brown.

"W-Wait," Burgundy interjected suddenly, nervously. "You're going to go all the way to Dragonspiral Tower with them?"

"What does it matter to you?" Trip asked flatly.

"Aren't you still going to the Truth Seekers?" Burgundy pressed worriedly.

"Later,” Trip waved it off. Burgundy looked even more apprehensive and cast Georgia a troubled glance. Georgia sighed in response and straightened up.

"Well, maybe we ought to go with you, too," she started casually. "I'm interested to see you put those Dragon-training skills of yours to use. And if you fail, there'll be a Dragon Buster around to take care of business."

Iris let out a sarcastic kind of laugh. "That's good, I guess."

Cilan put away the photo, realizing he was being intrusive. He found the Cheri berries and stood up, turning back around to see that Iris was now watching him, looking impressed.

Black City, it turned out, was only a stone's throw away from their camp site. Early the following morning, with Cilan in a better condition, they departed for the city and were there in under two hours. Cilan was quickly able to see a doctor—unsurprisingly, she didn't have too many appointments now—who confirmed what they already knew: He had sustained a minor concussion. The doctor's recommendations were to cease travel until he had fully recovered—advice Cilan refused to follow — and to avoid any further blows to the head—advice Cilan would love to follow were it completely under his control.

"We can leave today," Cilan informed Iris and Trip, sitting at a booth in the Pokémon Center's cafeteria whilst Burgundy and Georgia were off serving themselves breakfast. There was television mounted above them, with a newscaster providing some nice background noise. "There's no sense in staying here in any longer."

"But Cilan," Iris started in a rather mocking tone, "the doctor said..."

"I'll be fine," Cilan assured her. Iris rolled her eyes and sunk into her seat. Either the joke had gone straight over his head or he was feigning ignorance.

"We should get you some painkillers for the road at least," Trip suggested. "It's not a bad idea to stock up on some things anyway. We don't know what supplies are going to look like in other cities and towns as things get worse."

"That's true," Cilan conceded.

"I can go now," Trip said, rising to his feet. "You stay here and eat."

"What about you?" Cilan asked.

"I'll just get something at the store. It's fine." With that, Trip slid away from his companions and was on his way out the door, leaving Cilan and Iris alone. A short period of silence followed, and then Cilan cleared his throat.

"Do you want me to get you anything to eat?" he asked.

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry," she muttered.

"It's not healthy to skip—" He stopped short, seeing her glare. "Sorry." He scuttled off in what could be read as mild embarrassment. Georgia returned to the table as soon as he had gone, and she laid a cup of coffee in front of Iris—a peace offering.

"I don't know if you actually like coffee, but here," Georgia said.

Iris blinked. She didn't.

"Thanks," she said anyway, and Georgia nodded before sliding into the seat across from her.

Another strained silence followed. Then, Georgia said, "I'm sorry."

Iris raised an eyebrow.

"For what?"

"I didn't really think about how hard of a time you must be having," Georgia answered. "Drayden's dead. We're at war. And you're planning on going up against a Pokémon that could very well burn you to a crisp if you can't distinguish yourself as a more capable Dragon Master than Drayden, who had to have—what—at least 40 years experience on you?" She said this all pretty casually, and Iris frowned in response. "Sorry, am I being too forward?" Georgia went on. "Well, regardless, the rest of us piling on you didn't really help the situation, so I'm sorry."

Iris would never have expected an apology. She wasn't even looking for one in particular, but having it brought a sense of relief. And just like that, her opinion of Georgia underwent an enormous transformation.

"... Thank you," Iris said sincerely.

Georgia then folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, looking at Iris closely.

"You're one of them aren't you?" she asked. The look Iris gave was enough to signal that Georgia needed to elaborate. "I grew up in Icirrus City. I've known about Dragonspiral Tower all my life, and yet, I've never been there because it's a protected area—it's sacred to the Draconid of Unova." Iris tensed at the mention. "I'm actually surprised I didn't realize it before. You've kind of got the eyes for it, and The Village of Dragons hosts one of the oldest surviving clans."

Iris didn't answer right away. In fact, before she could, Burgundy returned to the table as well.

"They ran out of waffles—can you believe that?" Realizing both Iris and Georgia were staring, she stopped, blinking. " Ai-je interrompu quelque chose ?"

Iris slid on her backpack.

"I'm going to catch up with Trip," she announced before leaving. As she was, Georgia directed a gaze straight at Burgundy in a glare.

"What?" Burgundy asked, exasperated. "What did I do?"

Despite being a huge metropolis with large skyscrapers and modern living, Black City was as much a ghost town as Striaton City. This was only one reason why it ended up being easy for Iris to find Trip again. The other was that he actually hadn't ended up going far at all.

She found him standing in front of a downed communication tower en route to the local PokéMart. It wasn't until she reached his side that she realized his camera—a small digital one with a teal shell—was out, and its lens was zoomed in on the deft strokes of blue paint in the shape of a lightning bolt on the tower's side. Iris drew in a long breath, as if to say something, but Trip actually ended up being the first to speak.

"It's weird," he remarked thoughtfully, though tiredly. He didn't seem to mind her being there. "They usually go after places that have symbolic meaning." He snapped a few pictures then slipped the camera into his bag and continued on his way. Iris followed.

"Why are you taking photos?" she questioned. He shrugged.

"Someone has to keep a record of what happens," he replied. "I figure I'm as good as anyone."

Iris pursed her lips, then asked, "Is that why you wanted to come with us to Dragonspiral?"

"I'm seeking truth, just like everyone else," Trip answered. "If that's with you, then it's with you. If it's with the Truth Seekers, then it's with the Truth Seekers."

It was unsatisfying response, but Iris didn't press the matter further. They soon arrived at the doors of the PokéMart. Inside, it became apparent Trip's concerns about diminishing stocks were legitimate: It wasn't quite barren yet, but it felt more sparse than any PokéMart in which she had ever set foot. Trip picked up a basket and immediately went to the potions aisle. He practically emptied an entire shelf with one sweep of his arm into the basket.

Iris decided to poke around and see if there was anything she could find that might be of use to her on their journey. She found herself in the Poké Ball aisle and discovered that everything in it was on sale. She supposed catching Pokémon was not popular at a time like this. Most everyone was either fleeing the country and therefore not concerned with the sport, while Team Plasma was preaching the evils of Pokémon training at every opportunity—and if there wasn't an opportunity available, they'd be happy to make one themselves.

She picked up an Ultra Ball. Even at a reduced price, it cost almost all of what she had.

"Hey." Iris snapped her head up to look at Trip. He continued, "I'm ready to go. Is there anything you're getting?"

"Already? That was quick. Did you even get some stuff for Cilan?" Iris questioned, and he nodded. Iris looked down at the Ultra Ball again, turning it over in her hand. "Yeah—yeah, there's one thing I want."

Something was different when they returned to the Pokémon Center. Although it was low-occupied and rather quiet to begin with, the place was now eerily silent save the hum of the one working television, around which everyone—Nurse Joy, Audino, the one cafeteria worker, their own companions, and a small handful of other trainers—was gathered. Trip and Iris exchanged uneasy glances before hurrying to see what had them so captivated.

The news anchor was no longer on the screen, or rather, she wasn't the only one of the screen. The screen flickered between her—whose alarmed expression was enough to say something was very wrong—and a different, weaker feed hampered by static. Finally, the intrusive feed overpowered the main broadcast, and there in front of an amateur camera sat an aging, green-haired male with a dark coat hanging from his shoulders. His right eye was a heinously bright red, while his left was concealed under an eyepatch with a black outline and red center, mirroring the other eye.

"What's going on?" Iris started, but she was quickly and harshly shushed by a brunette trainer standing next to her. Iris glowered at her, but when the rogue broadcast began, she jerked her head back toward the screen and no longer cared to give the trainer another thought.

" Good morning Unova. " The man's voice was low but regal, and it sent a chill through Iris. " Allow me to introduce myself: I am Ghetsis, the leader of Team Plasma. " There was an anxious and desperate hum among the Center's audience, but this time, it was Iris who hushed them.

