The Pride Before (Pokemon/Xianxia)

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They struck at night. Elder Anders was there, I saw his face, but Lance commanded the assault. It was like a scene out of our histories: a dragonflight breathing fire in a strafing run, and in moments our entire compound was aflame. Most of us perished in the razing. They only descended when our spirit was well and truly broken. To call it a fight would be dishonest praise: what happened was pest control, my clan the scurrying vermin."

When the Blackthorn clan turns on their vassals, the Fantasia heiress is left to scurry into Icy Path, her Pokemon taken, her cultivation shattered, and her dragon's pride cruelly humbled. There, she meets Red, a reckless trainer from Kanto with a burning ambition.

When a trainer falls to the very bottom, what is there to do but climb the mountain again?

(Also posted on RoyalRoad.)
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0-1 Icy Path

SolarFall

Totally not a cat in disguise.
0-1 Icy Path

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If Red had known how momentous the Icy Path would later prove to be, he would have bitched slightly less about the cold.

"Keep watch for anyone out of place, sweetheart," he told Espeon, despite knowing the words were pointless. The voyeur needed to be specifically commanded to keep her psychic eyes out of other people's heads, and even then he was sure she only pretended to obey. "That goes for unusual Pokémon, too. There should be nothing but Ice-types and Zubat for kilometers, maybe a few Diglett or an Onix. See anything that looks out of place, you let me know."

Espeon looked at him with too-intelligent eyes, then nodded and slunk into the shadows with an ease better fitting her Dark-type sister. He could feel her through their Aura bond, ten meters away and counting a hand's breadth from the frost-slick wall, but despite locking his eyes on where he knew she was he couldn't see a thing. If Espeon had picked up the stealth aspect of Faint Attack from her sister she would let him know, right? …Of course she would.

Red put it out of his mind. He was in these frigid, subterranean depths for a reason, and there was no use delaying it. Quicker he's done, quicker he can unfreeze his bones in the sunlight above.

He released Venusaur, his immense bulk only barely fitting in the narrow confines of the tunnel, the pleasantly sweet scent emanating from the tree on his back cloying and unpleasant in these humid, murky depths. There was still a feeling of… not quite surprise, but something similar every team he released him; Venusaur had refused to evolve from Ivysaur for months, and he wasn't yet accustomed to the evolution himself. In the darkness of the underground, lit only by the glow from Pikachu's zigzag tail, Venusaur's sheer mass and unfamiliar shape poked at the back of his mind, set alight instincts from the time before humans had learned to bond with Pokémon.

Venusaur stomped a heavy foot, and through the vibrations in the earth – some powerful enough to make Red stumble – a perfect map of the labyrinth formed in his mind. With a grumble deep enough to feel Venusaur led the way deeper and deeper down.

Red couldn't say how long or how far beneath the surface they traveled, the four of them; his Pokégear had lost connection long before they veered off the Ranger-surveilled 'safe path,' and the clock widget's been broken since September. Two hours, maybe three. The temperature dropped as they did, the Ice power in the heart of Mount Whitegrave drawing near, and Red was eventually left with no choice but to summon Charizard.

The red dragon looked at his surroundings with all the contempt of a Clan Head at peasants, breathing a plume of fire at a wall to melt it and scorch them all with steam. If Red wasn't in the Third Realm himself, his skin would've been flash-cooked. He couldn't chastise Charizard for it, though: to imply that the steam was a problem would be to admit weakness, and Charizard hadn't tolerated weakness since his evolution.

Privately, Red was grateful that these twisting tunnels were too small for the most recent member of his team. Still in the Third Realm as he was, he couldn't yet sustain that many bonds in his Aura, and Charizard wouldn't approve.

Venusaur eventually came to a stop with a deep growl of discontent. They had reached the deepest point of Mount Whitegrave's frozen interior.

Red put a hand on Venusaur's back, knowing he would feel his Aura if not the touch. "Good job, buddy. Your part here is done. Take a quick rest and then you'll be able to lead us out and back up to the sunlight, okay?"

Venusaur nuzzled into his hand with enough force to topple Red to the ground. With a laugh and twin flashes of red, Venusaur was gone, and Blastoise stood in his place. Unlike the rest of his team, the armored tortoise seemed anticipatory, almost eager to be here.

"Let's get started."

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Meditation was rarely fun. Meditation while in the heart of an Ice Nexus kilometers under the ground, damp, dirty, and in the dark?

Deeply unpleasant.

They had succeeded, at least, and so in less than a week (hopefully) they were headed back topside, Venusaur leading the way with considerably less temper. Red now had a tiny patch of Ice in his Aura, Blastoise much, much more, and they were excited to see her new super-effective moves in action against the dragons of Blackthorn.

When Venusaur stopped, turning to look in a shadowy corner and growl, deep and dangerous, Red's only thought was:

I was wondering when it would all go wrong.

He could feel Espeon's alarm in his mind- whoever or whatever this was, Espeon had not noticed them before Venusaur's tremorsense had, which meant Dark-type. There was no saying how long their stalker had been following them; they might have been surveilled for mere minutes, hours, or even days. For all Red knows, it could have began before they entered Mount Whitegrave at all, and it wouldn't have been the first time, either.

It could just be a local wilder… but, no. Wild Dark-type (and, indeed, most trained Dark-types too) shrouded their presence in shadows so effectively that a Psychic like Espeon could sense their absence. Their stalker was able to spoof enough Ice-type presence to blend into the ambient Aura. Skill like that was rarely found in wild Pokémon.

Whatever the reality was, Venusaur had given away that he had noticed their presence – something he would have to train out of the Grass-type, he put it on the list – so he was only left with one real course of action. As he often told his rival during their battles, no amount of skill could surmount overwhelming power.

"Earthquake," Red commanded.

Mount Whitegrave shook. Red himself immediately dropped to his knees, the ground vibrating with enough force to rattle his bones, only avoiding injury by channeling Aura into his body. Pikachu had recalled himself into his Pokéball a moment before Red gave the command, Espeon had the foresight to hide behind a Protect barrier, and Charizard stood strong, adamantly pretending the wings on his back protected him from the force of Venusaur's mastery of the Ground-type.

The mysterious Dark-type enjoyed no such protections, nor the strength to withstand it or agility to flee it. There was a shriek and then a yowl of pain, and where before there had been shadows now lay the twitching body of a small, black-furred Pokémon.

"A Sneasel?" Red wondered aloud, then choked back a laugh. Being Ice-type as well as Dark-type, it must blend into the ambient Aura by shrouding only its Dark nature and merely muffling the Ice part: a technique that would work well in Icy Path or a hailstorm but otherwise be worse than useless. That Espeon had been fooled by it was hilarious, and Red was glad this weakness of her technique had been revealed before it could be used against them in a meaningful battle or, gods forbid, by Team Rocket.

Espeon appeared, then, and Red readied himself for a merciless round of teasing, but to his surprise found a second small, dark figure crumpled on the ground, this one being dragged by Espeon's teeth. The figure was so grimy and wild-looking it took him a second to realize it was a human and not a second Sneasel.

So, it had been a trainer-raised Pokémon after all. Huh.

Red approached the quietly-moaning trainer and nudged them onto their back with the toe of his shoe. All the humor in the situation withered away when he saw the harsh lines and gaunt look to too-young cheeks, and felt an Aura that was barely in the First Realm. Their clothes were torn and dirty, and the stress of far too much time spent trying to survive the harsh climate of Icy Path was engraved onto their body.

No one had ever accused Red of being too sympathetic. Still, it was his duty as a fellow trainer to escort this unfortunate idiot topside, and it cost him nothing to do so, so hero he would be.

"Did you see a Pokéball perchance, sweetheart?" he asked Espeon, who shook her head no. That crossed out several theories as to this trainer's circumstances. Unfortunately, it left only the more problematic ones.

Trainers had to cultivate Aura bonds with Pokémon in order to communicate with and understand them. It was integral to the process. In the ancient days, trainers were limited with the number of Pokémon they could command by the capacity of their soul, but the stasis fields of Pokéballs had changed everything. As a human in the Third Realm, he could manage four bonds at once, five at a stretch – provided none of them were Dragon-type, or something as mighty as his last team member – and that number would double once he finally broke through to the Fourth Realm, which was near the peak of human potential. With Pokéballs, however, even a Trainer in the First Realm could harness the power of six Pokémon, granted they only released one from stasis at a time.

For this trainer to not have a Pokéball meant a few things, and none of them were good. It shouldn't matter to Red, but he was curious, now, and he intended to get to the bottom of this mystery.

