Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Off the beaten track from a town primarily known for its sprawling pastures and Pokemon agistment services, the Solaceon Ruins are mostly a novelty. The first few floors are open for public display, although most visitors are drawn towards the elusive Pokemon shaped like an ancient script rather than the inscriptions themselves. There are brass plaques with translations of the old writs placed strategically around the rooms, though they take a fair bit of liberty for the sake of creating intrigue. 

Luculia knows each line by heart; she can recite the original writings, the literal translations and the popular academic interpretations, as well as her own deconstruction. Highlighting the modern cultural biases of the traditionally favoured translations had even been the subject of her thesis, and her retellings are now published in the latest academic textbooks— although they haven’t quite made the brass plaques.

She doesn’t have much time to visit the ruins these days. Nights once spent sleeping in these musty halls in pursuit of accreditation are now spent cleaning up her coworker’s messes at the Hearthome Museum. She rarely has reason to make the trip out to Solaceon anymore, but she’ll take any excuse she can. After all, the Unown have missed her.

Luculia twirls in place as the black and white letters careen in circles around her, swooping alongside her Froslass, Scilla. Occasionally they pop into the air in front of her with a soft tink, and she indulges them with a hum or a note in the corresponding phonemes of their shapes. Sometimes they’ll gather in clusters of morphemes, or even brachysyllabic words, always seeming to delight in having their shapes echoed back at them. Their game had been an invaluable resource in practicing vocalisation in the Unown language, but it’s a little hard to cite the Unown Pokemon Collective in research papers.

The harsh clack of a pair of heels echoes through the room, and the Unown blink out of sight mid-syllable. 

“Oh- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare them,” Cynthia says, looking more than a little abashed, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“It’s alright, they’d have gotten bored soon enough anyway,” Luculia replies, and straightens her coat. Scilla’s presence tends to lower the temperature of any room, but thankfully the Champion is always well dressed for the cold. She extends her hand as a formality, which Cynthia shakes as a formality. 

“It’s good to see you again, Professor Hiver.” 

“You too, Cynthia. And you know you can call me Luculia when it’s just us.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” Cynthia says, but nods with a small smile. 

“So- you want to visit B4F-7, right?” Luculia says, readying her shoulder bag. 

“Right! There’s a passage I was looking over that I think has been influenced by more recent depictions of the Legendary Giratina- and I wonder if it could be amended,” Cynthia explains, already leading the way down. 

“You think that its depiction of Giratina as the deviant cosmic traitor is a bit of a disservice? “ Luculia asks without asking, well aware of her associate’s attempts to revise Giratina’s portrayal in modern depictions of the Sinnohan creation myths. Cynthia grins wearily. 

“I know I have my own biases too, but that’s why I called you. You understand the nuances of the language better than anyone, and I’m sure you could provide a more informed translation with a more objective lens.” 

“Good call,” Luculia replies, swallowing down the smug warmth in her chest. She doesn’t need to look at Scilla to know she’s rolling her eyes beside her. Cynthia does have a point, though, beyond just her praise; the common translation could have easily exaggerated certain phrases based on assumptions about what they should say rather than what they truly mean. She’s not about to angle a translation in favour of Giratina just to even the score, but the least she can do is approach it from a more neutral stance.

The labyrinthine passageways of the ruins guide them down, beyond the point where tourists are prohibited and the air begins to grow stale. The Unown are still keeping their distance, which suits Luculia just fine— she’s built up a rapport with them, but they have still been known, on occasion, to disappear people. Which is something she’s not entirely keen on claiming any responsibility for, in this case. 

Eventually they make their way to the fourth basement floor and find the room in question, which unlike its predecessors doesn’t have the luxury of properly installed light fixtures.

“Scilla, could you use Flash for us? Nice and easy,” Luculia instructs, and Scilla obliges with a small ball of light that gradually fills the room, revealing the coiling script that wraps around the walls in near incomprehensible strings. Yet as she approaches them they align serendipitously, unravelling word by word and phrase by phrase until reading becomes listening. 

“You can read in Unown, right?” Luculia asks, getting her notebook out. She’d assumed as much, though it occurs to her now that she’d never really asked. 

“Yes- I still mostly refer to the translation notes, but I can parse simple sentences without them,” Cynthia answers, drawn towards the walls by the same magnetism. 

“That’s good, then. We can start where you suggested, on line 109, but you can have a look around and if anything else stands out to you, let me know.” 

“Alright,” Cynthia nods, and they split to examine opposite etchings.

Line 109 of Passage 36 in Room B4F-7 is tucked neatly away in a corner, providing only a brief footnote about the renegade god amongst the sonnets of the almighty creator of Sinnoh. The modern words for time, space and creation all share a root in this language, where the difference between them is reliant on specific suffixes and subtle context cues— which is probably the cause of confusion in the past over what ‘Sinnoh’ both meant and referred to, but she’s no historian. All she can do is speak for the dead. 

“I think we can start with the word renegade in the common translation- in our language it carries the connotation of betrayal, but I believe an argument could be made that the original term is closer to something like rebel, which of course implies a conflict but doesn’t necessarily assume malicious intent. I’ll mark it down for cross-reference,” Luculia scratches into her notebook.

“I see. The legends say that Arceus banished Giratina to the Distortion World a long time ago, but the reason why is always kept vague. And given how important we now know the Distortion World is to maintaining balance in the physics of our own world, I wonder if ‘banishment’ isn’t also a flawed term,” Cynthia adds, and Luculia hums in agreement. 

“The legends passed down orally have stayed largely the same for generations, so much of the wording is still similar- but of course, words can evolve over time to mean very different things,” she says, which really is her field of study in a nutshell.

They continue as such for the larger part of the day, sharing notes and pointing out oddities to each other. Luculia explains the etymology of a word and the way in which it functions in each sentence, and Cynthia explains the greater cultural significance of the popular translations. They can hardly rewrite history overnight, but together they mark down enough notes for further research that would serve as the basis for what could be a plausible argument. And, between all their academic exchanges, a few casual conversations slip through.

“How did you decide that this was the career you wanted to do?” Cynthia asks, rubbing eyes sore from staring at walls for hours in the dim light. 

“Hm? Oh, well- back when I was a little kid I got lost up in Snowpoint, and ended up in the temple- you know, the one usually restricted from the public and anyone who isn’t the Champion-“ Luculia starts, shooting Cynthia a wry grin. 

“-ah, of course,” Cynthia chuckles. Unlike the Solaceon Ruins, Snowpoint Temple is structurally hazardous, far more sensitive to exposure damage, and also freezing cold. Which are only a few of the reasons why archeologists need a permit to do any work there. 

“Yeah. I couldn’t tell you how I ended up there, but I remember finding the room with all the braille carvings- but I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time, and I thought it was actually a special puzzle made just for me. My own destined mystery,” Luculia scoffs, and Cynthia offers an affectionate aww. 

“Of course, somebody found me and got me out of there, and then I found out that all those bumps were actually a writing system, which I had to learn to make sure it really wasn’t a message specifically for me- it wasn’t, by the way- but there was still something really satisfying about learning to read it anyway. I was also learning a third language by that point- or fourth, counting the braille- because my family is just all over the place. I have a more sophisticated appreciation of linguistics now,” Luculia states with a flourish of her hand, “but back then it was just the fun of solving a puzzle, and I still do find it fun.”

“I think that’s amazing,” Cynthia smiles, now transfixed on her rather than the wall. “And maybe it was a message just for you, in its own way, if it’s what led you to this point.”

Luculia spares her a quick glance before turning back to face the corner, blinded by sincerity. 

“Maybe,” she concedes. 

Chapter Text

Stepping out of the Galaxy Hall and onto the street, Cynthia takes a moment to observe. The golden shine of the falling afternoon sun casts a sandy haze over the village, and there’s a palpable tranquility that comes with the evening’s arrival. The people here— all wearing traditional yet mundane garb— meander through the streets back to their homes, only occasionally stopping to share a conversation and a send a curious glance their way. 

She isn’t exactly sure where this is, yet. Mount Coronet sits at the epicentre of the Sinnoh Region, and if she orients herself based on its direction it would place them at the southwestern corner of the region. However, she knows the area well enough due to all her visits to Professor Rowan’s lab in Sandgem, and she’s never come across nor even heard of such a rustic village in the area.

There’s a lot that isn’t adding up. Or at least, it’s adding up in ways that come to an impossible conclusion.

The impression she has is that Professor Laventon is under the impression that his Pokedex is one of the first if not the first iteration. She doesn’t know exactly when the first Pokedex was written, but she knows cataloguing Pokemon is a relatively modern practice in terms of human history, following the invention of apricorn pokeballs. And then there’s the Galaxy Expedition Team, which Cynthia is pretty sure she’s now a provisional employee of. If it really is that Galaxy Expedition Team, then it’s likely they haven’t been established in the region for very long, placing them well within the Hisui era. Which shouldn’t be the most logical conclusion, and yet it makes the most sense.

Nevermind that the Captain of the Survey Corps reminds her so much, too much, of somebody she used to know— or will know, technically. 

“You coming?” a member of the Security Corps calls out to her, Luculia patiently standing next to him.

“Ah, sorry. I got a bit lost in thought,” Cynthia replies, and catches up in only a few short strides.

“It’s alright. It can be a lot to take in all at once,” he says. “This way.”

He leads them further down the road, passing all the shopfronts as they close their doors for the day. At the end of the street there are a row of attached houses, and he walks them all the way to the very last one by the village’s eastern gate. The guard keeping watch nods to them, then resumes his post.

“Here’s a key for each of you. Make sure to keep your quarters clean, Captain Cyllene does routine inspections to make sure everything’s kept in good condition,” their guide instructs them. “Just don’t trash the place and you’ll be fine.”

Cynthia can’t say she’s looking forward to the inspections given her inability to keep her belongings neat and tidy, but if she’s going to be sharing a roof with Luculia she’ll have to make the effort anyway.

“Alright, thank you— you know, I don’t think I caught your name,” she says.

“I’m Beauregard, you can call me Beau. I’m usually posted out of the front of the Galaxy Hall, so don’t be afraid to holler if you ladies need anything,” he replies, and waves them off as he leaves. Alone now for the first time since arriving here, Cynthia turns to Luculia.

“I guess we’re stuck together for a little while,” she says, and lets them both in. She’s not sure if Luculia is used to… oddities the same way she is, but she seems to be taking it all in stride so far. And perhaps with a twinge of guilt, Cynthia does feel glad she’s not alone for this one.

“Don’t worry, I make an excellent roommate. I don’t think my roomies at university even knew I was living with them,” Luculia replies easily.

“I’ve been told I make a terrible roommate, but that’s according to Flint, so,” Cynthia chuckles.

“Is it because you eat all the ice cream when no one’s around?”

“H-how did you-?”

“I mean, I was joking, but-“ Luculia breaks into laughter, unable to finish her thought. It’s an infectious sound.

“Alright, alright, you got me,” Cynthia grins, shaking her head.

The accommodation provided to them is a simple traditionally styled dwelling, with two futons already set up on the tatami floor. There are a few paper lamps set up around the room to provide a dim glow, but it’s otherwise devoid of any lighting fixtures. Instead of a kitchenette there’s a hearth at the centre of the house with a cooking brazier provided. The whole place reminds her grandmother’s home back in Celestic town, and though it’s been a long time since she lived there she’s hit with a wave of nostalgia as she removes her heels to have a closer look.

“It’s a little small for two people. Somehow I get the feeling they just added an extra bed and didn’t mention it was meant to be a single,” Luculia notes, discreetly adjusting her glasses. It reminds Cynthia of the way Lucian takes his off whenever he sees something he doesn’t like, and she grins a little wearily.

“It’s certainly… rudimentary, but I’m sure it’ll do,” she replies. It beats having to bunk in the ordinarily cold dorms at the back of an understaffed pokecentre, at least.

“We don’t even have a bath,” Luculia’s nose twitches.

“There must be a bathhouse in town. It might be nice to go and visit,” Cynthia suggests.

“I don’t think we’ll have much of a choice,” Luculia laughs, now wry and brittle.

Cynthia moves to cross the room over to her, but wavers as the dreaded surge of jetlag hits. In the flickering light of the oil lamps it occurs to her that it had been close to dusk when they’d left— tried to leave— the Solaceon ruins, only to emerge on a hill on the other side of Mount Coronet in broad daylight. If her day had continued as normal, she should already be in bed right now.

She struggles to stifle a yawn.

“Ah- don’t get me started,” Luculia says, covering her own mouth.

“Sorry. It’s been a, uh, long day.”

“It’s alright, I’m pretty tired as well. We might as well get to bed early— they’ve given us a couple of yukata, at least,” Luculia says, and unfolds the privacy screen. Cynthia fights off another yawn.

“That’s probably a good idea,” she admits. However, she still has to find a way to broach the subject of where exactly they are— more precisely, when they are. They’re in this together now, even if she doesn’t know what it is exactly they’re together in, and they need to be on the same page regardless of however ridiculous said page may be. It’s almost exciting; Sinnoh’s history has been her passion for her entire life, and now she gets to experience it beyond even primary sources.

“Sorry for putting you on the spot earlier,” Luculia says while shucking off her coat. “I just felt like we needed an in on this whole… situation.” 

Cynthia finds herself relaxing at that. If Luculia has also noticed that something’s off about all this, then maybe she won’t find her time travel theory so ridiculous after all. It does serve as a reminder, however, that while her position as Champion is negligible here, there’s at least one person who it matters to. And as much as she’d like to indulge in the past, it’s on her to get them back home. 

Chapter Text

As the sky’s dusty blue wash settles into midnight black, the Galaxy Hall empties of its occupants like Durant scattering from their nests. Craftsmen, medics and pencil pushers alike head out into the humble village, leaving the building’s husk to be haunted by its skeleton crew. Only a few guards remain to protect all the paperwork, while Professor Laventon and the Galaxy Corps’ six captains congregate on the basement floor for their weekly scheduled conference session.

The grinding Klinklang cogs of running a village never cease, and the list of work from the expanding lodging of the Construction Corps to the untilled fields of the Agriculture Corps is a list as endless as winter in the Alabaster Icelands. Certainly, the continued success of Jubilife Village rests on their shoulders. Glancing around at his fellow Captains with shrewd eyes, Colza slaps a card down on the table. 

“Two Oddish.” 

Sanqua leans over the table with an easy grin and a glint in her eye as she places her own card atop Colza’s. 

“Three Vulpix.” 

Colza draws a card from the deck at the centre of the table, and nods to Cyllene. 

“Five Staryu,” Cyllene lays her card down, and Sanqua draws from the pile. “Tao Hua?” 

“Pass,” he stares darkly at his hand, and draws a new card. 

“Professor?” Cyllene turns to Laventon, and he startles in his chair. 

“Hm- oh, what’s that? Oh, um, Reversal,” he says, and lays down a card. 

“Dammit, Angus!” Pesselle huffs. Cyllene glances up at him, unreadable as always. 

“You seem distracted, Professor. Is something bothering you?” 

“Ah— no, I’m not bothered. I was just thinking about the two new recruits, is all,” he says, and raises his hand of cards just slightly enough to block her piercing stare. It’s been nearly three years since they’ve started working together, and while he’s quite sure she doesn’t detest him, the nuances of her opinions are held as closely guarded as her sword. 

“I can assure you the Commander doesn’t hold you responsible for any panic they caused—“

“I thought it was funny,” Zisu adds brightly. 

“It’s not that, but thanks for the reassurance,” Laventon grins wearily. “It’s just… there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on. Nobody I’ve since talked to actually knows where they’re from.”

Cynthia and Ms Hiver had already been allowed into the village when he’d met them so someone must have vouched for them, but they hadn’t arrived with any other refugees or travellers that he knows of. It’s just… odd, in a way that feels a little familiar— and while there’s certainly nothing wrong with odd, he’d consider himself a bad scientist if he didn’t find the odd curious. 

“So long as their tasks get done, I don’t care what their background is,” Cyllene replies evenly. 

“Even if they’re criminals?” Zisu raises an eyebrow at her, leaning back in her chair. The two of them seem to share some kind of unspoken exchange, although Laventon can only guess as to how the ever expressive captain of the Security Corps can be privy to the minutia of Cyllene’s countenance enough to derive a conversation from them. 

“Please,” Sanqua gives an amused scoff and waves her empty hand. “They look far too fancy to be a couple of bandits or anything like that. They’re not exactly conspicuous.” 

“The blonde one is probably a relative of one of that one merchant from the Gingko Guild,” Tao Hua curls his lip. “He may undercut my work, but if she’s anything like him I don’t think she’d be the sort to get her hands dirty.” 

“Now, what’s wrong with that?” Colza grins, raising a lightly soiled hand. Zisu barks out a laugh and Cyllene makes no indication of approval nor disapproval, although Laventon thinks he might have mistaken a twitch for a blink. 

“Your dad jokes are the worst, Colza,” Pesselle groans. 

“Pesselle, it’s still your turn,” Tao Hua snaps, and she rolls her eyes. 

“Seven Charmander,” she says, laying her card down on the steadily growing pile. 

“I agree it’s pretty curious,” Colza offers, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. “Miss Whatsit must pull some rank to be educated like Angus and have a Pokemon, and a personal bodyguard, if what you said is true.”

“She used the term ‘Champion’, if I remember correctly,” Cyllene nods. 

“Oh, maybe she’s some kind of hidden princess, fleeing from her homeland with her champion to escape from assassins,” Pesselle gushes, and Sanqua chuckles. 

“And that Froslass of hers possesses the soul of the Queen, right?” 

“It’s probably not something so fantastical. But it is possible that they’re political fugitives,” Cyllene considers. 

“I thought you didn’t care what their background is?” Zisu elbows her in the ribs, earning herself an unamused stare.

“I don’t. Also, it’s your turn.” 

“Three Bellsprout. Grab a card, Pesselle,” Zisu throws down her card. Pesselle pouts but does as told, and they fall back into an easy rhythm. Laventon thumbs his cards, eyeing the nine Wurmple in the centre. They’re wrongly classified as a grass type for the purposes of this game, but his Pokedex will be sure to fix that kind of general misinformation eventually. 

“Pokemon Snap, again?” 

“Commander!” he yelps, clutching at his woollen vest above his heart. After years of studying Pokemon he’d begun to feel confident in his new sense for being crept up on, but it seems the Commander remains the exception to the rule. 

“It’s a team building exercise. It keeps them sharp,” Cyllene states, shuffling her hand with little concern for her superior’s stare.

“Please, we all know you’re here for the gossip,” Zisu taunts, equally nonchalant. 

“And what is it you’re gossiping about, then?” Commander Kamado asks, folding his arms. 

“Those new Survey Corps recruits. You know— Froslass and Garchomp,” Colza answers.

“Ah. They’re a strange pair, aren’t they?” Kamado leans back and tilts his head upwards in thought. Laventon doesn’t know the Commander well enough to gauge the implications of his tone, but he buries the sound of it in the back of his mind. Nobody here seems as bothered by his stoic presence, but while the captains have all adopted the resident Professor into their ranks he isn’t sure if the Commander shares those sentiments. He’s arguably more indecipherable than Cyllene herself, although so long as he continues to funnel funding into the Survey Corps he supposes that his work on the Pokedex must be of some value to the both of them. 

“Angus thinks that one of them is a princess fleeing from assassins,” Pesselle adds. 

“That wasn’t— that was you—“ Laventon sputters. 

“And her bodyguard is one of the local Gingko Guild merchants,” Colza continues, and lays down his card. 

“I didn’t realise the Guild did private mercenary work,” Kamado raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t think they do, sir,” Cyllene replies. 

“And it’s not the merchant— she’s his sister, or cousin or something,” Tao Hua adds. 

“I think they’re both cute,” Sanqua grins and places her card on the table, forcing Colza to draw another card. 

“Of course you do,” Zisu smirks. Cyllene pauses to consider her cards, then shoots Kamado a meaningful stare as she lays down two Horsea. 

“Is there anything you need from us, sir?” 

“No, no, just checking in,” he shakes his head. Cyllene appears placated by his answer, in that she doesn’t comment on it any further. Kamado nods tightly, glancing around at the Galaxy Team’s shining stars— and the Professor. 

“Keep up the good work, everyone.” 

“Yes, sir!” They chorus together, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. 

“Oh, and by the way—“ Kamado hangs in the doorway for a moment, “Tao Hua has the Lonely Cubone.” 

“Blast it!” 

Tao Hua forfeits from the game with a flurry of cards and a halfhearted tantrum, but the laughter and merriment around the table draws him back into the fray before too long. Even so, Laventon still finds his mind wandering back to the recruits as the game continues. 

The fugitive theory certainly is possible, and perhaps even the most likely, but it doesn’t quite scratch the itch at the back of his mind. It’s the itch of a Pokemon he’s sure is categorised in the wrong egg group, or a vague answer about water type biology that only opens up more questions. Though he supposes it isn’t his place to pry; Cyllene is right that it’s not anything that matters so long as they do good work and don’t hurt anyone with their fearsome and hallowed Pokemon. 

“Professor?” Cyllene stirs him from his thoughts once more, creases forming on her forehead that might indicate a hint of concern. 

“Ah— wild card,” he says quickly, and lays down his second trick card of the night. Pesselle surrenders her hand in a pantomime of Tao Hua. 

“Angus, are you serious?” 

Chapter Text

As the last lingering rays of sunlight breach the horizon over the Sandgem flats, stretched and gnarling shadows begin to sprawl across the immense Hisuian countryside. Right on cue, the kricketot and kricketune of the valley begin their daily orchestration to signal the eventide’s arrival, and the chipper bidoof playing by the river’s edge retreat to their dams as they hear the heralding song. 

Soon the lonely hordes of driftloon will be carried over the hills by the frigid northern winds, but the Galaxy Team’s camp in the Deertrack Heights enjoys enough shelter from Lord Wyrdeer’s peak hanging overhead that they don’t pose much of a threat. Somehow, Volo doubts that the newcomers recognise the significance of their campsite and the safety it provides, but that’s none of his concern; if the Diamond Clan are happy to let them set up shop on the stantler’s breeding grounds, then it must be fine. 

As it stands, the camp is charming in its efficient simplicity. A sparse smattering of tents encircle what is effectively now a common area, marked by a couple of stumps and logs and the campfire at its epicentre. The broth for tonight’s dinner bubbles along in the brazier above it, feeding all the worker combee as they come and go— and much like a dutiful Vespiquen, Luculia hovers over it with a keen eye to prevent it from boiling over. Steeped in golden firelight, she almost looks warm. 

He watches as she takes the empty seat beside Cynthia, and leans in closer to hear her muffled remark. Whatever it was, it earns her a sharp grin, and a reply he still can’t hear. As sure as he is that their conversation is mundane as any old discussion about the fortuitous weather or the outrageous prices of sitrus berries these days, he can’t help but fall victim to the intrigue that clings to them like a whiff of smoke. 

He knows he’s not the only one, too— in the Gingko Guild it pays to always have an ear to the ground, and knowing which settlements need what supplies and who might be looking to buy a gift and what trends are arriving from overseas is just a part of business— and if he happens to pick up on a few stray rumours here or there, then that’s by the by. Yet for all of the various theories about vagabonds and assassins, the one consensus seems to be that nobody really knows who they are, or why they know so much about things they shouldn’t. 

A simple, private conversation should not be so vexing. Thankfully, however, the solution to the problem is as simple as pulling up a stump and taking the seat opposite them. 

“My compliments to the chef! I haven’t enjoyed a meal like that in a while,” he says, halting Cynthia’s response. Luculia raises an eyebrow. 

“Eh, it’s alright,” she says, appraising her bowl with a critical eye. “If I were making it at home I’d usually add more herbs for flavour, but there’s only so much to work with out here.” 

Volo leans forward, resting his head on his chin.

