A Ballad for Icarus - A Historical Pokemon Quest

Here's a drawing for my bestie's Azula Quest: Arsonist's Lullaby: An Azula Timeloop Quest - you should check it out, I do a buncha art for it too.

The final update of Arc 1 should be out by the end of this week (I have finished it, it just requires some editing by friends before I can post it)

Winning Vote:

[X] You are Aria, Revolutionary.

###

— you wake up with a start and pain all over your body. You grip your sword tightly, brandishing it in fright and fury.

"You're bleeding!" Your vision blurs with tears and frustration. Your hands are drenched in warm blood. The wound is too deep. Too wide. Too much for a child.

"Aria," he says, his shaking hands gripping your shoulders tightly. "Run, Aria!"

He shoves you. The cliff is steep, but your body endures.

The sword in your hand is pointed at the throat of—a Murkrow? You shake your head, trying to clear up the grogginess and failing miserably. The Murkrow raises its wings in surrender, and a trio of squawks behind it make you tense.

"Ah," you say, lowering the sword. You look around you. A clearing, from the sun's position and the density of trees a decent way away from the Caer. "It's you."

The wind has grown strong in the time you've been unconscious, though from the position of the sun between barren branches not that much time has passed. You know these woods, and somehow you don't think you've ever seen them as they are now.

The trees are cold with the weight of winter. Wildlife has retreated, only the strongest and most desperate Pokemon would still be out and about.

You stand up. Your body aches, but nothing is broken. Even your leg, which had just healed, is not disappointing you as you stab the sword into the ground and use it for leverage. The surrendering Murkrow caws, tilting its head. They don't seem like they're out for a fight today, so that's good.

You do a quick check up on yourself. All limbs are there and there's no obvious bleeding anywhere. Your shield is gone, likely blown off by Typhon's angry wind. At least you have a weapon.

The leader Murkrow salutes. It looks up at you, and there is… worry? Concern? Pity. Any of these three or maybe a combination of them. The pain distracts you from any attempt to really understand, and you find yourself clutching your head once. You can't say you know what it feels like to have a nail driven up your eyeball, but this must be pretty close.

"Fuck," you say. The Murkrow looks horrified for a moment, then the concern takes over its expression again. "Sorry, I need… I need to hide."

You cannot go back. You cannot show your face in the Caer again, not until you find enough evidence to prove your innocence, if that is even possible now that the scene of the crime itself has been blown apart. If not, then you have to find the responsible party. Rivenhold is the least of your worries, considering you're still in the Duke's territory, and even if you leave once your name and face are reported to other peacekeepers you might end up finding yourself a fugitive in all of Gildera.

The responsible party…

That might be hard considering the long list of enemies the Duke, the Order, and Drake himself had.

The connection you have with Skiddle will survive this, you are certain. Perhaps she will come look for you, though…

You grab the ball from your waist. It's cracked, open on one spot. The fall must've broken it. No matter how solid something is, enough pressure will cause strain, and enough strain will lead to the end of all things. Even if you can't right now, until you meet again you know that Ruby and the others will take care of her.

You shake your head. This isn't the time to think about could have been and would have been, there's only one way for you right now and that is forward. You can contact Capella, Lissy, and Ruby later.

You can hold a proper funeral for Drake later.

The letter burns a hole through your pocket. If it's not the target, then why was Drake killed? What purpose could his death serve, a commander who has not fought in a war in well over two decades? Demoralizing the Duke's forces? Ambitions of promotion among the captains? You know most of them, you know Silvia and Redwood would never do it, or at least… at least you think you know them.

Considering the guardsman who so callously attempted to kill you once he 'stumbled' on the assassination, perhaps the apparatus of the Order as a whole is rotten. Such is the way of nobility, and the way of groups that grow too large. In his attempt to create the largest army in Gildera, the Duke let malcontents fester.

But Duke van Kesteren is a fair and impartial man, according to Drake.

So maybe if you can meet him, you can make your case. Cast doubt on the stories that will be spreading among the knights now. You look down on the blood that has tainted most of what used to be blue and white into red and brown. The coat around your shoulders does little to truly keep the cold away, you will need shelter soon. The closest village is… too dangerous to approach. You have to go another way.

To Marchioness Reichert.

The border is not far, and compared to certain death the Spectrier Guard might at least arrest you and hear you out before execution or extradition.