If he was lucky, he might get a few enemies out of it.

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The trainer awoke around an hour later.

To their credit, they gave no physical sign of it. The Dark in their Aura hid them from Espeon's gaze and their breathing, slow and laborious, didn't hiccup at all. Red was an old pro, though, and he could feel the faint tremble in their Aura's Ice half, standing less than a meter away as he was.

He didn't let on that he knew. An old adage: knowledge could be shared but not taken. He could always reveal that he knew they were awake later, and for now, he wanted to see how they acted.

The kid didn't act for a long time: thirty, maybe forty-five minutes. Red wondered what this must look like from their perspective. Carried on the hard back of a Venusaur, Psychic, Electric, and Fire-type Aura blazing like suns in a triangle around them, and Red's own amalgam soul two Realms advanced, with their only ally unconscious in the claws of a Charizard- Red had only rarely faced direr straits, and he knew well the despair and terror that came hand-in-hand with such ruinous circumstances. The kid's lack of any tells was impressive, as was their patience in waiting for an opportune moment. The Ice in them, perhaps? Every Ice Specialist he had faced had been cold and calculating in the most aggravating of ways.

Then, they sighed, sat up, and said, "What do you want?"

Red smiled in delight. "How about a name, and then we launch straight into story time?"

"Tch. Fine." The kid looked adorably put out. Red decided he rather liked dealing with Ice trainers when their cool logic tells them the solution is 'total and unconditional surrender.' "I'll spill, but I want Razor back. Not like he's a threat to your Charizard, anyways."

Red hummed in thought. He was tempted to deny them just because he could, but it wasn't a bargain, not really. He knew and they knew that Red had all the power, here. Realizing with their Sneasel back in their arms they would feel more comfortable and thus would be more likely to hold nothing back, Red gave his assent.

Charizard's claws drew long scratches on the Sneasel's flesh as he was let go, Red noticed disapprovingly. He had been much kinder as a Charmeleon, but the infusion of Dragon-type power with his evolution had made him into a petty tyrant, cruel and capricious. They would need to work on that. Circumstances had demanded Red focus all their training on power and skill and leave good behavior to the wayside.

They were far enough from the Ice Nexus that the temperature was merely freezing, so he recalled Charizard without warning. The implied chastisement would do for now. There was no exposing vulnerabilities in front of a stranger, even ones as green and weak as these.

Red saw much of the tension in the kid's spine melt away as fingers corded through dark fur. Not all of it, they were still surrounded by Fifth Realm Pokémon, but enough that Red imagined a traumatic backstory was incoming.

"I was born heiress of the Fantasia branch of the Blackthorn Clan," they- she said, and Red listened with interest.

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We Blackthorns are the most powerful clan in Indigo, but we aren't as monolithic as we appear to outsiders. Our strength was not grown or forged, but rather seized through conquest, as the ruling branch – the true Blackthorns – subjugated every clan they did not burn to ashes.

My own clan was no exception. The records were destroyed by the ancient Blackthorns, but enough has been preserved through oral tradition that I know our founder came from distant Unova, and had been exiled from a Dark Specialist clan there. This was a time before international commerce, so this was highly unusual. Even more uncommon was her bonded Pokémon: a Hydreigon, a very powerful Dark and Dragon-type. Within a year of arriving in Johto, our founder bent the knee to Blackthorn.

Seven hundred years of faithful service means little to the tyrants who rule the clan in these modern times. One of our number – a Second Realm trainer of little renown and no place of leadership – attempted to unlawfully sell a Dratini egg to Team Rocket in exchange for favors and influence within the organization. Our only failure was in not discovering the transgression before the Blackthorns did.

My father, Head of the Clan, offered up his life in penance for the misdeeds of our cousin, despite my arguments. In the end, it made no difference. The Council of Elders declared that endangering the Blackthorns' iron grip on the Dragonite line was a crime far in excess of the value our centuries of service had earned. A single Dratini egg was more valuable than the entirety of our clan.

They struck at night. Elder Anders was there, I saw his face, but Lance commanded the assault. It was like a scene out of our histories: a dragonflight breathing fire in a strafing run, and in moments our entire compound was aflame. Most of us perished in the razing. They only descended when our spirit was well and truly broken. To call it a fight would be dishonest praise: what happened was pest control, my clan the scurrying vermin.

My father commanded me to flee, and with my Dragonair in her ball and a Deino egg in my arms, I did. The Blackthorns would call it cowardice and shameful, but my clan has a saying: Pride is in the past. If, by fleeing, I could later return and the histories would declare me the victor, then the pride of the Fantasia clan would be unbroken.

This saying is what I used to comfort myself, up until Lance found me.

I am ashamed to say his presence – and that of his Dragonite – put me on my knees. He defeated my Dragonair with a single move, then took her ball from my belt and the egg from my hands. I awaited certain death.

I'm not sure if it was insult or mercy, but he hesitated. Instead, he shattered my cultivation and left me broken on the mountainside. He urged me to hide, lest the Blackthorns scouts find me and do what Lance thought himself too good to do.

I eventually made my way into Mount Whitegrave, then deeper within, knowing the Blackthorns branch could pass through the Ranger-patrolled areas at any time. My soul had been far into the Second Realm before it was destroyed, cultivating equally the Dragon and Dark-types, so I knew enough theory and was familiar enough with the process that I could begin cultivating Icy Path's Ice and Dark-type Aura.

My survival was tenuous for a long time. I owe my life to a little-known fact of Ice-type cultivation: I can slow my bodily processes enough to go days without food or rest, though my reflexes were shot and my thoughts came sluggish and blunted. Yet, I was able to complete Soul Consolidation for a second time, then force a bond with the only Dark-type Pokémon I could find. A Sneasel makes for a talented sneak thief, and Razor has kept me fed ever since. Water, at least, is never in short supply, here.

… No, I haven't tried to leave Mount Whitegrave. There is an Indigo outpost on every exit, and the Blackthorn clan would know of my survival within hours of the report being made. Where would I even go? I will make no obfuscations: I intend to bring vengeance upon my enemies, and to the last they specialize in Dragon and Flying-types. Within this mountain lies the only Ice Nexus in Indigo. It will take years, but I will eventually reach the Third Realm, and can bond with three more Ice-types. Only then I will consider leaving, and only to search for one of Kanto's elusive Fairies, and then return.

You have my gratitude for offering rescue, but I am not in need of it, nor am I affiliated with your enemies, whoever they may be. If that is all, I will be on my way. Should we ever meet again, consider me in your debt, if you wish.

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Red gave the girl's story his full attention, nodding at all the right times, making little sad noises when she described the razing, and wondered how much of the story was bullshit.

At least twenty five percent, he concluded. If nothing else, the story was certainly slanted to make the girl and her branch clan out to be utterly blameless. He wouldn't be surprised if the Fantasias had a more meaningful connection to Team Rocket than just that, or if this was but one of many such offenses, but there was more to the story, there had to be. He was dying to find out.

He could also see the conclusion she was leading him to make: help her, and the Blackthorn will hurt you. He privately thought the Blackthorn clan wouldn't do more than apply a little legal pressure, make him uncomfortable, but if he bought into the story of an extra-judicial wholesale slaughter of her clan, then knocking off a lone trainer in the Third Realm is nothing.

There was just one problem with that conclusion: Red was, as his rival would put it, a reckless lunatic.

"That's terrible," Red said, voice full of totally real sorrow. "Don't worry, little girl. I'll help you avenge your clan. In fact, I was just headed to Blackthorn City right now!"

Her eyes widened. "You will?" Her voice was heavy with dread.

Red smiled at her, containing the entirely inappropriate giggle when she shuddered. "I was moved to tears by your tale. What kind of trainer – no, what kind of person – would I be if I left you to your quest for justice alone? No! It is my duty – nay, my honor – to help you in your noble fight against the wicked Blackthorn clan."

"Did you just say 'nay…'" the girl said, entirely bewildered.

Red got that reaction a lot. He made sure to look off in the middle distance, one hand clenched in a fist in front of him, as he imagined all the amazing, glorious battles he would get into, as he made himself an enemy of the most powerful clan of Indigo.

Really, Red considered himself to be oh-so-very lucky to meet the wayward Fantasia heiress. It had taken him months of tireless effort to be put on Team Rocket's Most Wanted list, and even now only Admin Archer puts any real effort into attempting to crush him. If antagonizing the Blackthorn clan only requires helping someone he was going to help anyway, then he was just saved a lot of time and effort.