“Oh? And where is home for you, if it’s not too forward to ask?” 

Luculia’s shoulders tense just a fraction before she answers. 

“Ah- I used to live in the Kalos region, but that’s not really- not really home, these days,” she says, cloaked in that wary tone so well worn by the denizens of Jubilife. It’s not the first time he’s heard that answer, and he’s sure it won’t be the last. 

“I see. You’ve certainly lost the accent, then.”

“… Yes, I have.” 

Cynthia catches her attention with a discreet tug at her sleeve, and he pretends not to notice their silent, cautious exchange. But that isn’t to say he isn’t curious. 

“How long have you two known each other, before coming to Hisui?” 

Another shared glance. 

“Well… we’ve been acquaintances for a long time because we worked in similar fields, and then when we realised we’d both be coming here we decided it’d be best for us to stick together,” Cynthia explains, and Luculia nods. 

“Right.” 

“It seems to me like that was a smart decision,” Volo smiles reassuringly at them. “Were you hired by the Galaxy Team to study Hisuian history, then?” 

“The Galaxy Team isn’t really interested in that kind of research, at least as far as I’m aware. We both decided to come here to pursue our personal studies, but academia alone hardly puts food on the table,” Luculia lifts her empty soup bowl. “Pokemon survey work, on the other hand, apparently does.” 

Cynthia shifts uneasily, alone in her reservations. 

“What about you, Volo? How did you come to join the Gingko Guild?” she asks, and Volo forces a chuckle. 

“Well, you know the story- the pursuit of knowledge isn’t always so reliable when it comes to putting food on the table. A means to an end, if you will. Though if anyone else asks, it’s because of my sincere passion for a good business deal,” he says, raising a finger to his lips. 

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with us,” Cynthia grins. Luculia shakes her head, taking that as her cue to get up and start disassembling the food station. 

“The Gingko Guild are all travellers from other regions, right?” she asks, looking back over at him. “Have you been living here long, or-“

“For as long as I can remember,” he smiles. Luculia smiles back with a curt half-grimace and doesn’t press further, opting to let the conversation lapse in favour of focusing on her work of adding the remaining broth to the cake lures for tomorrow. 

Cynthia holds her hand out to him, and gestures to his empty bowl.

“I’m on cleanup duty tonight,” she explains with a hesitant grin, and he pulls himself to his feet. 

“Surely not all by yourself? I can help with that,” he says, and she’s quick to take him up on his offer. 

More logs are thrown onto the fire in a dense stack meant to burn slow but true throughout the night, keeping the campsite warm until the sun rises again in the early hours of the morning. Once the washing up is done, he retreats to his haphazard tent, a beacon of blue and gold in a sea of blank canvas. 

Most of the guild prefer to set up shop in the village or the outskirts of the Clans’ settlements, losing out on all the fun of exploring the region and experiencing the new alongside the familiar. They are, if he is so kind, somewhat lazy in that regard. They do, however, provide some interesting insights. 

The common conclusion amongst them is that the stranger who shares his face must be his cousin or even his sister, and everybody is comfortable enough in that assumption that nobody has even thought to ask. They’re wrong, of course, but they’re not so far from the truth either. 

It’s in her walk; she doesn’t carry herself with the foolhardy bravado of her fellows in the Security Corps nor with the careful steps of her companion, but with an assured confidence that she can only have earned.  

It’s in her smile; her grin is carefully constructed to appear placid and agreeable, easygoing and assuring—only escaping her when her passion for pokemon and mythology ignites. 

It’s in her eye; when she stares out across the landscape, watching over the region as if it were her domain, it’s her eye that betrays a knowledge far beyond what she has revealed. 

She’s family, he knows that much. 

Chapter Text

As far as Aaron is concerned, the Pokemon tournament season is the best half of the year. Each region has a slightly different ruleset and structure; the season in Sinnoh doesn’t run quite as long as Hoenn’s, nor is it as competitive as Kanto’s, nor is it as spectacular and widely televised as Galar’s. It is, instead, perfect. 

The League opens with limited openings for challengers in the Spring, usually reserved for the winners of the big knockout tourneys to stir up excitement for the upcoming season. Then as Summer arrives, Victory Road welcomes the public with a brutal and demoralising embrace. Anyone who can make it up to the Lily of the Valley Castle with their case of eight gym badges and a renewed sense of humility earns the right to challenge the Elite Four— and succeeding them— the Champion. At least until the third times’ charm wears off. 

Some of the best battles of the year come at the peak of midsummer when the exuberant young trainers have truly hit their stride, but by its end the League limits its openings once again to provide an opportunity for the slow but steady travellers their chance to shine through the refuse. 

And with the arrival Fall, Cynthia will reap the rewards of her harvest and close up shop for the winter. 

At this time of year, Aaron would typically be gearing up for the oncoming Summer influx, taking notes on his performances in the scattered Spring battles and training his Pokemon in accordance. Trainers would start to stream in through Victory Road, and he’d take the time to greet some of them— he might even offer some practice sparring with potential challengers, if he considered the risk of giving away some of his secrets worth the reward of learning theirs. 

Instead, he stands out as a lone figure on a desolate practice field, absent of the raucous cheers of young hopefuls and the clangorous cries of clashing Pokemon. 

Instead, everything is shut down. 

Everything is shut down everywhere. 

The calamity began with the disappearance of the Battle Subway Master in Unova, although it had been considered something of a fluke at first. It was certainly a tragedy, but hardly a cause for international alarm. Cynthia’s disappearance came subsequently after, and that sounded the alarm bells from Galar to Kanto. Disappearing trainers and errant professors were one thing, and disappearing battle facility techs were another, but a disappearing Champion made for a disturbing trend. Trainers didn’t just vanish— not trainers like these. 

Interpol had quickly discounted the multiversal fluctuations of Ultra Space as the culprit and instead turned their eyes to the shadows, fearing the rise of another organised crime group. The thought of an evolved and refined Team Galactic, Team Rocket, Team Plasma or Team Whatever with the strength necessary to capture two of the world’s best Pokemon trainers was certainly a sobering one, enough so that the resulting decision from the suits behind the curtain was to put a temporary postponement on the tournament season. The Sinnoh League could hardly function without its Champion, and the Battle Subway trains of Unova could not be run with a lonely twin. Moreover, the pertinent question remains; who will be taken next? 

Aaron pushes his cowlick back, running his hands through his hair. 

“Alright, Vinnie. Let’s try that again,” he instructs, and his Drapion responds with a clipped chirp before burrowing back underground. As he writhes through the earth toxic spikes shoot upwards through the ground, this time piercing the soil far enough to lay a truly noxious trap for any opponent underfoot. Vinnie emerges lackadaisically on the other side of the field, and surveys his work with a satisfied click. 

“That was a lot better, but let’s focus on making it a bit cleaner. A fast opponent probably would have been able to dodge you when you came up,” Aaron points out, and Vinnie scuttles back over with a brittle chuff. Aaron leans down to grab a couple of berries from the cooler to give him, which is when he spots Bertha strolling across the gardens over to him. Her cane tamps the earth with a soft thud as she comes to a stand beside him, and she clicks her tongue as she gazes out across the ploughed field. 

“I suppose Richter will need to do some terraforming to level the terrain again. And to clear those poison spikes- that’s a clever trick, you know, if you can pull it off properly,” she notes. Aaron scratches the back of his neck with a grimace. 

“Yeah, sorry about that- and we’re working on it. Though you know I’d never ask Vinnie to dig underground in a battle against you.” 

It was a mistake he’d only ever make once, and Bertha chuckles at the memory. 

“Don’t worry yourself about the field, Richter could fix it with his eyes closed. In fact, that might make for some good training,” she grins. Vinnie clicks impatiently when he finishes the last of his Oran berries, and Aaron rolls his eyes and offers him one more. Bertha smiles wanly at the exchange. 

“How have you been doing lately, Aaron?”  

“Eh- it’s alright, really,” he replies, stretching out his shoulders in a shrug. “I know things are a little up in the air right now, but I still want us to stay at the top of our game, so we’re keeping up with the same training schedule.” 

“Don’t push yourself too hard, boy. If you want to stick around as long as I have, you have to learn the importance of endurance.” 

Aaron cracks a grin.

“I know. And don’t worry about me- if you’re worried about somebody burning out, look at Flint.” 

Bertha shakes her head despite her grin.

“I’ll leave you to it then, but don’t forget what I said,” Bertha says, giving him a soft but sturdy pat on the back. He watches her wander back the way she came, but Vinnie calls his attention with a gentle nudge to his side. 

“Okay, back to it then,” he agrees. 

There’s no excuse for slacking off. A part of him not only hopes, but knows that one of these days Cynthia is going to pop up again just as instantly as she disappeared, and she’ll smile and ask if he’s ready to take on the next lot of rising stars as if no time had passed at all. 

Because he’s not worried for her, not really. Nobody he’s ever faced in battle has ever been able to match her for strength; if they could, the Sinnoh region would have its new Champion by now. 

Flint’s theory is that she dropped off of the face of the earth in a top secret undercover operation, outside of even Interpol’s sphere of influence. Aaron isn’t quite sure if he buys that one, but wherever she is she’s probably doing something important. He doesn’t know the details, or how all of the other disappearances tie into it, but he’s sure she’ll be fine. 

She has to be fine. 

Chapter Text

“Are you alive, my girl?”

Dawn opens her eyes, and for a second she thinks she must still be dreaming. The round, curious faces of a cyndaquil, rowlet and oshawott crowd around her, bowling each other over for the chance to sniff her face. Yet the coarse grains of sand that bite into her cheek and cushion her arms are very real, as is the skittering wave that splashes against her leg. Jolted by the shock of cold, she clambers to her feet. 

“My, you gave me quite the shock falling from the sky like that! But thank goodness, you seem unharmed,” she hears somebody say, and she looks up to see a short, stout man in a lab coat and a knitted woolly hat sagging with relief. 

“I- yeah, I’m- wait, I fell from the sky?” Dawn blinks, and casts her eyes upwards. The sky is clear directly overhead, but in the distance a wild storm localised entirely over Mount Coronet sputters with supernatural lighting. 

“Yes, you had me terribly worried— these three runaways led me here, almost as if they knew you’d appear!” The man tells her, keen with intrigue. 

“Aw, they’re so cute- oh,” Dawn frowns as the pokemon in question chitter and scatter into the distance. 

“Oh, bother, my darling pokemon! Don’t worry, it isn’t your fault,” he assures her with an uneasy grin. “They’re rather flighty, as it were. I’m something of a Pokemon Professor, you see, and I’ve been studying their behaviour for a while— but they’re not very interested in cooperating.” 

“They’re probably bored,” she deduces. “I- I mean, I’m no professor or anything- but they must be itching to get outside and play if they’re always trying to get you to chase them instead of doing work.” 

“Is that so?” he ponders to himself, and Dawn relaxes at the genuine curiosity in his tone. Another wave rolls in and spreads itself across the sand, depositing a pokeball beside her before withdrawing back to the sea. 

“Triton!” she gasps, recognising her best friend’s pokeball even as the sparkly stickers begin to peel away from the metal lid. She scoops him up and peers out at the wide ocean, but there are no other pokeballs to be seen bobbing along in the swell. 

“Ah… is that pokeball yours?”

“Yeah, this is my partner Triton. He’s an Empoleon,” she says proudly, swelling with the confidence pooling in the palm of her hand. 

“An Empoleon? Outstanding! However could you have— nevermind. Seeing as you’re already familiar with how to use pokeballs, do you think you could help me round up the little runaways? I’d do it myself, but I’m not much good with that sort of thing,” the Professor asks, scratching at his hat. 

“Alright, if you’ve got any to spare I’ll help you out,” Dawn replies easily. 

Which is how she ends up crouched behind a rock, antique apricorn pokeballs in hand, wondering how exactly she got here. Or at least, how exactly she ended up falling from the sky here. 

Yesterday had been a day like any other; she rode her bike to Sandgem town to help Professor Rowan out with some errands, then had lunch at the beach with Barry, Lucas, and all their pokemon, then spent the evening studying back at home. She can’t recall seeing or feeling anything out of the ordinary, all day or even all week. The last thing she remembers is having croquettes for dinner with Mom before going to bed.

Except that isn’t really the last thing she remembers— she remembers having a nightmare. Darkness had crept into the corners of her room and into her consciousness, and her last coherent thought was to grab Triton’s pokeball. 

Then she began to fall. 

She remembers the encompassing, obsidian abyss stretching as far as the eye could see and as deep as the mind could comprehend. She’d had no idea how long she had been stuck there, falling, but at some point the falling became something more like floating as the absence of ground below or sky above removed all context to the surrounding gravity. 

Then there had been a spark of light- lights- strobing stars all orbiting a blinding sun. And then… then she’d woken up on a beach. 

She’s pretty sure this is the coastline west of Jubilife where the mouth of the Canala river meets the ocean, only where the surrounding suburbs should be is instead the field of trees and flowers she’s currently standing in. It’s possible she’s mistaken, but she rarely is.

With a practiced swing she throws a pokeball perfectly at the centre of Cyndaquil’s head, and the ball hums as the pokemon settles inside. 

There is perhaps one pokemon she knows that could be tied to all of this, the one that rules over the domain of nightmares— but Darkrai couldn’t be responsible for something like this, could it? Maybe there’s a reason for it. There must be something she’s missing. 

Taking cover behind a tree, she swings a pokeball in an underarm throw towards the oshawott distracted by its own reflection, and walks over to retrieve the ball before it even clicks shut. 

Regardless of whatever put her here and why, she’s not in any immediate danger and that has to count for something. If Darkrai wanted to harm her, it wouldn’t have stuck her on a tiny beach with a well-meaning if seemingly inexperienced Pokemon Professor. 

Rowlet sees the pokeball coming its way before it reaches its target, having twisted its head behind its back in that uncanny way their species are known for. It hops neatly out of the ball’s trajectory, then hoots at her. If that’s how it’s going to be, fine. Dawn releases Triton from his pokeball, and he stares down at the little bird who wisely scoots over to the apricorn pokeball to let itself in. 

Triton waddles over to her and trumpets a relieved greeting, and she gives him a hug in return. She feels like she’s missing a piece of herself without her whole team by her side, but Triton’s presence is enough to ease the worst of it. 

“Absolutely incredible! You don’t seem scared of pokemon at all,” the Professor says, ambling over to her to take his pokemon back. 

“Why would I be?” Dawn asks, confusion and amusement slipping into her voice all at once. 

“Well, they certainly can be dangerous,” he replies, though it sounds more like lip service than genuine concern. “I’m studying them to prove that that’s not all they are, though. I’m even putting together a research catalogue of them, called a Pokedex. But… in order to properly document pokemon, one must, of course, catch them.” 

His passion is clear in his voice, which is the only thing curbing her annoyance at his needless explanation. She nods simply to keep him talking in the hope that he’ll stop stating the obvious soon and get to the point. 

“And therein lies the rub, I’m afraid. Pokeballs have only just been invented, and not many have mastered the skill of using them.” 

Dawn’s train of thought shudders to a halt. 

Pokeballs had only just been invented? Perhaps the better question isn’t why she’d fallen from the sky but when. 

“Enter you— a person with a clear talent for handling Pokemon! One can’t help but think there’s a reason you appeared here and now.” 

“I think that’s-“ she starts, but she doesn’t know how to finish. The Professor goes quiet for a moment, realising she needs time to collect her thoughts, but they don’t come to her. 

“If you’re willing to help me complete the Pokedex, I can help get you sorted with some lodgings in Jubilife Village. We’ll get you a meal, and some proper clothes too,” he says, gentle now, and Dawn tugs at the fraying threads of her pyjama top. That would probably be a good start, and it’s comforting to know that Jubilife City still exists, at least in some capacity. 

“Oh- that sounds good. I, uh, don’t know if I have anywhere to stay right now,” she replies. If the outskirts of Jubilife City haven’t been built yet, she’s not about to bet on little old Twinleaf town being around either. 

Her home hasn’t been built yet. 

“You’ll have to join the Galaxy Team’s Survey Corps, but you’ll mainly be working under me so it’ll only be Captain Cyllene we need to convince, and I’m sure she’ll see your potential straight away!” 

Hold on— 

“Galaxy Team?” 

The Galaxy Expedition Team is not, in fact, a proto Team Galactic running an undercover operation to summon gods and make red chains or anything of the sort. Even though Captain Cyllene had looked uncomfortably similar to a certain blue-haired cosmonaut, Commander Kamado’s resemblance to Professor Rowan did put her slightly at ease. Although Professor Rowan had never tried to sumo throw her, she’s at least used to the dry, cranky old-man humour that apparently runs in the family. 

His warning about the superstitious hasn’t left her mind, however. 

Somewhere along the way she picks up the moniker ‘Skyfaller’, and she’s not sure how to feel about that. It’s impressive, in a way, to already have a reputation that precedes her— but it’s also the kind of reputation that establishes her as the outsider. In this ramshackle multicultural melting pot of people from all over the world seeking a new start, she’s the one who doesn’t fit in. She may as well be from another world to them, and as far as they’re concerned, she is. 

Rei, at least, doesn’t seem to care. If he does it’s because he thinks it makes her mysterious and cool, and she’ll take that. He reminds her so much of Lucas in that way, but he’s different in so many others. She likes to imagine that he’s Lucas’ rambunctious, go-getter twin who she’s only meeting now because they have to swap places in part of some elaborate scheme to fool their parents, only until she remembers Lucas isn’t really here and Rei only exists in this version of the past. 

It’s a difficult thing to wrap her head around. 

Still, she’s grateful to have a friend here, and working with him and Professor Laventon makes it a little easier to ignore her inevitable cosmic destiny, whatever that may be. Although while she respects Laventon as a person, it’s a little hard to respect him as a Professor. It’s not his fault that she’s already learned the fundamentals of pokemon biology that he’s painstakingly working to establish in the first place, although he does understand the science behind Pokemon abilities in a way she can’t wrap her head around. Yet whenever he gets bitten by Rowlet or splashed by Oshawott for ignoring the body language that young children are taught to pay attention to, she remembers just how far ahead the future really is. 

The only other person in Jubilife who appears comfortable with Pokemon is the merchant Volo, who… well, he reminds her of someone else she knows who’s a cut above the rest when it comes to Pokemon, so in some ways that isn’t surprising at all. 

Dawn had ended up taking the cyndaquil off Laventon’s hands under the pretence of collecting pokedex data for him, but in all honesty she’d just thought this little guy was the most likely to cause the most destruction in his care. She’d named him Dante. 

Building a new Pokemon team out here in Hisui is inevitable. The natural terrain can be difficult to traverse without help, and the wild Pokemon are generally more aggressive due to both being unaccustomed to humans, and the appearance of the space-time rift. It’s how she reconciles the hollow feeling that she’s replacing some of her best friends, because she should be flying around on Aquila, her Altaria, or warding off irascible driftloon with Pixie, her Clefable, but they aren’t here right now. 

However, she can’t deny the excitement that comes with working with new Pokemon, and the fulfilment of seeing them flourish beside her. 

The Obsidian Fieldlands is so different to the southwestern valleys of the Sinnoh that she knows, but it’s filled with most of the same Pokemon, all raring to battle. 

“Dawn!” 

Dawn pulls herself from her thoughts at the sight of Rei waving to catch her attention, clumsily scaling the craggy hillside. 

“Hey Rei. Everything alright?” She asks, extending her arm to give him a hand up. While it isn’t unusual for him to seek her out, he usually leaves her to her own devices when she’s out in the field, both because he can’t keep up with Lord Wyrdeer and because he isn’t interested in following her headfirst into Pokemon swarm battles. He doesn’t seem too distressed though, albeit a bit flustered, so there’s probably no emergency. 

“A couple of us have been looking for you. You sure leave no stone unturned, huh?” he says as he straightens up. 

“Of course not. There might be a geodude under there,” Dawn winks. “What’s up?” 

“Clouds,” Rei answers as always, and Dawn rolls her eyes. 

“Ha. I mean, is there something I can help with?” 

“They need us down at the Heartwood— and by us I mean you. Everyone is kind of at their wit’s end about this frenzied Noble Pokemon, so Laventon thinks you should go talk to Irida and the Warden. He’s out working with a couple of new recruits so he’ll catch up later, but if there’s anyone who can sort this out, it’s you!” 

Some things change, but some things will always stay the same. 

“Alright. Let’s get going, then!”

Chapter Text

Jubilife Village has changed since the Galaxy Team’s last expedition into the Obsidian Fieldlands. It’s only in small ways; the Construction Corps has moved their scaffolding from one structure to the next, the Agriculture Corps has tilled new fields in preparation for planting summer crops, and the wares in the shops have cycled out with the arrival of new stock from overseas. The shops also stay open later now as the days get warmer and longer, and the harsh sun causes the flowers on the sidewalk to wilt. 

Most of these changes can be chalked up to the ending of the spring season, but there are a few other things that are just a little out of place. Namely the trio of bidoof that follow Sanqua around like little ducklett, the wurmple that clings to Beauregard’s side like a binacle, the geodude that helps Colza plough the new field by pulling itself head-first (body-first?) through the ground, and the Mr Mime silently guarding the town’s eastern gate beside Andra. 

Six new residents in the village is not an astronomical number, but it’s six more pokemon residents than the village has ever had before. Unlike the two creatures sequestered away in Professor Laventon’s lab or those barricaded by pasture fences, these ones wander around in the broad daylight as if they have just as much a right to be here as anyone else, and for the most part it is… tolerated, if not completely accepted. 

Juno is not scared of pokemon. They have a healthy respect for them, which is an entirely different thing. That being said, they certainly understand the fears some of the villagers have expressed in allowing the creatures— small as some of them may be— inside the walls meant to keep danger out. Perhaps a month or two ago, Juno would have agreed with them. 

Since then, however, they’ve met a handful of strange people and their strange pokemon, and they’ve seen unbelievable things. They’ve seen Cynthia ride on a frenzied Rapidash and Luculia flying on the back of a Garchomp, surely both to their own deaths, only to walk back into camp later that evening mussed but nevertheless in good health. They’ve seen Rei evolve a starly into a staravia far quicker than anyone in the Security Corps has ever been able to. They’ve seen Dawn fell a Noble . 

Everything that had ever seemed impossible before is now an open question; what more can be achieved with the power of Pokemon? 

The Diamond and Pearl Clans of this land have proven that cohabitation is possible, and now the acquaintances Juno has made have proven that friendship is possible— that even though chatot are capable of deafening a person with their screeches, Viola wouldn’t, or that even if an Empoleon could wipe out an encampment with a single tidal wave, Triton would move to stand in its way. They certainly can’t imagine Tama the togepi being capable let alone willing to hurt anyone. 

So maybe some pokemon aren’t so bad, if they know them personally. There’s a lot that could be said about humans as a whole, but they wouldn’t want to be judged by that same misanthropic measure. 

And they all seem so happy— playing, working, training, fighting— winning together. Juno sighs at the thought. A sudden shadow casts itself over them, blocking the gentle warmth of the sun and forcing their eyes open again. 

“Say, my friend. What has you looking so downcast on a beautiful day like this?” Professor Laventon asks, and Juno glances up at him from their seat on the grass. Even on a warm day like this, he’s still wearing his long sleeved lab coat and silly woollen hat; at least some things remain constant. 

“Oh, uh, it’s nothing really,” Juno replies. “I mean, Rei and Dawn are out training with their pokemon now, so I’m just… hanging here by myself.” 

They hope it doesn’t sound as pitiful to the Professor as it does to their own ears. Professor Laventon only grins. 

“Juno, if you’d like to join them I’m sure they would be happy to-“

“I don’t think- it’s not-“ Juno starts, quick to cut him off but unsure of what to say. Sure, pokemon can be friendly, but sharing a meal together and training together are two different beasts. 