[ ] It's an opportunity.
While dangerous, it's the best way to avoid freezing to death or starving while trying to hide out in the woods. They will no doubt tear apart in search of you.

[ ] It's too dangerous.
You don't know who you can trust. Though Redwood's words about the loyalty of the Dukes still echo in your mind, who's to say the Spectrier Guard wasn't responsible for the assassination?

Your fist clenches over the sword once more. Today isn't the day you can make a decision on this, for now you need a place to hide. A place for shelter. A place to dry that frozen blood off your clothes.

"Hey, err, Murkrow?" you say. The leader crosses its wings, the others follow suit. "This is gonna be hard, can I give you a name for the time being?"

Leader Murkrow salutes, and you think for a moment. It's not easy to come up with a name, but it's not like this one is your partner so you don't need to be creative or deep. Murkle? You shake your head. A female Murkrow, hmmm…

"Thalia," you say. Lissy's book comes to mind. One of the many names in it. Having one name to call is already better than having none. Thalia salutes once more, tilting her head.

"Thalia, Squadkrows," you say, your voice low. "I need help, I know we got off the wrong foot before but I really can't afford to be caught now."

They look at each other, then to Thalia. Thalia caws, then salutes once again, flying up to your shoulder. She points with her beak, and you try to contain the relief in your chest. You can't let your guard down. The woods are dangerous when the snow is so thick. If Typhon was truly trying to help you, you wish he had the decency to send you somewhere warmer.

Drake would laugh and say Typhon never misses.

The winds pick up, white and brown in front of your eyes as even the winterproof trees lose their crowns, leaving only the pines to wear green and blue. The Murkrows try to help, two of them creating gusts of wind with their wings to clear the snow in front of you. Another is flying ahead, checking around and turning your direction with Thalia whenever it spots something in the way.

"I am Aria," you introduce yourself, remembering that you've never done so properly before. "I used to live in the Caer nearby."

Thalia caws.

"Yeah, it's not that much of a home anymore."

What does that say about you? To be so quick to lose that attachment to the place. Well, it's not that the place was what was important to you. It was Drake, it was Capella.

It is Capella, and Lissy, and Ruby.

Thalia caws again, pecking your head. You wave towards her, stopping her vicious assault. "Ow, okay, no distractions! I get it!"

You grit your teeth as the way continues. The wind keeps picking up, it feels unnatural to have such a strong storm when the weather this morning was so clear. Typhon might have something to do with it. Whether that unmatched grief was responsible or he tried to cover your tracks, you can't say. Either way, the wind becomes too much for your eyes, and you end up closing them, trusting Thalia to lead the way by pulling into the right direction.

You can smell flowers in the distance, but as you turn around, there is no sight of Skiddle. Thalia's caws get louder, more encouraging. You take one step, and then another. You are the one who walks, and all that is left behind finds itself erased by the snow.

But finally, you reach your goal.

The cave can barely be called one. It's a hole in the ground that leads into what looks like a nest of a Pokemon that hasn't been here in a long time. For a moment you wonder if the Murkrows led you into a trap, but Thalia was the first to enter. It's not warm, but it's certainly warmer.

One of the Squadkrows leads you further in. There's no fire, no wood, nothing dry enough to use any of those stupid survival skills you've spent so many years learning about. You're too tired, and too hurt, and too distracted. You end up having to bend down, crouching half of the way to the deepest part of the cave.

"Thank you," you manage to say, your voice echoing. Thalia caws softly. You find yourself comforted, and while you can't tell what they're saying at all, you know they're good Pokemon, if a bit mischievous and prone to pranks.

While Thalia nuzzles up against you, the other Murkrow are blanketing you in leaves and twigs. It gets warmer, and though the pain remains you find yourself drifting off to sleep.

###

You are a rebellious young lady. You sometimes stay awake longer than you are allowed, reading a book, or run through the halls even when you should walk. There is little you cannot do, because even if you're caught, your grandmother simply smiles and says to do better next time.

Never let perfect get in the way of good enough.

Unfortunately perfect is exactly what your mother always wants from you. Hair has to be braided just right, the dress has to fit, your steps must be immaculate. You're no princess, you're no queen, you're no empress, so why is she expecting you to be better than everyone else?

Why do the other noble girls get to wear normal shoes and dresses without any tightness around their waists? Why do you have to learn how to dance to every song?