" I'm speaking with you today on a very important matter. My organization has been misrepresented as a vile and cruel one which seeks to destroy Unova, " Ghetsis continued. " This is simply not true. You and I, my dear viewers, have more in common than you may believe. I have a passionate love for this country, its people, and for its Pokémon. I seek nothing more than to create a more ideal Unova, one in which Pokémon and we humans are equal and live in peace. "

Iris stared directly into his eyes. She closed her hands into fists.

"I know many of you are seeking the truth—" Half of the audience members jolted. The reference was obvious. "—and I can assure you that we can offer it. The League has deceived you. It has taught you to believe we humans and Pokémon are partners that have come to live together because we want and need each other. However, is that really the truth? Have you ever considered that perhaps we humans only assume that this is the truth? Pokémon are subject to the selfish commands of train and s. They get pushed around when they are our 'partners' at work. Can anyone say with confidence that there is no truth in what I'm saying?"

Burgundy clutched onto Georgia's upper arm, digging in her nails into the green sleeve.

" Now, my dear viewers, Pokémon are different from humans. They are living beings that contain unknown potential. They are living beings from whom we humans have much to learn. Tell me, what is our responsibility toward these wonderful beings called Pokémon? I'll tell you: It is to liberate them, to free them from our baneful grasp. Then, and only then, will humans and Pokémon truly be equals. "

Iris's hands were closed so tightly together that it nearly hurt. Cilan could sense the tension, and, casting her a quick sideways glance, reached out to touch the inside of her wrist. Iris let out a sudden, barely audible breath, now grounded. She loosened her hands again, but the rest of her remained stiff.

" I speak now directly to Champion Alder. " Ghetsis's polite tone suddenly faded, leaving behind a harsher, more grated sound. " Only you have the power to end this conflict peacefully: Step down from your position and end this tyranny against Pokémon. This is your final opportunity to redeem yourself and recompense for at least a fraction of the sins you have committed. Know this: If you refuse to do right by your country and its inhabitants, there will be fatal consequences. " A pause. " I end my words here today by imploring all of you to consider the relationship between people and Pokémon... and the correct way to proceed. We sincerely appreciate your attention. "

The feed ended, and there appeared the utterly horrified face of the anchor on the screen again.

"That was a threat," Georgia said quickly, bluntly, looking at the others.

"A baseless one," Trip dismissed. "I don't know how Team Plasma could ever hope to take on the League when it's packed with Unova's most elite trainers."

Iris had nothing to say of the broadcast, but it was clear from her clenched jaw and hard gaze that there was plenty she thought of it. She brushed her hand through her long hair and looked at the others.

"We should go," she said flatly, quietly. There were some nods of agreement, and they dispersed to gather their things for a quick exit. Iris readjusted her backpack, waiting. Her gaze briefly caught that of the brunette who had hushed her earlier. She was at a different table in the cafeteria, and she, too, was packing up to leave.

A low growl emerged from the back of Burgundy's throat as the teeth of her hairbrush got caught in her curls—again. She was sitting atop her sleeping bag, dressed down for the evening, as was most everyone else. It was late by then, and everyone had rolled out their beds around the fire. According to Trip's watch—their only reliable source of time since their technology never seemed to work outside cities and towns anymore—it was nearly 11 p.m. They had been traveling all day and had travelled far since leaving Black City that afternoon.

Georgia watched Burgundy struggle with the brush for a moment before rolling her eyes and moving to the connoisseuse's sleeping bag to help her out. Georgia flicked away Burgundy's hand and took control of the handle herself to finish the job. Iris watched them without comment before redirecting her gaze toward Cilan, who was still in his normal wear and had just pulled his pajamas out of his bag.

"I need to change," he announced to the others, standing up. "I'll be back in a couple minutes."

He received stares and nods of acknowledgement from his companions. Yet, Iris lowered the hands upon which her chin was resting and asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Cilan assured her. Trip flicked his eyes between the two, then also pulled a T-shirt from his backpack.

"I need to change, too," he said, also standing, "so don't worry, if he collapses, I'll be nearby, unable to do anything about it."

Iris cracked a now-rare smile and almost laughed. "Thanks, Trip," she dryly said. Cilan smiled, too, before the two headed off together. Iris watched them carefully until they disappeared, unaware that she, herself, was being watched.

Georgia finished with Burgundy's hair before flopping back onto her sleeping bag and, with a lopsided grin, asked, "So what's the deal with you and Cilan anyway?"

Iris glanced at her rival, eyebrows raised. "What's the deal with you and Burgundy?" she threw back. There was no indication she was flustered by the direction of the conversation, but the same couldn't be said for Burgundy.

" Excusez-moi ?" the connoisseuse blustered. "And just what do you mean to imply by that ?"

Georgia was unfazed, too. Rather, her smile only widened, and she said, "Don't avoid the question. Dragonspiral Tower is a long, long way away from Striaton City."

"What about it?" Iris said coolly.

"You said you overshot your destination to go to Striaton City with Cilan," Georgia recalled. "That is not overshooting your direction. That is heading in the completely wrong direction. By going with Cilan, you had to have extended your journey by at least a month."

Iris scoffed, unzipped her sleeping bag, and slid inside. There wasn't so much ridicule in her scoff as perhaps she intended, though. Something about what Georgia said muddled her derision, and she almost looked sad.

"I know," Iris dismissed. "Believe me, I've been counting the days."

"So why'd you do it?" Georgia pressed on, refusing to lessen the taunt. "Were you just procrastinating facing Reshiram because you're scared? Or were you just wanting to make sure your favorite A-Class made it home safely?" Iris looked annoyed now, and Georgia finished, "I'm leaning toward the latter. I know a lovers' spat when I see one. Yours was a particularly nasty one, but still."

Iris pulled her long hair out from under her.

"Maybe it's both," she said. She still didn't sound dejected, but she'd lost her edge. It was then that Georgia deflated, and she pursed her lips, dismayed by the morose turn of the conversation. Burgundy was still sour over Iris's innuendo a couple minutes earlier, but the brusque comment was enough to visibly bother her, too.

"You know, you now have a way of sucking the fun out of teasing," Georgia said flatly. "It wasn't always that way."

Something about that statement inspired a more brassy, more sprightly part of Iris—a part of her they knew well five years ago—to breathe again. She flashed Georgia a familiar smirk and said, "Sorry. I guess I grew up while you stayed a little kid."

Though surprised, Georgia eventually smirked and said, "That's more like it."

Silence fell, but the atmosphere had changed. Georgia settled into her sleeping bag too whilst Iris readjusted herself, trying to get more comfortable. She folded her hands on top of her chest and stared up at the black, star-speckled sky above. Since it was summer, the constellation Léixīlāmu—the white fire dragon—was visible in the sky. She could pick it out easily.

"... I didn't know you were from Icirrus City," Iris said suddenly, as if she'd only just remembered. 

"Well, it's not like we've ever played 20 questions," Georgia quipped. A pause, another smirk. "Do you want to play 20 questions?"

"Not really." Iris's lips twitched into a smile regardless. "I guess we don't know that much about each other, though." Another pause. Remembering Georgia wasn't the only one there, Iris lolled her head toward Burgundy and added, "You, too."

Burgundy glowered at her before pointedly turning away. Iris stared blankly at the back of her shoulders before glancing toward Georgia again, whose lips had parted with the ghost of a laugh.

Cilan and Trip returned shortly thereafter, and Cilan picked a pail of water nearly the fire and, looking toward the others, asked, "Any opposition to putting this out?"

"Be my guest," Burgundy muttered. Cilan was unsure of what to make of that response—whether she really was offering her assent or passive aggressively denying it—so he held the pail in suspension before Georgia eventually seconded he put it out. The flames sizzled aloud as they died and their spirits rose toward the sky.

Silence accompanied the newfound darkness, save the rustling of nylon as Cilan and Trip got settled. Iris breathed in the warm, slightly smoky air and closed her eyes, intending to quickly go to sleep. A voice—quiet as it was—called her back into consciousness.

"It's gonna be weird going back," Georgia whispered. "I thought I left for good. When things started getting bad, I knew I couldn't stay."

Everyone heard, though no one was quite sure they were supposed to. It was reflective, personal, something that was completely unexpected coming from Georgia. They waited though, primarily because they wanted to see if she would say anything further. When she didn't, Iris cleared her throat and asked, "How come?"

"It didn't feel like home anymore." It was not Georgia who answered, but Trip. Surprised glances were cast his way, but his eyes were tethered to the stars.