“You know the Security Corps don’t get to start training any pokemon until we’re at least Senior rank, right?” they say instead. Professor Laventon crosses his arms in thought. 

“Ah, I forgot about that little rule,” he says. “Still, I’m sure Captain Zisu won’t mind so long as it’s under Captain Cyllene’s supervision. Our Survey Corps are meant to help the Security Corps understand how to handle pokemon, so it might be a good exercise to see if training can’t be started earlier,” he suggests brightly. Juno tries to imagine their peers in the Corps training with a shinx or buizel, and winces at the mental image. 

“Besides,” Laventon continues, “I can think of a couple of new recruits who have shaken up the rules a little bit already.” 

Juno’s mouth teeters between a grin and a grimace. They hadn’t been there for the early morning test match between Captain Zisu and Luculia— and then Cynthia— but they’d heard all the different versions of it from the Sec Corps kids who had been there. Luculia had managed to beat Zisu’s Ambipom with her Froslass, something nobody had ever accomplished before on their first try. And Cynthia hadn’t even needed to fight, because she’d had to recall the Garchomp she’d summoned for the match on the Commander’s own orders. 

Juno would consider their life successful if they could be even half as cool as that one day. 

“You’re not wrong. Those ladies are crazy,” they say, finally landing on a grin. Professor Laventon indulges in a chuckle. 

“If you’re not doing anything right now, how about you come along with me to the Galaxy Building?” he suggests. 

“Alright, I have nothing better to do- but it’s still my day off, alright?”

Professor Laventon’s office appears as though it had been paid a visit by a very irate Tauros. Bookshelves that had once lined the walls lie prostrate on the ground, scattering thick volumes of encyclopaedias across the floor. The blackboard has come off its hinges to lean drunkenly against the wall, and the shredded curtains hang lifelessly over fractured windows, which have only by some miracle escaped complete shattering. The floor rug is— for some reason— soaked with water, and carpeted on top of that is a thick layer of leaves and debris. 

In opposite corners of the room, a rowlet and an oshawott stare at the Professor with bright, innocent eyes. He sighs and mutters something in Galarian under his breath. 

“Blast it. Captain Cyllene had warned me that they’ve been getting a bit rowdy since our expedition,” he says, and sets about righting a bookshelf. Juno joins him, grabbing the other side of the wooden skeleton as they leverage it upright. 

“I expect it’s because since Dawn took little Cyndaquil with her to train, there’s no-one to temper Rowlet’s more mischievous side. And when Oshawott retaliates, well, you get the idea,” he continues, gesturing around. It’s a shocking reminder of how much damage even the little ones can do. Rowlet is barely bigger than a football, and the power of its wings is enough to turn a room upside down. 

“Don’t look so worried- there’s nothing I leave here that can’t be replaced. I learned my lesson there after dear Cyndaquil- well, I’m sure you can guess what happened there.” 

“That’s not really what- nevermind,” Juno grimaces. 

“Hey Professor, Rei and I just finished training and I was wondering- oh, hey Juno! What are you doing here?” Dawn asks, striding through the doorway without a second glance at the chaos surrounding her. Rei follows behind her and gives the room a once over with a low whistle, but is otherwise equally unconcerned. 

“Well you see, Juno here has expressed interest in receiving a partner pokemon of their own!” 

“Hey- hey, now- I didn’t say anything like that!” Juno squawks. Rei rests a hand on their shoulder, and they lower their arms just a fraction. 

“I think that’s a great idea, Juno! Dawn and I can help you get started out, and-“

“You just want to train against somebody you actually have a chance of beating,” Dawn grins, and now it’s Rei’s turn to start squawking. 

“Hey!”

Juno shrugs his hand off their shoulder and turns around to put their hands on their hips.

“W-well, how do you know I won’t win? I’m sure it can’t be that hard,” Juno says, frowning at the both of them. They had watched enough of their training sessions to get the gist of battling at least, and it’s easy to see why Dawn is the more skilled between them; she reacts faster, gives orders confidently and decisively, and always seems to have an answer for any attack Rei throws at her. Juno is sure that they’d be able to do the same, if they really tried. 

“That’s the spirit!” Dawn cheers. Professor Laventon laughs to himself, catching their attention. 

“You know, Oshawott here is a water type. Against Dawn’s Cyndaquil, you’d have the upper hand,” he says, nodding over at Oshawott. It barks in agreement, splashing  water out of the side of its pen as it swims up to the edge beside them. Juno freezes, watching it carefully.

It sprays a spitful of water into their face. 

“Hey!” They shout and wipe their cheek dry with their sleeve, though Oshawott doesn’t appear very contrite, only making a chittering noise that sounds something like laughter. What sounds a lot more like laughter is the actual laughter coming from Dawn and Rei, and they turn to glare at them both. 

“He has a bit of a rebellious spirit, I’m afraid, but he’s got a good nature, truly!” Professor Laventon scratches his beard. “You know, it would be doing me a favour if you were to record notes on Oshawott out in the field. I fear he isn’t quite getting the enrichment he needs here in this lab, and Dawn’s notes on Cyndaquil so far have been invaluable.”

Oshawott grins, flashing its fangs. Juno had seen Dawn battle with her Cyndaquil, and it’s harder now to imagine standing before her with only this oshawott between themself and a hurtling ball of fire. If they ordered it to counter the attack and it didn’t obey, what might happen then? 

“I don’t know about- I don’t think I should be the one to do this,” they say, taking a step backwards towards the door. “You should just ask Dawn to-“ 

“Juno,” Dawn halts them with a gentle touch to their arm, smiling patiently as if they were a startled pichu. 

“I know that starting out with your first Pokemon can be scary— I know it was when I first met Triton as a little piplup. It takes time to build up the trust you need for a partnership to really work, and there’ll probably be times where you get things wrong,” she says, and from the way her grin seeps into her voice they can tell she’s speaking from experience. 

She moves around them and reaches out to Oshawott, who doesn’t hesitate to jump into her arms. She holds it close to her chest, and it doesn’t make a single move to bite or claw at her. 

“But getting past those obstacles will only make your bond grow stronger, until there’s nothing you can’t overcome together. And don’t forget, we’re here to help you too!” 

Dawn holds Oshawott out towards them, and they take it from her with a hand under each of its little arms. Its cheeks swell, and Juno closes their eyes and braces for the spray of water, only for a single bubble to pop against their nose. Oshawott chitters again, its webbed feet running laps in the air. Juno grins. 

“Alright, maybe- maybe we can do this. Just so long as you don’t get me into any trouble,” they warn, and Oshawott wriggles in their arms. 

“Are you going to give him a nickname?” Dawn grins. 

“Oh- do you think I should?” Juno asks. Cynthia, Luculia and even Volo’s pokemon all had their own unique names, yet it had hardly occurred to them that they’d been named. 

“I think it’s a bit confusing,” Rei frowns. “How are you supposed to keep track of all the different kinds of pokemon if they all have different names?” 

“Names are important! Each pokemon is their own person too, you know, and everyone deserves a name. There are lots of cyndaquils like Dante, but there’s only one Dante!” Dawn retorts. As if summoned by the sound of his name, Dante releases himself from his own pokeball— which is a daunting prospect, yet hardly as intimidating as it should be as Dante squeals and wiggles cheerfully at them. Oshawott waves back with its scallop. 

Juno considers, for a moment, all the names they’d tried on that hadn’t fit right; names that they’d loved but belonged to somebody else. They know that oshawotts are supposed to evolve into stalwart blue beasts called Samurott— but much like people, pokemon are good at defying expectations, and there’s no telling what this oshawott will become. Names can be powerful, Juno knows, but they don’t have to be permanent either.

“How do you like the name Ronin?” Juno asks, and Oshawott— Ronin— nods in approval. 

It feels like a sacred moment, with Dawn, Rei and Professor Laventon all keeping their distance but watching with encouraging smiles. And it’s exciting; maybe now they’ll get to join the ranks of the strange but nevertheless impressive weirdos and their pokemon. 

A soft hoot interrupts the reverential scene, and they look over to the gnarled potted tree in the corner of the room. Rowlet’s body is perched on it facing towards them, but its head is twisted behind itself to face the wall. 

Dawn coos, while Rei snorts warmly and turns to the professor. 

“Professor, do you think that I…?” 

Professor Laventon looks to Rei, then to Rowlet, and his eyes flash with understanding. 

“Ah- yes, of course, my boy- by all means!” 

Rei approaches the dormant tree and the sulking rowlet with a gentle, fatherly grin far beyond his years. 

“Would you like to come with me, Rowlet?” he asks, and Rowlet’s head spins around as it leaps onto Rei’s shoulder with a single hoot .

“So, Rei. What are you going to name him?” Dawn asks, grinning widely as she pops up behind him. Rei’s nose scrunches in thought.

“...Leif?” 

“Really?” 

“I don’t do well under pressure!”

“We can tell,” Juno snickers. Leif simply fluffs up his feathers and hoots. Dante trills down from the floor in response, followed by Ronin making a quiet chuffing noise. It would be funny to think that they’re all having some kind of conversation, as they quibble discordantly at each other. Rei and Dawn seem equally amused, content to let the small pokemon crow and play for the rest of the afternoon. 

And when Ronin scuttles back towards them to be let inside his pokeball as the sky shifts to lilac hues, Juno considers that maybe they could actually be kind of good at this.  

Chapter Text

It’s a beautiful day for a wedding. Wild fletchling and pidgey sing in the softly swaying trees, and vivillon of all different patterns flutter astride the breeze, gossamer wings glittering in the sunlight. The air is fresh with the sweet scent of orchids and tulips tended to by flabébé and floette, and somebody’s sunflora stands ready to cast Sunny Day at the sight of any grisly clouds. 

The bride and groom must be very pleased, whoever they are. Luculia is five, and she doesn’t know any of these people; from the knees down, every crowd of strangers looks the same. 

Most of these people are probably her relatives, but none of them are her family— half of whom are already missing, having made their hasty exit to play in the park across the street before she could ask to join them. It doesn’t bother her, though. Her siblings would only complain about having to supervise her on the playground, and they never help her reach the rungs on the mankey bars so it’s never very fun. Big kids are boring. 

Unfortunately, adults are worse, and it’s boring here too. 

Luculia wanders through the house towards the epicentre of eggshell and crème chaos in search of her mother, sure to find her in the midst of it all. She might not be aware of how bored she is right now, so she has to let her know— just in case. However, before she can venture into the kitchen, a clammy hand grips her arm and yanks her to a stop. 

“Hey, Lucie! They have a Gameblock downstairs, and Maman said I could play on it if I let you play with me.” 

Malva is six, and she always knows what she wants. As such, there’s no use fighting the pull of her determination as she drags her away into the unknown. 

Luculia has visited this manor enough times to at least know where she’s allowed, but not enough to have explored where she isn’t, and the entrance to the staircase that leads down to the elusive basement floor is truly alluring. 

“What games do they have?” she asks as she’s hauled down each step. 

“We’re playing Spacewars. I’m going to be the red team, because the red team is the coolest,” Malva says. 

“That’s okay. I like blue better,” Luculia replies. Malva halts their march, and turns to her with a bewildered frown. 

“Well- well, actually, I’m going to play the blue team, you be red.” 

“Okay,” Luculia grins. 

Malva is her only cousin on her mother’s side, and the only family member she has that’s close to her own age. They haven’t met that many times, given that Luculia spends half of her time in Sinnoh with her father and Malva’s mother is always busy, but somehow Malva is always able to pick up from where they left off. Malva doesn’t have any siblings to Luculia’s three, and so she probably doesn’t have anyone else to play with most of the time. 

Luculia hopes they don’t ever spend too much time together, so that Malva won’t get bored of playing with her too.

It’s a beautiful, if a little inappropriate, day for a funeral. The finely landscaped grounds of the cemetery glow a healthy green, with sprawling hedges and manicured gardens that shield the eye from the masses of graves behind them. A small river wraps around the back of the estate, with an overgrown willow tree hunching over it to provide shade and shelter for the pokemon who have chosen this resting place as their home. 

With their grandfather’s ceremony over, Luculia and Malva sought their escape from the banality of the adults’ commiseration, and naturally had been drawn to the verdurous oasis. Malva’s mother’s torkoal Alcea watches over them patiently as she bathes in the sunlight, content to let them frolic in their black dresses like a pair of shuppet. 

Luculia wades through the water, Malva mirroring her steps from the riverbank. The water is cold as it courses around her ankles, but pleasant underneath as her toes dig into the pebbles underfoot. A school of wooper float downstream, and they tickle her legs as they pass by with wide smiles. 

Luculia is eight, and it’s the first time she’s been to a funeral. She had expected it to be boring; these are the kinds of things families do out of obligation, not because they’re fun, but she hadn’t expected it to go on for so long. Perhaps sucking the life out of everyone in the room is the point of these things. 

“I hope we get to go home soon. I don’t know what’s taking so long— it’s not like if they wait around long enough he’ll wake up and climb out of the coffin,” Malva says, padding around barefoot on the grass. Luculia shrugs. 

“They’re still mourning, I guess. I mean, it’s sad, isn’t it?” 

“Not really. I didn’t see anyone crying,” Malva points out. “You weren’t crying.” 

“No, but-“

“See? I don’t even think anyone actually liked him.”

Luculia kicks the water halfheartedly, stirring the silt into a murky cloud. 

“He was always really grumpy. And he said mean things about your mom all the time,” she says. 

Malva scowls. The water craters as she jumps in with both feet, soaking the front of Luculia’s dress.

“Hey!” 

“Well, it’s alright, now,” Malva carries on, ignoring her shriek. “Yveltal knows when it’s the right time to take people, which means his death was supposed to happen. It’s a good thing.” 

“I don’t want Yveltal to take me,” Luculia frowns with as much solemnity an eight year old can muster. 

“It’s okay. Maman told me Yveltal doesn’t take kids.”

“Kids can still die, Mal.”

“Yeah, but it’s always because of accidents, not Yveltal taking them- which is why it’s bad when they do.” 

Luculia frowns dubiously. Malva is nine, and she’s convinced she knows everything. 

It’s unlike either of them to linger on such morbid subjects for very long, though, not when an abundance of life surrounds them. Luculia resumes her wading, and this time Malva joins her, keeping an eye out for any hidden, glittering treasures, and their conversation drifts to the curiosity of amphibious pokemon. Scarcely another ten minutes go by before their mothers find them playing leap-froakie in the water, ignorant to the flock of Gastly bobbing along behind them. 

It’s Spring again, and on vivacious days like these emotions are always more emphatic than usual, for better or worse. Malva hangs in the doorway with an inscrutable stare, watching the squabble taking place in the living room. The two perpetrators have made a piecemeal attempt to keep their inevitable argument away from prying eyes, but she’d always had a knack for showing up where she isn’t wanted. 

“We’ve had this planned for months but no, you decided on a whim that you wanted to do it this way-“ 

“Nobody ever wanted to do it your way, you just kept railroading everyone who suggested anything else!” 

“So you decided to just do this behind my back?” 

Malva’s eyes follow the verbal volley between the identical twins in obverse bridesmaid gowns, and then they roll to the back of her skull. It’s some inane shit as usual. 

Just as she’s wondering what trick the circus clowns will perform next, the ringmaster appears in the form of a precocious little girl with a face full of stone cold loathing. 

“Are you two really pulling this shit now? This is Louis’ wedding, Zygarde fucking forbid you get over yourselves on the one day it’s not all about you,” Luculia hisses, trying with moderate success to keep her voice down. 

“Well she’s the one who had to-“

“Nobody gives a shit! Pick up this argument after the ceremony if you want, but until then just- stay on opposite sides of the house and don’t talk to each other, if that’s what it’ll take. Alright?” 

Her tone is stern and resolute, and her sisters know they may as well be trying to fence with a Bisharp. They follow her instructions with bitter begrudgement, clinging to their last shreds of sensibility. Lydia leaves through the west hallway, and Leanne roughly shoves against Malva’s shoulder as she takes the opposite exit. Malva rolls with the swing with a widening smirk. 

Luculia stands in the wake of it all, a volatile storm of barely restrained emotion rolling across her face. Then, swallowing down a tantrum of her own, she lifts her head and departs as gracefully as any jaded teenager can. 

Malva follows her out at a leisurely pace, and spares her a short moment to stew alone before she joins her. Out on the front patio there is nobody else to be found but the frosty ball of fury curled up on the stone steps, and Malva smooths her shirt out as she takes the seat beside her. 

“Your sisters are pathetic,” she says plainly. 

“I shouldn’t be the one who has to deal with their shit all the time!” is the reply, carefully curtailed in a furious whisper. Luculia is fourteen, and typically the only adult in the room. 

“No,” Malva agrees. “Where even is your mom?”

“Take a guess,” Luculia replies evenly, giving her a look that’s far more cynical than her rounded baby face should be capable of. 

“Aha. Wine bar,” Malva nods. Luculia doesn’t respond. 

The ensuing silence congeals between them, neither of them deft or eloquent enough to cut through it. But Malva is fifteen, and if there’s one thing she is skilled at, it’s teenage rebellion. 

“You know, we could sneak over there ourselves. Nobody’s going to notice- or even really care.” 

Luculia shrugs pitifully. 

“I don’t want to get drunk in front of Grace on her big day.” 

“I can’t believe you have a crush on your sister in law,” Malva snorts. 

“Shut up! And they haven’t done the vows yet, so technically-“ 

“You’re so sad,” Malva laughs, and Luculia’s comically juvenile scowl is a refreshing sight. “Come on, let’s steal a drink.” 

Winters in Kalos never get quite so cold as the ones in Sinnoh, but today is starkly bitter in a way that Luculia has never known. The cutting chill crystallises as fractals of ice that cling to the headstone despite the bouquet of candles surrounding it, with the lonely purple wisp of a stray litwick buried within the cluster of gold. The sodden ground is littered with mallows, a tribute to the body buried underneath. 

Mauve Hiver

Would she have been happy to be buried beside her father, surname restored, as if her spindly little branch had never been abscised from the family tree? Luculia tries to avoid thinking about it. 

Scarlet Hiver is carrying on and making the whole affair about herself, as she is always wont to do, but Luculia cannot begrudge her mother for how she chooses to cope on the day of her sister’s funeral. 

On more than one occasion she’d wondered if her aunt was her real mother. On more than one occasion, she’d wished that her aunt was her real mother. But her mother is still here, and her aunt is not. 

Luculia is eighteen, and she finally understands what grief is. 

Malva is nineteen, and her mother is dead. 

Luculia leans back against the temple wall, doing her best to keep away from the mourning crowd that accost her cousin like a swarm of Beedrill, lest she become just another locust. She is not, however, alone. 

Lysandre Fleur de Lis is a tall, broad shouldered man with a presence that demands attention, despite his best efforts to avoid it. Side by side, they make for an interesting corsage of wallflowers. 

“You’re Malva’s cousin, Luculia, correct?” he states rather than asks, in a brittle attempt at conversation. 

“That’s right,” Luculia replies, disinterested in entertaining such small talk at the best of times.

“I’m sorry that we had to have met under these circumstances. Malva has told me a lot about you.” 

Malva hadn’t told her anything about him, but it would be rude to say as much. Instead, she offers a vague hum of acknowledgement. He mistakes it for a noise of anguish. 

“Yveltal sometimes takes that which we are not yet ready to release. But ultimately she brings an end to people’s suffering, and thus offers peace from the calamity of life. She’s more merciful than Xerneas in that regard, I believe,” he offers magnanimously. Luculia nods, unsure of how she could possibly respond to that. 

Malva sneaks over to join them during the officiator’s address, eager to escape the onslaught of condolences. Luculia doesn’t think she could offer her own even if she wanted to, given the way her throat has been refusing to cooperate the whole day. The silence that hangs over them is thick and cloying, but it’s still preferable to superfluous words— or philosophical sermons. Arceus above, she hopes Lysandre doesn’t say anything else. 

The picturesque Cyllage coast is a popular destination for weddings. Although it is far from the Hiver family’s usual seat of ceremony, it’s a temperate and tourist-friendly compromise for the groom’s family, who’ve had to travel all the way from Paldea. And the bride’s father who has travelled in from Sinnoh, but that’s the least of anyone’s concerns. 

The sapphire sea and alabaster sand paints a beautiful picture, but Luculia has always been sensitive to excessive sunlight, so she’s stuck huddled in the shade of a white umbrella for the entirety of the event. There’s also a crisp wind, which would be negligible in the face of the sun’s warmth, but it pricks at her skin like one of Scilla’s moves. 

Every now and then the egg in her lap quivers, and she runs her palm over it to provide some extra warmth. It’s supposed to hatch into a chatot, and she’s been told it’s good for them to learn the sounds of people’s voices before they even hatch, so she’s taken to carrying it around whenever she goes out. 

The white plastic chair beside her creaks as Malva sits down, groaning with antipathy. 

“Why anyone would marry into this I’ll never know,” she states, and takes a deep sip of her pinot noir. Luculia eyes her warily. 

“Is that safe with your new script?”

“It’s fine.” 

Malva sets down the now empty glass perilously in the sand, and digs herself deeper into the chair. 

“So Leanne really isn’t coming. I guess that’s it, then,” she says. Luculia responds with a monotone hum, but the bones in her hands arch against her skin with a tension that threatens to crack the eggshell underneath. 

The matter of invitations had been an ordeal with no small amount of cajoling from their mother, and Luculia had done her best to avoid getting involved. Ultimately, Lydia sent an invitation to her sister, and Leanne hadn’t replied. 

Her absence is felt largely in the lack of any riotous arguments or scathing jabs whispered to the new family, so it’s probably for the best. And it’s probably for the best that the new family doesn’t even know the bride has a twin at all. Luculia is twenty one, and she’s down to just two siblings now. 

“She was always my least favourite cousin,” Malva shares conspiratorially. 

“I don’t think she was ever a fan of you either,” Luculia grins. “Though I suppose you have plenty of your own, these days,” she adds thoughtfully. 

“Yeah. I don’t know why everyone’s so interested in gym integrity reports, though.” 

“It’s because you’re blitzing through the challenges like they’re nothing. It took me ages just to get my first badge in Snowpoint, and you’re at what, five? Six? And they’re all just as footnotes to your exposé!” Luculia laughs. 

“Maybe Kalos just isn’t that tough compared to Sinnoh,” Malva shrugs. 

“You can say I’m bad at battling, it’s okay.” 

“You’re not really as bad as you think. You just have some glaring weaknesses,” Malva taunts her, poking her side for good measure. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Luculia snorts. The egg on her lap bounces, as if protesting to her self-depreciation, and so she grins in spite of it. 

“Do you think you’ll be able to pull it off? Mega Evolution?” she asks. 

“We’re going to try our best,” Malva answers, the fire dancing in her eyes again for what might be the first time in years. Luculia’s smile thins with dry amusement. 

“I think you’ll manage.” 

Malva is twenty two, and at the rate she’s going she could end up challenging the Champion before she’s twenty three. 

The death of a Matriarch is a momentous affair, calling even the most deciduous of relatives out of hiding to witness the fallout. It’s the end of an epoch, a glorious and forsaken winter defined by tithes and heraldry and arrangements. Luculia is twenty four, and she feels a weight lift off her chest. 

She is far from alone in that regard; nobody here has come to mourn. With the blood still fresh in the water, Sharpedo circle around the carcass. The casket is black and domineering, taking up more room than it deserves just as the body inside had always demanded. A trite violin track plays through the speakers, adding to the revolting sanctimoniousness of the scene. 

Malva slinks into the room and stays quiet until the last of their great aunts and uncles, second cousins, in-laws and their children leave the room, leaving the three of them alone. 

“The champagne is a bit of a faux pas, don’t you think?” Malva leans over and smirks, taking a sip from her flute. The Veuve Clicquot had been sitting as an ornament on top of Grandmother’s terminally out-of-tune baby grand for as long as both of them can remember. 