Red has always been a follower of the ancient axiom that a trainer's worth is measured by the worth of his enemies. It's why he sought out the honored grandson of the Indigo Champion and made an honest and concerted effort to make Gary Oak hate him. It's why he stormed Team Rocket's Celadon Base himself instead of reporting it to the League.

If he remembers correctly, Lance is the name of Blackthorn City's Gym Leader. He's being groomed for Elite Four membership.

A most worthy enemy, Red thought, and plotted the best way to antagonize him.

"Hey. Think we can steal your Deino egg back, little girl?"

She sucked in a breath, and like that, Red found himself a conspirator.
 
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0-2 Blackthorn City
0-2 Blackthorn City

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"If there's League rangers at every exit," Red had said, his trademark infuriating smile on his face, "Then we'll just need to make our own."

Little Girl had seemed dubious, but she hadn't said anything, so Red took that as assent.

As always, Venusaur did much of the heavy lifting. In this case, it was as much physical as it was metaphorical, as Little Girl and her Sneasel were too weak and/or injured to make the multi-hour trek on their tiny feet. Venusaur's tremorsense led the way to the surface, then some precise application of Earth Power knocked holes in a few walls and like that, they were now on the side of Mount Whitegrave, and not stuck within its icy depths.

It was a gorgeous view. They found themselves on the northern side, so they saw a towering mountain range, the Spine of Giratina, untouched by human civilization. This late in October more than the peaks were blanketed in snow, and the sky was thick with heavy clouds threatening a storm. He could see flocks of Fearow and Spearow carving winds, and between two mountains a meandering river flowed.

Red adored scenes such as this. There was a part of him, animal and growing stronger every day, that wanted to ignore his deadlines and promises and vanish into the wilderness for years on end, nothing but him, his Pokémon, and the pursuit of power to take his attention. Nothing and no one would stop him: the Indigo League would eventually mark him as a missing person and move on, he had no family, and his many enemies wouldn't believe him dead anyways. He could return as a Fourth Realm trainer, perhaps even reach the peak of human potential at the Fifth, then return and take a later Conference by storm.

Not for the first time, he let the feelings go. Pure and simple as it would be, even the dangers of the Wild Lands didn't compare to the might of other trainers, and he'd advance faster sharpening his steel against the steel of Team Rocket, Blue, and the Indigo Conference. And the Blackthorn clan if he's lucky.

He chanced a glance at Little Girl. She, like him, was gazing longingly out at the untamed nature. He imagined much different thoughts were in her mind, though.

"Know a route into town where we won't be bothered?" he asked.

She nodded. "We'll have to circle around west, but it's not uncommon for trainers to make the hike from Lake of Rage instead of bothering with the Dark Cave. There's no trail for it, so trainers can arrive anywhere on the northwestern edge of the city. The clan doesn't bother keeping track of them all."

"Then lead the way, Little Guide."

She threw him a dirty look, but did as ordered.

It quickly became clear that she was an old pro at navigating these mountain paths. Her footing was easy and sure, and she never once hesitated when it came time to take a turn or fork. This clearly was no official trail – the hike was too perilous and, at times, nearly vertical, both up and down – but for a clan kid, she was more rugged and, for lack of a better word, wild than her clear diction and snooty vocabulary would imply. She clearly had the local mountain terrain memorized.

Red knew very little about the Blackthorn clan. Oh, he knew as much as the average Indigo citizen: the Blackthorns are indeed the eldest and most powerful clan in Johto, the peer of Kanto's Whitegrave clan, who had been forced to flee Mount Whitegrave hundreds of years before eventually signing the Treaty of Indigo and bringing an end to the Warring Clans Era. The Indigo Plateau was chosen as the site for the Pokémon World League outpost precisely because it was the territory between the Blackthorn and Whitegrave clans, and today, well over fifty years later, Blackthorn was still a name that commanded respect and prestige. To be Blackthorn meant to be at the top of the world.

He didn't know how the Blackthorns raised their kids, though, nor what their duties and responsibilities actually were, besides maintain a Gym and keep a lid on any local problems. Did Little Girl spend all her time in a fancy house, reading books and learning at the knee of the finest tutors around, like how he knows the Whitegraves do it? Or do they let their kids have the run of the place, city and wilds both, learning through trial and error like Red himself had?

And: if the Blackthorn clan was willing to annihilate the Fantasias instead of arrest them in the name of the Indigo League, what else have they done?

Red was getting excited just thinking about it. He couldn't wait.

"How much longer?" he whined, and Little Girl ignored him. Rude.

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They arrived in Blackthorn by nightfall.

The city was built on the side of Mount Blackthorn, every building a single-story, traditional-style house set into the rock face. Even traversing the streets was perilous: the city was harshly vertical, and he had to ascend numerous narrow stairs and cross a half-dozen rope bridges, twice climbing a sheer wall for a shortcut. They passed over the same river three times in the fifteen minutes it took to reach the Pokémon Center. This was all done in near-total darkness, as unlike even Pallet Town the city slept with the sun and there was zero light pollution.

That's not to say they crossed paths with no one. Thrice they saw a resident seated atop their home, staring out southwest at the rest of Johto, arrayed before them like a startlingly lifelike map. Once they saw a trainer leap off the mountain side, releasing a Dragonite midair and vanishing to the west with all of a lightning bolt's speed but none of the thunder.

Blackthorn boasted the highest elevation of every city in Indigo, and beside the thin air, the view made that clear: he could see every badge-holding city save Cianwood from here. To the west, Mahogany built on the ashes of its predecessor, destroyed by the Gyarados of the Lake of Rage to its north, and Ecruteak further west still, the legendary Bell Tower where Ho'oh was said to roost. He could see Goldenrod twinkling like stars, the beating heart of Johtonian commerce, the harbor of Olivine to its west and Violet to its east, dim only in comparison. Azalea did not glow, but he saw the coast and the Ilex Forest it was hidden within. If he lived in Blackthorn, could ever set down roots for more than a scattered few weeks at a time, he, too, would sit on his home's roof and look out upon this every night.

"It's easy to think yourself the Lord of Johto, with a view like this," Little Girl said, voice sour with contempt. Red hummed in response.

The view might play a role, but Red thinks the culprit is both more unobtrusive and more undeniable: there's a Dragon Nexus here. It's not as potent as the Ice Nexus within Mount Whitegrave, but it's also a lot closer to the surface. Its presence makes cultivating Dragon-type Aura much easier, but for the same reason Red himself has all seventeen types in his soul, he thinks an overabundance of Dragon in the souls of the Blackthorn clan explains a lot about their… their everything, really. Red stared through the earth at his feet with narrowed eyes, and wondered if the Blackthorn clan had truly been so arrogant as to build their seat of power in the heart of the Nexus.

"So you can sense the Dragon's Den," Little Girl said, and Red had to laugh. "It's a reservoir of water inside Mount Blackthorn. The Blackthorns have their secret base there. It's where they keep all their treasure: their wealth, their kids, their Dratini. My Deino is in there, whether it's hatched or not. Still want to risk it?"

"More than anything," Red answered, and it was the truth.

By the time they arrived at the Pokémon Center, Red had the skeleton of a plan. The night shift clerk never took her eyes off her book as she gestured at the Trainer ID scanner then tossed a key at him underhand, and Red didn't hesitate to reserve the grandest, most luxurious suite they had, which while spacious was spartan and undecorated compared to the rooms he stayed in for the Saffron Second-Realm Tournament.

Little Girl gave him a suspicious look when she saw there was only one bedroom, but he merely gestured towards it grandly, saying, "If you keep squinting like that, it'll give you wrinkles. See you come morning."

Red never could sleep the night before a good battle.

He left the Center, knowing Little Girl would rest better if he wasn't around, and he had things to do, regardless. Like survey the terrain of tomorrow's battles: both the Rising Gym and the Dragon's Den.

He was down his guide, but the Gym was obvious at a glance. The building was the biggest in the city, built out of thick stone with an open roof, a kind of vaulting structure arrayed diagonally against the cliff face: it could have anywhere between three and seven floors, he estimated, depending on how much flight space they allowed inside the Gym itself. If nothing else, Blackthorn's vertical terrain made the surveillance easier, as he could simply climb towards the peak and look down from on high.

Charizard would make this a breeze, Red thought with longing, but revealing his roster to any Blackthorn trainers would be a poor idea- and Charizard only consented to cross-continental flights, and even then only for the sake of his own impatience. Asking for a ride up would only make Charizard huff disparagingly and recall himself.