"... Yeah, that," Georgia eventually said. She sighed before adding, "Nothing's the same anymore." A pause. "Except maybe this—" She extended her arms toward the sky. "—traveling, going on an 'adventure' with your Pokémon and maybe some tolerable company." Burgundy's breath became more shallow at the mention of Pokémon. Georgia dropped her hands down again and finished, "I guess that's the closest thing we've got to home now." A beat of silence followed, and then she laughed, "Arceus, that was cheesy. I'm definitely tired. Okay, I'm going to sleep now. Good night."

A couple others echoed her good night—namely Cilan and Burgundy, with different intonations and volumes. Iris stared at Georgia for a long while though, replaying the conversation—all its lines with all its players—in her head. She turned to look at Trip next, then Burgundy, and finally Cilan. It hadn't occurred to her before, but there was one experience they shared: They had all lost their home. And maybe, Iris thought as she looked back up at Léixīlāmu, they were forging a new one there, in that moment.

"Good night," she added in a whisper, one no one could hear. She closed her lips into a smile and shut her eyes.

Chapter Text

T he genesis of the Unova Pokémon League was established in 1776. It wasn't called the Pokémon League back then—the official name and organization came in 1920—and it looked a lot different than it does today. For one, Poké Balls didn't exist back then; the trainer terminology and standard battle formats didn't exist either, but it was definitely the beginning of the league and what we call modern Unova.

A key difference between old Unova and modern Unova is the relationship with Pokémon. Old Unova was built around Pokémon; modern Unova was built on Pokémon, with Pokémon. Power was structured according to the people who could command and best and strongest Pokémon with the most skill. In that sense, Vero Albinus was Unova's first Champion.

Alder Ray was the 11th official Champion of the Unova Pokémon League, and he was the longest-standing by a very wide margin at 27 years. His leadership marked not only a change in the culture of Pokémon training, but also a change in social equality among both Unova's people and Pokémon. It was a change I never personally saw—I was born almost a decade after he took the Champion seat—but as a child, I met him myself. He traveled often, and in his travels, he would speak of how he had striven for power in his youth, as so many trainers did and still do, and how it ultimately brought him no satisfaction. Then when his Pokémon partner died, he started to question more seriously his own motivations and human relationships with Pokémon. In time, he eventually came to the conclusion that raising Pokémon was not about gaining power for yourself, but bettering the world and enjoying new experiences together with your Pokémon.

His stance on the ideal relationship between Pokémon and people—as partnership rather than ownership—and the efforts he made to redress the country's historical wrongdoings won over many of those previously alienated and marginalized by the League, even if it was with reservations. Still, he was one of Unova's most beloved Champions, and it was not undeserved. But in the end, I guess he wasn't considered radical enough.

Iris.

The name was printed neatly on the envelope laid directly in front of Alder. He stared at it, puzzled by its presence, but he didn't reach for it. Then, he slowly raised his eyes toward the man in front of him, a long-time friend and perpetual disputant: Drayden.

"What's this for?" Alder asked. He spoke seriously, gravely, as would be expected of him. Drayden would not visit unannounced if it were not for an important reason; no, it had to be more than important. During a time like this, Drayden would not visit at all if it weren't absolutely consequential.

Drayden cleared his throat.

"I'm leaving my post at the Opelucid Gym," he said, and Alder's brow shot up.

"Is this a protest?" he asked. He half-suspected based on Drayden's austere expression and speech that he was upset by the budding re-emergence of the Truth Seekers. Surely he had heard something of it by then. Alder continued, "Contrary to what you may believe, restoring the Truth Seekers was not my doing."

Drayden's gaze narrowed, not quite convinced, but he corrected, "It's not a protest. My hope is this will be a temporary leave. Iris—" He made a small gesture to the letter. "—is my protégé and will be acting as gym leader in my stead. If it turns out it is a permanent leave, I want you to ensure that letter makes its way to her."

His wording unsettled Alder. The Champion's breath slowed, and his voice dropped lower as he said, "What do you know? What's the reasoning behind this?"

"You don't need to know," Drayden said bluntly. "All I ask is you fulfill this simple request should you need to."

Alder let out a short, harsh-sounding chuckle. "How will I know if I need to?" he asked.

"You'll know." Drayden turned to leave, but Alder furrowed his brow.

"Wait a minute," he demanded. "I haven’t yet agreed to do this for you." Drayden stopped, and Alder rose to his feet with the envelope now in hand. "I need to know what is inside this letter. I need to know where you're going." Drayden remained tight-lipped. Alder fell back with a frown. "I was not your first choice for this, was I?"

The corner of Drayden's mouth twitched.

"No," he admitted. Alder sighed and dropped the letter on his desk again.

"If your mother refused, why should I agree?” he huffed. “Is this about Team Plasma capturing Zekrom? Is that what you intend to withhold from me? I already know of it."

Drayden shifted. There was a flash of thought in his eyes and another twitch at his mouth. Alder watched him expectantly before Drayden finally answered, "Yes, that was what I intended to withhold." He said it flatly; there was no sense of resignation in it, and it caused Alder to let out one of his famous, full laughs. Drayden gave him an odd look.

"Oh, Drayden, we have been friends for far too long," Alder said after regathering himself. "You're lying. There's more. You know where to find Reshiram, don't you?"

A smile finally arrived, and Drayden said, "You are always more astute than I estimate." Alder heard resignation's ring then and knew he was, finally, hearing the truth. His victorious smile was fleeting, however; it quickly diminished, and Alder settled himself back into his seat.

"I'm afraid I must disappoint you and err on the side of your mother," he said. "I will not condemn you and a teenage girl to death." Alder touched the edge of the letter, adding, "This is a torch—something you intend to pass on if you fail."

"You have such a lack of faith in me."

" I do? Only because you have a lack of faith in yourself," Alder retorted.

"I'm aware of the risks I'm taking, and I'm building a safety net," Drayden corrected. "I intend to protect my country, and I intend to protect Iris."

"Let us help you then," Alder proposed.

"I thought the Truth Seekers were not your charge?" Drayden asked dryly. Alder started at that, but before he could say anything, Drayden closed his eyes and added, "Regardless, my answer is no."

Alder sighed heavily. "I do understand your hesitations—" Drayden cut in to say he had no hesitations, but Alder pressed on over him. "—The Truth Seekers do not have a clean history, especially in regards to your people. Believe me, I know. I married one of your historians. Still, these new Truth Seekers only seek to restore peace, not to strongarm our dissenters into compliance. And, they are under a new leader whom I—"

"—Is Team Plasma not a dissenter?" Drayden cut him off a second time. He shook his head, then changed the subject, saying, "Alder, you have always been good to us. You are perhaps the one Champion to afford us any respect, and perhaps I give you too much credit and should offer it to your late wife. Still, it is why we are friends, and it is why I am a gym leader. Nevertheless, I do not trust the Truth Seekers, and I will not accept their help. To do so would risk benefitting only the majority and hurting those most in need. I cringe to think what a group with such a history could do with the power of Reshiram in their control."

There was no further argument to be made in that regard—at least, not one that Alder reasonably foresaw Drayden acquiescing to. But, he did intend to end to make a final play.

"I will not do this for you then," Alder said, nodding to the letter. "I fail to see how, if you do not succeed, you expect a young girl to do better." He stood up with the letter, rounded his desk, and forcibly pressed it back into Drayden's hand. "I'm sorry. You'll have to find someone else." Alder moved forward to show out Drayden, but the Dragon Master did not follow.

"That move did not work on Nadie and Mukul Ajagara, nor will it work on me," Drayden said suddenly. Alder paused and glanced back at him, perplexed as to what he meant. "You see, many years ago, when Unova faced a crisis nearly as deadly as this one—you remember, you were Champion then, too—a young couple approached my mother and asked to place their child in her care while they confronted that crisis with the intention of putting an end to it. She refused, believing they would be out of options and would stand down, therefore saving three lives. She underestimated the love they have for this country and the love they had for that little girl—for if Unova fell, their daughter would be deprived of both her past and her future." Alder slowly turned to face Drayden again, who added with finality, "You underestimate me, too."

"You've told me this story before," Alder said. "I recognize those names. Are they the ones who—?"

"—Yes." Drayden nodded.

" Iris is their daughter?"