At least dancing is fun. Zack tries to make it fun, and you play along, even if your teacher starts getting frustrated.

Today is a waltz of some kind, with music that is kinda fast, from a composer that used to be unknown until he died. Zack follows your lead, as you're the one who has memorized the steps already.

On the second repeat of the same dumb twirl, Zack loses track of where his feet should be and ends up stepping on yours. You wince, and he quickly moves to apologize.

"Ah," he says, putting on a voice like your mother, "my dear lady, I am inconsolable, can you forgive me this one time?"

You snort, the most unladylike sounds leaving your throat as you find yourself keeling over in laughter. He starts laughing as well, and the music stops for a moment. You both look at your teacher, Lady Niobe, the daughter of a provincial count that has been trying to curry favor with your family.

She does not look happy. So you give it your all, and cough before reaching out to Zack again. He takes your hand, and the music continues.

Until, for the third time, he steps on your feet.

"You're a terrible dancer," you say. Zack laughs, then grabs you by the belly and lifts you up. You can't help but laugh as he spins you around. The music stops, but he doesn't, even as Lady Niobe coughs impolitely into her fan to stop the dance. He does get dizzy, and you find yourself sprawled on the ground on top of him, still laughing to the point you start having a hiccup.

"Young lord," Lady Niobe says, her lips still hidden by the fan. "It might be more appropriate to work within the confines of my lessons if we want to get you ready for the prime minister's ball."

He is still laughing as he gets up, taking your hand and helping you get back on your feet.

"I think if the prime minister expects a twelve year old to dance perfectly at a ball with no other children, his expectations are too high," Zack counters. "How much time do we have today?"

"There is still an hour left," Lady Niobe answers. "So unless you want to practice under the Marchioness' gaze, please let us—"

You hiccup. It comes out very loud for some reason, and Lady Niobe looks more annoyed than before. Her behavior towards you has always been different. The adopted child is clearly not a true noble, she must be thinking. With skin that cannot be from Gildera and eyes that don't belong to the Flambergs, why must I show her respect?

Well, two can play that game. Zack's hand is still in yours. You turn around, and run—

Zack follows, pearls of laughter echoing through the hallways of the estate.

Lady Niobe doesn't even try to run after you. She knows that once word of this reaches your mother, you will be punished. Lately, though, her punishments have decreased. Even when she feels forced to educate you properly, her whip has moved from your fingers to your back.

What scars you had on your hands were even taken care of with some fancy medicine she clearly always had available, slowly letting them fade.

At first, you hoped it was her having a change of heart, but something else must be going on.

People do not change that easily.

So when you come across your father's office, and the door is not properly closed after a servant must have brought him tea, you go to close it lest that servant faces punishment. Zack follows you, sneaking slowly toward the door like you're on a secret mission.

You hiccup again, and Zack slaps his hand over your mouth all of the sudden. Your mother's voice comes out of the room, high-pitched and joyful.

"This is perfect, don't you see?" she says. You turn your head slightly, looking into the room. The office is well-kept and has little actual interior. A couch, a chair, a table. At the wall are hundreds of books, and in a corner a small potted plant with some flowers. "Your mother gave us the greatest gift."

You flinch at the thought of your grandmother ever giving your mother anything to be happy about. These two were diametrically opposed on practically every single issue.

"The people would speak," he said, though the objection in his voice is meek and lacks any conviction. "Such a thing is outdated, Marchioness."

"It is outdated, not outlawed, my dear," she says, speaking the affectionate nickname with poison on her tongue. It's so strange. You don't remember her being this bad when you were much younger. So why… "Your mother demanded we adopt her, some unknown child of unknown heritage!"

"Except she's neither, is she?" He waves a letter in his hands. It's too far to make out any text. "If anyone finds out that we knew, death will be the least of our worries!"

"And nobody has to know," the Marchioness waves her hand, dismissing his concerns. "She is still young, she listens to her parents. They don't have to marry right away, but if we have them engaged with the blessing of the king, even he won't be able to lift a hand."

"Engaged?" Zack whispers, his eyes moving toward you. Your hand grips his, your nails digging into his skin. You try to loosen up when you notice, but he pulls on your hand to stop you from moving. "Who'd they even—"

"Zack won't play along." Your father's words are more quiet now. As if he knows that your mother can convince him of anything. "They're not that young, and they're not that uneducated."