“I don’t know, a wake is considered a celebration, technically,” Luculia replies. 

“I haven’t seen your mom around,” Malva says casually, although her raised eyebrow is anything but. 

“She’s out in the garden with Serena, avoiding all the Mandibuzz. She has a terrible hangover, you see.” 

“Washing down all the grief, I’m sure.” 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Luculia mutters into her own champagne flute. “I can’t imagine you’d be here if it weren’t for the-“ 

“Don’t bring up inheritances at a funeral, Lucie. It’s considered rude,” Malva cuts her off. Luculia rolls her eyes. 

The old Honchcrow had died alone, with nothing but her hoard for company. And despite the sprawling bloodline, Grandmother herself had only ever had two daughters, one of them dead and the other disenfranchised. Her will had been split neatly down the middle with Scarlet receiving her slice as reparations, and Malva receiving Mauve’s posthumous compensation on her behalf. 

Malva is twenty five, and she now holds half of the entire family fortune. Luculia will see no such figures, but there are things more valuable in life than money. Peace is one of them. 

“I think maybe you were right, Mal, back when we were kids.” 

“Obviously,” Malva replies out of habit. “About what, though?” 

“About, you know— Yveltal knowing the right time to take people and everything.” 

Personally, Luculia thinks Yveltal could have stood to take Grandmother a little sooner, but it’s probably bad luck to say that right in front of her powdered corpse. 

Malva frowns, and at first Luculia thinks she won’t agree; it had been a statement boldly proclaimed by a child who barely understood social cues, let alone grief. But then she plasters on her made-for-TV smile, her gaze now anchored to the supercilious casket before them, and raises her glass. 

“To Yveltal, for doing the good work of ridding the world of all the terrible people in it.”

Luculia mirrors the motion, and taps their glasses together with a crystal clink. 

“To Yveltal.”       

When the news about the Kalos region’s brush with death finally reaches Sinnoh’s shores, Luculia turns on the television. She rarely switches her TV to the ‘foreign’ channels anymore, but she has a feeling this is a story best told in the Kalosian tongue. 

Malva is on the screen, of course, delivering a powerful obituary for a man who wanted to destroy a world he couldn’t fix. It’s a shame he never figured out that it’s broken by design— the design of families like his, theirs, and all the other elites that choke the region in a stranglehold. 

Better to be here in Sinnoh, Luculia tells herself, with her father’s side of her family that’s boring but nice, and proud to see her name appear more frequently in Hearthome museum works. She’s even getting along better with her mother, now, thanks to the ocean of distance between them. 

Still, her chest aches when she tunes back in to the television, listening to Malva dictate over footage of Geosenge town. It’s been so long since they last talked. Down one sibling, down one cousin. 

Luculia doesn’t know if Malva was involved. But she knows her cousin had been friends with Lysandre. She knows her cousin held grudges close to her chest, right next to the grief that never leaves. She knows that things had been bad, even when they pretended they weren’t, and that they probably only got worse since they stopped talking. Since she stopped answering Malva’s calls. 

Luculia is twenty eight, and even if the world doesn’t, she knows the truth.

Chapter Text

The calm blue waters and warm yellow sand of Prelude Beach is a welcoming sight. It welcomed the Galaxy Team, months ago, as a safe port to land and an ideal location for a settlement— leaving them to deal with the consequences. Irida glances at Adaman from the corner of her eye. The Diamond Clan Leader typically wears his heart on his sleeve, but his expression is unreadable now. She attempts to smooth out her face the same way. 

The three representatives of the Galaxy Team make an… interesting first impression. The Commander’s sweeping kimono fails to cloak his strongman figure underneath, and the intricate embroidery on his sleeves reflect the wealth and status at his disposal. The two women flanking his sides somehow manage to be even more intimidating; the woman with cropped blue hair holds a bo staff, and it’s certain she knows how to use it, while the woman with curly red hair looks like she could deadlift an Ursaring. 

“Diamond Clan Leader Adaman, and Pearl Clan Leader Irida, it is good to finally meet you in person. I am Commander Kamado, and this is my Adjutant, Cyllene, and Captain Zisu of the Security Corps,” the Commander says, and his group bows in turn. Adaman and Irida mirror the gesture. “We are familiar with the Clans’ history of conflict, and I would like to be clear that we have no interest in provoking it, neither between yourselves nor between us. I believe the Hisui region has a peaceful future, if only we can foster it,” he continues. 

His words sound diplomatic, but Irida knows Calaba would probably see through him, if only she were here. She feels too illiterate to read between the lines on her own, but she needs Kamado to see her as an adult, too. Her father had taught her to speak with outsiders— merchants and explorers have visited Hisui for many generations— but nothing could have prepared her for peace negotiations with outsiders twice her age, with military experience and a desire to claim territory for themselves. 

“You’re not the first group to land on Hisui’s shores speaking of peace. I’m sure you’ve heard news of what happened to the last,” Adaman says, folding his arms. Irida wouldn’t have been so bold, but Kamado remains unruffled. 

“Yes. The Blindépique Expedition was reported as a total failure, and the Fleur de Lis family is no longer supporting their financial interests.” 

The politics of faraway regions matters very little to her, but Irida knows it could be more important to the future of their home than Commander Kamado would ever let on. She watches the two women by Kamado’s side for any reaction to hs words, but Zisu appears unphased, and Cyllene’s expression hadn’t shifted a milimetre through their entire exchange. 

“And how will the Galaxy Team be any different?” Irida asks, before Adaman can. 

“It’s simple. We are not the fools that they are,” Kamado answers. It’s a refrain Irida knows well— our clan is smarter, our clan is braver, our clan is right, but as a leader it’s her responsibility to see through the bluster to see the reality of the situation. Kamado doesn’t elaborate, but he can see they aren’t fully convinced. 

“How about I take you for a tour through our village?” he offers.

Commander Kamado leads them to the southern entrance, guarded by one of their members dressed in red. When the Galaxy Team first arrived, the walls were the first thing to go up. They were mainly built to keep Pokémon out, but stand as a symbol of both their fear of their environment and their claim on the space they have chosen. But perhaps there’s some merit to their caution, and the tangible boundary between what’s theirs and what isn’t. Only Sinnoh knows if the walls will come down with time. 

Irida’s first impression of the inside is that everything is ordered and organised thanks to the luxury of a town planning on a blank slate, though the buildings are mostly rudimentary. The houses look different from their cises, but the construction is much the same. Each building is lifted off the ground on wooden stilts, and built with thin walls and angled roofs, able to withstand earthquakes and snow. Further down the avenue, there’s a group of people putting up the frame for a new house. A couple of older adults direct their younger apprentices on where to hold the timber slats and nail, while teenagers scurry back and forth delivering materials to whoever shouts for them. A woman dressed in a purple uniform that matches Zisu’s waves at them as they walk by, but soon returns to her scrutiny of the process.  

“The Construction Corps are in charge of all our building needs, but everyone in town lends a hand to get the work done,” Kamado explains, and nods to an older man serving lunch to a group of workers on break. “It’s all about laying a good foundation,” he chuffs, and though his moustache hides most of his expression, the pride in his voice is clear. 

Along the way, they walk past shopkeepers and craftspeople, and all their children— the last expedition didn’t have children. The clothes they wear look different, too, and she overhears snippets of conversations in all sorts of unfamiliar accents and languages. The Galaxy Team doesn’t fly the banner of a single region, but bears a logo of its own.

“Where do most of your people hail from?” Adaman asks, noticing the symbol as well. 

“I myself am from Johto, not too far south of Hisui, in fact. Both Cyllene and Zisu lived in the Hoenn region,” Kamado nods at them, “but members of our Corps come from all over the world— some as far as Alola.”

“Many of the people here are escaping strife in their own land. When rulers trade blows, it’s often the innocents who suffer most of all,” Cyllene adds, though her voice remains as neutral as her expression. 

Finally they reach the end of the road, stoppered by the Galaxy Building. The entire structure is massive, with at least three levels based on the way the windows are stacked, and there’s no telling as to how far underground it might go. The tiled roof has a gentle curve that lifts at the eaves, and on top are two empty pedestals that will probably have something on top when it’s all finished. The building’s facade is still surrounded by a wooden frame, and the earth around it is ruptured with a system of trenches. 

Even unfinished it’s impressive, but most of all it speaks to the kind of resources the Galaxy Team has at its disposal. Whether they hope to build a home or an empire remains to be seen, but for the sake of peace they’re going to have to take Kamado at his word. 

“You’ve built a good village, here. It’s been good to meet you, Kamado. I hope both the Diamond Clan and the Galaxy Team can benefit from a friendly relationship going forward,” Adaman says, and shit that sounds smart. Irida clears her throat. 

“The Pearl Clan is open to building a new friendship with the Galaxy Team, and though we have our differences with the Diamond Clan, I believe the Hisui region is at its most prosperous when we all work together under Sinnoh’s guidance,” she says, and bites down on the immature but proud smile bubbling to the surface for pulling it off. Adaman mutters something that sounds a little too much like ‘false Sinnoh’ under his breath, and Irida kicks the back of his heel as subtly as she can. 

“I’m very glad to hear that. The gates of Jubilife Village shall remain open to your Clans, and you may come see me if you ever need anything,” Kamado says, as if he’s doing them a favour. He and his entourage bow once more, and Irida and Adaman bow in return before leaving through the western gate together. 

Whether they like it or not, the New World has arrived at their doorstep, and it isn’t going away any time soon. They’re on the precipice of some great historical event, though why Sinnoh has chosen now, chosen them, is anyone’s guess. 

Neither of them need to say it, but they say it anyway. 

“Truce?”

“Truce.” 

Chapter Text

Charm glowers at the murky ground as it puddles and slides underneath her weight. The Crimson Mirelands truly is a shithole during the wet season. 

“We need to get to higher ground. We’re leaving too many tracks in all this mud,” she says without turning to look back. Coin mutters something inaudible behind her, while Clover only trudges along in silence. Charm halts, and turns to glare at the both of them. 

“Stop grumbling. If you have something to say then say it.” 

“Why did you let them go? Me and Rani could have taken them!” Coin snaps, her fingers still twitching towards her Toxicroak’s pokéball as though she could still turn around and chase down those Galaxy grunts, if only she were given the approval. 

“You’ll get your chance. Self righteous Galaxy Team brats like them will keep popping up like diglett, just you wait,” Charm replies. “I only figured it was fair to give them a warning, so that when they come back they’ll have no-one to blame but themselves for trying to mess with us.” 

Coin’s scowl doesn’t lift, but it does soften with the promise of future violence. 

“Alright, well. You owe me the next battle then,” she grunts. Clover’s face paint smudges as her eyebrows scrunch together. 

“What’s a diglett?” 

* * * 

Their new camp up in the hills is a little too close to the Diamond Clan settlement for Charm’s liking, but their village had been built up above the flood planes for good reason. Dark clouds on the horizon promise a dumping of rain, and here a storm can carry on uninterrupted for days. Clover knows the lay of the land best, and had found them a cave with enough cover to start a fire. It should be too far out of the way for any annoying do-gooders to notice the smoke, and the incoming rain will bury their scent until not even Lord Ursaluna can sniff them out. 

In the enclosed space of the cave, the air is cloying and sticky, trapping the heat of the fire; frostbite isn’t an issue, at least. Charm might almost find it relaxing, if letting her guard down were an option. Even all the dry firewood they could find is still letting off an excessive amount of smoke as the fire chugs through the wet insides, exhaling thick plumes. Clover doesn’t seem too bothered, at least, and she’s typically the most concerned about running into people out here. She tilts her head as she nudges the tinder with a stick, embers sparking at the touch. 

“Hey Charm. I didn’t know you were so into poetry,” she says, big brown eyes boring into hers with open curiosity. Charm raises an eyebrow. 

“It was a hobby of mine, back in Kanto. It certainly wasn’t anything of worth to the Galaxy Team, but those cultureless fools wouldn’t know art if it bit them on the ass.” 

That much gets a laugh out of Coin, at least, though she doesn’t look away from the chopping board as she slices through a leek. Clover sighs and lies down, resting her head against her balled up jacket. 

“Kanto must be nice,” she says. 

“Anywhere would be nice if it meant never having to see Irida’s stupid face again,” Coin scoffs. Charm closes her eyes and exhales, softly. 

“I’ll get us there one day, girls.” 

She’s met with a  pensive silence, only interrupted by the thunk of metal greeting wood as Coin continues chopping the vegetables for their curry. 

“Hey Charm?” She asks, knife halting midair for a pregnant second before it returns to the board. 

“Yes?” 

“You seemed a little… spooked, earlier, when they made us give that stupid slab back. What was that all about?” 

Charm frowns, and scans Coin’s face. She’s studiously focused on dicing the cheri berries, but her curiosity is plain even behind her facepaint. 

“I thought there was something familiar about one of those brats, is all. The Galaxy Team can be more dangerous than they want the Clans and their villagers to know, so it was prudent to be cautious,” she replies evenly. Clover scoffs from down on the ground. 

“I find that hard to believe.” 

Charm shoots her a sharp glare, which goes unheeded behind closed eyelids. 

“It’s true,” she says. “We’re lucky we don’t have Kamado’s pet assassin chasing our heels, after what we did.” 

“What?” Coin pauses chopping again. Charm sniffs. 

“The old slouch at the Wallflower isn’t as decrepit as he likes to act. He’s a trained ninja from one of the exclusive Johto schools.” 

“No way!” Clover pushes herself up, staring incredulously.

“You don’t have to believe me, just be thankful I haven’t had the misfortune of being proven right,” Charm replies. Coin tilts her head, and carefully sets a pan over their smouldering fire. 

“If that really is true, then maybe we need a bit more firepower up our sleeves.” 

The small flames lick at the cast iron, until tiny bubbles of oil begin to cling to its edges. The orange light flickers in Charm’s eyes as Coin’s words ebb and flow in her mind like a haiku. 

“Firepower… there’s an interesting thought.”

“What are you thinking?” Clover asks, sitting up properly now. 

“I’ll get us to Kanto, girls. But in the meantime, we should be carving out a place for ourselves here— a place that isn’t beholden to the Clans nor Commander. Now, there’s a missing Noble in the Coastlands, isn’t there?” Charm says, a plan already formulating in her mind. 

“Yeah. Palina won’t raise Lord Arcanine’s heir, and Irida’s too starly-shit scared to make her. It’d be a pretty big problem, if I actually cared,” Coin shrugs. 

‘A pretty big problem’ certainly is an understatement. 

“But the Coastlands needs a Noble on land, the fish simply won’t cut it. And something is going to rise up to take the late Lord Arcanine’s place, and whatever it is, it might not be so friendly towards humans as the Clan’s pets. If the Pearl Clan won’t solve this issue, I don’t see why we shouldn’t,” Charm explains. Clover and Coin share a discreet look, frowning slightly, but neither dispute her. 

“…So, you’re saying…?” Clover asks first. Charm grins, feeling bolder now than she’s felt since the day they’d skipped Jubilife, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake. 

“How would you like to take your rightful place as Wardens, girls?” 

Chapter Text

The first time it happened was last winter. A ripe pomeg berry sat on a crisp bed of snow, and Sabi had wandered over to pick it up, none the wiser. The moment her fingers touched its hard skin, the sun seemed to flicker, and the world around her spun circles. For a second her vision went black, until her head was split by a searing white light and a shrill whining noise. 

When Sabi opened her eyes again, she was still standing in the same place— but not necessarily the same time. The shadows were bent in the wrong direction, and the sky was the wrong shade of blue. And in the tree there sat a rufflet who hadn't been there before, biting at the stem of a pomeg berry. Despite its valiant efforts to peck through the skin, the berry had yet to soften enough to give way. It ultimately surrendered as an aipom bully clambered up the tree to scare it off with a few iron-tailed swipes, but even the aipom screeched in frustration when it couldn’t crack the skin. Frustrated, it threw the pomeg down to the ground below, but the hardened berry did not splatter against the soft snow. 

The world spun again, and Sabi landed on her back underneath the tree. Thankfully, the sun was back in the right place again, and the nauseating feeling began to abate. Then, she looked again at the pomeg berry in her hand. It was ripe, now, but it still bore dents from the rufflet’s beak, and a dark bruise from hitting the ground. 

Sabi didn’t tell anyone about her vision. Not at first. 

Everything was normal for the next month, and she hadn’t had any other visions since. She figured it might have just been a particularly vivid day-dream, although as far as she could tell nobody else had daydreams of the same kind. That was, of course, until she had her second vision.

Minit passed her a bowl of soup at dinner, and when her hand brushed his, her vision went black once again. Her head was split by a searing white light and a shrill whining noise, once again. But this time, she didn’t see anything; she could only hear Minit’s voice, scared and alone, crying for help. And she felt so, so cold. When the world righted itself again and Sabi opened her eyes, Minit was staring at her in open concern, safe and warm within the cise. Though she hadn't fallen over this time, she had dropped her bowl, and it lay cracked on the floor in a mess of spilled soup. After dinner, Adaman took her for a walk down to the river, and asked her to tell him what happened. 

She told him about the rufflet and the berry, and Minit’s screaming voice. 

Sabi didn’t think Adaman believed her at first, but he did accompany Minit on his trek to visit Lord Braviary of the Alabaster Icelands, even though he wasn’t originally meant to— the trip was going to take at least two weeks, and there’s always a lot of work to be done in the Mirelands. After those few weeks Adaman returned from the Icelands, and so too did Minit. And the first thing Adaman did when he got back was find her, and tell her they were going to take a special trip to the Obsidian Fieldlands together to meet up with Mai and Lord Wyrdeer. 

Sabi liked Mai. She was cool and fun, and let her ride upon Lord Wyrdeer’s back. She liked Lord Wyrdeer as well, who looked at her with intelligent eyes and carried her on a secret path only he knew. Together with Mai, they travelled way up into the mountains, until they reached a secluded clearing with a single hut. Sitting outside of it was a woman, waiting with three warm cups of tea ready. Mai and the woman spoke, and the woman asked if Sabi would touch her hand. When she did, her vision went black.

Already prepared for the white light and the shrill cry, Sabi braced herself to open her eyes again to a different time. The woman was still sitting in front of her, but now her hair was gold as mireland grains in the evening, rather than the ivory white it had been before. She seemed happier. The garden around them seemed more vibrant, likely for the two young children playing in it. A pair of twins, with their mother’s long golden hair. They chased each other and giggled and the woman smiled even as she scolded them to wash their feet in the brooklet before coming back inside. 

The vision faded, and the sun was hanging low again, and the woman was old again. Sabi explained what she had seen, and the woman smiled sadly. 

“The Dimensional Scream,” she said, “is a rare ability. When you touch something, it has the chance to show you a piece of its past, or its future. You can transcend the bounds of time and space to see or hear these pieces, though it is up to you to find meaning in them.” 

“Is it a blessing from Almighty Sinnoh?” Mai had asked. The woman turned to speak to her, cold and quiet.

“Blessings and curses are seldom distinguished.” 

It wasn’t long after that trip that Sabi travelled with Adaman to the Alabaster Icelands to meet Braviary, the Lord without a Warden. His last Warden had died unexpectedly before she was born, and had not properly trained a successor, Adaman had said. There were a few in their clan vying for the position, but Lord Braviary had yet to accept any of them— that she knew, because it was all that anyone ever talked about. 

Lord Braviary was big and proud, but also fluffy and gentle. He made funny little chirps and adjusted her hair with his beak. He let her fly on his back, too, and when she closed her eyes she could see the world through his. They soared over planes of white, speckled with green firs and orange pomegs and brown swinub. He would spin and she would whoop, and when he landed to let her off it felt like she was leaving a piece of herself behind. 

Later, she was given a bronze circlet, which Adaman told her represents her new position as Lord Braviary’s Warden. 

“It’s a big responsibility. You’re going to have to take care of each other,” he said. 

Sabi knows how important Wardens are. Mai and Melli and Iscan have told her so. Arezu says being a Warden is meant to be fun, though, because a Noble Pokemon picked you to be its best friend. She likes that. She and Lord Braviary are going to be best friends, she knows it— and they’re going to make lots more friends, too (she’s seen it). 

Chapter Text

As a young girl, Calaba had only heard stories about the woman who lives in the woods. She is said to have the powers of an oracle, and knowledge of a time before the exodus. She is always robed in black, and her hair always covers one eye— her hair is silver, though a few tales tell it to be gold. No matter what, she is always alone, sitting at a table in her clearing in the woods. 

Some stories are more fanciful than others. One tale tells of an old warden brought to her by Lady Sneasler’s predecessor, whose sudden blindness was cured thanks to her mysterious medicinal balm. Another depicts her as an immortal hierophant of Sinnoh’s dark shadow, biding her time to take her revenge. The stories are all amusing, though Calaba hadn’t believed such a woman could truly exist.

But that was before she met her. 

Long ago, long ago, by the peat bog under the fool moon, Ursaring became Lord Ursaluna and she received the bronze circlet that established her as Warden. The world was theirs to discover, and they were keen to explore it together. Ursaluna’s powerful nose could sniff out all the hidden trails frequented by the stantler and the ryhorn, and his new strength would protect her from the dangerous Pokémon that usually warded the elusive paths. So they traveled, farther and farther from the safety of their home in the Mirelands, until they found themselves lost in a forest in the mountains. And in that forest they found a clearing. 

Sitting at a table in a long black dress and a wide black hat, the woman with silver hair that covered one eye smiled at her. She invited Calaba to share some tea, and treated her to a bowl of smooth and aromatic matcha. She gave some berries to Ursaluna, too, and directions for the safest way back down the mountain. Calaba never saw her again after that, not in all her decades of searching. Not even Ursaluna’s infallible nose could track down the woman’s clearing a second time.

There was a woman who lived in the woods, Calaba knows, but she still doesn’t believe she was the same woman who existed in all the old stories. It’s more likely that there was a series of women— a family, or a perhaps a string of apprentices, who passed down their skills and their robes over the generations. The woman she had met almost eighty years ago now, with her ivory hair and steely grey eye, is almost certainly dead by now. 

* * *

When Adaman tells her the story of how Sabi saved the life of their clanmate with an eerie omen of the future, Mai agrees to take her to see the woman who lives in the woods. 

The way to the clearing is hidden, and the mysterious woman can only be found when she wants to be found, but Lord Wyrdeer has never failed to find the path yet. And they find it quickly— she sits alone at her table, waiting for them with a cup of tea each. Mai relays the story to her, but she addresses Sabi when she speaks. The woman tells the tale of the Dimensional Scream, an ability to peer through space and time; Mai asks if it is Almighty Sinnoh’s blessing. The woman’s reply is simply that “blessings and curses are seldom distinguished.” 

The words linger in her mind as Lord Wyrdeer carries them back down the mountain. She remembers being chosen as Lord Wyrdeer’s warden. She had been young, almost as young as Sabi, and Wyrdeer had seen the birth and death of at least three wardens— now four. She had also been plagued with headaches.

Sometimes when she slept the headaches would go away, but only when she dreamed of striding across the fields on four legs, seeing the plains through Lord Wyrdeer’s eyes. She closes her eyes now, and sees the path underhoof in a flurry of sprawling psychic trails. The wispy strand leading back to the woman’s clearing shines a brilliant gold amongst the hues of pinks and purples, but fades as they travel further away. Mai opens her eyes again, and looks back to see Sabi looking at her oddly. She smiles, hoping to put her at ease. 