He made it eventually, taking one or two more breaks than he really needed to enjoy the panoramic view of all Johto. There were a scattered few buildings even higher up, each one a house with what appeared to be a Pidgeot Courier Service nest highest up, but it was enough.

From up here, even Blackthorn City looked no more grand or majestic than the rest of Johto. The air was thin enough that a hardened Third Realm trainer like himself was left gasping for breath, and the clouds above, dark with stormy intent, looked close enough to touch. He imagined, for a moment, being one of the Blackthorn lords of the Warring Clans Era, commanding flights of Dragonite to raze villages, subjugate rival clans, and burn Unovan ships. It was a heady image- or, no, that was the lack of oxygen.

He saw into the Rising Gym. The battleground was League standard, large, flat, and rectangular, marked with scattered rock pillars and trenches in the dirt like he'd experienced in Pewter City, what seemed like nine years rather than nine months ago. There was a pair of trainers using it, by their matching dress and bright blue hair both Blackthorn scions, and likely Gym Trainers as well.

He sat down to watch, still taking big gulps of air. Blue Side was commanding a Dragonair, serpentine body wrapped around its opponent and blue-white energy spiraling around them both in what appeared to be a Twister – Wrap combo. Red Side looked sure to lose, but their Pokémon – which Red, to his surprise, didn't recognize – was able to topple the Dragonair with sheer, physical force, then bear down on it with a rapid-fire series of savage Dragon-infused bites and claws.

The unfamiliar Pokémon had the bipedal, winged form of a Dragonite, but was a dark blue in shade with a fire-red head and sharp spikes along its tail and arms. Its wings were larger than a Dragonite's, too, scaled instead of Zubat-like, and jagged, coarse-looking. A fearsome, foreign beast, though Red's Aura sense told him it was pure Dragon-type. His anti-Dragonair strategies should, for the most part, work on it, assuming Lance used the same creature.

He also took note of something else: on the south side of the mountain, a small basin of water surrounded an entrance to a cave within the mountain's depths. A torii gate, sunset-red and well cared for, stood imposingly in front of it. As a Kantonian, Red was largely unfamiliar with Johtonian myth, but he knew enough to know a shrine lay beyond. Nothing else could be the entrance to the Dragon's Den.

Espeon was released in a flash of red light, and they got to work. They only had so many hours until daybreak.

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"I'm not going into the Gym, are you insane?" Little Girl asked impolitely.

"Yes."

"That- what? Why? What purpose could it possible serve?"

Red had a few reasons, but he didn't feel like sharing. "I need someone to cheer me on or I'll get nervous."

"That- that's dumb! You're dumb!" Little Girl even stomped her feet.

How amusing. Red wondered if shows of temper like this were more common when she cultivated Dragon-type energy, before Lance shattered her Aura. Did she even realize that her behavior had changed? Even now, though there was anger in her eyes, it wasn't the hot kind of anger Red associated with Dragon Specialists. More like… though she was angry, she was behaving on habit, not on behalf of her anger.

"They're going to recognize me, then our plan is shot," she said, though it sounded less like a warning and more like an ultimatum.

"Have no fear, Little Girl. I brought you a disguise."

Espeon had liberated some cosmetics from the Pokémart while they were closed. Red knew all the tricks to use powders and creams to bespell the contours of someone's face, had used these talents to get into places he didn't belong time and again, and he had acquired some hair bleach and clothing, as well. Little Girl looked every bit the Dark clan princess with her black hair and stormy grey eyes, sharp cheekbones – perhaps a little too sharp, after a few months surviving in Icy Path – and haughty, pursed-lip frown. He could change that.

An hour later, she had blonde hair clipped to both sides in the style of his rival Green with black hair accessories that may or may not be real Murkrow feathers. She also wore an all-black outfit of leggings, skirt, and sweater, with gold laces on her ankle boots and gold thread on the sleeves and skirt hem. It was very stylish and also screamed I am a Dark-type trainer, but was sturdy enough fabric that a little traipsing through wilderness wouldn't tear it apart, like he had seen some rookies wear.

After a long rest in a soft bed, a bath, and a change of clothes, Little Girl looked adorable and not like a wild Houndour. Red looked upon his works and felt accomplishment. She hadn't even complained much! Red decided to pretend it's because she trusted in his keen eye for fashion, and not because he was two Realms above her, hadn't ever given his name, and she was entirely dependent on his good will.

He hadn't given his name because she hadn't given hers, even though he asked, but the nuance was probably lost on her. She looked, what, thirteen, fourteen? When he was that age, he was setting fires in the wilderness and getting into fights, not listening to his elders. He was still doing that, but he was doing that back then, too. He didn't expect good manners from her, is what he was saying.

"They're really not going to recognize me?" she asked, in a soft, trembling voice, seeming more vulnerable than when he knocked her around with an Earthquake and interrogated her in the frozen depths of Mount Whitegrave.

"Little Girl, the only one there who doesn't think you're dead is Lance himself, and he must expect you to be on the far side of Kanto by now. The last place he'll expect you is in the stands of his Gym, with blonde hair, a stylish new outfit, and with a Sneasel on your lap. People see what they expect to see: and what they expect to see is my aggravating little sister who tagged along on my Journey and is barely a step in the First Realm. Besides. Even if Lance does recognize you, he'd hardly going to call you on it, is he?"

She thought for a moment, eyes trained on the floor. "…I suppose, if he pointed me out, he'd have to admit to leaving me alive, first. And that'd endanger his place in the Clan. And I was never close to the Gym Trainers."

"Exactly. Now, speaking of your Sneasel…"

He rooted around in his bag until he unearthed the final reward from last night's escapades. She took it from him with trembling hands.

"It'd be strange if they saw you didn't have a ball for your starter, wouldn't they? And strange things invite attention. Go on. I know you know how to use it."

Little Girl looked towards the Sneasel, who was lazing about on the bed and swaddled in his body weight in blankets. She seemed to hesitate for a second- but then she steeled herself, scrunched her face in that scowl he was so used to seeing from her, and threw the thing at her Pokémon with no warning.

He was laughing all the way to the Gym.

Little Girl was showing no shame, head held high and Pokéball clutched in both hands. Red made sure to only tease her a little bit. The more upbeat and confident she acted, the less likely that the Blackthorn scions at the Gym would recognize her. Their gambit wouldn't work if everyone was wondering what she had to be nervous or secretive about.

Blackthorn City looked different in the warm light of dawn. There was a bustle in the air that, while nothing compared to even some rural towns he's visited, gave the city a more innocent, friendly demeanor. At night, it was easy to convince himself that this was the seat of power for that most ancient of clans, regal and reverent, with an ironclad grip on the reigns of power; at dawn, it became clear that the residents of Blackthorn were still just ordinary people. Half of them weren't even Blackthorns.

A few even waved at them, or shouted encouraging words at a trainer so obviously about to challenge the Rising Gym. Red cheerily waved back.

As they entered the open doorway into the Gym, a blue-haired trainer behind a desk stood and offered a shallow bow. "Welcome to the Rising Gym. Are you here to challenge the Dragon Master, Lance?"

"I am," he said with easy confidence. "Will there be seating for my little sister? She wasn't allowed to watch at Cinnabar, and she's still complaining about it."

The trainer laughed. Red peered at her Aura, and saw she was early Third Realm, Dragon primary with Water secondary and weak shades of Flying. A Kingdra trainer, presumably, with a Dragonair. This high up, everyone here probably had Flying in their souls.

Within moments, his ID was scanned and he was ushered towards the battlefield, Little Girl at his heels. Their presence, the upcoming heist, his plans for the future: it all fell away as he felt the overwhelming Aura waiting on the far side of the battlefield.

Fifth Realm. The Dragon-type power was so strong, it blinded his Aura sight to the fine details, like gazing at the sun. There were shades of Flying and Water, what looked like it might be Rock or Ground, maybe a little Fire, but it was hard to tell. Easily ninety percent of it was Dragon, and the quality of power was enough to make him tremble. He had only seen the like of it once before.

Champion Oak had the same kind of soul. Fifth Realm is its own beast, and if there were more trainers at that peak in Indigo than he could count on both hands, he'd jump off Mount Blackthorn.

Red didn't notice the bloodthirsty grin on his face until he saw Little Girl edge away, wary. He paid her no mind.

He was drawn to his side of the battleground like magnetism. Lance stood opposite him, fifty meters away, radiance outmatching the sun.