"And now the sole lineal descendant of Taima," Drayden affirmed. Alder stared. He staggered back into the center of the room and sank onto a chair, pressing a hand against his face and lowering his head with heavy thought. Drayden waited a moment, giving Alder space to think, before leaning down at his side and holding out the letter again. Alder flicked his eyes upward.

"I want to save Iris from her parents' fate," Drayden said, "but I believe that if I fail, she can convince Reshiram, even if at the cost of her own life. If that's the case, then you and your Truth Seekers will get exactly what you want."

Alder pressed a closed fist to his mouth, sucking in his breath as he did. Then, he accepted the letter.

Two weeks later, an Altaria—Drayden's Altaria—came to Alder's window, staining the sill with her precious tears as she held out a singed, emerald bolo tie—Drayden's tie—and Alder accepted it with tears of his own. 

And that was two months ago. The Altaria, now his, sat perched at the end of his desk, asleep. The window was still open from her arrival, and in came a gentle summer breeze from the eerily quiet morning. 

Alder wondered where Iris was now—he hadn't heard a single thing of her in months, despite the indirect effort he made to bring her where Drayden refused to go—and he wondered if he would ever hear the results of her mission.

The ghosts of the conversation walked through him. Oddly, Alder felt closer to Drayden than he ever had since his death, and suddenly, he also felt he needed to call together his Elite Four members for a warning.

Iris drew her hands back through her long hair and pulled it into the makings of a ponytail. She stood alone in front of the vanity with a hair tie gently clenched between her teeth, and she stared directly into her reflection's auburn eyes as if monitoring them for any slight break in their rigid, unfeeling gaze. She pulled the hair tie onto her wrist and then stretched it through her thick locks until she had satisfactorily removed all obstructions from her line of vision.

Her hand fell to the table, touching the edges of Drayden's letter and the photograph of her family. They laid on top of each other with the corner of her mother's face peeking out from beneath the faded gray of the lined paper. She skimmed Drayden's final words to her again and wondered what he had felt when he was in her position nearly three months earlier: Was he afraid? Did he feel the phantom embers burning his skin too, or had he hardened himself to those anticipative fears? Did he think of her, or did he think of Unova when faced with the prospect of death at the hands of old legends?

She pushed aside the letter and revealed the full photograph of her and her parents. She thought about them, too. What would they think of all of this? She wasn't sure she could be a good judge. Her memories of them had faded with time, and she couldn't bring herself to believe they would be supportive. There was one thing she did know though: Drayden and her parents shared something in common, and that was that they both had a legacy to leave behind in the form of her.

Iris had no legacy. After her, there was no one left who could take up her charge with the same intentions and hope to succeed. She had conceded to a compromise that betrayed her principles, but at least it was to someone whom she could trust her story.

Iris pulled out the top drawer in the vanity and slipped the photo of her parents and Drayden's letter inside. Then, she reached for a fresh envelope on her bed, signed and sealed, and placed it in there too.

The door creaked open and Iris jolted before turning sharply on her heel to see the person behind her: Cilan. There was a question on his lips, but it fell silent the moment he saw her. She looked different: stiffer, older perhaps. Her eyes, while always having a reddish tint, appeared especially dark with crimson shades and a piercing gaze then.

"What is it?" she asked, eventually growing unsettled by his silence.

"Nothing." Cilan quickly shook his head. "... Are you letting us come with you?"

Iris folded her arms into her shirt.

"That was the deal, wasn't it?" she said before brushing past him and heading out the door. Cilan watched her leave with a nonplussed expression before shutting the door and following. They progressed down the quiet hallway—it was always so strange staying in a near-empty Pokémon Center when they were familiarly known for bustling with colorful traveling trainers and their Pokémon—when the only other trainer staying in the Pokémon Center left her room and locked the door behind her. Iris had already passed by, but the brunette trainer turned her gaze and stared Cilan down as he moved past her. Cilan didn't let it bother him; everyone was suspicious of each other.

Georgia, Burgundy, and Trip were already waiting downstairs in the lobby. As soon as Iris and Cilan met them, none wasted any time with morning pleasantries.

"So Dragonspiral Tower is about two miles northwest of the edge of the city," Georgia started immediately. "We can be there in under an hour on foot." Iris nodded to her but said nothing in response.

"So how are you planning on going about this?" Burgundy then added on, wringing her hands together. "How are—we—going about this?"

Iris wetted her lips before admitting, "I'm not sure." This drew blank stares. Iris had proven she wasn't exactly a meticulous planner—that was Cilan's specialty; Iris, on the other hand, was the type to run into burning buildings—but they had assumed, perhaps wrongfully so, that she would have put at least some thought into what undoubtedly was the most dangerous undertaking of her life.

"You're not... sure?" Trip repeated incredulously.

"No," Iris said plainly, shaking her head.

"This is really not something you can chance without a plan," Cilan said, both unimpressed and worried.

"There's nothing I can plan for right now," Iris retorted, already exasperated by Cilan's tone . "I have to be close enough to read Reshiram's heart before I can decide what to do." This, too, elicited some peculiar looks that were exchanged among one another. They believed she was talking about reading his heart in some abstract, flimsy sense, and so they felt even less assured than before. Iris continued, "And if you want me to be honest, there's no sense in you coming. There's nothing you can do to help me, and all you'd be doing is putting yourselves in the line of fire."

Cilan protested that, too.

"We can help," he insisted. "Five is better than one."

Iris sucked in her breath.

"If you saw things the way I did, you'd think one is better than five," she said with quiet restraint. She then abruptly turned away from them and toward the door. "It's not like I have any real power to stop you, though. Let's go."

Iris started away, but Burgundy slung her weight to her left hip and, folding her arms, said, "I don't know if I really want to go if you've got nothing in mind for taking on Reshiram."

"Then stay ," Iris threw back with a short glance over her shoulder. "You've got no Pokémon of your own anyway." She went on through the doors, and Burgundy bristled. Cilan frowned and gently laid a hand on Burgundy's shoulder.

"Maybe she's—" he began carefully.

"—No." Burgundy immediately brushed his hand away. "I'm going. Come on."

The rest of the group finally caught up with Iris at the edge of the city. She hadn't waited for them. She hadn't even slowed down to give them a decent chance at finding her again, as though she had wanted to be lost. Perhaps it was a fair assessment, given how she had immediately tensed up when she heard one of them call her name at the city's limit, and the four joined her.

"You're certainly in a hurry, aren't you?" Trip grumbled, meeting one of her open sides. Iris didn't respond, only looking annoyed.

"Yes, Iris," Cilan added quickly, a little breathlessly. "Nothing good ever comes rushing into things. We should maybe wait a day—at least an hour —” he amended, seeing her expression, “—to figure out how we want to handle Reshiram."

"I already told you," Iris huffed, folding her arms. She still didn't stop. "There's no planning for this. And I've already put it off long enough."

"Yeah, Cilan, you ought to know all about that," Georgia said wryly.

Iris became even more agitated at that remark and sharply interjected, "Can we not right now?"

Georgia appeared disaffected but was wise enough to know not to tease the matter further. Cilan, in fact, was looking a little uncomfortable, but he turned his gaze back to Iris as they crossed into the forested area. Iris could feel his eyes on her and was aware he was still trying to think of some way he could stop her short of physical force, and knowing that only made her more determined not to stop—for better or for worse.

Georgia stepped ahead of the group a little to better direct them toward Dragonspiral, and Iris let her.

"So have you ever been to Dragonspiral Tower?" Georgia asked.

"No," Iris replied, then admitted, "but I've always wanted to." She hesitated before adding, "Drayden wanted to take me someday. He believed it was important I visit it." There was always a distinct sense of longing when she mentioned Drayden. Cilan frowned; Drayden especially must have been at the forefront of her mind that morning. At least that was certain, but Cilan couldn't really be sure what else was truly going through her head, try as he might to figure it out.

"I'm surprised I've never heard of this place before," Burgundy said thoughtlessly. "It's some remnant of old Unova, isn't it? A temple? It sounds like it'd be a tourist trap here." Cilan flinched, thinking it was a little crass, but Iris didn't react.

"I think it once was," Trip recalled. "Alder shut that down and brought it under the League's protection 20-something years ago."

"Oh, right, because it belongs to the... Draconid?" She was only questioning the correct pronunciation. Iris, however, misinterpreted the inquiry as a need to know what the tribe even was, and finally, she provided an answer.