"They're not that old either," she says. "We are their parents, the only people they can rely on. When we tell them to do something, they will have to do it. That is what family means."

You shake your head. You're not surprised. Why would you be? This is exactly the kind of person she has always been, your grandmother simply stopped her from escalating to this point. Marriage? You've just celebrated your 11th birthday. She must be out of her mind.

"The House of Flamberg will be greater than ever before," she says, her voice rising. "All you have to do is to stamp this letter, and by this time next week we will have the prime minister calling on us for the king's blessing."

"At the cost of our children's happiness?"

"With enough power, happiness will follow."

The man shakes his head, but despite that, his hand still grabs that wax. His fingers still trace that seal on the table.

Zack grabs you by the arm and pulls you away from the door. You run. Because that is what he tells you to do.

You notice a single thing— a single moment that will sit in your heart forever— not once in that conversation did they say your name.

###

Your eyes open to the sight of stone. The cave you've crawled into made for a miserable place to lie in, but the storm outside must have subsided. Thalia stirs next to you, cawing softly as you shake her awake. "I have to leave."

Your words are accompanied by a growling in your stomach. The hunger comes, the rations you have will likely keep you going, though your appetite leaves you as you think about Ruby and Lissy. About Redwood and Silvia hearing about your alleged crime.

You look down and in between the twigs and leaves that they put on you to keep you warm, there are large berries. You grab those you know humans can't digest and put them aside, slowly shuffling out of the crevice and finding yourself sitting next to the entrance, biting down on a bitter fruit that takes all the grogginess away from you.

It's night. Your clothes are dry, and the wind no longer promises pain. The clothes on your back should be enough to carry you to your goal, if you can even make it there. The Murkrows have helped you so much, but you can't keep relying on them and take them into danger with you.

Thalia wakes up and approaches the entrance as well, looking at you. You hand over one of the berries and watch as she devours it whole. "Thank you, Thalia."

Thalia shrugs her wings, scoffing softly. Somehow, you feel without the exhaustion there's a better understanding between the two of you. 'There's no need to thank me,' she seems to say.

"You didn't have to help me, if anything we were enemies, right?"

Thalia shrugs again. 'Why would we be enemies?'

"I guess you're right," you whisper. "Just because one has a fight doesn't mean there can't be any friendship born from that."

You remember reading about it once before. The Professor of the Tower wrote a thesis on Pokemon and their desire to show off their prowess, with those that lose a fight growing to respect the winner. It's one of his three great theses that open up on the Imperial Pokemon Index your father used to have in his library.

"I guess you don't want to come with me, do you?" you ask. Thalia shakes her head. She points at the rest of the squad that's still lying asleep in the cave. Then she points at herself. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Still, if I'm ever around again, we can share some berries."

Thalia caws, then salutes you one last time as you stand up. You hope you can return. To get Skiddle back, to give your friends hugs and apologize. To stand in front of that guardsman and cut his head off.

Regardless of your destination, you have to regain your bearings and navigate through the snow. So you move, every step taking you further away from the Caer.

"A is for Atlas," you whisper to yourself, taking a step forward. And so it continues. B is for Bellerophon, who dethroned a god. C is for the Cyclops, who defied his father.

Every step is another letter, and every letter is another goodbye.

The attack comes when you least expect it. Just as you pass between two trees and the sight of a large road becomes real. The wind whipping up behind you makes you duck, your own hand moving to your sword. You lack the shield, the half that makes defense so much easier, but you are by no means someone who would be stopped by this.

You roll into the snow, your cloak keeping most of it away from your still cold body. You shake any of it from your head as you stand up quickly, turning around to find—Capella.

She looks like a ghost. Her skin, always pale, has taken on the color of the snow. Her lips are pink and blue, her hair frazzled and pointing into every direction instead of braided like usual.

In your eyes, she looks like a fairy. Ethereal, unreal, ready to vanish at a glance, as if a soft wind could shatter her skin like ice and carry what is left of her into the sky. Your grip loosens, but the sword in the tree tells you she is not here to talk.

"Capella," you say, raising your free hand. "Whatever they told you, it's not true."

"They told me Drake is dead," she says. Her voice sounds off. Like the cadence has been lost to anger to the point that all that remains is nihility. "They told me you're running, his blood on your hands."