The tangle of psychic knots in the back of her head is a gentle thrum, alleviated by Lord Wyrdeer’s presence. But she can’t stay by his side forever, and there are times he is needed elsewhere. She doesn’t know why, but she has a feeling the headaches are going to return in full force soon— she wonders if Sabi can feel it too.
Mai doesn’t know what Sabi sees, when she closes her eyes and enters that trance. Whatever she saw when she touched the woman’s hand had certainly left the unshakeable woman slightly stirred. Yet if she’s sure of anything, it’s that a meeting with Lord Braviary is in order. 

* * * 

The Pearl Clan and the Diamond Clan agree on very little, but if there is one thing they do share it’s a distrust towards the woman in black who sits upon the ridges of Mount Coronet. The woman appears in tales dating back generations, and to this day lives in her little clearing, watching clan leaders come and go. It’s an impossibility. 
Theories range from her secretly being a mystical Pokémon that takes a human shape, to her being granted longevity as a chosen of Almighty Sinnoh itself. Irida still isn’t quite what she believes. She had scarcely been eight years old the first time she met the woman who lives in the woods. 

“So this is little Irida,” the woman said, peering down at her with a cold eye. Irida failed to stifle a cough, wet and raucous. Her father cringed. 

“Can you help her?” he asked. The woman stared silently, then turned to retreat into her hut. She returned but five minutes later with a hairy, bulbous root, and squatted down to Irida’s level, remiss to her proximity to the disease. She put the root in her hands.

“Eat this. A bite in the morning, and a bite at night, every day until there’s nothing left of it.”

Irida clutched the root to her chest, another croak bubbling in the back of her throat. She nodded, and when the woman stepped away she finally erupted into another fit of coughs. The woman and her father shared a few muttered words above the course, hacking sounds, and something was exchanged between their hands— though Irida couldn’t tell what.

When they went home, Irida ate the root as instructed, despite its terrible, dirty and acrid taste. Eventually after two weeks (and a few big bites), her illness vanished with the last piece of the root. Her father told her not to tell anyone about their visit, and so her recovery was celebrated with Gracidea flowers to Almighty Sinnoh.

Time naturally passed, and it would be several years before Irida would visit the woman who lives in the wood again. But Lian had developed a terrible, wet cough, and Irida knows where to go for help, if not how to find it. 

* * * 

The Diamond Clan has its fair share of artists; Mai is a brilliant tattooist, Iscan is a deft calligrapher, Arezu is a talented hair stylist, and Melli is exceptional at embroidery, but none of them are painters (Clover had been a painter). It’s said that the woman who lives in the woods has made portraits for the leaders of the Diamond Clan for as long as they have worshipped Sinnoh. They do not trust her, but tradition is tradition. 

Sitting still as she paints, Adaman has little option but to watch as she translates his image to silk canvas. Her face remains fixed the entire time she works, as if carved from stone. He cannot shake the resemblance she shares with the golden haired boy who does not bow to Sinnoh, neither the right one nor the wrong one.Just as the Diamond Clan has stories of the woman who lives in the woods, so too do they have tales of a third Celestican clan— the ones who worshipped Almighty Sinnoh’s shadow. They were trusted even less than the Pearl Clan, who worship a false Sinnoh but nevertheless share in a reverence of Sinnoh. Volo had few answers as to who he was and where he’d come from, and held no Pearl or Diamond Clan ancestry but insisted he was Celestican. 

Adaman knows his father’s actions aren’t his to regret, but all the same he wishes things had been different; he knows Irida feels the same. He clears his throat. 

“…is Volo your son?” he asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

“No.” 

He doesn’t try to make conversation again.

The woman works in silence, and seems happy enough to continue doing so, until her chair slides back but a few hours later. 

“You are welcome to take a look,” she says, so he stands up to circle around her desk. The portrait is still unfinished, and the abstract swatches of colour and washed out tones make up an interesting mosaic. His face has the most attention to detail however, with most of the features penned in with black ink. It’s odd, peering into his own reflection through her eyes— eye. He certainly looks like a clan leader, but not one so stern as his father. 

“You will return in three week’s time for the finished piece. Do not come any earlier,” the woman instructs. 

“Of course. Sinnoh will guide my travels when the time is right,” Adaman grins. The woman stares at him with a cool, inscrutable look, even after hours of staring at him already, and nods once. 

* * *

Cogita’s lips form a gentle frown as she hears the heavy footsteps of Volo’s arrival outside; he takes great joy in avoiding the switches rigged to her chimes. Harsh sunlight slips through the door upon his entry. Its brightness casts her painting in a new light, the hues lacking in contrast with the new exposure. The portrait will likely be hung indoors, but she cannot abscond the colours from her mind now that she has seen them. The blue of Adaman’s hair will need more lilac, to lift it to a richer indigo. She should have enough left for this piece, but not much afterwards.

Cogita sets her paintbrush down, and Volo peers over her shoulder at her work. He tilts his head, staring at Adaman’s likeness as he smiles serenely back at him.

“You know, they tell some very funny stories about you,” he says. 

“Stories evolve as Pokémon do; sometimes minimally, but more often the final stage is a very different beast to what it was born as,” she replies. 

“And sometimes they don’t change at all,” Volo adds.

“Astute.” 

Most of the stories are, of course, nonsense. But some of them do hold a grain of truth, hidden deep within the sands of a warped hourglass. Cogita gathers her brushes and palette, and empties them into the washbin by the larder. Leaving them to soak there, she wipes her hands against a clean rag. 

“I will need new purple paints. The next time you visit, you will deliver more to me,” she says. 

“Those ones are expensive, you know. They have to make it out of a specific kind of shellder from a faraway region,” Volo replies.

“I am aware. The Diamond Clan’s leader has given me payment for his portrait, half of which I believe should suffice.” 

“It’s a pleasure doing business, then.” 

Cogita hums in the back of her throat, and returns to her desk to pack away the alum mordant. Taking the hint that she has no more conversation left to offer him today, Volo tips his hat. 

“I’ll be back again soon with those paints, Mistress Cogita.” 

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” she says, mostly out of habit. Volo’s grin widens.

“Very well, woman who lives in the woods.”

Cogita closes her eyes and sighs. 

Chapter Text

The campfire crackles as it chews through dried logs and haphazard branches, lighting up a cloud of black smoke against a deep blue, twinkling sky. Adaman leans in close to the flames, his assortment of jewellery glinting orange and red. Shadows dance across his face. 

“And then… when they turned back around… she was gone!” he shouts, and raises his palms with a dramatic flourish. In the distance, a kricketot chirps. 

“That’s not scary,” Irida says, resting her cheek in the palm of her hand. Lian cackles at the sight of Adaman’s sour expression. 

“Sorry, but she’s right,” Mai teases, poking his side. 

“I mean, I thought it was a little scary,” Juno pipes up, their voice trembling in concurrence. Rei laughs, and Juno swipes his hands away when he starts wailing and wiggling his fingers. Dawn grins at them, stifling a laugh of her own. 

After a long, hot day, the night is still relatively warm, so the fire is mostly for light and dramatic effect. Still, she throws another log onto the heap to keep it going anyway. She’s never been great at telling the time without a watch, and it’s doubly hard without the sun as a reference point, but she doesn’t feel tired yet and it doesn’t look like anyone else is either. Mai is still nursing half a bottle of sake (supplied by Professor Laventon, before he’d gone to bed early like an old man), and even Lian still seems full of energy. Sitting at the edge of their circle, Volo clears his throat. 

“Have any of you heard the Legend of Darkrai?” 

“You mean the Nightmare Bringer? That’s just a made up story to trick kids into going to bed before too late,” Adaman frowns at him. Irida shivers. 

“Oh no, that thing’s real alright. Our clan has stories of people who spotted a dark shadow, and went to bed afterwards only to never wake up.” 

“Yeah, that’s called dying. It happens sometimes, to the elderly,” Adaman replies, and gets an elbow to the ribs from Mai. Irida huffs. 

“Oh, would you—“

“Let him tell the story!” Lian groans, directing a scowl to the both of them. 

“Sorry,” Adaman and Irida say together, shooting each other a wary look. Volo, at least, seems amused. 

“Well, here’s how the story goes…”

Wind whistles through the fir trees, and the fire’s crackle snaps at the silence. Rei’s wide eyes shine with the pale moonlight as he stares at Volo. Juno squeaks. 

“That is, unless he could find Cresselia. She has the power to wake people up from Darkrai’s nightmares,” Dawn says, and places her hand on Juno’s shoulder. Their worried frown lightens just a little. Volo’s smile is unwavering. 

“That’s right. The power of Cresselia’s Lunar Wing can heal those afflicted by Darkrai’s powers, if she’s so inclined to give you one,” he elaborates. Rei clears his throat. 

“How did you know that, Dawn?” he asks, burying the tremor in his voice with the pretence of blasé curiosity. Dawn’s smile falters. 

“Er… it came to me in a dream,” she replies, with a false confidence she doesn’t think anyone else buys, except for maybe Lian. Volo’s steely gaze cuts sharper than the other others’, though; she has no better chance of fooling him than she would Cynthia. Thankfully, he doesn’t call her out on it though, and instead grins back easily. 

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Rei laughs nervously, shaking off the last of his jitters. 

“Alright, alright— it’s my turn to tell a story now, anyway!” he says, then claps his hands together and rubs them portentously. Adaman, Irida and Mai turn towards him, while Lian sits back with a yawn. Juno rolls their eyes. 

“It was a dark and stormy night, and also a full moon-“ 

“How would you know if it’s a full moon if there’s a storm?”

“This is my vision, Juno!” 

Everyone else laughs, and Rei grumbles despite the amused smile twitching at his lips. Only Volo is still looking at her, and Dawn smiles weakly back. 

Chapter Text

“I just don’t know if I want you going out there,” Anthe frowns, staring out past the gate that keeps their village safe from roaming Pokémon, bandits and more. “I know things are getting safer now that the Skyfaller is teaching more people to handle Pokémon, and even the Clans are getting along better as well, but things are getting worse in other ways. I’ve heard about what those frenzied Alpha Pokémon can do.” 

“Volo travels all over the region and he’s always fine!” 

“Darling, Volo has lived here a lot longer than us. He knows his way around, and he has a Pokémon, too."

“It’s only a togepi. And I could get a Pokémon, if you’d just let me,” Tuli whines, folding her arms. Anthe takes a deep breath in.

“It doesn’t matter either way, because I need you here in town with me. I can’t lift all those crates on my own anymore,” Ginter pipes up from his chair, rescuing her from that conversation again. For good measure, he points to a crate of Razz berries still sitting on the ground, and Tuli groans as she heaves them back up into the wagon. 

Anthe knows it tests her patience, sitting across from her shop all day, selling scraps for the Gingko Guild. It’s still a marked improvement from before, of a life of kimonos she didn’t want to wear and dancing she wasn’t very good at and tea ceremonies she had no patience for, but it’s also very sedentary. Their community in Jubilife is small, even smaller than Ecruteak, and unlike in Ecruteak there’s nothing bigger waiting for them beyond the town walls. But Jubilife is also starting to feel like a home, only because they’re making it one; what Tuli could be looking for out in the vast wilderness of Hisui, she’ll never understand. 

Anthe feels a hard, urgent tug on the edge of her kimono. 

“Mom! Mom, look! Look, Mom! Mom, look!” Sho yells without stopping for breath. 

“I’m looking, sweetheart— oh.”

In his hand is a pokéball, one of the standard unpainted ones carved from wood and a hollowed out apricorn. 

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t sell him that,” Tuli says, even though Anthe hadn’t taken her eyes off the pokéball at all. It clicks open, and by Ho-oh’s blessing, nothing bursts out; the wooden cup hangs by the hinges, hollow. 

“Where did you get that?” she asks. 

“I’m going to use it to catch a Pokémon!” 

“You’re not old enough to have a Pokémon, Sho.”

“But I want one!” Sho whines and stamps his foot. 

“Well, this sounds familiar,” Ginter grins, ignoring the scowl Tuli sends his way. When she doesn’t get a reaction out of him, she sneers down at Sho, and kicks out at his legs. 

“Why don’t you go annoy your dad?”

“Why don’t you go annoy your dad?” 

“You little shit-“

“Kids!” Anthe cries, a headache already building in the back of her head. “Sho, you know you shouldn’t bother your sister while she’s at work. Tuli, you know better than to pick fights with your brother.” 

Sho huffs loudly, but thankfully doesn’t make much of a fuss aside from that. Tuli mutters something inaudible but nonetheless mutinous, and Anthe pinches the bridge of her nose over her glasses. They’re definitely not having this argument right now, but she shouldn’t let it slip, either. 

“Tuli, when you finish stacking the persim jam jars you can go, I don’t think we’re going to get much more traffic,” Ginter says, rescuing her once again. Anthe shoots him a grateful smile, and leads Sho back across the road so that he’s at least out of Tuli’s hair, if not hers. He sits on one of her baskets, kicking his legs, and starts toying with the pokéball still in his hands. It’s not a toy, however, and while she’d like to take it off him it’ll probably just make him more upset than it’s worth; there’s nothing in the village for him to catch with it, and he knows better than to try sneaking past the guards to get outside.

She hopes.

If he does manage to get out, she’ll have bigger concerns than just the pokéball, at least. 

Ginter had been right about the traffic, and the rest of the afternoon is quiet. Sho gets bored and runs off while she drags her displays back inside and closes up, and Tuli is already long gone from the Gingko stand by the time she finishes. The wagon is packed up and locked tight, though the community is too small for crime to really be an issue, and no Pokémon can get to the stores inside. Just as she finishes locking up her own shop— it’s a good habit, still— Ginter crosses the road to see her. 

“Let me shout you a drink at the Wallflower before you leave. You look like you could use one,” he says.

“Thanks,” Anthe sighs. She really could. 

Beni gets them both a glass of sake as soon as they sit down, recognising the look of a long day on their faces. The shopkeepers of Floaro street all try to look out for each other, and Beni always makes sure they get served their drinks quick. She’ll have to get home soon to start preparing dinner for Sho and Tuli, too, and hopefully they won’t burn the house down while she’s gone. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think Tuli could go too wrong with something like a bidoof, or a starly. They’re pretty friendly, as far as critters go, and can get pretty strong if trained up right, too. Security Corps rookies use them a lot, for that reason,” Ginter says, setting down his cup. 

“I… maybe, but how would she even get one?” Anthe replies. 

“Talk to the Skyfaller kid, I’m sure she’ll catch one for you.” 

* * * 

Two weeks come and go, uneventful in their passage. Preparations for the Galaxy Team’s expedition into the Crimson Mirelands are still underway, and likely won’t be done for another two weeks at least. New houses go up as returning Security Corps members from the Obsidian Fieldlands expedition make themselves useful by lending a hand, but so do new fences, built to accommodate the research Pokémon brought in by the Survey Corps. The two weeks also pass without any more arguments, which makes Anthe feel a little better about what she’s about to do. 

She waits until evening, again, to find Tuli after work. 

“Tuli? Come with me, please,” she says, and Tuli raises her eyebrows but follows without any questions. They walk past her shop and across the bridge to the pastures, and Tuli hesitates by the fenceline. They don’t go past the gate; white the Pokémon in the fields are judged ‘tame’ enough by the Survey Corps to live close to their village, a degree of separation never hurts— but Anthe can’t exactly give Tuli her gift in the middle of town. 

“Here,” she says, and holds out the carved russet ball. Tuli eyes it with a furrowed brow, then glances back to her. She knows she wouldn’t hand her a simple, empty Pokéball like what Sho has, and the realisation that there’s something inside it is just starting to click.

She takes the pokéball and presses it open, and the creature that emerges from the burst of light is a small, brown feathered thing. The starly is slightly off-hue— almost to the point where it’s unnoticeable, but Anthe has a keen eye for colour if nobody else does. The Skyfaller— Dawn— told her not to worry about it, that it’s just an aesthetic difference, and won’t affect its health or strength. The starly pecks at the ground twice, cocks its head, and chirps once. 

“I still don’t want you going out with the expedition groups, but Zisu told me you’re allowed to use the Galaxy Team’s training grounds, if you’d like. She can help you get started, and maybe when this one is a little stronger we can talk about it again,” Anthe says. Tuli beams, clutching her pokéball with both hands.

“Thanks, Mom.” 

Anthe knows by the smile on her face she's done the right thing, even as her worries still linger. Hopefully, her doubts will be proven wrong; the new generation is full of surprises, after all. She feels a hard tug at the edge of her kimono. 

“Mom! When do I get a Pokémon?” Sho whines. Anthe sighs, and looks down at him. 

“Not until you’re ten, at least.” 

Chapter Text

Lele Day, Cyllene is told, is an Alolan holiday typically celebrated towards the end of spring, in honour of one of their guardian deity Pokemon— Tapus, she’s told. Back in Hoenn, the legendary titans Groudon and Kyogre are feared as the forces of nature they are; it’s hard to imagine celebrating their existence. She can see the appeal of the festivities, however. Pink lanterns line the streets, and their gentle glow makes the village feel a little less austere. Cyllene has never been one for party games and fair food, but the atmosphere does bring out the jubilance of Jubilife. That’s important, for a settlement meant to grow families. 

“Do you want to grab a table? It seems like good fun,” Laventon asks, descending the front steps of the Galaxy Building to stand beside her. 

“We may as well,” Cyllene replies, deciding to indulge him— largely because Beni had closed up the Wallflower save for the kitchens, and has his staff exclusively serving outside tonight. And joining the Professor on a special occasion will give her the space to deny his invitations and sequester herself away for another two weeks afterwards, at least. 

It’s a clear night, thankfully, and only a small celebration; the Summer festival is likely to overtake the whole town, while this party is limited to a small section of Floaro Main Street and the front of the paddocks. At the table next to her and Laventon, a Roserade effortlessly spins spools of pink and purple flowers from her red and pink bouquets. Her owner seems to be that Security Corps recruit— the bodyguard, likely ex-merc— who keeps herself busy weaving the fallen flowers onto a string. 

A hand lands on Cyllene’s shoulder, and she represses the urge to grab and throw it; not that she would succeed against Zisu, anyhow. 

“Hey you two. Finally getting some fresh air?” Zisu grins, and takes the seat next to Laventon. 

“For now, at least,” he chuckles, and hails one of Beni’s staff to take their order; the usual potato mochi special and a round of drinks. Zisu’s unfaltering grin widens.

“Do you have anything like this in Galar, Angus?” she asks, looking around. The lit torches lining the roads reminds Cyllene of the boardwalks of Dewford town, though the pink camellias are only a substitute for the more tropical flowers native to Alola and southern Hoenn.

“Not like this, no. We celebrate the Vernal Equinox, of course, but it’s hardly as eventful as the Solstices,” Laventon replies. 

“Hm. Do we know who’s in charge of organising the Summer festival this year? I’m assuming it isn’t me,” Cyllene says. Zisu laughs, though she hadn’t intended it as a joke. 

“I think Sanqua’s covering it, but I don’t think it’ll be any bigger than last year’s. Our budget’s getting pretty stretched as is,” Zisu answers once her laughter subsides. 

“With how busy we’ve been on our expeditions, I’m not sure the Survey Corps will even be there in time for it,” Laventon considers. Cyllene hums in agreement. Their schedule currently leaves room for it between the next two expeditions, but these things can change with the fickleness of the weather. 

Beni delivers their order personally, and hovers by their table even after setting the plates down. The smell of his cooking had been wafting from the other tables, and Cyllene had worked up an envious appetite. 

“How are things going with the boss?” he asks, serving up their drinks. 

“As well as they can be,” Laventon answers. “The Skyfaller’s gotten us out of a very sticky situation now that she’s quelled Kleavor’s frenzy.”

“Good thing, too. I don’t know who the Commander would have called in to deal with it otherwise,” Zisu adds with a surreptitious grin. She likely means to imply that the Commander would have tasked Beni with dealing with it, which would be an unfortunate last resort— in Laventon’s words, a ‘sticky situation’. Or it could just be a joke at Laventon’s expense, given that he is the only one between them who isn’t familiar with Beni’s other line of work. 

“We ought to count our wishing stars, then,” Beni replies, and retreats to his kitchen after that. 

The thrum of the crowd’s overlapping conversations hushes as a band set up on the grass clearing plays a few starting notes. Cyllene doesn’t recognise their instruments by name, but can nevertheless identify a combination of percussives and wooden strings. A pair of siblings from the Medical Corps, Leilani and Kane, get up to start off a dance to the music. They step in time with the beat and sway with the rhythm, their movements loose but not untrained. After the first dance they haul a couple of the younger recruits up to join them, and the children in the crowd gleefully attempt to imitate their style. There are a few less than sober shouts alongside the cheering, but it’s all in good nature and under control as far as Cyllene can tell.

The night air gets colder as the evening drags on, and while Cyllene doesn’t rush to finish her meal, she’d rather not waste any more time sitting around just to watch people eat and drink. 

“I’m going to retire to my quarters,” I still have reports to sign off on,” she says, getting up. Her tolerance for this kind of atmosphere can only stretch so far, and she appreciates that both Zisu and Laventon know her well enough to respect that. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.” 

The two of them bid her a good night, and Cyllene looks over her shoulder one last time at the festival. The night is still going along well, with plenty of dancing and raucous laughter. The Skyfaller is among them, teaching Rei and Juno her own dance moves. The strange new recruits are still sitting together at their table— despite her reservations, they’ve proved themselves productive members of the Galaxy Team, and haven’t caused much more of a ruckus since signing up. Across from them the woman from the Diamond Clan, Arezu, who’d only come to see Commander Kamado about an issue in the Crimson Mirelands, but had chosen to make herself comfortable here for now. 

Kamado’s vision of the future isn’t going to miraculously manifest one day, it’s going to be hard earned through hard work, and sometimes it’s hard to know if they’re getting it right. So many people here are so far from home, or have no place to call home but here, and stand to lose so much if they have to turn back. 

But at least for tonight, all seems well. 

Chapter Text

The large hall at the centre of the Diamond Clan’s village is a refuge against the cool summer night air, with steam from all the freshly cooked meals filling the room with warmth and a nutty, spiced aroma. The buzzing chatter and glowing spirits reminds Cynthia of nights long ago on her journey, of the function rooms of pokémon centres where the nurses often served soup or pasta to trainers so they could at least enjoy a hot, cooked meal between all the packet ramen and rice balls. Only this is much nicer. 

Beside her, Luculia eats her dumplings and dried magikarp roe in contemplative silence, only passively observing the conversation between Dawn and Arezu across from them. 

“So you actually battled against Lord Ursaluna? Whoa. That thing is scary,” Arezu says, pulling a face around a mouthful of roasted pinaps. 

“He might be big, but I don’t know if I’d call him scary. He’s actually kinda goofy, like a big teddiursa,” Dawn says with a wide, goofy grin of her own. Arezu shakes her head with a dubious chuckle.

“Maybe, but just be glad you didn’t run into his twin.” 

“Arezu,” Adaman whispers in a low voice from his seat next to her. 

“His twin?” Cynthia asks, pausing before taking another bite. Dawn looks just as confused, glancing between Adaman and Arezu. 

“You’ve never heard the story of the Bloodmoon Beast?” Arezu asks, her eyes shifting between them. 

“Arezu! You better not let Warden Calaba hear you telling that story, or you’ll lose any of that favour you might’ve earned with her,” Adaman chastises, and Arezu winces, reflexively adjusting her leg. 

“Hey, it’s not like she’s here now, so…” 

Adaman gives her an unimpressed stare, and she sighs, surrendering. Cynthia takes another mouthful of rice, hoping to mask any disappointment in her face; as curious as she is, if it’s a touchy subject she’ll just have to approach it with more caution at a later time.

“But what’s the Bloodmoon Beast?” Dawn asks, and Cynthia closes her eye. Luculia buries a snort behind another dumpling, and Adaman cracks with a small smile. 

“Alright— let me tell the story, at least,” he says, and clears his throat. All eyes turn to him, and the surrounding hum of conversation quietens as the Diamond clan waits for its leader to spin a tale. 