"They're the indigenous people of Unova," Iris said evenly, drawing some surprised looks from her companions. "They lived in peace with the Aboriginal Dragon in Dragonspiral Tower—at least, they did until the Truth Seekers came."

The surprise transformed to confusion and then unease. Iris seemed to realize she had said more than she wanted to and was keeping her gaze straightforward, despite Cilan's efforts to catch her eyes. Georgia and Burgundy exchanged perturbed gazes while Trip frowned. Everyone wanted to ask for more—she still hadn't really discussed her deep-seated contempt for the Truth Seekers, but her response brought them closer to maybe figuring it out—yet no one could bring themselves to change their thoughts into words.

There was silence for a while. Then they came to a chain-link fence with a rusting white sign posted on it: "PLEASE KEEP OUT. This area is under the Unova Pokémon League's protection by Executive Order 1872."

"So—" Cilan started, but before he could say a word further, Iris suddenly jumped onto the fence and nimbly climbed to the top before landing on the other side. She turned and looked expectantly at the others, never saying anything, but it was evident in that look what they were supposed to do. Georgia followed Iris's lead first with relative ease, then it was Trip and Cilan. Burgundy struggled a little more than the others, but they helped her over, and eventually, they had all passed the sole legal hurdle that separated the modern world from one of the few and final mausoleums for old Unova.

"Some protection, huh?" Georgia muttered sarcastically to Iris as they continued on.

Dragonspiral Tower was now overtly visible among the summer greenery. Its derelict, mossy towers rose high above the trees and took the clear azure sky as its backdrop. Seeing it so close now sent a flutter of apprehension through Iris's system. The closer she drew to it, in fact, the more suspense she felt, and she wasn't sure whether this was her own misgivings or if it was a warning from within the tower itself.

The once-public path to the tower was overrun with weeds and wildflowers. Pools of swampy water had gathered in large depressions in the grounds near the temple, and throngs of lilypads had sprouted at the surface. A Lotad peeked at the trainers from the pond as they passed by. Nature, and nothing else, had truly reclaimed the monument.

"It's so grand," Cilan remarked in wonderment as they drew near the entrance. Iris frowned.

"It's in bad condition," she said. Iris lifted a Poké Ball from her pocket. "Come out, Fraxure!" He emerged with a throaty groan. Then, Fraxure cast his eyes upon the tower and seemed humbled, reverent even. Iris gestured for him and the others to follow her. "Come on."

Iris stopped directly in front of the entrance, where two decorated stone slabs had been drawn apart and left in the walls. She laid her against one of them and drew in a shaky breath. There was an echo of a roar in her head, a vision of flames and death, that she was sure no one else heard or saw. She cast her gaze down at the floor: Dirt and leaves had blown into the first several yards of the temple.

"Is it supposed to be open like this?" Burgundy asked. Her voice reverberated off the walls slightly at the mouth of the entrance, making her seem louder and maybe even ruder. Georgia elbowed her in the side, and Burgundy winced and glared before realizing what Georgia was reprimanding her for: Drayden had been the last to visit the temple, and of course, he hadn't been able to close its doors.

Iris moved forward first, and the others followed. The interior of the tower was in even more poor condition than the exterior: On the first floor, a built-in set of stairs descending into the earth had filled with standing water that had an unpleasant smell; no life had taken in this water. Even if there were no longer tourists who could desecrate the monument with their disregard for the sacred value of Dragonspiral, the League driving out the capitalist voyeurism left no one who could—or would—reasonably care for it. They left this room quickly and began their ascent up the winding staircases for which the tower had earned its name.

Iris kept her hand against the wall as they made their way up, dragging her fingers lightly across the beautiful ancient designs of a tribe hardly known. She felt anger bleeding through these walls, and eventually, she could hear a voice coming through them too. The words she could barely distinguish yet, but one was clear enough: " Leave ."

"So where's Reshiram?" Georgia asked eventually, but Iris hushed her. She looked up, trying to listen, trying to make sense of it all, but her anxiety only deepened the harder she tried with no discernible result. Still, she could at least tell the voice was high up.

"He's at the top," she said plainly. Fraxure looked nervously at her; his trainer's uncertainty made him anxious, too. Iris barely started again when there was rumble that moved the entire tower. Even though the movement was minimal, it was enough to send the trainers and one Pokémon clinging to the wall. The stairs were already cracked with a few even missing, and the rumble was enough to deprive them of any sense of stability.

As soon as it ended, Cilan swallowed and said, "Iris, I really think we need to take some time to think this through. We don't have any idea what to do here."

"Sure, you don't." Iris pulled herself off the wall and kept going up.

"I'm not sure you really know either," Cilan said doubtfully. Iris's hand touched the wall again and she briefly paused, looking at it.

"I'm figuring it out," she said.

"Then include us," Trip interjected. "Give us some directive."

"There's nothing you can do," Iris emphasized for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

"A one-on-one battle with a Legendary Pokémon is a lost battle." Trip continued to push back.

"I'm not going to battle Reshiram," Iris broke out angrily then, and this caught her companions off guard.

"You're... not?" Burgundy questioned.

"No," Iris said. "I'm going to talk to him." Another slight rumble sent them to the wall again. The voice was still a jumble of roars and cries Iris simply couldn't understand, but the word " leave " was still clear. She sighed before adding with some sarcasm, "Or try to."

Feeling secure again, Iris started up the stairs once more. Cilan, however, felt his worries double into something closer to panic. He quickly started toward her and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to whip around toward him.

"Iris, please," he begged, his grip tightening.

"Cilan," Iris began firmly, trying to wriggle her wrist out of his grasp. "You have to let me do this." The others looked on worriedly, now being infected by the same tense fear Cilan was stroking within himself.

"I don't—" He stopped short. What he wanted to say—"I don't want to lose you"—felt too intimate to say in their company. Iris knew it though; he didn't have to say it all for her to already know. Iris's fortitude fell away, and she wanted to say something to reassure him, but she could force nothing disingenuous to pass her lips. She looked down, unable to look him in the eye anymore, before finally wrestling her wrist away and continuing on. Cilan sucked in his breath and looked back briefly at the others before jerking his head forward again.

They made it to the second floor, which consisted of a series of old, tall, and thick columns rising from the ground and hitting the ceiling above them. Some of the columns had cracked and fallen, but there was still a clear path to the next staircase. A third rumble came, this stronger than the last.

When it passed, Iris turned to the others and rigidly said, "He's angry. He knows we're here. You all should go."

"I'm not going anywhere," Cilan insisted. If he couldn't get her to leave, then there was certainly no way she could do the same to him.

"Neither am I," Georgia said just as firmly. "I didn't travel for weeks back home so I could put my tail between my legs and run away."

"Same," Trip added. Burgundy didn't say anything, but gave a quick, though still unsure nod, indicating she wasn't willing to leave without the others.

A fourth quake. The pressure of the voice on Iris caused her to start to break down. The situation had turned. Instead of Cilan begging her to come with them to safety, she had now become the beggar.

"Please," she pleaded.

"Iris, this is what we agreed to." Cilan refused to give in.

She looked at him with utter reproach, a frown and a worried crease in her brow painted on her face. There was nothing she could do though, so she turned away and whispered "okay" with resignation before moving across the floor.

The fifth time the tower moved was the strongest yet, and it nearly caused the group to lose its balance. Georgia stumbled across the floor and, in her frustration, broke out, "What is he doing?!" The answer was a cracked head on one of the columns that split from its base and fell—toward Burgundy.

"Fraxure, Dragon Tail!" Iris immediately ordered. The end of Fraxure's leathery tail suddenly glowed blue, and he swung his weight around to break the column head into two, saving Burgundy from being crushed as she fell back with a sound that was a mix of a gasp and a cry. Georgia made a similar noise, followed by her name, before going to help the connoisseuse up.

"This is dangerous." Iris sounded angry now. "You need to leave."

"As if it's any less dangerous for you," Cilan retorted.

"For someone who prides himself on rationality, you're not showing a lot of it right now," Iris hissed. "It is dangerous for me, too, but I'm equipped to handle it in ways you couldn't possibly understand—and it's better I endanger myself alone for this then for all of you to needlessly endanger yourselves too."

"We want to help you," Cilan pressed.