All that is true, and yet could not be further from it. You look down on yourself, the dried blood makes you nauseous.

"You have to listen," you say. She can't be calmed down, because there is no emotion in her that could be placated by words. You try to speak again, but she does not let you. She's so fast, so much faster than you can react. Even if you weren't half-frozen, there is no doubt in your mind that you can't even come close to it. The shield in her hand is thrown at you, and you block it with your sword before she slides over the snow and kicks your leg out from under you.

You raise your blade to block hers as it comes down on you. The sky is so bright, and Capella shines even brighter.

"You always run when there's trouble," Capella says. You can see the tears in her eyes freezing as they travel down her cheeks. "But you never come to me for help."

You don't know what to say to that, so you say nothing—no, screw that.

"It's because I run from everything," you say, pushing against her. She has the high ground, but you have the fury that she lacks. "Because I never face anything head on, because I always relied on you and Drake that I don't know what to do!"

You push her off, rolling through the snow to regain your footing and taking your sword into both hands. You think of your brother, of the way he swung his sword to defend those who could not defend themselves.

You think about running.

But today you will not.

"I can't keep relying on you to make things right, Capella," you say, squaring your shoulders. "Because this isn't something you can make right. The Order is rotten! The guards knew about his death!"

"But why did you run from me?" her voice breaks at the end, and you can't help but wipe at your eyes as you notice them wet with tears. What she lacks in anger, she makes up in sadness. "Drake is gone, everyone thinks you did it—"

"But I didn't!" you insist again, and again she chokes out a sob.

"I know!" Her shout startles the wildlife around you. "But if you're gone, they'll assume you're guilty anyway. Aria, you have to come back with me!"

She raises her hand toward you. You find your feet take you forward, your hand reaching back.

You know that nobody will believe you. You know that before you find yourself facing a court, you will face a blade. You know that Capella will do anything to keep you safe, and in the end she will be at your side, even in—even in death.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. The letter in your pocket feels so, so heavy.

You are Aria.

Once, that name had more than four letters.

So—

[ ] … you take Capella's hand.
You cannot let Capella die. She is all you have left. You are all she has left.

[X] … you have to leave.

You pull your hand back, and Capella recoils from you. It would have been less surprising if you had just struck her. That outstretched hand becomes a fist in front of her chest, and you know that today is not the day your broken bond will be mended.

Some other day, perhaps, in the future.

If you live that long.

"I'm sorry," you say, "but I cannot face them when I don't know who killed Drake. Not when the trial he gave me is still left unfulfilled."

"I'm sorry too," she says. She lunges, and you dodge, like usual. Unlike all the other times, however, she does not stumble over your outstretched foot. She… always knew how to dodge it, didn't she?

You can't help but smile as she jumps over your leg, rolling to pick up her shield on the ground. She raises it as you slam your own sword down, aiming at her arm. Neither of you want to kill each other, neither of you want to die. Neither of you can give an inch.

Unlike the fight with the poacher, you're at a clear disadvantage. Capella is not just better rested than you, despite looking like death frozen over, but also plain better. She was not Lissy's rival in academics, for sure. She moves with a grace and precision that makes you wonder what kind of life she lived with Drake before you came along.

The side of her sword bashes against your chest, causing you to cry out in pain. Her knee comes up to kick you in the stomach.

In exchange, you grab that leg and bite into it on the way down. She falls with you, and after a moment of thought you find your own fists raining down on her. She raises her arms, defending her head. When you slow down, too exhausted to keep the barrage going, she kicks you off.

You don't know what you're fighting about anymore. Her bringing you back? Your fight about your injuries? About new friendships? About Drake's favoritism?

It's clear when her fist hits you square in the jaw, the emotion behind it is one of melancholic grief. It's clear when your fist slams into the side of her chest, the emotion behind it mirrors the same. It's not the first time you have felt like this, and now you fear you're cursed to repeat this over and over again.

That every time you open yourself up, the gods punish the mere thought that you can be happy.

But you know for this part of your life, no matter how deep this friendship is, you will not see each other again for a good while.

"Capella," you say, your hand clutching your shoulder as you take a deep breath. "I will… never regret meeting you. Never."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asks, her sword still in hand. She looks exhausted too, though it bleeds in the way her fingers twitch at every rustling tree. Emotionally, Capella is at the end of the line. Physically, she can probably keep going.