“It’s been said,” he begins, voice low and ominous, “that just as the moon has a dark side, Lord Ursaluna and all his ancestors all the way back to the Ancient Hero himself have had a twin. A mirror image, only it walks not with Almighty Sinnoh but in its shadow. Throughout time, we’ve come to know it as the Bloodmoon Beast.” 

A silent ripple of unease washes over the crowd, as hands still and leftovers grow cold. The hall itself shivers. 

“Anyone who’s out alone on a foggy night, wandering lost in the mists of the Mirelands, risks running into it. It looks like an Ursaluna, at first glance, until you see it stand on two legs, taller than a Rhyperior. It will glare down at you with glowing green eyes, and when you see the red moon on its forehead, stained with the blood of its victims— then you’ll know you’ve run into it. And it’ll be too late.”

“Okay, but is it real?” Luculia asks blandly, propping her head up with her palm. 

“I’ve never seen it, but everyone in our clan knows the story, so it’s gotta come from somewhere, right?” Arezu replies, perhaps a touch defensively. 

“There usually is a grain of truth in every myth,” Cynthia says, hoping she doesn’t sound too excited. It’s her life’s work to sort through piles to find them, those tiny little specks of history buried under the rubble; each grain of truth is its own diamond. 

“Yeah, and that’s why none of us ever go out alone when the fog rolls in after dark,” Adaman adds. “Though, it’s also because that’s just dangerous in general. Trust me, you don’t want to get stuck waist-deep in mud where nobody can find you in the middle of the night.” 

“I’ll try to remember that,” Dawn grins, taking the warning in stride. Cynthia smiles a little more cautiously. 

“Luculia!” 

Luculia winces as she is dragged from the depths of sleep by a harsh, sharp hiss. She blinks her vision back into being as best she can, to be greeted by a dark grimace as Cynthia stares down at her. 

“Wha?” she slurs. 

“Luculia, Dawn is missing.” 

“What?” 

Luculia squints through the dim candlelight to look at Dawn’s futon across the floor, empty but for scattered sheets. She jumps out of her bunk as if struck by lightning, immediately moving to search for a change of clothes. Cynthia is already dressed in her overalls, looking back and forth between Dawn’s abandoned futon and the door like a caged Pokémon ready to sprint at any moment. 

“Did she leave a note or anything?” 

“No, I tried looking-“ 

“Do you think she’s snuck out to visit someone else?” Luculia asks as she pulls her haori on, but Cynthia’s answer is interrupted by a muffled noise. They still, hesitant to even breathe as they listen for it again. Just as the silence grows deafening, the unmistakable sound of a Pokémon’s cry echoes through the walls— loud, low, and angry. Cynthia grabs her boots by the door. 

“Come on, we have to hurry.” 

Luculia stumbles after her, pulling on her sandals. 

“Okay, let’s go,” she says, but Cynthia is already gone. 

A wall of fog hangs over the floodplain, clouding all signs of life in the marshlands below. It’s to be expected, at this time of year; the stagnant puddles left behind by days of rain warm up in the hot summer sun, while the humidity prevents them from evaporating, and come night the cool air blowing in from the sea creates a mix of cold air and warm water that leaves behind a fog that lingers in Pastoria all season. Cynthia has always found it quite picturesque, if a little haunting.

“Can you see anything?” she whispers, pushing some fronds out of their path. 

“No,” Luculia hisses back, without anger but not impatience.

“Right, sorry,” Cynthia cringes. 

She leads the way as they trudge downhill, careful not to lose her footing on landslips in waiting. The ground is soft and scattered with puddles and refuse from the flooding, but the storm has passed, at least. A glance at the clear, starry sky above assuages her that they won’t have to deal with rain on top of the fog, which is a small mercy. 

“Cynthia, look at the moon,” Luculia whispers, tugging at the back of her shirt. Cynthia follows her gaze. In the middle of the sky, the moon is half painted in a vibrant orange hue, being ever so slowly subsumed by it. 

It’s the start of a lunar eclipse. 

“Huh. We were supposed to be due for one of those soon— maybe we were sent back in time relative to our position in the saros cycle?” Cynthia frowns, craning her neck. She hadn’t thought to ask Cyllene for an almanac, and she’ll have to rectify that mistake when they’re back in Jubilife. Luculia shudders as the wind picks up, burying the noise of their footsteps with the rustling of leaves and crackling branches. 

“Dawn?” She calls out, stirring a few squawking Staravia. “Where are you?” 

The only response she receives is another loud, low roar, closer now than before. She shuffles closer to Cynthia, and Cynthia tries to find the direction the sound had come from— but distorted by the wind, it seems to echo from everywhere. By the sound of it, it’s something about the size of a Hippowdon or Rhyperior, but she knows the timbre of both those Pokémon’s cries very well after years of training with Bertha. It sounds more like an Ursaluna, but deeper, and… wrong. 

A twig snaps. 

Cynthia holds her arm out, and Luculia freezes as she bumps against it. Her other arm reaches for her first pokéball, readying it as a rustling from the brush up ahead grows louder. An upright figure stumbles out of the darkness right towards them, and trips to the ground. 

“Dawn!” 

“Cynthia, is that you?” 

“Yes, its— what are you doing out here? What happened?” Cynthia asks, helping Dawn to her feet again. She has a few scratches from wayward branches, and her hair is mussed and her clothes stained with dirt, but she’s otherwise unhurt. Cynthia breathes a silent sigh of relief. 

“I thought I heard Lord Ursaluna outside the village so I got worried that something might’ve happened to Warden Calaba, and when I went out to investigate it started chasing me! So I ran and sent out Triton to battle it only it was freaking strong and Triton got knocked out, and none of my other Pokémon are anywhere near his level of—“ 

Another roar thunders across the marsh, drowning out the last of Dawn’s words. A chill runs down Cynthia's spine. 

Tree trunks bend as a large paw pushes them over, making way for Dawn's pursuer. Branches snap, an an Ursaluna even bigger than the Lord of the Mound glares down at them through the mist, standing upright like a hulking Alpha Ursaring. The mud caked on its shoulders cracks and splits down its body in the jagged shape of a spine, and most of its face is also covered but for a hollow black eye and the bright, red circle on its forehead. 

It rears back and roars, and takes a warning step towards them that shakes the ground. 

“Oh, shit!” Luculia yelps, shrinking back. 

“It’s been frenzied by Lady Lilligant’s pollen, I think, the same way Lord Ursaluna was,” Dawn warns, looking to Cynthia. “Warden Calaba has medicine she can give it, but only after it’s been knocked out!” 

Cynthia pushes Dawn behind her, and clicks the notch to expand her pokéball. 

“I’ll take care of it, you just stay behind me. Yurei, help us out here!” she calls, and the swamp is briefly lit up in a flash of blue light. Yurei emerges from her keystone, with only a second to react as her spinning disc ducks to avoid the Ursaluna’s swipe. She dodges the next slash, and the next, clumsily hopping away instead of allowing the attacks to phase through her. Cynthia’s brow furrows, but she decides to chalk up the odd behaviour as Yurei goading her opponent. 

Ghost type attacks are off the table, and she knows some Ursaluna are only aggravated by poison or burns so without more information Will-o-Wisp is out too, for as much as she’d like to keep it on the back foot. Still, she can make do with what she’s got. 

“Alright, Yurei. Use Dark Pulse!” 

Yurei shoots a rippling dark blast square at Ursaluna’s chest, but it brushes it off with a heavy shake of its shoulders. It leans back, lifting its snout to the sky, and a bright red orb starts to form above it, casting lurid red light across the clearing. A crackling beam of energy blasts down from it, and Yurei heaves her keystone out of the way as the blood red light carves a chunk out of the earth, leaving a zig-zagging ditch in its wake. 

“Fuck!” Luculia shouts, ducking as a stray block of peat ricochets towards her head. Ursaluna turns, snarling down at her. It drops down onto four legs, which is all the warning Cynthia gets to yank Luculia by the collar out of the way of a Headlong Rush. 

Yurei’s keystone leaps into Dawn’s arms, who instinctively reaches to catch it. Her disc follows, and she uses the momentum of the swing to throw her one hundred and eight souls inside Dawn’s body. Dawn’s head drops, hanging for a moment, and snaps back up to reveal glowing green eyes to rival Ursaluna’s. 

“You’re wasting your time,” she says— Yurei says, a faint echo trailing from Dawn’s voice. 

“Yurei, what are you doing? Get out of her!”

“You won’t be able to incapacitate this Ursaluna while it’s empowered by the blood moon. Wait for the eclipse to pass, unless you want to prolong this carnage.” 

The Ursaluna snorts as its charge ends in a fury of smashed trees, shaking its head, and it sets its eyes on Luculia again. It heaves its body back up onto two legs and readies another one of its red Moonblasts, illuminating the frightened burmy clinging to their trees and the bidoof and budew hiding in the shrubs, unable to flee without drawing attention to themselves. Above it, the moon is drenched in red, subsumed by the earth’s shadow in the zenith of a total eclipse. Cynthia clenches her jaw, feeling her teeth click. 

Luculia is able to dive out of the way of the incoming beam, which shatters the fallen tree behind her into splinters. Cynthia reaches for another pokéball. 

“Its cursed eye allows it to identify ghosts, too. In case you didn’t know,” Yurei adds impishly, but thankfully leaves Dawn’s body and retreats into her keystone, which hops back down to the ground. Dawn’s body falls limp, still waiting for its usual host to return, and Cynthia leaps to catch her before she hits the ground. 

“Shit,” she hisses, and glares down at Yurei. “We will be talking about this later.” 

Yurei’s perpetual grin flickers, but thankfully returns to the battle; a sucker punch catches the Ursaluna off guard before it can try for another attack, giving Luculia enough time to scramble back to Cynthia’s side. Cynthia hoists Dawn’s dormant body over her shoulder as best she can, and jerks her head at Luculia. 

“Come on, there’s no use battling it now— we have to move.” 

She glares down at Yurei. 

“I don’t care how you distract it, but keep it off our backs.” 

Yurei lets out a ghastly chuckle and slips into the shadows, and Cynthia doesn’t stay to watch what she’s up to. She turns, and runs. 

It’s hard to cover a lot of ground while trying to juggle Dawn’s weight, and she knows Luculia is slowing herself to keep pace, but Ursaluna’s snarls are growing quieter as they put more distance between them, so at least whatever Yurei is doing to buy them a bit of time is working. 

The ground rumbles with a localised earthquake, and Cynthia staggers as her leg sinks into the mud, burying her up to the knee. Luculia rushes to her side, and helps her prop up Dawn while she tries to wrest her foot from the bog. Cynthia hauls herself forward, freeing her foot with a loud, wet plurk, and pushes onwards through the mire. Regular Ursaluna can run frighteningly fast despite their size, and she’s not about to gamble on whether this one can too. She’s not sure how much time they have before Ursaluna catches up; once it had set its sights on Luculia, it seemed to prioritise her as a target, and Yurei won’t be able to distract it forever. What they need is— 

There’s a small crevasse in the rocky escarpment to the west, which looks deep enough to fit three people but not wide enough to fit the breadth of a large Pokémon. 

“Luculia, this way!” 

With Dawn still limp between them, they do their best to squeeze between the gap between the rocks, shuffling in far enough that no swiping claws can get to them.

Satisfied that they’re hidden and safe for now, Cynthia crouches and lays Dawn back against the cavern wall. Luculia shoots her a worried look, scared for Dawn, scared for herself and scared for all of them but unwilling to speak aloud, and it’s all Cynthia can do to silently nod and let her know that she knows. Yurei’s keystone teleports into the shadows beside them, and Cynthia scoops her up. She looks a little scuffed, still hiding inside her stone to prevent her ghostly glow from drawing attention to them, but isn’t in too bad shape otherwise. In the distance— yet still far too close— Ursaluna roars.

“What’s going on?” Dawn stirs, rubbing the haze from her eyes. Cynthia clamps a hand over her mouth, and holds her own breath. For a long moment, they all sit deathly still.

A loud, sharp sound breaks the ceasefire from further away in the scrubland. It sounds like the snapping of a branch, or a stone striking stone, but either way it draws Ursaluna’s attention off somewhere else, and its growling fades as it trudges away. Its occasional distant roar warns that it hasn’t gone very far, however. Cynthia cautions a glance behind the cave wall. 

She could swear that she saw a flash of red and white through the trees, but her eyes must be playing tricks on her, because Luculia is still sitting next to her. 

She looks up to the sky, and by now the moon’s red glow has faded to a faint orange stain on its side. It’ll only be a matter of time before the eclipse is over, now. They sit in silence for what feels like hours, listening in to Ursaluna’s constant huffs and roars, inexhaustible in its frenzy. Any damage Yurei had done to it must have been negligible, but it won't have that advantage forever. More minutes pass, and  Cynthia checks the pallor of the moon again. Now, it’s a crisp, pale white, shining in serene glory as if a shadow had never touched it. 

“You ready, Yurei?” 

Yurei’s disc emerges from her keystone with an enthusiastic whirl. Cynthia looks to Luculia and Dawn. 

“You two keep cover here. This shouldn’t take long.” 

Cynthia steps out of the cave with Yurei in her arms, and follows the thunderous growling to a clearing in the moors. Ursaluna is charging aimlessly, growling and swiping at the ghastly that are quick to disappear once it sets its eyes on them. Cynthia lets Yurei down, just as Ursaluna turns to glare at her through the misty darkness. It doesn’t look any less imposing, but with an open field and clear, shining moonlight, she likes her odds a lot better. 

“Alright, let’s try this one more time. Yurei, use Dark Pulse!” 

Ursaluna charges right for them, but Yurei’s blast of dark energy strikes it right on the target on its forehead, and the Ursaluna loses its stride as it flinches. Yurei manages to get another Sucker Punch in before Ursaluna can recover, but when it hauls itself back onto two legs Cynthia knows what’s coming next. Without the eclipse to empower it, Ursaluna’s Blood Moon attack doesn’t glow as brightly as it did before, but that’s not to say it isn’t still strong.

“Yurei, Protect!” 

Yurei summons her aura to form a barrier, blocking the worst of the beam’s offense, but it’s unlikely she’ll be able to pull off the same trick again so soon. Even without the eclipse’s boon, Ursaluna doesn’t need time to recharge after that attack the way Cynthia would typically expect— but even so, she’s noticed it never uses it consecutively; that’s a stalemate she can work with. 

“Psychic!” 

Yurei’s disk spins, crackling with violet energy. The Ursaluna roars and swipes, knocking Yurei back with a hit that would otherwise pass right through her. Her keystone topples backwards, leaving her vulnerable to the next Headlong Rush coming her way as Ursaluna drops down to all fours. Only before it can start to charge, a ball of mud splatters against the side of its head, stunning it in place. 

“Yeah, eat shit,” Dawn jeers, wiping her hands against her shirt. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop her,” Luculia pants, trailing after her. 

“Hey, nice shot,” Cynthia grins, and Dawn and Luculia look a little more relieved to see she’s got things back under control. 

“Well, it’s a pretty big target,” Dawn grins back. 

With mud now covering both its eyes, Ursaluna’s snarls rumble across the heath as it stumbles around blindly. Yurei rights herself, her disc fraying with irritated sparks.

The Ursaluna shakes the wet mud off, though the caked peat remains, and pulls itself to its full height again. 

It’s time to finally get this over with. 

“Okay, Yurei. Use Hypnosis!” 

Ursaluna begins to sway on its feet as the psychic waves collide with it— Dawn was right, it is a pretty big target. Frenzied Pokémon typically don’t fall asleep so easily, but if she’s lucky, it’s just drowsy enough for this to work. 

“Now, Dream Eater.” 

Yurei obliges, draining the last of Ursaluna’s energy and its last chance for a sudden comeback. It falls to the ground, landing with a thump that shakes the earth. Satisfied that it won’t be getting up again any time soon, Cynthia steps closer to take a better look at it. 

It doesn’t look too dissimilar to Lord Ursaluna, despite their differences; perhaps this is a rare form caused by an evolution under specific conditions, like underneath a lunar eclipse instead of a regular full moon. It’s certainly still the same Pokémon, though— like the rare Dusk Lycanroc, or the elusive three-segmented Dudunsparce. Professor Rowan would have a lot of theories, she’s sure.

Cynthia looks to Yurei, whose keystone hops over to join her. 

“I’m still upset with you. But even so, you did a good job,” she says, and Yurei’s disc spins in an almost guilty swirl. Cynthia recalls her into her pokéball and sighs. By now the moon is sinking towards the horizon, the sky the gentle lilac of an early morning twilight. Absent of clouds, it promises for a warm day to set their journey home off to a good start. 

“What on earth are you three doing?” 

Cynthia almost flinches. 

High up on the back of Ursaluna, Warden glares down at them with all ninety-nine years’ worth of scorn in her eyes. 

“Warden Calaba!” Dawn yelps. 

“He’s just sleeping,” Cynthia says quickly, shooting a cautious glance at the dozing Bloodmoon Ursaluna, now letting out grumbling snores. It’s difficult to tell, but she thinks Calaba raises a thin eyebrow. 

“We think he had been infected with Lady Lilligant’s pollen as well, and the lunar eclipse tonight must have made his symptoms worse,” she explains. Calaba sighs, and Lord Ursaluna squats so that she can more easily slide out of her saddle onto the ground. 

“Is this really Lord Ursaluna’s twin?” Dawn asks, following her over to the sleeping Ursaluna. 

“It’s true, this Ursaluna is Lord Ursaluna’s brother. But he is no more evil than you or I. He is misunderstood because of his appearance, and thus feared by the Diamond Clan— so keeping him hidden is all I can do to keep him safe.” 

Calaba approaches the Ursaluna with a bottle of medicine from one of her pouches, and waves it under his sensitive nose. He stirs, curling his lip, but allows Calaba to pour some of the liquid down his throat. Cynthia and Luculia wince as Ursaluna retches, but once it’s finished it hauls itself back to stand on two legs and shakes its bulky body with relief, instantly brighter. 

“Better out than in,” Dawn mutters to herself, nodding. Calaba sighs, and scratches Ursaluna’s side. 

“The Diamond Clan made their home here in the Mirelands a long time ago, and the relationship between our Clans has not always been as cordial as it is now. The stories the Diamond Clan tells of a Bloodmoon Beast wreaking havoc against their people has its truth, I must admit, but because of our violent history they only see this Ursaluna as a monster."

Ursaluna’s tongue curls as it yawns, and it smacks its lips together with a woozy expression, looking nothing like the frenzied alpha it had been only hours ago. Calaba gives him a firm pat. 

“Go and rest off the last of that medicine, Ursaluna. You’ll want to be gone before the Diamond Clan starts getting up for their morning chores. They’re not ones to squander daylight,” Calaba warns. The Bloodmoon Ursaluna drops back to all fours and bumps its head against Lord Ursaluna, who licks his forehead and grunts. They watch as it pads off towards the eastern cliffs, and begins scaling them in the direction of a cave further up. 

“Isn’t that the cave we stayed overnight in?” Luculia whispers. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Cynthia replies, hiding her grimace. 

“You should head back to the village and clean yourselves up too,” Calaba says. “I don’t care what you tell the Diamond Clan’s leader, so long as it isn’t a story about a Bloodmoon Ursaluna.” 

“We’ll think of something. Thank you for your help, Warden Calaba,” Cynthia says, and bows lightly. 

“Hmph. It’s just as well you weren’t hurt.” 

“We’re very sorry about all this. I think we just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, tonight.” 

“I don’t know why you thought the middle of the Mirelands in the middle of the night was the right place or the right time, but what would I know?” Calaba scoffs. Cynthia shoots an aggrieved look at Dawn, who pretends not to notice. 

“Anyhow, I suppose I should thank you. That Ursaluna keeps to himself most of the time, and who knows how long he might have been under the influence of that pollen— and now he can be rid of it for good,” Calaba says with a shallow nod. 

Cynthia smiles weakly and glances to Luculia, who appears to have zoned out through most of Calaba’s scolding; not that she can blame her for that. She nudges her with an elbow, and it takes a second for Luculia to shake herself back into the present. 

“Are you doing okay? That Ursaluna really seemed to have it out for you back there,” Cynthia asks. 

“It and everything else around here,” Luculia snorts. “I wish I could’ve done more to help you out, though.” 

“Hey, we found Dawn and got out of this with all our limbs still attached, and that’s good enough for me.”

Luculia hums in agreement, then stretches her neck until the bones crack. 

“Ugh. You know, I could really go for some breakfast right now.” 

“Breakfast sounds amazing,” Dawn groans, and even Lord Ursaluna grumbles hungrily. 

“Well, you aren’t going to find it here. Go on, back to the village, now. And eat up, too! You’re all skin and bones, you three,” Calaba shoos them off, though Cynthia thinks she catches a hint of a smile, somewhere between all those frown lines. 

Luculia looks half dead with sleeplessness as they walk up the incline towards the Diamond Clan’s village, and Cynthia figures she probably won’t be up for much conversation for a little while. Breakfast will probably help, but until then the fatigue settles over all of their shoulders. Even Dawn doesn’t have the same pep in her step that she usually does, and she fumbles around with the singular metal pokéball in her possession. It's Triton's, of course.

“I’ll help you get him healed up,” Cynthia says, jutting her chin at the ball in her hands. 

“Oh— yeah, thanks,” Dawn mutters, and puts it back in her satchel. 

“How are you holding up?” Cynthia asks, slowing down a touch to set them a pace behind Luculia.

“I’m fine. I guess I just bit off a bit more than I could chew, this time. I’m sorry for scaring you," Dawn replies without meeting her eyes.

“I’m sorry about Yurei, too. I suppose she thinks she’s got a free pass to possess people now, but she shouldn’t have done that,” Cynthia says firmly. 

“It’s okay. So long as she got whatever message she needed to get across, right?” 

Cynthia frowns.

“Listen, Dawn-“

“Cynthia, I’m tired. Can’t this wait until later?” Dawn says with a heavy voice, finally looking at her with tired eyes, and Cynthia swallows a sigh. 

“Okay,” she relents. Luculia turns to look back and catches her eye, and tugs her lip with a look that speaks louder than words could. Cynthia reciprocates it with a concerned frown. She is going to have to talk to Dawn later, but she gets the feeling it's not going to be an easy conversation.

Chapter Text

Cynthia’s heels click against the white marble tiles of Hearthome Museum’s foyer in a steady metronome; not the slow shuffle of a tourist admiring the grand Wailord ribcage hanging from the ceiling, nor the harried trot of an employee running late to clock in. It’s the step of a regular visitor, basking in the peace of a weekday morning when the crowds are thinnest. Now that she’s claimed the Champion title, and the status that comes with it, she has to be a bit more picky with her visiting hours. Truthfully, though, she’s always preferred coming at this time of day. 

Cynthia waves at Bruce the janitor, who's busy buffing the tiles, and gets a tilt of his cap back. She doesn’t recognise most of the staff at the empty ticket booths or information desks, however. Perhaps they're new trainees, scheduled on the quiet shifts while they learn the ropes? It’s been a while since she’s had a chance to visit.She continues on to the help desk towards the back, closer to the doors marked Employees Only.

It's unmanned, as it usually is, so Cynthia taps the bell on the counter and stands back to wait. One of the heavy wooden doors swings open, faster than she had expected. On the other side is a young woman dressed in a crisp white blouse and a black tie, wearing red wire frame glasses— another newcomer, it would seem. 

“I’ll be just one moment,” she says, and walks briskly to the desk to take a seat, long white hair trailing languidly behind her. 

“Of course. There’s no rush,” Cynthia replies, offering a polite smile. The clerk behind the desk flashes her a grateful smile in return, and shuffles a few files in her dossier before properly turning to her. 