"I don't need your help." Iris wasn't sure how many times she would have to say it before at least one of them started to believe her. "I don't—" Her voice caught in her throat then, seeing them all looking back at her with bright, emotional eyes in that dimming temple. "I don't want to see you—any of you—get hurt."

"You don't think I feel the same about you?" Cilan pressed a hand to his chest. Realizing it was too personal, he quickly amended, "You don't think we feel the same about you?"

"Then leave now, and you won't have to see anything," Iris shot back. Reshiram's next fit immediately followed her words, and it had the magnitude of a genuine earthquake: They were all knocked to the ground, and more of the ancient tower began to fall. At first, nothing presented immediate danger; that is, until a column immediately to their left broke at its base and fell between them. Iris and Fraxure dove forward to avoid it, and the others scuttled back to do the same.

It ended. As soon as the dust cleared, Cilan was on his feet again and running toward the downed column, crying, "Iris! Iris, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she coughed from the other side. She and Fraxure was covered in white, dusty debris, and she imagined everyone else looked about the same. "Is everyone okay over there?"

"Yeah, we're fine." Trip shook the dust from his hair with his hand and, after reaching into his pocket, enlarged a Poké Ball. "Back up, Iris. Conkeldurr can smash through this if you give him some time."

They all froze at the word "time." The column was thick and heavy, and it would take time to break through it and be reunited. They had time apart… and Iris had time to get away. Cilan immediately threw himself against the column again, yelling, "Iris! Iris! Don't go on without us!"

"Iris, don't be stupid," Georgia added on loudly, also throwing herself against the column. There was no reply. Cilan and Georgia exchanged dreaded looks before looking at Burgundy and Trip, who were staring back wide-eyed.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Georgia sputtered angrily at Trip. "Get your Conkeldurr to break through that column— now !"

Iris could move a lot quicker without constantly fighting with Cilan and the others on staying or leaving. She was practically running up the stairs now, wanting to put as much distance between herself and her companions as possible. The more heavyset Fraxure had done well with keeping up with his athletic trainer, but he was approaching exhaustion. He whined aloud, and Iris received the message, slowing to a stop to give both herself and Fraxure a chance to catch their breaths.

After a moment, Fraxure whined again, and she felt his question nagging at the edge of her mind: Are you sure about this?

"Yes, I'm sure," Iris answered him. "I care about them. I have to do what I can to protect them."

A loud roar reverberated off the walls. It was not one Iris heard inside her own head. It was real. It was right there. They were close. Iris looked up and drew in a shaky breath. She wished desperately she could talk to Drayden one more time if for no other reason than to simply ask him what had gone wrong. Where had he failed? What could she possibly do better? She didn't want to repeat the same mistake. Repeating it would fail her nation; it would fail her people; it would fail Drayden, the Elder, Shannon, Dragonite, her parents; it would fail Cilan, Georgia, Trip, and Burgundy.

Fraxure let out a quiet, worried whimper. Iris looked down and stroked his head.

"Stay here," she gently commanded him. "I want you to be safe, too." She opened up the bag and started laying out all her Poké Balls, one by one, under Fraxure's large belly: Emolga's, Excadrill's, Gabite's, and Noivern's. The only Poké Balls that remained in her bag were empty. One was the Ultra Ball she had purchased way back in Black City. The other was the one with which Jolon had gifted her in the Village of Dragons.

Iris then pressed her hand to his head, tearfully whispered something to him in a private language, before kissing him atop his head and starting up the stairs again. Fraxure cried for her, but did not move from his station, completely faithful to his trainer's order.

A section of the top room's roof had fallen in and Reshiram stood among the debris of other downed columns in the sunlight, his back turned to Iris. It was an almost serene tableau: The Vast White Pokémon, a symbol of truth in their world, a part of a legend of insuperable significance in her life and the lives of many other Unovans, was standing proud, basking in the summer sun before her very eyes.

She moved surreptitiously in the shadows at first, finding a secure backdrop, before stepping into the light herself.

"Reshiram!" she called out to him, and his fierce blue eyes turned to her immediately. She pressed a hand to her chest and went on, "My name is Iris Ajagara. I'm a Dragon-type trainer, and I'm one of the Draconid. I've come very far to meet you." This introduction did nothing for Reshiram. He bore his teeth and let out a low, guttural growl as his tail turbine lit with flames.

"No, please don't attack!" Iris waved her hand vigorously. "I don't want to fight you. I want to talk, if you'll open yourself up to me."

The turbine stopped, but he let out a roar then. Iris winced and stumbled back, but Reshiram had, nevertheless, opened a sliver of himself to her, and she let herself in—and it was not what she expected. Any sense or meaning she hoped to gain in this opportunity for trust was thrown to wind: Her mind was suddenly filled with a deafening, sharp noise, and she cried out before falling to the ground, clutching her head. She immediately tried to push him out, but Reshiram had a stronghold on her now and wouldn't let go.

So she tried to move forward instead. There was a connection there, and she tried to push the words that usually came to her so easily in these connections past her tongue, but they halted or fell out in a jumbled mess. Reshiram, at least, listened to whatever she could get out, but there came a point where she said something that must have offended his pride, and he roared a second time. The language died in her mouth and left a sour taste.

"Please!" Iris resorted to English again. "I didn't mean to upset you. I know you and Zekrom are meant to start wars, but we can't let this happen again. We have to save him. I can only do it with your help."

The noise sharpened further, and Iris teared up. It was physically painful; her vision was blurring.

"Please!" Iris begged again. "What can I say to convince you?"

He said nothing, and he didn't lessen the severity of the torturous sound. At that point, she half-wished he would fire up his turbine again and put an end to it. Her hands fisted into the end tendrils of her long hair, and she shut her eyes tightly. She then aimlessly groped for something, maybe a rock, or better, she thought, she could dash her own head against the wall and end it herself.

The sharp sound suddenly, inexplicably ended. Iris collapsed against the ground with heavy breathing and choked-back tears. She couldn't hear anything then, which was why she initially didn't realize that what had ended her agony was Fraxure. He had distracted Reshiram and attacked him with Dragon Rage.

"No! Fraxure, get back!" Her words were slurred; she could barely hear them herself, and she wondered if Fraxure could hear her either because he didn't relent. Fraxure was but a mere nuisance to Reshiram, though. With a quick swipe of his paw, he sent Fraxure into a column, the impact crushing it and billowing a cloud of dust that the Dragon-type disappeared into. Iris cried out for him, but those thoughts were dashed away as Reshiram turned toward her again and fired up his turbine.

Iris looked on with horror, but she didn't have the strength to move. So she resigned to her fate, accepted it, as Reshiram's burning blue eyes burned into her soul, the same way a pair of ominous yellow eyes had permanently imprinted on her memory more than ten years earlier...

She started to lower her head to the ground, but her hearing had returned enough for her to hear Noivern's battle cry. He flew into Reshiram's neck, sinking his teeth in, and Reshiram let out a strangled cry before violently shaking left and right to free himself of the assailant. Noivern was suddenly joined by Iris's other Pokémon: Emolga, Excadrill, and Gabite all joined in her defense.

Fraxure somehow recovered enough to come to his trainer's side. He was badly injured, but he moved his tusks under and lifted her up, urging her that they should escape. Iris nodded at first and held onto his tusks, too weak to stand on her own. She lifted her eyes toward Reshiram again, backlit by the sun and surrounded by four soldiers with their leader's protection at heart.

"Wait..." Iris said hoarsely. She lowered her bag from her shoulder and reached into it, pulling out the Ultra Ball. Something then empowered her to rise to her feet on her own. She stood tall on the battlefield, looking straight at Reshiram, feeling as though her heritage, her ancestry—Drayden, her parents, those who had lived and fought and died before her—was holding her up at the knees. She enlarged the Ultra Ball in her hand.

"Go, Poké Ball!" The Ultra Ball flew through the air and tapped Reshiram on the wing. The room was filled with a golden light as Reshiram was immaterialized and drawn into the ball, which then fell and bounced several times against the ground. Iris, along with all her Pokémon, watched it shake violently on the ground as she fell onto Fraxure's support again.

The shaking was lessening. The ball was stabilizing. Iris held her breath.