"Psychic barriers: set!" the blue-haired trainer announced, voice echoing, and his view was tinted pink. "Sonic barriers: set! Aura barriers: set! Master Lance has been challenged for the Rising Badge by Trainer Red. The rules are as follows:

"Both sides are allowed six Pokémon, as registered before the match. Use of additional Pokémon is grounds for disqualification.

"Both sides are allowed one switch. Switch-forcing moves are grounds for disqualification.

"Both sides are allowed one held item per Pokémon. All other item use is grounds for disqualification.

"Both sides are allowed a thirty second period between knockout and summon. Exceeding this limit is grounds for disqualification.

"Trainers acknowledge!"

"I acknowledge!" Lance called.

"Let's get on with it!" Red shouted.

"Battle: begin!"

Twin flashes of red lit the battlefield.
 
0-3 Rising Gym
0-3 Rising Gym

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Red's Venusaur hit the field with a roar, one leg stomping on the ground and cratering it, tendrils of Ground power snaking across the field in anticipation of an attack. He immediately began channeling Fire Aura into the sky above them, filtering the dawn sunlight until it was many times more powerful.

Lance's Dragonair had begun its Dragon Dance before the red light had faded and it fully manifested from stasis. The gorgeous blue serpent looked especially stunning as it soared through the air with regal movements, a cooing cry like bells ringing.

Neither trainer shouted a command; micro-managing Pokémon is a trademark of the weak and inexperienced. Venusaur fired off a potent Solar Beam as soon as he had strengthened the sunlight enough with Sunny Day to skip the charge time, and hid a package of Poison Aura within the ray as they had practiced all those months ago, before Saffron. Dragonair was able to dodge, already so much faster thanks to Dragon Dance, but the Solar Beam was never intended to hit: the Poison energies detonated mid-air a meter away from Dragonair's body, and the corrosive poison of Toxic was splattered on its flesh.

To Red's consternation, he saw the Aura in Dragonair's scales suddenly spike in strength. He recognized Marvel Scale when he saw it: he saw Leader Misty's Milotic in action back in Cerulean, though he was too weak to challenge it at the time. His research hadn't revealed that Dragonair could develop that ability, too! Now Dragonair had the defenses to match its increased speed and power, and there was no saying how long the Toxic would last before it could Shed its Skin. He would have had Venusaur open with Worry Seed if he knew.

Actually, I can use this, he realized, and commanded, "Keep applying Leech Seed and Toxic. Its Shed Skin will cure it."

Lance saw no need to interrupt his enemy while he's making a mistake. Dragonair used Dragon Dance twice more, Marvel Scale activating twice more to Leech Seed and a second Toxic, until Lance spoke his first command of the battle: "Outrage."

Dragonair had been in the late Fourth Realm when it was released. Buffed by three Dragon Dances and three applications of Marvel Scale, it had power befitting a Pokémon in the mid Sixth Realm as it flashed across the battlefield with speed and power rarely seen outside the Indigo Plateau. If Red closed his eyes and saw with his Aura, it looked only a Realm shy of Champion Oak's prized Dragonite's Draco Meteor.

Venusaur fainted in a single hit.

His hat's brim covered his face in shadow and he smiled. It was considered disreputable, but he waited out the full thirty seconds he was allotted to let Outrage end and for confusion to set in Dragonair's battle-crazed mind. As soon as he saw the waves of emanating Dragon-type power end, he released Espeon.

Maybe she read his mind, maybe she saw the power before her and drew her own conclusions; it didn't matter. As Dragonair blitzed in for a sudden Dragon Rush and struck the ground in its confusion, shaking the earth like a full-power Magnitude, Espeon used Trick Room.

Psychic power snapped out and thickened into walls, a cube fifty meters wide, and in that space a headache-inducing effect warped time. Dragonair moved faster – Red saw that, Lance did too – but Espeon somehow acted first.

Power Swap stole all of Dragonair's boosted physical might, then Guard Swap, learned from Blue's Umbreon, stole all of Marvel Scale's defenses. The second Dragon Rush hit, and though Espeon was knocked back a handful of meters by the raw kinetic force, she was unharmed. Hardly scuffed, even. And then, to tie a neat little bow on the unfair combo: Stored Power.

The Psychic move drew extra oomph from the stockpiled boosts, and Dragonair, already weakened from Leech Seed and Toxic, let out a shriek of pain as it writhed and fell unconscious.

Lance recalled Dragonair with a nod of acknowledgement, and Espeon took the opportunity to dispel Trick Room, now that she had the Dragon Dance speed boost.

"I usually save Dragonite for last, in battles such as these," Lance said, voice resonating through the psychic barriers on the battlefield. "Consider this a sign of respect. I trained this dragon myself."

Red's adrenaline spiked at those words. He expected every foe he faced today to belong to a Gym Trainer, or perhaps the Blackthorn clan as a whole; to face one of the sixteen Pokémon a Fifth Realm trainer has bonded with is a compliment and threat both.

Dragonite arrived with a roar and a flap of wings that summoned a small Hurricane. The most legendary species in Indigo emanated a potent Pressure that almost put Red on his knees. He still remembered his first encounter with a creature such as this, seeing Champion Oak battle Elite Four Agatha for the throne over ten years ago, and he knew he would remember this just as long.

The dragon was Fifth Realm, like his own team, but he could see with his Aura that it was faster, more powerful, better trained. Some of that was due to birthright as a Dragonite, but not all of it. The realization stung like alcohol on a wound.

"No tricks, go for the throat," Red ordered, and Espeon obeyed.

The might of a twelve-times-boosted Stored Power lashed out like a Psychic whipcrack, and it broke against some kind of barrier on Dragonite's scales, failing to so much as draw blood. An ability he doesn't know about?

Extreme Speed saw Dragonite cross the battlefield in the blink of an eye, then Espeon was crushed between the rock floor and hundreds of pounds of dragon. There was no time to use Protect. She gave a yowl of pain that made Red grit his teeth, then she fled into the earth with a reflexive Dig.

Dragonite took to the skies, already buffing with Dragon Dance.

Red could see the Aura in the air distort, slightly, and slowly untensed. He recognized the flow of Morning Sun in action; better yet, Venusaur's Sunny Day was still active, though fading.

Lance could see it, too. "It's healing. Flush it out."

Once more Dragonite corkscrewed into the earth, a ruinous Bulldoze shaking the ground. Then, it rose- and came down again. And again.

"Espeon is unable to battle," the referee called. She's linked to the Psychics maintaining the barriers, so Red didn't doubt the call.

Focused, Red attempted to peer into the earth with his Aura sight. Was Espeon able to use their contingency? He couldn't tell. If he was wrong, then he'd be making a terrible mistake, and he'd almost certainly throw the whole match.

He'd have to trust.

"Pikachu, Pick Up." A nonsense order, but his starter would understand the in-joke.

The Electric mouse, tiny and adorable and not at all common on the competitive scene, dashed into the Dug warrens with Agility-enhanced speed.

Blue and him had spent weeks exploring the nuances of Power Swap, Guard Swap, Psych Up, and Stored Power. Pokémon have Auras not at all unlike the Aura of humans, and one of the most common expressions of that power is with so-called 'boosting moves.' The mechanics of such moves are, on the surface, simple: Pokémon have large capacity for Aura but only so much throughput, and can thus only call upon a fraction of their power at once. Instead of an offensive move that is a simple, damaging expression of that power, they can shape that spent power into a kind of second Aura, or battery, and then draw upon that power and their own power simultaneously, not unlike harnessing a held item. In theory, this then doubles their throughput at the cost of needing set-up time. In practice, it's a lot easier and more convenient to make specialized boosts that enhance speed, power, or defenses then it is to make a wide-ranging boost, like the prototypical Ancient Power, the move from which all boost moves originate.

But when a Pokémon faints, where do the boosts go? Without a mind and soul to hold onto it, the package of Aura power dissolves into the ambient Aura flow. What if a Pokémon was able to stabilize this boost before letting go, by protecting it in a membrane of sturdier Aura?

Red and Blue called it Baton Pass.

"Whatever it's planning, stop it," Lance commanded, and Dragonite came crashing down for another Bulldoze.

Pikachu leapt from the tunnels with triple his already ludicrous speed, cloaked himself in the Electric cage of Volt Tackle, and struck Dragonite with Dragon Dance-boosted strength. Dragon is resistant to Electric, but Flying isn't.

Lance's beast was flying straight downwards when it was struck; Pikachu's might arrested its momentum entirely, and both mouse and dragon crashed against the eastern wall and the Psychic barriers reinforcing it. An ominous cracking sound reverberated in the air.