“Hello, I’m very sorry for the wait. How can I help you this morning?” She asks, hands clasped and back straight. Cynthia smiles brightly, if a little forcefully, hoping to set the woman at ease. It's hard to say how well it works; her customer service smile remains just as fixed.

“Hi, I was wondering if Professor Saito was in today? I sent him an email a while ago asking if I could schedule a visit but I haven’t heard back, so I’m not sure if he got it—“

“Oh, Professor Saito is on annual leave at the moment. I think he was planning for an underground spelunking trip, so I’m sure he just hasn’t had the bandwidth to check his work email. He should be back by next Wednesday, though,” the clerk answers. Cynthia’s smile drops slightly. 

“Ah, I see.” 

“I can pass on a message for you, so that he can schedule you in as soon as he gets back,” she offers. “Or, if you have something more time sensitive to deal with, I could try to arrange for someone to help you in the meantime—“ 

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” Cynthia chuckles, her hair clips clinking gently as she shakes her head. “It’s just a personal project, actually. I found an old diary in my grandmother’s attic, which from my best guess looks to be from the Hisui Era— only it’s written in old Sinnohan, so I was hoping Professor Saito might have a look at it to help me date it.”

The other woman’s eyes light up behind her glasses, though the rest of her body stays professionally rigid. 

“Oh? Do you have it with you?” 

Cynthia reaches for her side bag, and takes the book out from where she’d kept it carefully sandwiched between dividers. She passes it over the desk, and the clerk takes it from her with a reverent touch. Red eyes flicker across the cover as she inspects it, and with delicate fingers she opens it to a random page. 

“Hm… you’re right, I’d assume from the binding that it’s from the late Jade Century, given the silcoon silk stitching,” she says and peers closer, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. Curiosity isn’t a rare thing to come by in a museum, and it’s infectious. Cynthia leans closer over the desk to glance down at the pages she’s looking at. 

“Whoever’s diary this is— though it’s more of a journal, if you don’t mind the semantics— would have had to be a villager in one of the Galaxy settlements, I assume, given that they don’t use the specific dialects of either the Diamond or Pearl Clans. There’s something very antiquated about their vocabulary, though. It’s… odd,” she frowns. 

“You can read it?” Cynthia asks, gripping the counter. The woman on the other side startles, not having realised she'd leaned in so close. Embarrassed, Cynthia pulls back, and tries to look a little more dignified. The clerk clears her throat, and adjusts her glasses absentmindedly. 

“Yes, the study of ancient languages is my main field of expertise, actually, though I don’t get to do very much of it. I’ve just started working here while I finish my program to gain a Professor title, and they need more people out front dealing with the tourists than they do in the back translating petroglyphs,” she replies, just a touch wryly. Cynthia grins. 

“Oh! Well, I hope you have good luck with your program. You’ll probably be seeing me around the museum as well. I study archaeology, and I come here to bother Professor Saito a lot.” 

The clerk looks back up at her, actually looking at her for longer than the flicker of a deferential glance, and lights up with recognition. Honestly, Cynthia had been a little surprised it had taken her this long, even though she admittedly doesn’t have that much notoriety outside of Sinnoh’s immediate competitive scene (at least, not yet). 

“Ah! You must be Ms Nanten, I assume? Professor Saito’s told me about  you.” 

Or not. 

Cynthia's smile fades to a wan sliver, which she hopes the other woman doesn’t notice. 

“Yes, that’s me. You’ve only heard good things, I hope?” 

“Just that you’re very passionate,” the clerk assures her with a half grin. “And I can see why— this journal seems very unique, and I’m sure its author has a very interesting story to tell. I’ll be sure to ask Professor Saito about it the first chance I get, when he’s back.” 

She gingerly picks the book back up to hand it back, and Cynthia holds up her palm to stop her. 

“I’m happy if you’d like to keep it in your— well, the museum’s care, until he’s back. And if you wanted to have a try at translating it yourself before giving it to him, by all means, I’d love to discuss it,” she says, and flashes her best Champion smile (it’s a work in progress).

The clerk smiles politely, which falls a little short of the dazzled reaction she was hoping for. 

“I can give it a look, but I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to really get stuck into it. They’re keeping me very busy here,” she says, and the wry tone comes back in full force. 

“Ah… I understand. Thank you anyway— um-“ Cynthia glances down in search of a nametag, and drags her eye back up in the absence of one. The woman’s smile shifts to something a little more natural, softening her features. 

“Luculia Hiver,” she says, the Kalosian surname rolling off her tongue flawlessly. “Here, how about I give you my email address, too? If I get the time to look at this, I’ll send you some translation notes— and you can CC me in to anything you send through to Professor Saito, as well. Between you and me, I handle most of his work anyway as part of the program.”

Her impression ends with a sarcastic smirk that looks a little too good on her. Cynthia chuckles, glancing away to the marble tiles. Luculia scrawls her email down on a sticky note, and passes it to her over the desk. Cynthia takes it, scanning the elegant cursive with a small smile. 

“Thank you, Ms Hiver. I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.”

“Of course. I look forward to working with you, Ms Nanten,” Luculia replies, shifting back into cold professionalism but for the ghost of a smile on her lips.

Chapter Text

Lucian scans the League schedule for the day. Two battles booked for the morning and two battles reserved for the afternoon is the usual routine, giving their teams enough of a break in between, but things can change depending on how fast or long the battles end up. He glances over at the four trainer cards pinned to the schedule. 

Their first challenger is a young girl from Jubilife who had earned her first gym badge this year. She’ll be challenging the League as a capstone to her journey, though it’s unlikely her team will make it to Bertha. The next is a dark-type specialist who’d collected their eight Sinnoh badges just this year, but has already been registered in League challenges in Unova and Hoenn. After lunch they’ll be battling an older trainer who comes back every year in the hopes he’ll at least surpass Flint, and assuming the battles don’t stall anywhere their final challenger will be a teenager from Sandgem town. 

Lucian peers over the registered team. It’s a varied one with good type coverage, with a Torterra at the front— one of Professor Rowan’s students, then? He’ll have to remind everyone to stay sharp, no matter how tired they may be feeling by the end of the day. 

With that in mind, Lucian lays the papers back down on the table with a restrained sigh. None of them had wanted to resume League operations, but with the scandal surrounding the former Interregional League President and still no sign of Cynthia, they hadn’t been left with much of a choice. In a group meeting, the Sinnoh League all agreed Lucian should step up into the Champion role in the interim, until Cynthia finds her way home. 

It isn’t ideal. 

There’s been a rush of new challengers, alongside those who had already started their journey this year; everyone wants to try their luck against a Champion that hasn’t already beaten them back. And moreover, Lucian can’t help but feel like a poor substitute. His full team has been training hard for this, his Gallade Ares especially so, but they still don’t quite have that Champion’s edge. He still just isn’t Cynthia.

He knows Cynthia wouldn’t want them to keep the League closed forever, just for her sake. She’d be enthusiastic, even, about him pushing himself to further heights in her stead. But it still feels like an insult, or worse, a surrender to the looming thought that she isn’t ever coming back. 

“Volkner, are you ready?” Lucian asks, turning to see him lounging with his feet up on the coffee table. “You have to be in your chamber with your team in- twenty minutes. We don’t run things the way you did your gym, here.” 

“I know, I know,” Volkner huffs, dragging himself up to his feet, though the attitude is lacking from his voice. He’s been excited enough about his new job as the first Elite Four to have the patience to cooperate without much fuss, though who’s to say how long that will last. The digital clock over the green room’s entrance to the battle halls ticks closer to the deadline, and Volkner sets off to collect his Pokémon from their routine morning health check. 

It was fortunate that filling out the open Elite Four spot he’d left hadn’t been an issue. Finding a new Gym Leader for Sunyshore hadn’t been so simple, but in the end it had been Fantina that had given him a recommendation. Lucian had his reservations when she suggested he hire her sister Jupiter and remodel the Gym around poison-types, but so far she’s been faring well. The feedback he’s received is that she’s more… consistent, and professional than Volkner was— which is enough for challengers to overlook her tough attitude. He’ll have to keep an eye on things as a matter of course, but things have been running surprisingly smoothly. 

Twenty minutes pass, then thirty, then forty— Lucian watches on the green room’s monitor as the first challenger works her way through Volkner’s team,   eventually taking down his Electivire with a Lopunny that can dig. Her team goes down to Aaron shortly later, as anticipated. It’s common for first-time challengers to underestimate Aaron’s bug-type team, and with Volkner in a position to wear their Pokémon down beforehand… the outcome is a little predictable. The next challenger proves more formidable. 

Their team is efficient and effective. They have a well trained Mightyena up the front, and a strong core of a Sharpedo, Krookodile, Shiftry and Weavile that easily manage Volkner, Aaron, and even Bertha’s team. They haven’t even had to send out their ace by the time they reach Flint, and Lucian has to start getting ready. He won’t be able to watch how the match plays out, but he’s sure that between the Krookodile and the Sharpedo, he’ll be seeing them on the other side. 

He puts down his book, and heads off into Cynthia’s chamber. 

The Champion’s chamber is a large, dark hall with dramatic blue LEDs running along the sides of the walls. It’s never been quite his taste, but Cynthia has always had a dubiously secret flair for dramatics. The green light above the trainer’s entrance lights up, meaning that Flint has lost his battle and the challenger is on their way. 
Lucian adjusts his glasses, and readies his first pokéball. This isn’t his first battle as Champion, and he isn’t about to be undone by nerves. Flint would never let him hear the end of it. 

The opposing trainer struts into the chamber, a wicket grin splitting their face. Their dark hair is folded into several spikes, reminiscent of a qwilfish. A chain clinks against their baggy pants as they take their place on the field. Lucian had double checked their trainer card before coming in; their name is Izzy, and they specialise in dark-types. That fact feels a little more pressing, now, given the sharp look in their eyes. Lucian clears his throat, and readies his pre-battle spiel. 

“Izzy, isn’t it? Welcome to the Champion’s chamber. You’ve done an exceptional job in finding yourself here, but I’m afraid you won’t be getting any further.” 

“Yeah, that’s where you’re wrong,” Izzy retorts, cocking their head. Lucian snorts a quiet laugh at the arrogance. 

“Let’s see for ourselves then, shall we?” 

* * * 

With a swing of his forearm blades, Ares strikes Izzy’s Weavile, knocking her out of the field’s perimeter. She had been fast, striking with a volley of icy shards as she ran circles around him, but all it had taken was one precise Close Combat to tilt the scales back in his favour. Lucian’s Gallade has always been ruthlessly efficient when it comes to dealing with the dark-types commonly brought against him, and it’s no different this time. Izzy sneers as they recall their Weavile into her dusk ball, and grab another from their belt. 

They’re both down to their final Pokémon. 

“Alright, Spike. Let’s finish this!” They shout, and their last teammate hits the field. It’s an Overqwil— a particularly large one, too. It looks down at Ares with a puckered scowl, and Ares glares stalwartly back. 

“Spike, use Sludge Wave!”

“Protect!” Lucian counters. Ares blocks the deluge of toxic water, which would have been impossible to dodge. Across the field, Izzy cusses. 

“Alright, let’s get to the point then! Use Toxic!” 

Spike spits up a large glob of purple ichor, and Ares dashes out of the way— but a small droplet lands on his leg, and it’s enough to do the job. The toxin seeps in, and it’s a race against time. 

Lucian bites down on the flesh of his cheek. Psychic-type attacks have been ineffective against their entire team, and Ares is trained to counter flying, fairy and ghost-types above poison. His best shot is— 

“Close Combat, now!”  

It’s a powerful strike, but it’s not enough. Not in one hit. And now so close to his target, Ares is unable to escape the retaliatory Barb Barrage. Despite the critical hit, the attack isn’t enough to bring him down, and Ares jumps back out of range. Only, he staggers as he lands, and falls to his knees. In the end, it’s the poison in his system that finishes the job. 

“You fought well, my friend,” Lucian whispers, recalling him. 

Across the field, Izzy whoops with joy, and even Spike the Overqwil looks like it might be smiling. 

“That was a wonderful battle,” Lucian concedes honestly, albeit with a grim smile. He crosses the field, and extends his hand. “Congratulations, Champion Izzy.” 

Izzy smirks, oozing with pride, and knocks away the offered handshake with a flick of their wrist. 

“Yeah, I know. Now, are you going to show me to the Hall of Fame or not?” 

Chapter Text

1.

In her first week of travelling the Obsidian Fieldlands— rolling plains of lush green that remind her of the first week of her journey, years ago— Dawn realises she needs to catch some Pokémon. The catch-and-release method the Survey Corps employs for studying different species doesn’t really count; she needs to build herself a team if she wants to go far (and she does— she has a feeling she’ll be seeing the peak of Mount Coronet eventually). 

There are plenty of Pokémon that catch her eye, but very few that feel right. That is, until she stumbles upon a buneary hiding in a patch of daffodils. It bounds away the moment Dawn crouches down to pass a pecha to it, so she leaves it in the grass for it to approach later, if it’s smart enough not to let an opportunistic starry get to it first. This Pokémon isn’t right for her, but she knows by the pang of her chest why she was drawn to it anyway.

Her first Pokémon was Triton, given to her by Professor Rowan when he was only a little piplup, but her first catch was a buneary.

Whimsy hadn’t been so shy. She’d been almost aggressive, even, with nothing but impatience for the humans who travelled through Eterna Forest, trudging all over the fresh clovers. She had been won over pretty quickly with an offering of fresh pecha berries, though, and found she had a preference for dry poffins. It took a long time and a lot of training before she evolved into the powerhouse of a Lopunny she is— was— will be?— but that time seems so insignificant now. Dawn knows her journey had lasted several months longer than most trainers’, managing to win seven badges on her first go, but it had also been a whirlwind. Her memories are a flurry of victories and losses, the highs of battling her friends and the lows of fighting Team Galactic. 

Yet Dawn remembers each evolution vividly. Whimsy’s had been in Veilstone; far longer into her journey than she’d been comfortable with, against an opponent she wasn’t comfortable with. Maylene’s Lucario had been too formidable an opponent for even Triton, and Whimsy had taken his place on the field before she could even reach for another pokéball. She had decided to place her trust in the little buneary, and the battle had ended with a proud Lopunny standing over a fainted Lucario. 
Dawn watches as the buneary hops towards the waylaid pecha, and takes a small nibble.

No, she doesn’t think she’s ready to train one again. 

2.

Late in the afternoon, just as the changing winds chase away the midday heat with a cool breeze, Dawn and Rei make camp in the shade of a ring of trees. One of the trees has dull yellow leaves, contrasting against the vibrant colours of the Fieldlands in Spring, and the bright green foliage that surrounds it. It’s an Evergold, or as most trainers in Sinnoh know them, a honey tree. 

“Hey Rei, do you have any honey in your satchel?” Dawn asks, scouring her own for a spoon. 

“Yeah, I have about half a jar left. Do you want some?” he asks, tilting the jar in question until the liquid inside begins to move. Dawn takes it with a quick thank you,  then walks over to the honey tree to slather a spoonful onto the crackling bark. 

“Hey! What are you doing? I didn’t give you my honey just so you could waste it!” Rei shouts, and Dawn doesn’t fight him as he snatches the jar back from her— she’s sure she’s used enough. 

“It’s not going to waste. Just trust me, give it ’til morning,” she says, and flashes Rei a wide grin. He returns it with a shrewd glare and caps the lid on his honey jar with a pop. He’s learning to take her word for it, because as cynical as he had been when she had arrived, her way with Pokémon speaks for itself. Even in her own time, while she wouldn’t call herself a prodigy, other people had. 

The next morning, Dawn shakes Rei’s shoulder to rouse him awake. 

“Rei, get up! Come look at this,” she hisses, careful not to raise her voice. She has to all but drag him out of the tent, but she’s glad she managed to; the honey tree is swarming with flitting combee, and climbing upon its trunk to lick up the last of the sweet nectar is a large Heracross with a gleaming blue carapace. 

“Wow! It’s like the whole tree is buzzing,” Rei wonders aloud, watching the hefty branches shudder as starly hop to and fro to peck at the combee. 

“Looks like a male Heracross, judging by the spade on its horn,” Dawn points out, for Rei to take note of in his pokédex journal. 

“Are you going to try to catch it?” Rei asks, deferring to her given that the honey had been her idea. 

“No, I already know enough about this species to fill out its entry.” 

“Really?”

Dawn’s smile falters.

“Yeah.” 

Heracross are a Bug and Fighting-type Pokémon, which can still take down Barry’s Staraptor if you’re sure to teach them Rock Tomb. Their Megahorn attack is a little hard to aim, but when they hit their mark they hit hard. They’re also very rare in the wild, unless you happen to be in Floaroma town in the middle of a honey judging competition. 

Her one had a heart-shaped spade, and she’d named her Honey. 

3. 

The night sky is crisp and black, freckled with glinting stars and cloudy nebulas. Despite all the differences between Sinnoh— her Sinnoh— and Hisui, Dawn can still pick out all the constellations she’d learned to identify on the cloudless nights of her journey. There’s the Leaping Pyroar with its seven-pronged mane, and the snaking stars of Serperior just to the right of it. Two of the brightest stars in the sky make for the Sword of Ruin, pointing to the Tablet of Ruin. For a moment, she can almost imagine Eterna City is right on the other side of the forest, but there’s no use fooling herself. 

She’s used to travelling alone. Barry had always taken off ahead of her, while Lucas dawdled behind, and they were happier taking things at their own pace. But at least they could catch up to each other every now and then. Here, Dawn can’t help but remember just how alone she is, hundreds of years out of place. 

Above her, the moon hangs like a smile. It’s said that there’s a colony of clefairy living up there, and the reason why families of cleffa, clefairy and Clefable all dance beneath the light of the full moon is because that’s how they communicate with their friends, stranded so far away. Dawn had the chance to witness it, once, on one of Mount Coronet’s plateaus. Each Pokémon twirled and bounced and sang around the lunar maypole, always keeping one finger pointed to the sky. And if their messages can travel through space… why not time, too? 

But it isn’t a full moon tonight, and Dawn isn’t sure she could do the dance properly even if she tried, and she’ll be lucky if nobody sees her. It would be hard to explain.

Still, there’s at least one Clefable out there who might hear her call. 

Pixie had been part of that group of clefairy she’d found, and she had been just as curious about Dawn as Dawn was about her. She’d been holding onto a moonstone, but evidently hadn’t felt ready to use it— so she joined the team, until one day she was ready. Dawn had half expected her to return to her colony after she evolved in time to fight Candice’s gym with her TM-trained Flamethrower, but she’d decided to stay. Not that they knew at the time, but they’d be visiting Mount Coronet again very soon anyway.  

Dawn closes her eyes, and the moon and stars leave imprints on her eyelids. She hopes that somewhere in the future, Pixie is looking at the moon, and can hear her message somehow.

I’m coming home soon, too. I promise. 
 

4. 

The rain has been pouring down in thick sheets for hours all day, but now there is finally a small reprieve before the next wave. High up on the mountain plateau, the Diamond Clan’s village is safe from the flash flooding brought by summer rain, but wild Pokémon have been venturing closer than normal in their search for high ground. Now sound of mind again, Lord Ursaluna can help guide them to safety— but frenzied as she is, Lady Lilligant isn’t able to help in keeping the peace between the highland and lowland Pokémon. Adaman has enough on his hands with helping everyone keep dry and warm and fed and safe, which is why Dawn volunteered to help ward away any particularly aggressive Pokémon that might wander too close to the far cises. 

Together, she and Dante fight off a few Carnivine and Rhydon, and break up a fight between the local Roserade and Honchkrow families. Thankfully no frenzied alphas pop up to give them a hard time, even as it starts to rain again. Dawn knows she should turn in soon and trade her shelter of trees and rocky crags for a nice warm fire, but a golden glow in the distance catches her eye. 

It isn’t one of those mysterious poems Cynthia and Luculia have been finding; rather, it’s a cluster of rings that give away the lithe form of an Umbreon. A fully realised Umbreon is a rare sight out in the wild, but it isn’t unheard of for an eevee to meet the requirements of a bond evolution on their own terms. This one doesn’t make any aggressive overtures, even as it strides towards them. It holds its head high, cool and elegant, yet still bristling with energy beneath that black fur coat. It wants to battle; it reminds Dawn of somebody she knows. 

“You ready for one last fight, Dante?” Dawn whispers, and her quilava chirps in agreement. 

Once, in another time, Dawn had raised an eevee herself. He was a prideful little thing, and had refused all the evolution stones she had offered him. At first she’d worried he didn’t like her at all, but then every night he preferred to sleep against her side rather than in his ball. And one morning, she had woken up with an Espeon by her side. To this day she still wonders if he had intentionally chosen to evolve at dawn. 

Dawn tosses a carved apricorn pokéball, and catches an Umbreon at dusk. She has a name already picked out, and a spot on her team for a strong Dark-type. She hitches Cynthia’s ball to her obi, and wonders if she would get along with Vesper.  

5.

By the time the sun sets, the worst of the storm has cleared and Lady Lilligant’s frenzy has been quelled. Finally, Dawn lets herself relax. The last rays of sunlight peek through the fleeing clouds, and the grain fields across the Mirelands are awash in gold. Up on the hill, overlooking it all, Dawn lays her head against the damp grass. Looking up at the sky, she spots one cluster of clouds drifting faster than all the rest, with the occasional blink of blue. 

It’s a flock of swablu, she realises, led by an Altaria at the front of the formation. It’s unusual to see them so far from the Coronet mountain range, but it seems as though they’re only passing through. Come autumn, they’ll fly south— down past Johto to settle in the warmer region of Hoenn through the winter, and return again in spring. 

Dawn’s journey took place in the summer, as most trainers’ journeys do, and so the swablu had still been in Sinnoh then, too. She’d even stumbled upon one in the perpetual fog on the path to Celestic town; the little bird had been cast out of his flock, and wasn’t likely to make the migration on his own. Aquila had been the last to join her team, as her sixth and final catch. They’d needed a lot of long training sessions to get him up to speed, but he took to battling as easy as flying. 

When he eventually evolved into an Altaria, they’d returned to the mountain path where they met, and sought out the Dragon Master who lived up on the cliffs. They were going to need a few tricks up their sleeves if they were going to have a shot at ever beating Cynthia, and where better to learn than the place she called home? 

In the distance, the flock of swablu disappear into the clouds. The sun’s light fades as twilight arrives, and Dawn pushes herself back up. It’s hard to believe that she and Cynthia are both here, on this mysterious quest for a purpose only Arceus knows. It’s not that she believes in destiny, but… she thinks Cynthia would agree with her if she said every encounter between humans and Pokémon alike is for a reason. 

She’ll defeat her one day, she knows. But she’d like to have Aquila by her side when she does. 

6.

The blue painted apricorn ball twitches only slightly, stuck in the mud as it is, before it exhales a plume of smoke. 

“Good job, Triton,” Dawn grins, and he puffs up his chest with a jolly trill. She wades through the muddy puddle between them to pick the pokéball up, and hitches it to her obi. That makes two hippopotas, now; one with ochre brown skin and the other with light clay, male and female, just as Anthe had requested. Triton waddles as close as he can towards her without getting his legs too dirty, and cocks his head with an inquisitive honk. 

“No, they’re not joining our team— I don’t think, anyhow. After we show them to Anthe, Professor Laventon will probably want to study their dimorphism, and I’m sure they’d rather stay together in the pastures,” Dawn explains. 

She’s never been swayed by one particular type, preferring to keep a diverse team, but even for those who are drawn to a specific element it’s unusual for anyone to keep more than one of the same Pokémon species if they plan on going competitive. And so, she still has two empty slots where she’d normally have a full team. 