The Ultra Ball exploded from the inside as Reshiram emerged again and screeched, causing Iris's hands to fly to her ears again. Her defenses fell, and this time, Reshiram vengefully forced his way into her head and restarted the piercing sound that had tormented her to the brink of death. Reshiram's turbine fired up for the upteempth time, and it was quicker-going now that he was angrier. Fraxure curled defensively around his trainer as Reshiram unleashed a Fire Blast that would end both of them.

It didn't. A translucent shield prevented the flames from ever reaching them. Crustle stood in front of them both using Protect, fighting to hold it steady and save all three of them.

"Reshiram!" Cilan's voice felt so far away, but Iris knew it was him. "Don't hurt her! She's not the one you should be fighting."

Iris was overcome with vertigo following her second bout of torture. Her vision was a blur of colors; her ears held a muffled ringing occasionally impeded by the voices of the companions who had come to her rescue. Her thoughts were disarranged too, but she managed to piece enough of them together to say one last sensible thing.

"Cilan!" she cried out. "There's... There's another Poké Ball in my bag!"

She was pressed between two people and lifted up by a pair of arms. She didn't know who—whether it was Cilan or Trip or Georgia or Burgundy, or whatever combination of them, she could never tell—and she couldn't tell anything beyond that, and she receded into memories evoked by the blue eyes that had seared the promise of death into her. Except now they were yellow, and it was not fire that her amber eyes reflected, but a shimmer of ice.

The promise was that her parents would not let anything happen to her. They made that promise to each other and to her, though she was too young to really understand the depth of love in a promise like that. And so when they were faced with the boundary between life and death in a snowstorm that should have ended her long before Reshiram ever had the chance, her parents came together and, pressing her between them, formed a shield that saved her and a nation.

And then a pair of warm, strong arms—Drayden—wretched her from the icy human tomb and lifted her up so a nation would be saved again.

Iris choked out a gasp as she shot up in bed. She was desperately gulping in air, her fingers gripping the sheets of the bed in which she lay—the same bed, she soon figured out, where she had slept in the Icirrus Pokémon Center. She felt sticky, sweaty even, and the back of her hair felt matted from laying in bed for far too long. Of greater concern though was the fact that she was hooked up to an IV, a heart monitor, and something else that seemed to be measuring whatever was going on in her head, which was a lot of things.

Iris looked around in total consternation, completely lost as to how to figure out what had happened to her, to distinguish between what was the past and present, between what was reality and an invention of her own mind. She ripped the IV out of her, flinching with the brief sharp pain as she did, then pulled the various other cords off her person. The heart monitor flatlined, but Iris stood up, still very much alive.

She unplugged the monitor, irritated by the noise. She then moved forward on watery legs, unsure of what to do, where to go, who to find—but she was saved from needing to devise a plan when the door creaked open.

"Iris?" Cilan peered inside, sounding pathetically hopeful. His eyes widened when he saw her standing, staring blankly at him, but standing and staring regardless. "Oh, Iris!" He flew to her and pulled her into a tight embrace. She tensed up at first, and her hands momentarily flailed behind him before finding rest on his back. They stayed locked together for a while longer only because Cilan wasn't ready to let go, and even when they did, it was because Iris forced it.

"Cilan... ?" she began, pushing back against his chest to look up at him. "What's going on?" His arms were still encircled above her waist, but he unrolled one arm to gently push back a small collection of long messy locks behind her ear. His tenderness and awe at her being there were frightening for Iris; it suggested that whatever happened to her had been serious, and she was right.

"You've been comatose," he said quietly. "I wanted you to go to a real hospital, but you were ultimately safer here, and Nurse Joy and I and—some others—we made it work."

Iris pulled away from him fully.

"Safer?" she repeated.

His lips twitched into a smile. He leaned toward her and said in a low, excited voice, "We did it."

“ We did it?" Iris questioned.

"Reshiram is ours." Cilan said it in a thrilled whisper, as if it were a sin to say it any louder. "We captured him. We did it."

Iris's expression fell listless, and then she almost looked distraught. She turned away from him, and Cilan appeared confused. This was not the reaction he expected.

"You," she corrected quietly. "You did it."

He stared, feeling his mouth run dry. She didn't move. He didn't know what to say, and the only thing he could manage was, "You should be resting still."

Iris nodded in a rare move, actually agreeing with him. She wandered back to her bed and fell onto it, though she remained upright. She worked through a few of the tangles in her hair with a hand and then looked up at him, asking, "How long was I out for?"

"Going on four days," Cilan answered. "I wasn't sure—the others, too—we weren't sure if you were going to..." The lingering pain in his voice was hard for Iris to hear, and she didn't know how to deal with it, other than to scoff at it.

"Well, don't get so emotional about it," she dismissed in a strained voice. "I'm fine. I'm alive." The word "alive" felt strange on her tongue. She had half-expected not to live, and if she did, it wasn't supposed to be like this. She pulled her knees closer to her and pushed her face into them. Everything was wrong. Nothing was as it should have been. She had outlined Options A and B in her head but had never considered this: Option C.

Cilan stared for a moment and then pulled out the chair near the vanity and dragged it to her bedside.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

"I should be asking you that," Iris mumbled.

"The doctor that was brought here couldn't find anything wrong with you," Cilan elaborated, hoping she would understand what he meant better. "You were in a coma but there didn't seem to be any reason behind it."

Iris did understand. She lifted her head again and stretched out her legs, leaning back into her pillow. She had never felt compelled to share the following with Cilan—not alive at least—but her world had been upended the moment she woke up alive and a failure, so it felt like there was nothing to lose.

"I can speak to Dragons," she said.

Cilan blinked.

"What?"

"It's kind of a gift," Iris added, "and a skill I've developed."

"Oh, you mean you can speak to the unique challenges of Dragon-types," Cilan offered. "You're a specialist. You know them well." Iris glowered at him.

"No, I mean I can literally speak to Dragons," she corrected. "It's a language."

Cilan appeared thoroughly skeptical and said, "I've never heard of such a thing."

"Just because you've never experienced it doesn't mean it isn't real," Iris snapped, now annoyed. "It would do you good to listen sometimes, Cilan."

He reeled back. He remembered her saying that it was hard to open up to him because of his tendency to dismiss her, and he began to look a little sheepish. "Sorry," he apologized. Satisfied and disarmed, Iris settled in to continue.

"Anyway..." she began again. "It is a language, but it's not one many people speak anymore. It's kind of dying out. It's different than speaking just any language. It's not something that humans alone can ever communicate in; it has to be between a Dragon and a human. You have to get the Dragon to open their heart to you, and you have to read it—you have to listen, you have to understand. Then, you can speak to them, too, in a way they can understand." Cilan recalled Iris speaking about a need to "read Reshiram's heart" the morning of their excursion in Dragonspiral Tower, and suddenly he had an idea of the purpose of her tangent.

"I tried to speak to Reshiram," Iris said. "He opened his heart to me a little, and I tried to understand him—I understood a little bit, but it was just like he was screaming in my head. It was too much, and I couldn't get it to stop." Her voice shook slightly at the horrific memory, and Cilan, now receptive to how difficult this was for her to share, reached for her hand and laid his atop it. He mumbled in her name quietly, in a reassuring sort of way, and she continued, "I tried to talk to him then, to tell him Zekrom was in trouble. It only made him angrier though, and the words stopped coming to me, but I couldn't stop him from wreaking havoc inside my head."

Iris closed her eyes. The following was harder to say than anything else.

"Maybe I'm not what I thought I was," she admitted. Her voice had broken into pieces; Cilan had never heard her voice sound that way before. "Maybe I'm not what Drayden thought I was."

She ended there. They sat in silence for a moment, Cilan's hand still on hers as he tried to think of what he could say to her.

"I don't think that's true," he finally began. "You know, I couldn't have captured Reshiram if it weren't for you being there, if it weren't for your Pokémon weakening him first."

Remembrance struck Iris then, and she broke out in a panic, "My Pokémon! Are they okay? I know Fraxure was in pretty bad—"

"—They're fine," Cilan warmly assured her. "They're very worried about you." Iris nodded slowly, calming herself down again.

"Still, that wasn't me," she eventually continued. "They did that on their own to protect me because I ended up being unable to do anything."

"You're their trainer though," Cilan pointed out. "It speaks so highly of you to have those Pokémon—especially that Noivern—so loyal to you that they would fight against a Legendary Pokémon for you."