"Hold nothing back!" Lance shouted in a rush, voice tight.

Red felt as if he could take a step onto air and fly. To take the premier Dragon Master of Indigo so off guard by a move of his own creation- he was going to ride this high for the rest of his life.

Dragonite grabbed the mouse on its back and began to Outrage. Pikachu was smashed against the wall, the floor, gripped and torn between claws and battered by powerful Dragon-type energies, but half that Baton Pass was Marvel Scale's steel-like defense, and Pikachu held on. More, Pikachu unleashed a long, point-blank Thunder, the infamous booming sound that accompanied the move deafening all commands either he or Lance could have made.

It went on for a long time. In the end, Dragonite gave first.

Vindication! Red had rarely felt such triumph. Going to mock my starter, are you, Blue? Going to doubt our potential again, Old Man? Pikachu is going to sweep the Indigo Conference. All will know our power.

Lance recalled Dragonite, then paused, as if to say something. The moment passed.

The dragon he had seen last night appeared, blue-scaled with a jagged, red head. He still didn't know what it was called and he didn't know what it would do, but that didn't change their strategy at all. Overwhelming power was Red's forte.

Pikachu blitzed across the battlefield in a Volt Tackle, and the dragon stood to receive it, opening its maw wide in a Scary Face. Pikachu slowed to a mere blur as he smashed into it.

Thanks to the tiny opening provided by Scary Face, the dragon softened the rock at its feet with Dig or some other expression of Ground Aura, transforming a solid hit into a glancing blow. Pikachu skid across the battlefield as the dragon fell on its back with a roar of anger.

Pikachu's immense speed worked against him here; he wasn't yet accustomed to maneuvering at such insane speeds, and his agility suffered for it. In the time it took for Pikachu to differentiate up from down, turn, and break out into another run, the dragon was back on its feet and… throwing a tantrum?

It was a Fifth Realm dragon and trained by the Blackthorns, so Red assumed it was a real move, and he could see the Ground-type power rolling off it in waves, but he didn't recognize it.

Pikachu lost his footing, picked up speed again, then leapt in another Volt Tackle. This time, he was wise to the dragon's Ground-type tricks.

To Red's surprise, the unknown Pokémon made no move to dodge or deflect this second Volt Tackle. Shrieking in rage and pain, the dragon grabbed onto Pikachu in a move shockingly reminiscent of Dragonite's Outrage and continued its tantrum.

Between the Outrage earlier, the recoil from the three Volt Tackles, and now this strange Ground-type onslaught, Pikachu was being pushed precariously close to the edge. Only the stolen Marvel Scale toughness kept him in the battle. Worse, the spikes and jagged edges to the unknown Pokémon were doing surprising damage. Rough Skin, maybe?

Pikachu wasn't using Nuzzle, just maintaining his maximum electrical discharge while in the dragon's clawed grip, but his Static should have paralyzed it by now. Did the thing have Mold Breaker, too? Or was it actually Ground-type, and not just specialized in it?

Red hated battling foreign Pokémon. The Pokémon World League was the worst thing ever. If he had known, he would've ordered a Thunder Wave, then a slower strategy of using the enhanced speed from Dragon Dance and Agility to space the thing and wear it down over time with Discharge and Thunderbolts.

It was too late for that, but not too late to switch to a different track.

"Electric Terrain, then take it with you," he shouted. Pikachu was moving too quickly and chaotically earlier for Electric Terrain to be useful, but it was time to look ahead.

Pikachu was too much of a team player to mind making suicide plays. Holding nothing back, he blinded everyone in the Gym with a flash of lightning that knocked out both him and the foreign dragon while electrifying the earth in a ten-meter radius.

Both him and Lance were down three Pokémon, neither using their switch. The good news was that the terrain was in his favor. The bad news is he's pretty sure Lance has a Kingdra, a Gyarados, or both, and he's down his Electric-type.

Red stared Lance down as the thirty seconds trickled by, the only sound the crackling static of the Electric Terrain. Since both Pokémon fainted at the same time and both trainers are allowed thirty seconds before sending out their next team member, the only way for one side not to get an advantage over the other is if both wait out the timer. This fact was in Lance's favor as Pikachu's set-up wouldn't persist forever; already, it was getting weaker.

That didn't matter. He only needed it for a moment.

"Five seconds remaining!"

"Dragonair, the floor is yours."

"Snorlax! Pikachu left you a present!"

Red expected the second Dragonair; Lance wouldn't send out a Kingdra or Gyarados if he thought the Electric Terrain signaled a second Electric-type waiting in the wings. Red wanted the terrain for its second purpose, though.

Snorlax gave a pleased laugh that was so deep, the earth shook. With slow, laborious movements, the gargantuan Pokémon smacked her hands against her stomach in a Belly Drum- once, twice, thrice, the echo like the strike of a gong. The recoil allowed much more power to be channeled much quicker than usual, and Snorlax was soon carrying a boost with twice the offensive might that Espeon and Pikachu had been abusing, though it lacked any speed or defenses.

"Quickly!" Lance shouted, and Dragonair began using what was obviously the Blackthorn clan's favorite move, Outrage. No time was wasted on Dragon Dance or a Thunder Wave or any other kind of set-up; Lance knew the danger he was in.

To its credit, the Fifth Realm dragon was more powerful than the Dragonair he had fought at the beginning of the battle. It must be close to evolution. It didn't make a difference. Red had trained Snorlax on defense above and beyond anything else. Its superior speed let it get in one Outrage strike, then two-

Then Snorlax fell asleep.

Now, Red knows the Electric Terrain plus Rest combo isn't supposed to work. If the Pokémon is prevented from falling asleep, such as from Worry Seed giving it Insomnia or from electrified current, the powerful restorative effect of Rest won't activate.

Snorlax is simply so gargantuan that she can be sitting down, fall asleep, land flat on her face, and lay spread eagled on the Electric Terrain. Then she wakes up, fully healed.

Red let out a childish giggle.

"Sap it," Lance ordered, and a confused Dragonair began firing Thunder Waves every which way. Snorlax's immense size meant it was hit entirely by happenstance.

"Amnesia, then let loose."

Snorlax took a few seconds to create the elemental defense boost, losing the control required due to the current in her body. It was the right call, but it gave Dragonair enough time to snap out of her confusion and use Agility.

Red had honestly expected yet another Dragon Dance. For a battle of attrition, however, Agility made more sense.

Snorlax was well-rested, boasting incredible power, and was sturdy enough to shake off most hits. However, she was painfully, agonizingly slow, and Dragonair could fly.

This next phase of the battle took longer than the entire rest of the battle preceding it. Snorlax stomped around with a playful menace, every swipe a Hammer Arm, every step a Body Slam, every pratfall a Giga Impact, and if Dragonair was struck once that'd be it, one-hit knockout.

Dragonair didn't get hit.

Fire Spin and strafing runs of Dragonbreath slowly whittled away at Snorlax's health, and when she got low, Yawned, popped her Chesto Berry in her mouth, and prepared to Rest, Lance called for a variant Safeguard. Neither Snorlax nor Dragonair fell asleep, and the battle of attrition wore on.

Dragonair exhausted itself of energy before its Fire and Dragon-type attacks exhausted Snorlax of health. It went for a strafing run, was a hair too slow, and Snorlax fell on top of it in a Giga Impact that boomed like thunder.

It took Lance a few seconds to recall Dragonair from underneath her bulk, but when he did, he immediately sent out a Kingdra. From the glow on the referee's face, the blue, man-sized seahorse Pokémon was hers.

Kingdra had the first move as Snorlax was still recovering from Giga Impact. Cloud cover shrouded the battlefield in darkness, grey and heavy with rain that began to fall in thick sheets. Kingdra began to move and harness its power much more quickly – Swift Swim? – and used a bizarre utility move that Red had, again, never seen before. The Aura flow was Normal-dominant and seemed almost like Focus Energy, but much more potent. The power concentrated in its cannon-like mouth.

Snorlax was a clever girl. She knew that move, whatever it was, spelled her doom. She compressed the Belly Drum boost into a sphere of raw power in her mouth, then used Spit Up.

Kingdra's Hydro Pump was far more impressive than anything he'd seen from Blastoise, empowered as it was by that strange move, and Snorlax was knocked cold. So focused was it, though, that it took Snorlax's final surprise right to its center mass.

We have the tempo. He sent out Blastoise immediately, and commanded her own Hydro Pump.

Red had just Charizard left, and Lance had what was almost assuredly a Gyarados. That was a bad matchup for him, but if he sent Charizard out in this rain, he was doomed. With luck, Blastoise's Rain Dish would see her with enough strength left to make the difference in that final fight.