It’s frustrating. Her new team is filled with potential, but she knows they’re still at a disadvantage against wild Pokémon she hasn’t had to worry about for years. She doesn’t have Honey to Brick-Break through defensive screens, or Whimsy to deliver a mean Dizzy Punch to foes who underestimate her. Now, Dawn has to start from scratch, learning what her new Pokémon’s strengths are instead of relying on her old tricks. She’s lucky in that she still has Triton, but he can’t do it all himself. 

Dante has gotten a lot stronger since he’d evolved, but it’s been a little difficult to train him with the myriad of ground and rock types in the Mirelands. And she’s lucky that when that great, swirling purple dome appeared, with a flurry of alpha Pokémon, angry Pokémon, there was at least one little porygon on her side. Maybe it’s from the future too, thrown into Hisui by the strange space-time distortions, which is why it had felt a camaraderie with her. She’d decided to name it Glitch. 

Glitch, Cynthia, and Dante’s apricorn pokéballs feel wrong in her hands— their shells are rough, lacking the cool touch of metal. They’re part of her team now, though, and she’s glad to have them by her side. Her love for Pokémon and her passion for training them isn’t going anywhere. 

Triton coos quietly as she wades back through the mud, and nudges her shoulder with his beak. Dawn reaches up and scratches his neck. 

“I know, Triton. I’m sure we’ll find the right Pokémon to join our team soon. And with their help, we’ll see our friends again.”

Chapter Text

Progress on the Pokédex project continues to come along surprisingly well, by Cyllene’s very prudent measure. When Professor Laventon had first outlined the project to herself and Commander Kamado, neither of them had been very enthusiastic about its prospects. Collating information about the native creatures into an easily researchable index is a noble goal, and he is a well respected biologist, but a rugged field adventurer he is not. 

They’d given him meagre funding and supplied him with a handful of recruits, but it had all been mostly for show— the difference between appearing to all the world as enlightened explorers, as opposed to conquerers. 

What none of them had anticipated was that a teenager would fall from the sky, who happened to be a prodigy at battling and taming Pokémon. Then, a second miracle: a wandering scholar fastidious enough to make sense of Laventon’s mass of research. With their efforts combined, they were a quiet revolution.

The more the Survey Corps learns about the Pokémon of Hisui over the course of their expeditions, the better they can understand them. And the better they understand them, the less dangerous they become. Even the residents of the village, family members of recruits who have no interest in the world outside of Jubilife, have become more confident in their exposure to the tamed Pokémon kept within the paddocks. 

It is truly against all odds that the Survey Corps has achieved what they have. As its Captain, Cyllene is the only one who knows that they operate only on the leftover scraps of resources from the other Corps. Scraps the recruits— many only teenagers themselves— have turned into a new way of life. The Galaxy Team is on the forefront of a cultural shift in one of the least modern locales in the world, and learning how to not only cohabitate with Pokémon but thrive alongside them is now one of their greatest claims to power. 

And yet, Cyllene has yet to grow comfortable around the creepy crawly types.

A wurmple sits on the floor of her office, looking innocently up at her with blank, eerie eyes. It knows it does not belong here. She doesn’t know how it wormed its way into her office, and she doesn’t care to. She wants it out. 

The scream that escapes her lips is unfortunately very loud.

Cynthia bursts into the room with a warrior’s reflexes, tensed and ready for a fight. The speed of her movement is only outpaced by her mind, assessing the situation and each angle of opportunity before drawing her weapon. Only, in the time that it takes for her to realise that her foe is a simple wurmple, Abra has already teleported it away.

Cyllene struggles to regain her composure from where she’d ended up, splayed flinching on the ground. Cynthia Nanten, the third mysterious stranger to arrive in their village. Of course it would be her that finds her like this. Dubiously related to one of the Ginkgo Guild’s merchants (and simultaneously more charismatic and more reserved), Cynthia Nanten is a woman who is intelligent enough that she could just as easily be leading the Survey Corps, and masterful enough with Pokémon that she’d be even better suited leading the Security Corps. She could also be the Galaxy Team’s biggest threat, but despite all her skill she has a certain naiveté. It makes for an interesting paradox.

Cyllene clears her throat, and extricates herself from the floor. 

“Ms Nanten. It’s good to see you’re still as sharp as ever, even within the safety of the village,” she says, attempting to save some face. Abra teleports back to her side, and she scratches the fur between his ears. He’s become a very comforting presence in the year since she’d resigned herself to the fact that the Captain of the Security Corps should also herself have a Pokémon partner. 

“Ah… yes, of course,” Cynthia replies, standing just as awkwardly. She’s likely just as grateful that their shared overreaction hadn’t had any witnesses other than Abra, who will take all of her secrets to his grave. 

“You know, bug type phobias aren’t uncommon. I have a friend who trains primarily with bugs, and he does a lot of work with exposure therapy-” 

“Ms Nanten, do you know what I like about our colleague, Ms Hiver?” Cyllene says evenly. Cynthia pauses, momentarily bemused.

“I mean, there’s many things, but-”

“I like that she’s quiet.” 

Cynthia’s face drops into an unamused frown. She can hardly object, however, given that there’s truth to the sentiment. While Cyllene does enjoy the company of her fellow Captains and the Professor in small doses, it is refreshing to have someone as reticent with their words as she is around. She respects Laventon more than he believes, and it’s only his tendency to babble endlessly about subjects which only entertain himself that begets her open irritation. But she, Ms Hiver and Abra can sit for hours in silence, attending each to their own business, without ever ruining the peace with such inanity as small talk. 

“Of course. Shall we pretend this never happened, then?” Cynthia says, and even bows her head in deferment. Cyllene almost smirks; she certainly knows how to play the game. Then Cynthia looks up and meets her eye, well aware that she’s ultimately the one holding the proverbial cards— if word about her phobia gets out to the recruits, she’s going to find wurmple writhing in her office every other day of the week. Cyllene’s inclination to smirk vanishes. 

“Yes, let’s. As you were, Ms Nanten, and keep up the good work. Captain Zisu speaks very highly of you,” she adds, as a peace offering. It’s likely that, should a position open up, Cynthia will be the next to join their ranks as a Captain, should she take the offer. Here and now, Cynthia doesn’t appear particularly enthused by the praise. 

“Thank you, Captain Cyllene,” she says, and leaves with much less aplomb than her arrival.

Cyllene audibly exhales once she’s gone. Abra bumps his head against her arm, and her hand reaches between his ears yet again. She knows that Cynthia still watches her with caution in the corner of her eye. These days there’s less suspicion in her gaze, and more… familiarity, or perhaps curiosity. It’s less unnerving than before, yes, but it vexes her as to why Cynthia feels the need to examine her so shrewdly. 

There are plenty of things she’s done in the past which would justify it, though none of them had involved Cynthia or any of her companions. Nothing as far as Cyllene knows, at least. Cynthia had spoken of someone she reminds her of, and Cyllene isn’t sure how much of that is literal or figurative. The person she used to be is unfamiliar to her now too, but she cannot run from her past forever.

If Cynthia still won’t let her guard down completely, then unfortunately she can’t let her guard down either.

Chapter Text

“How much do you know about type interactions?”

Cynthia poses the question as she and Volo walk the trail south of Jubilife into the beachside fields that will one day become Sandgem town. It’s a preferable spot for training young and inexperienced Pokémon, over the raucous and hectic environment of the village dojo. The lush grass and gently lapping waves whisper a song of summer, the time of year when trainers traditionally start their journeys. Many in this very spot.

“I know most of the basics. Fire is weak against water, which is weak against grass, and so on. Magnus’ Dragon-type moves don’t affect Tama because she’s a Fairy-type, and her Fairy-type moves won’t do anything to affect Steel-types,” Volo answers, counting his fingers in thought. 

“That’s right. It’s important to know the strengths and weaknesses of your own Pokémon first and foremost, but Professor Laventon does have a full chart of the different type interactions in his office if you’d like to study it,” Cynthia nods, then surveys the area where they’d stopped. “This’ll make a good spot.” 

It’s a small alcove, sheltered by a few rocks and trees, but there’s enough open terrain for a small battle between first-stage Pokémon. The stone and bark has yet to be scarred by stray attacks, though that’ll likely change with time. One day, trainers who have just received their starters from Professor Rowan will find this spot too, and they’ll add to the collection. 

“Looks good to me. Alright Cynthia, meet Ginnan,” Volo says, and releases his new Pokémon from its ball. The Budew is slightly smaller than average for its kind, but Cynthia has never found size a particularly relevant factor when it comes to battling ability. What matters for this species line more than anything is how well they are tended to, which is why Cynthia had been ecstatic to oblige when Volo asked her to teach them some of her tips in the art of battling. 

Cynthia crouches down closer to the little Budew’s level, and offers him her friendliest smile. 

“Hi, Ginnan. Are you ready to try having a practice battle today?” she asks.

Ginnan’s expression doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence, but he gives a swift nod with his whole body. Volo had mentioned that he’d caught the Pokémon as a means of rescuing him from a flock of Murkrow in the Crimson Mirelands, and that he had been timid for as long as he’d known him. Hopefully, some battling experience is just what he needs to find his own inner strength. Luckily, Cynthia also has a young Pokémon she’d caught in the Crimson Mirelands, who’s a far better match for most other trainers in Hisui than the rest of her team. His apricorn ball is smooth in her hand, sanded down and polished to perfection (this ball is direct from the Supply Corps; her own attempts at crafting them had been a laughable failure). 

“Okay. Lou, come on out.” 

She releases the Goomy onto the grass, and Lou turns to gurgle up at her. 

“Ready for another battle?” she asks, and he warbles brightly. “Alright, then. We’ll take the north side of the field.” 

Lou slinks right into position, and Volo directs Ginnan on where he needs to stand. The sun is shining bright overhead, which should be invigorating for him. Weather can have all sorts of subtle effects on a battle, but that’s a little more advanced than what they need to worry about right now. 

“Lou is a pure Dragon-type, by the way,” Cynthia mentions before they get started, just to be sure. Even before human encroachment, Goodra have always been a rarity in Sinnoh, and without the Pokédex as guidance most people can’t pick its Dragon typing as easily as they would for a Garchomp. 

“That’s a Dragon?” Volo asks, doing his best to keep the teasing edge out of his voice but not entirely succeeding. 

“He’s tougher than he looks,” Cynthia warns. She’s bluffing, at least a little, because Goomy are known to be one of the weakest Dragon-types around, but she’s not about to say that in front of Lou. And Lou has grown a lot stronger in the short time they’ve had to train together, enough that she’s comfortable that he can hold his own. 

(She was going to warn Volo about his Sap Sipper ability, too, but it seems he could probably stand to learn a lesson or two about underestimating his opponent.)

* * *

“You’ve really never been in an actual hand-to-hand fight?” 

The way Zisu says it— dumbfounded, almost reproving— gives the impression that she’s reassessing her opinion on Cynthia by the second. Cynthia shrugs weakly. 

“Well, I’ve always had my Pokémon to rely on. I’ve never needed to resort to physical violence,” she says. Martial arts are alive and well in her own time, but they’re still considered arts more than anything; a way to refine your physique, and centre your mind through controlled movements. Real, rough and tumble fights between human beings, with fists and teeth and knives, are nothing short of barbaric. 

Zisu levels a very unimpressed frown at her, and despite herself Cynthia feels a swell of shame churning in her stomach. By all means, avoiding ever getting into a fight should be a point of pride, and yet. Zisu has only ever been all smiles, has only ever looked at Cynthia in admiration for her skills as a Pokémon trainer, but now she’s disappointed. Disappointed in her. Cynthia scrambles for a lifeline. 

“I know some basic katas. I practice them with my Lucario sometimes,” she offers. 

“It’s a start, but you’ll need to do better than that, Cynthia. I can’t have you in my Corps if you don’t know any real self-defense techniques.” 

She’ll need to do better. She’ll need to do better. She’s never felt further away from her life before Hisui, and never felt closer to the years living under her Grandmother’s scrutiny. 

Cynthia understands why Zisu must find her inadequate. Using Pokémon to attack human beings is a dirty and dangerous tactic, but she’s far from ignorant to the fact that it happens. This isn’t her League, where referees watch from the sidelines to make sure everyone is following the rules. Here, there are no such rules. That’s the reality she’s in.

Zisu’s perfectly broad shoulders slouch a bit as she watches Cynthia’s expression shift, though the disapproving frown doesn’t completely leave her face. 

“I know you’re all about working with your Pokémon team— and you’ve been an excellent trainer to the other recruits in how to command them— but when shit comes to shove, you need to know how to fight without them, because any ‘mon with a good survival instinct knows when it’s time to split. If it means saving their own skin, they’ll throw you to the hounds in a heartbeat.” 

A fire ignites behind Cynthia’s eye, hot and furious, burning away the lingering shame. Zisu has no idea how wrong she is. The times she’s needed her team the most have always been the times their loyalty has shone the strongest. Nobody here knows that, because nobody here knows what it means to unconditionally love their Pokémon— so she grits her teeth. There’s no use trying to argue the point, because Zisu won’t believe her unless she can prove her wrong. And proving her wrong will mean finding herself in a situation where her life lies solely in her Pokémon’s hands, which truthfully she expects to happen sooner or later, but she’s not going to put her team through that intentionally just for the sake of her pride. 

Besides, it’s probably not a bad idea for her to learn how to throw a proper left hook, anyway. 

* * *

Lou takes Ginnan down without much trouble. 

Ginnan’s best moves are all Grass-types, and as expected Volo had a rude shock when Lou comfortably absorbed Ginnan’s Absorb. Cynthia had also refused to be baited into a physical attack, knowing better than to risk triggering Ginnan’s Poison Point ability. The battle had been a rather slow and gentle one, however, given that the whole point of this exercise is to give the Budew some experience. A crushing defeat would only be discouraging, so she and Lou held back. 

As much as it bores her, she’s become very accustomed to holding back.

The back and forth of weak Tackles and Water Pulses had given Ginnan a good sense for a battle’s rhythm, at least, and a feel for his own strengths and weaknesses. A lack of stamina is to be expected at his level, however, and he’d quickly exhausted his energy. 

“Good work, my friend,” Volo says, kneeling down to brush his seed pod. He returns Ginnan to his Pokéball, but as he stands Cynthia is unsurprised to see a flash of determination in his eye as he reaches for another Pokéball. 

“This battle isn’t over yet, though. Go, Magnus!” 

Cynthia grins in return. She’d agreed to a one-on-one, but part of her had been expecting this. And if Volo still underestimates what Lou is capable of because she’d gone a bit easy to start off with— then that’s all the better for her. 

“You’ve got this, Lou,” she says, nodding at him. He nods back, his whole body wobbling with the motion, and turns to look at his new opponent. Cynthia has fought a few other Garchomps in her time as Champion, but it’s been a long time since she’s had the chance to battle a Gible. This ought to be fun. 

“Magnus, use Bite!” 

Magnus lunges forward, effectively falling face-first into Lou’s blobby head, and digs his teeth through the mucus membrane. Lou flinches, and Magnus follows up with a bodily Tackle before rolling away to safety. 

Cynthia has honed a good poker face over the years— most Champions know better than to wear their heart on their sleeve during a battle— but it’s clear that last bout of attacks was hard on Lou. However, as if anticipating her next thought that Goomy simply aren’t very defensive creatures, Lou’s body begins to shift and glow with a brilliant bluish light. When the display subsides, Lou is standing taller in his newly evolved form, and has a brand new carapace to hide in. Not only does the Hisuian variant of Sliggoo have a reinforced shell to use as armour, it also has the benefit of the Steel typing— a great defensive typing. She’s not about to let him stop for applause, though.

“Lou, Dragon Breath!” she calls, and Magnus stumbles backwards as the super-effective attack burns at his scales. Cynthia hadn’t called for that move during Ginnan’s battle, because it’s Lou’s strongest; she’s also aware that it meant Volo wouldn’t know about that move until it was too late. 

“What— alright, Magnus. He’s strong, but he’s got to be getting tired. Try Rollout!” 

Magnus tries very hard to land a solid hit on Lou, but between Lou’s new strength and new typing, and his hard-hitting Dragon Breath, he’s unable to keep up. Volo recalls Magnus into his ball, and though his smile is slightly tempered it hasn’t disappeared yet. 

“You’re not the only one who’s gotten a little bigger,” he warns. “Tama, let’s go!” 

* * *

“Widen your stance, but stay light on your feet. You want to be as sturdy as a Golem, swift as a Zebstrika,” Zisu instructs. Cynthia shifts her weight, imitating Zisu as best she can, and is rewarded with a nod. If there’s one thing she’s always been able to pride herself on, it’s being a fast learner. She raises her arms up in the Hitmonchan position, and allows Zisu to slowly guide her through the motion of a boxing jab. 

“Power doesn’t come from your arm, or even your shoulder. It comes from the strength of your lower body, and the momentum of your hips. Your arm’s just an extension of that.” 
Zisu demonstrates the technique against a rice-filled sack, which ripples against the force of her knuckles. It’s hypnotic. Cynthia swallows roughly, and does her best to replicate it. 

“Not bad. But you’re overcompensating because of your depth perception. Try aiming more to the left.” 

Cynthia tries again. And again. She repeats each strike, switching arms as she’s told, raising her arms back into position as she’s told, until her coach is satisfied. 

“Okay. You can practice that some more in your own time. Now, I want you to show me some of those katas you told me about,” Zisu says, and gestures for her to follow her to the back of the dojo. 

“Alright, but if I may— I’d like my Lucario to join this exercise. We keep each other focused,” Cynthia replies, already reaching for Jizo’s ball. Zisu raises an eyebrow, then ducks her head. 

“Fine, if you gotta. I don’t really see why not.” 

The moment she gets the go-ahead, Cynthia releases Jizo out onto a training mat. He tilts his head, eyeing her sweaty appearance and dishevelled keikogi. Instinctively, he enters a fighting stance of his own. 

This is more her element. Each step of the kata is rigorous yet controlled,  and Jizo barks to keep them in time. It’s more like a dance than a fight, and it takes her back to the days on her journey when they’d practice together— him just a Riolu, her just a child. It’s nostalgic, but more importantly, it’s fun. 

Zisu doesn’t give away her thoughts on their technique, watching along with a placid expression as they shift through the movements, though Cynthia is sure she can see some sort of spark igniting behind her eyes. She almost wants to laugh, until Jizo barks beside her, pulling her attention back towards the last few steps. There are some people who just can’t help but appreciate the raw intensity of a human and their Fighting-type Pokémon training together in complete harmony. 

* * *

Tama is no longer a Togepi. Tama is now, fluttering in the air on little seraph wings, a delightful white Togetic. There is a grace period between trainers when one switches out their Pokémon, and Cynthia uses that time to admire her. A Togepi will only evolve after forming a very close bond with its partner, and after that it only takes the use of a Shiny Stone for them to reach their final evolution as a Togekiss, so it’s not very common to see Togetic on a team for all too long. As she is now, though, Tama exudes both a blossoming grace, and a childish whimsy she’ll never fully outgrow. She’s beautiful. 

She does pose a bit of a problem for Lou, however. Lou’s new Steel typing means that he won’t be vulnerable to Fairy-type moves the way he would have been before, but he’s clearly tired after battling two Pokémon already. Still, Cynthia won’t call the battle off until he’s had enough— and he’s still raring to go, gargling a little war cry with gusto as Tama circles him. 

Lou isn’t as strong as her other Pokémon, not by far, but he’s got their fighting spirit. If there’s one reason she’s managed to hold her Champion title for so long, it’s because she only wants to see all of her Pokémon reach their full potential. 

“Okay, Lou. Let’s do this! Water Pulse!” 

“Tama, use Dazzling Gleam!” 

Tama swoops at Lou, scattering the explosive sparkles straight into Lou’s face. Lou’s attack connects at the same time, sending her into a tailspin as she gets caught in the ring of water, but Tama shakes off the confusion quickly. Neither can do too much damage to the other with the limited attacks they know, but Tama is still flitting around, bursting with energy, while the fatigue of three battles is clearly starting to get to Lou. He moves slower than he should, is breathing harder than he should. 

He faints to the next attack, a perfectly precise (if largely ineffective) Aerial Ace. 

“You did amazing, Lou,” Cynthia says, beaming at his Pokéball as she recalls him for a rest. Tama joins Volo’s side as he crosses the field, gleefully wheeling around his head. 

“You’re truly a great trainer, Cynthia. I can’t think of anyone else who could keep us on our toes like that, with just one Pokémon!” 

“Thanks, but all the credit really goes to them. All Lou ever needed was someone to believe that he could do it,” Cynthia replies. Volo looks down at the Pokéball in her hand thoughtfully. 

“I thought Dazzling Gleam would have been enough on its own, but he was still able to withstand it,” he frowns. 

“When Lou evolved, he gained the Steel-type as a secondary typing. When he was a pure Dragon-type, any Fairy-type attacks would have been considerably more effective, though he still isn’t as defensive against them as an otherwise pure Steel-type would be,” Cynthia explains. 

“I see… The type interactions can certainly get complicated, can’t they? I’ll have to make sure to take a look at that chart the Professor has,” Volo considers, glancing back over to the tall walls of the village. 

“That’s a good idea. I’m sure he’ll be happy to explain anything you have questions about,” Cynthia replies. It’s the Survey Corps’ purpose, after all. The more people learn about Pokémon, the better they’ll understand them— and understanding them is key to unlearning fear of them. 

“I’m glad we could beat you, but it’s frustrating that I still needed to rely on my strongest teammate, in the end,” Volo says, and turns his pinched expression to the side so that his hair blocks her view of his face. 

“It’s okay. You’ll get better with practice.” 

“They’ll have to. I need them to be strong enough to hold their own.” 

Cynthia restrains herself from frowning outwardly. She’s very familiar with the dogged attitude about training some trainers can develop, but she hadn’t expected it from Volo. Judging by the way Tama’s flapping slows and her enthusiastic chirps fade, she can sense her disapproval. 

“Your Pokémon will each grow and learn at their own pace. It’s our job as trainers to support them as best we can, to bring out their full potential. Sometimes they just need someone who has more faith in them than they have in themselves, to show them how strong they can really be,” she says, stroking the apricorn shell of Lou’s ball. Volo snorts quietly, and she can’t tell if it’s from derision or amusement. 

“That’s a nice sentiment, Cynthia, but here in Hisui the weak don’t last very long. We have to train for survival.” 

* * *

It’s only until Cynthia is hunched over, shaking with exhaustion and slick with sweat, that Zisu finally lets up. 

“Not bad, not bad. I kind of thought a string bean like you would tap out sooner, honestly,” she laughs. Cynthia grins, and bites back a laugh that she knows will only come out as a cough. 

“Just because I’m not a fighter doesn’t mean I don’t get exercise,” she teases as she shakes all the lingering tension out of her weary muscles. Even after she’d finished learning all the basic self-defense techniques Zisu had wanted from her, Zisu had put her through the wringer just to be sure her cardio was up to scratch, too. That was Cynthia’s best opportunity to scrape back some of her pride, even if it meant pushing herself a little too hard. It was worth it, though, to see Zisu back to her usual ebullient self. 

After downing half her body weight in water and wiping herself down with a towel, Zisu calls her back over for a final recap of their lesson. 

“So, what’s the best strategy when all your Pokémon are down and you’re looking at a real fight?” 

“Get into a Hitmonchan stance, and make sure you’re always protecting your face,” Cynthia recites from earlier. That had been the biggest point Zisu had drilled into her— no matter what, always protect the face. (Not that she’d met any resistance. Cynthia knows what the consequence of damage to the face can be). 

“Nope. First thing you do, if it’s an option, is you run. Live to fight another day.” 

The brusqueness of Zisu’s words makes Cynthia chuckle, but Zisu’s stoic expression doesn’t budge. 

“Seriously though, Cynthia. In the Security Corps, it’s our job to protect others, but we need to protect ourselves too. It’s a dangerous world out there, and we’re training for survival.