"If the Skywrath Sovereign came down to ask me," you say, ignoring the taste of iron in your mouth. "If I would change anything about my life, I would say no."

She does not know what to say, so she says nothing. Your words are a long knife. You impale yourself on it to hit her.

There's nothing that could change the past, and even if you could, what use is there to think about could have been and would have been? What use is the idea that if you had done a thing different, if you had taken a different turn at that burning village, if you had stretched out your hand instead of pulling it away?

Though you know your heart would break, over and over and over again.

You would still do it all over again. Because that's the kind of person Drake raised you to be.

"I don't understand you!"

You don't have any energy to answer, so you ball your fist, raising it up. You will make her understand you.

Two steps forward and a leap. Your fist crashes down on her defense, the shield in her arms sending pain into your knuckles. Despite it, you persevere. She counters with a swing of her sword, once again aiming with the side of the blade to knock the wind out of you. You don't let her, blocking with your arm and ignoring the pain as your elbow snaps toward your ribs.

Your other hand comes up, ready to knock her off her feet.

It fails, of course. She is faster, raising her face to the sky and dodging the uppercut with grace, before copying the move you used against the poacher, slamming her forehead into your face.

You are sent reeling. Step after step backwards, before you finally reach a tree. Your back touches the wood and your legs immediately give out under you. Your nose is bleeding again. Capella was never gentle, but you did expect a bit more decency.

The next noise out of your mouth is laughter. Not mocking laughter, not joyful one, just laughter. In lieu of any other possible words and noises, exchanging exhaustion for mirth, you find yourself laughing. When Capella stabs the sword next to your neck and deep into the tree, the noise grows louder.

"Why are you laughing?" she asks, leaning forward. "I won the fight, you have to come back with me. You should be… angry, upset."

"Because you'll let me go," you say, your hand reaching out to her cheek. "Because you know, Capella, that if you drag me back, I will die."

The truth is a sunrise every time her shoulders quiver at the idea that her hands can no longer reach yours. She puts her forehead against yours, you can feel it throbbing after that headbutt. You can smell the garden you always imagined in her breath. You can feel her heartbeat on your fingertips.

She shouts every curse word in her repertoire as she pulls back the sword from your neck, stabbing it next to you instead. A snap follows the belt with Skiddle's Pokeball falling off. She picks it up, turning around. The way she holds her sword, the cape on her back, the bruises on her ungloved hands. She reminds you of Drake, as everything does in these rotten woods.

"Promise me," she says. Her voice is small against the biting wind. "Promise me you'll hide until I solve this. Then, when everything is clear, you can come back. We can become the knights Drake wanted us to be."

"I promise," you say, lying to her. Lying to yourself. Nothing will be how it was, even if your name is cleared. Even if the Order is willing to accept you back in. You continue, speaking the one truth you will manifest even if the gods stand in your way. "We'll be together again, Capella."

She does not look at your face to check the truth in your words. Her feet take her forward and away. Towards the Caer, holding the belt with your broken Pokeball as proof of your fight. You reach out, but by the time you find the strength in your feet to chase her, she is long gone.

Today, she is the one who runs.

###

You know these woods, and you know your way out. Capella can't go with you, because if you're both fugitives there'll be no peace for the rest of your lives.

So let's start over from the beginning, one last time.

You are Aria. Once that name had more than four letters. Once you held the hands of those who are now lost to you, now you hold a sword like a child brandishing a stick.

On the way out of the woods you hear a cry. A terrible, pain-filled expression of grief. And though you, too, want to do nothing but collapse and cry until all those emotions are finally gone, you know one thing that even your distance from Skiddle cannot take away: You cannot ignore someone's plight.

You clench your fist and move forward…

[ ] … with a Knight's Grit.
You smell that garden in the distance as you approach this Pokemon. It looks desperate to be free, willing to make any sacrifice. Its stature is so small, yet you can see the ferocity in each attempt to unchain itself.

[ ] … with a Knight's Cunning.
A shiver runs over your spine as you approach this Pokemon. It vanishes and reappears repeatedly, but unable to phase through the strange net that has caught it. Beads of red glow with power around its neck.

[ ] … with a Knight's Authority.
A sharp sound fills the air as you approach this Pokemon. The air around it freezes, its claws scratching the air around it as it tries to free itself from the trap. It glares at you with sharp red eyes.