Blastoise must have thought herself in the perfect scenario. Released into a heavy rainstorm, her target flung into a wall and off-balance, and the move she had just learned was the only one in her repertoire that wouldn't be resisted or have a nasty side effect. An Ice Beam was launched as if from a cannon, freezing every rain drop in its path.

Icicles from the Beam's path broke against the floor in a shattering sound drowned out only by Kingdra's cry of pain. The battle was Blastoise's.

Then, a flash of light, and a familiar, echoing boom: Thunder. Kingdra can't learn that move!

Unerringly accurate in the rain, Blastoise writhed in pain. Her only saving grace was her Shell Armor, transforming a one-hit knockout into merely a crippling blow and- yes, paralysis too.

"I'm using my recall," Lance announced, and out came the Gyarados. "Hurricane."

Impossibly, this Gyarados wasn't blue; its scales were a brilliant red like the dawn. Red didn't believe that the Blackthorn clan would have a mutant Gyarados and not have it be raised by the Dragon Master Lance himself. How lucky was he, to face two of Lance's own Pokémon, even if neither were yet past the Fifth Realm?

As the Hurricane buffeted the heavy downpour, its accuracy raised in much the same way as Thunder had been, Red wondered how he could turn this all around.

He had no ideas.

He had rarely felt so alive.

Back on her feet due to her Rain Dish, in her preferred weather, and desperate enough to grasp onto the hysterical strength of Torrent, Blastoise launched the fastest, most powerful Hydro Pump he had ever seen from her. It wounded the red Gyarados but did nothing to stave off the Hurricane. And-

Red saw Gyarados siphon power from Blastoise as she fell unconscious. Moxie. He should have used his recall; the resisted damage of even an empowered Hydro Pump isn't worth giving a Gyarados a power boost.

He tossed Charizard's Pokéball in the air and caught it, once, then twice, three times. He mulled over strategies in his head. Nothing clever came to mind.

Oh, well.

"Charizard! Give it all you've got."

His own dragon roared with all the fury and pride of a tyrant who found his reign contested by another. The Gyarados roared back. Charizard dispelled the rain with a Sunny Day, then Gyarados began its own Rain Dance, the two fighting over control of the skies. The result was something bizarre: patches of black cloud belching rain while spears of hot sunlight slipped between, creating steam in the air.

Red believed that a trainer's purpose was to bring out a Pokémon's inner potential. This meant training a Pokémon how they wanted to be trained. He wanted Charizard to have at least moderately sturdy defenses, but all Charizard cared for was power, speed, and flame, and so that is what he trained.

Charizard burned with a Flare Blitz, his unique Reckless ability supercharging the move. Gyarados flew to meet him, the Waterfall echo trailing behind it. When they clashed in the air, Charizard's flames seared Gyarados' serpentine scales and his claws gouged trenches in its flesh. The water trail hit a moment later. At those speeds, the water was as solid as earth, and where it found fire it created steam that burned them both.

Charizard was a Fire-type, though; he could handle a burn. Gyarados couldn't.

A crackle of lightning, and Charizard's Thunder Punch was countered by a wicked Crunch. Gyarados Flailed wildly, its length lashing against Charizard's wings in an Aqua Tail, and Charizard tore it apart, lightning in one clawed hand and Dragon-type energy in the other.

It was short, and brutal, and inelegant. Red was entranced.

Both Pokémon fell to the floor, unconscious before they hit the ground.

"Both Pokémon are unable to battle! Master Lance is the victor!"

As both Pokémon were recalled, support Pokémon dealt with the weather and cleared the battlefield, and Lance walked over to shake his hand, Red found he didn't mind losing, if it was in a battle like that.
 
0-4 Dragon's Den
0-4 Dragon's Den

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"I don't want it," Red whined.

"No one ever beats the Rising Gym," Little Girl said in a tone like she was explaining something very simple to a particularly stupid child. It was cute. "We intentionally raise the difficulty. They saw you had mid-to-early Fifth Realm Pokémon, so they one-upped you with mid-to-late Fifth Realm Pokémon. That you performed so well is a mark in your favor. If actually winning was a requirement for the Rising Badge, no Johtonian would ever make it to the Indigo Conference- at least, not without dipping into Kanto."

Red gave her a pitifully hopeful look. "You think I did well? Really?"

"Ah… yes?" She seemed uncertain.

"Waaah!" Red cried out melodramatically, falling to his knees next to her and grabbing onto her hand. She reared back in surprise. "My little sister is so nice to me! Whatever did I do to deserve this?!"

"Cut it out, you weirdo," she hissed, drawing her hand back.

Thirty feet away and one ridge up, the Blackthorn trainer shook his head, smiled, and continued on his walk.

Red stood back up, dusting off his pants with a casual air like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Little Girl gave him wary looks.

"Lance offered me a reward, in acknowledgement of my abilities," he lied. "I'm to visit Dragon's Den. Said that meditating on that Dragon Nexus with Charizard would help me break through into the Fourth Realm, and Charizard into the Sixth. He accepted."

"That's nice," Little Girl said. She had the good sense not to look around shiftily. A Dark Aura thing, natural talent, or a relic of her Fantasia education? He wasn't sure.

"We can steal the Deino egg then," Red said with none of her subtlety.

She hissed at him again. "Keep it down! Do you want us to get caught?"

"A little bit," he admitted, and she glowered. So cute! "Relax," he told her, drawing it out in that patronizing way he knew she hated. "Espeon is keeping watch. She always is, the creep."

"Don't say such mean things about your Pokémon," Little Girl said disapprovingly, but did indeed relax.

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, Espeon is key. I'll bring you along because 'I can't leave her anywhere without her making a mess of the place, you know how it is,' the Blackthorn guide laughs, I laugh, Espeon hypnotizes everyone and you sneak off into Dragon's Den. You already know the layout of the place, so finding wherever they keep the eggs should be a cinch. Once you're back, I'll act like I've had some huge breakthrough with Charizard, and we'll leave in a right hurry. Check out?"

"That… should work," she said slowly, like she doesn't want to believe it but can't deny it, either. "All our anti-theft protections are in the torii gate and in the mountain's earth. We don't have much in the way of Psychic or Ghost-type guards, though we have some, and it was we Fantasia that was historically tasked with protecting it. The reason no one ever steals from the vaults or the nursery is because no one can get in or out without a pass- that, and we have a rather fearsome reputation, I suppose." That was an understatement. "When's our pass for?"

"Right now," Red admitted.

"What!"

"The best time to meditate and break through is after a good battle, when your muscles are sore and your Aura depleted," Red informed her. "It's like putting air in a balloon. It's easier to put air in an empty balloon then a full one. If Charizard and me want to acclimate to a greater level of Dragon-type power, we can't do it when our power stores are full."

"I know how breakthroughs work, I've done it before," she said disparagingly, but she was thinking. Eventually, she nodded. "Okay. You're kind of weird, but I'll trust you. I'm super dead if I get caught, so my life's in your hands, okay? I'll be in your debt forever if this works."

"I know how you can pay off that debt," Red said mysteriously, and when she blanched, his eyes widened and he waved his hands in a panic. "I meant you can become my student! I'll be your mentor! My rival Blue showed off his student last time we met and I was super jealous. He said he's a better mentor than I could ever be, and I took that personally. I want to wipe that smug smile off his stupid face. If I can teach a student that can defeat Blue's, I'll be able to hold that against him for the rest of our lives. Okay? I didn't mean anything bad!"

Slowly, she uncoiled, looking away before hesitantly meeting his eyes. He couldn't decipher the thoughts behind her cool, Ice trainer façade.

The walk to Dragon's Den was slow and awkward.

Eventually, she spoke. "Fine. I believe you. I don't know why you want a student who lost her starter and cultivation, but I'll do my best."

The joy he felt at hearing those words was entirely unlike the joy he felt in the Rising Gym, but he cherished it just as much. He'd try to be a little more straightforward with her. Not quite upright – he was still who he was, and he made no apologies for that – but like a young Pokémon, he needed to cultivate her heart and mind as much as her power.

That was a good way of looking at it, actually. He had taught all his Pokémon not just to improve their power and might, but a variety of strategies and when to use which ones, how to keep their cool in a heated battle, and the right attitude to keep morale up when faced with failure. As entertaining as messing with her was, he needed to build up her confidence, establish a bond of trust, all that jazz. He just… hasn't had to do that, in a while.

He'll work on it.