Iris had nothing to say to that, but she remained unconvinced. She cast her eyes down as though ashamed, and Cilan tried to catch her gaze again to no avail, until she mumbled, "What did you say to him?"

"Hm?" Cilan perked up.

"There had to have been something you said to him that convinced him," Iris persisted. "I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but... It was not a matter of 'weakening' Reshiram and then capturing him. You had to have said something that would have convinced him. You had to say something that would cause him to defer to you. What was it? How did you know?"

Cilan sucked in his breath and then exhaled slowly.

"I'm a Pokémon Connoisseur," he said plainly. "I wouldn't say we can speak a private language with Pokémon, but we are trained to evaluate their personalities, abilities, and interests. I thought about what would turn him away from attacking you and bring him to our side. I figured Zekrom would be that thing."

"Well, so did I," Iris noted indignantly.

"But Reshiram does not want to save Zekrom," Cilan emphasized. "You approached him with an emotional appeal; I with a logical one. They're enemies. They represent polarizing belief systems."

Iris realized what he meant then.

"You told him, instead, that we had to stop Zekrom and Team Plasma," she said, "that if we don't, then they'll take over Unova."

He nodded, and Iris pulled her hand back from his and folded her arms. She looked away, deeply entrenched in thought, and it made Cilan nervous. He inclined his head toward her and worriedly inquired her name.

"I'm fine," Iris said quickly. "I guess I'm just trying to make sense of it." She looked around the room then, at anything but him—and her eyes eventually landed on a flower vase next to her full of white daisies and carnations. She reached out and touched the petal of a slightly-wilted carnation. "What are these for?"

A pause.

"Today's June 24th," Cilan said simply, "Yesterday was June 23rd." Iris stopped for a moment, then turned her eyes slowly back toward his.

"Yesterday was my birthday," she said, almost sounding incredulous. She was 18 years old: She had slept through her last few days of childhood and entered the threshold of adulthood. Neither her approval nor even her presence was needed for it. Time marched on whether she was there or not, and there was no unwinding it, nothing they could do to go back and fix it. She let out a short laugh then and said, "I can't believe you bought me flowers while I was in a coma."

Cilan smiled crookedly.

"I suppose I'm sentimental like that," he said. Iris's gaze softened. Her arms had unraveled again, and she left her hand open, which Cilan took up once more. He pressed his lips against her knuckles before lowering her hand again and saying, "Iris, I'm... I'm so relieved you're okay. Even if I walked away from this with Reshiram the same, it would have meant nothing—been worth nothing—if I lost you."

Iris smiled.

"Where's that great loyalty you professed for Unova and the Truth Seekers back in Black City?" Maybe she had meant for it to be cynical, a wry remark to escape an intimacy she didn't know how to handle, but her voice was only low and warm.

"I'm not sure people really fight for countries," Cilan said. "They fight for the people they love."

She had nothing to say to that. He had nothing further to say. Their gazes were locked, and any needed clarifications and permissions were exchanged there. He still held her hand, and he pulled it closer to him as he drew closer to her. Iris's lips parted slightly, and her breath grew shallow.

"Holy shit." Iris jerked her eyes away from Cilan’s and saw Georgia standing in the doorway. Iris felt sudden whips of panic at what her rival must have seen, but then Georgia added, "Holy shit, I can't believe you're awake."

"Oh, that's all," Iris said, relieved. Her and Cilan's hands slid apart as Georgia marched to her bedside.

"I thought I might be making it all up in my head when I heard both your voices from my room," Georgia breathed in disbelief. She then looked at Cilan and asked, as if Iris wasn't there, "How long has she been up?"

"Maybe ten or fifteen minutes," Cilan answered.

Georgia appeared utterly and uncharacteristically thrilled by this development, and she announced, "I'm going to go get the others." Iris frowned, not sure she really wanted to see anyone else right then, but before she could protest, Georgia was already out of the room. Iris let out a long sigh to smooth out her nerves, and Cilan cast her a gentle smile.

It wasn't long before both Trip and Burgundy appeared in the doorway, flustered and dazed and still partially asleep.

"I wouldn't believe it until I saw it," Trip spoke first with a half-baked, almost sarcastic-sounding laugh.

"Well, believe it, I guess," Iris replied with a shrug.

Burgundy looked deeply unsure of what she should say, but she knew she had to say something. She approached the bedside carefully, pulling her robe closer about herself before asking, "How are you feeling?"

It was a loaded question, and Iris could have given a lot of answers: confused, embarrassed, frustrated, ashamed, like she was falling. She knew what Burgundy meant was probably how she was feeling physically though, and forgoing the heart palpitations, that was much easier to answer.

"Fine," Iris replied.

"This is good," Georgia said, smirking at the others and then at Iris as she rejoined the group. "We've been holding out on leaving for days because of you. Maybe those Truth Seekers will get off our backs finally."

Iris's expression changed; she suddenly didn't feel fine anymore. Cilan breathed in sharply, knowing what was to come.

"The Truth Seekers are here?" Iris's voice shook slightly again, but not with fear or sadness this time; rather, it was anger that rattled her words. Georgia quickly realized her error.

"Did I say Truth Seekers?" She laughed nervously as if it were a joke. "I meant the—" She fumbled for a homophonous phrase, but unable to come up with anything, she turned on Cilan and hissed, "You didn't tell her yet?"

"Tell me what?" Iris demanded. Guilt visibly washed over Cilan.

"The reason why you've been able to stay here safe is because of the Truth Seekers," he admitted. "They sent a doctor and some other people for you after we returned with Reshiram."

She stared at him, her gaze hardening. The budding tendrils of the affection she had felt only minutes earlier withered and died, and Cilan saw it happen.

"Iris." The voice was familiar, and it caused Iris to free Cilan of her resentful gaze.

"Virgil?" Iris said in disbelief when she saw him standing there in the doorway. "You're a Truth Seeker?"

"A recent addition, but yes," Virgil replied, approaching her. He paused before asking, "I'm so glad to see you're okay. How are you doing?"

She couldn't give a pleasant answer this time, so she skipped past it and asked a question herself: "Why are you here?"

Virgil recognized the hostility in her tone but remained relatively disaffected by it. "Cilan said you'd be upset," he half-laughed. His expression and voice grew more serious when he continued, "Word got back to Castelia City about what you did at Dragonspiral Tower, and there were immediate calls for your protection, especially with what happened at the League." Iris blinked and looked alarmed, but Virgil continued, "I've told the others this, but we want to take you all back to Castelia, where it will be safer and we can better defend you against Team Plasma. They will surely come after you next the moment they find out you have Reshiram, if they haven't found out already."

"Wait—" Iris cut in before he could say anything else. "What happened at the League?"

The silence that followed was so thick it left no room to breathe. Suddenly, no one could look her—or anyone else for that matter—in the eye. Iris's breath grew shallow again for different reasons, and she repeated the question more firmly.

"What happened ?" she demanded. The word cracked with fear over the possibilities.

"Iris..." Cilan whispered her name, but he still didn't answer her. Virgil wetted his lips and finally looked up at her again.

"Three days ago, Team Plasma stormed the Unova Pokémon League headquarters," he said in as straightforward a fashion as he could muster. "Alder and the Elite Four are dead."

Iris stared. And then, everything fell apart.

"No..." She denied it at first, her voice immediately becoming watery around the edges. "No!" She really didn't want to cry, not in front of them. She didn't like to cry in front of people, and she couldn't have picked a worse group to witness her falling apart. Still, there was nothing she could do when the tears spilled helplessly past her eyes.

"Alder was—he was—" She groped for words, tried to choke them out. The others had already cried over this news days ago, but seeing Iris's reaction was enough to draw forth tears again. "He was the only one, the only one who—"

Iris pressed a hand to her face and shook her head. Trip had to turn away completely to hide the hand that rose to his eyes. Burgundy was crying all over again. Georgia's eyes were glossy, and her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, as if that would somehow prevent her own grief from materializing.

Cilan's gaze never left her. A few of his own tears had slipped by, but it was all from seeing the utter devastation that had broken her, and knowing she had privately done this when she lost Drayden, too.

"H-He was the only one who advocated for us, protected us. He was—" Iris didn't know what else to say, except to plead for an answer to the unanswerable question, "What will happen now?"

END OF PART I: SEEKING TRUTH