They arrived at Dragon's Den before long. There was no bridge across the small lake to the strip of land – presumably, Blackthorns landed on it on dragonback – and after looking, he saw no sign of their guard.

Charizard didn't usually consent to short flights like this, but he was eager for the chance to channel a Dragon Nexus, and he was always much more mellow after a good brawl, anyway. He let him out in a flash of red.

The fire dragon raised both arms towards the sky in a triumphant pose, flexing and stretching and breathing small plumes of smoke. He looked satisfied, content. The Blackthorn's Chansey had healed him up, so he showed few physical marks of the battle – a few scratches here, the Crunch mark on his left shoulder there – but Red could feel his Aura exhaustion.

He had the right to be happy, Red supposed. Gyarados is a tough matchup. And a Gyarados like that? Even though they lost in the end, none of his team have anything to be ashamed of. They would have won if Red had intelligently used his switch or not outmaneuvered himself into having to use a Water and Fire/Flying-type against a Kingdra and Gyarados. If he had used Blastoise and Charizard earlier, saved Pikachu for later, they could've won. Of course, he had to use Pikachu because none of his other Pokémon were small enough to pick up the Baton Pass in the Dug tunnels-

"You were amazing out there," Little Girl said with stars in her eyes, looking up at a Charizard that looked increasingly smug. "I've never seen a Charizard contest a Rain Dance while using a complicated move like Flare Blitz to its full potential. And, when you used both Dragon Claw and Thunder Punch- that Gyarados had as much Dragon in it as it did Flying, so it was the right call to make, and neither element flickered at all, despite how difficult it is to channel opposing elements like that-"

"Charizard is wonderfully trained," Red humble-bragged, not even slightly jealous of all the praise going to a prick like Charizard. Honest. "And we're going to break through to the next Realm together as soon as we get across that lake."

A rumbling laugh. Charizard knelt to allow Little Girl onto his back, which was uncharacteristically sweet of him, then he grabbed Red between his claws, which wasn't. Seconds later, they were across.

Red felt the pressure as he passed the torii gate: Ghost, mostly, with a decent amount of Psychic. Either the Dark is in the earth, was too subtle for him to notice – not impossible – or Dragon's Den is vulnerable to Dark, now that the Fantasia are all gone. He was no good at advanced sensory stuff like this.

Their guide was kneeling just beyond the first turn, in near-complete blackness. Dressed in the blue and red traditional garb of the Blackthorn clan, what might have been a kimono before centuries of minor adjustments and warfare made it almost into a tracksuit, the only thing unusual about her was that she's the first Blackthorn he's seen with only a Second Realm soul. It was primary Water, too, which made him wonder if she was from a branch clan like Little Girl. It was hard to tell without any lights save Charizard's burning tail.

"Please follow me, honored guests," she said in a pretty contralto, then rose.

Part of Dragon's Den's defense must come from its labyrinthine structure, because Red was lost in minutes. The tunnels all led deeper into the mountain, but there were numerous forks, twists, and turns, and not a single torch or electric light to be seen. Did they all navigate based on Aura sense? Red could do that in Mt Moon, but they were so close to the Dragon Nexus that all sense of detail in the Rock and Ground was overshadowed. Would he be able to look past that burning light after enough years spent in close proximity to it? How much would it change him, if he could?

There was a power in so completely giving yourself over to a single Type. Red couldn't deny that, not when twenty of the twenty-one strongest trainers in Indigo were Type Masters. He couldn't do it, though. He likes being Red, and doesn't know who'd he be if he specialized in Electric like he so easily could have. It would have made him more impulsive, obsessive, and cruel, would have made him not-Red, and the thought of his cultivation changing who he was on that fundamental level horrified him. It's why he had such a Type-diverse team, why he makes sure to cultivate even Types he doesn't have a bond with like Dragon and Ice, and why he could never understand how casually other trainers devote themselves to a single Type.

Was their guide always so zen and chill, or did she have more passion before creating for herself a soul of Water? If Little Girl still had her Dragon soul, earlier, when she told him to cut it out and called him a weirdo, would there have been real anger? He can get a rise out of her pretty easily, but her scowls and biting words lack any heat; they seem performative, even, like a habit and not an actual emotional response. Like it was her emotional response, before Lance broke her cultivation, and she started anew with Ice.

He made a mental note to make sure she cultivated more than just Ice and Dark. For her own sake. If he ever teased her and she just looked at him blankly, like Lyra Whitegrave does, he's breaking off his mentorship immediately.

With all that being said, it's time to add a twelfth Type to his hybrid soul. The Dragon Nexus awaits, hot like the core of the earth.

"The Nexus lies beyond this door, honored guests," their guide said in a hushed, reverent voice. "Neither I nor the honored trainer's sister are permitted entry. We shall wait for you here."

'Here' being yet another black stone hallway, looking clawed out of the earth rather than cut or carved, entirely lacking in decoration, light, or heat save the Dragon Nexus' ephemeral heat. He gave his 'sister' a dubious look.

"I'll be alright," Little Girl said, looking sick. "Miss Whisperain will look after me."

Their guide – presumably of the Whisperain branch clan – blinked in surprise, and Red thought, Now!

Espeon appeared in a flash of red light, and their guide fell to the floor like a doll, fast asleep. Espeon's red gem glinted ominously, and Whisperain's body contorted unnaturally until she was seated in a stock-standard seiza, back against the wall, appearing for all the world like she was in meditation.

"I thought you were going to modify her memory," Little Girl said, eyes on their guide.

"Never taught Espeon the skill. That kind of thing isn't really my style." The extent of his subterfuge is delaying an alarm being raised for a few hours. Standard Hypnosis is enough for that. "Besides. Memory modification is against the Indigo Legal Code. Tsk, tsk, Little Girl."

"Like you care about the law," she muttered, but her gaze moved back up to him. "I can reach the nursery from here in fifteen minutes. Should be back in forty at the most, if Espeon and I need to wait out any passersby. Miss Whisperain took us on a back path away from most traffic, so that works in our favor."

"I'll see you then," Red said, a promise. Little Girl nodded and ran.

Red took a deep breath, fortifying himself, then pushed open the door.

The Nexus chamber was a grand thing, a vertical shaft three hundred meters tall with tiered steps like an upside-down pyramid. It was hot like a sauna and nearly as humid, a tension in the air like a dragon looking over his shoulder and thick enough to cut, but he knew it was all in his mind. With every step further down, the Dragon Aura grew deeper, more potent, and he felt his pulse race. He was afraid.

Afraid of the chamber. Afraid of the Nexus. Afraid of who awaited him down there, too, and their own Aura, just as fierce and powerful. To inspire fear in others: this is the nature of the Dragon type.

Three quarters of the way down, he could go no further. He fell to a knee then onto his ass, pushed his back up against the step, and, for a minute, just… breathed.

"You never get used to it," Lance said, seated next to him cross-legged. At the deepest point, in the heart of the Nexus, a Dragonite in the Seventh Realm stood, wing beats kicking up a lazy wind.

"I'm sure Charizard… is appreciating it," Red said pointedly.

Lance was quiet for a long moment. Eventually, he said, "It was never my intention to cause Blake such pain. I did what little I could to shelter her from it. It wasn't enough."

"I'm going to be honest, Lance," Red said, voice carefully neutral. "I don't think I'm the right person to be telling this to."

"Yeah. Me neither."

They were quiet for a moment. Charizard was cultivating the Dragon Nexus with vigor, and Red should be, too, but he was too distracted. Less than twenty-four hours since he met the kid and already it's getting in the way of his advancement; if Blue were here, he would laugh himself sick. By all rights, as soon as Lance told him that he's had a Ghost tag the girl since the Fantasia Massacre, and he wants Red to step in as her mentor, he should have cut and ran.

The path to the peak of human potential is a lonely one. You could get there with the help of others, like Lance has, but it came at a cost: the kind of cost that made you watch helplessly as a kid you loved like a sister lost her family and had to scrounge for scraps in a place like Icy Path. Red much prefered the path that he, and Blue, and the Old Man took, where you relied on no one and nothing but yourself, and no one suffered the punishment of failure or earned the rewards of success but you.

He empathized with Lance. He really did. He didn't like empathizing with people, but he's been where Lance is: eager to make a change, powerful where it doesn't matter and weak where it does. And it's entirely because he understands so well that he knows the Dragon Master is betting on the wrong Rapidash.

"I was born to take over the Blackthorn clan, but I had always been exceptional, and I knew I could do so much more," Lance began, and Red sat and listened to the trainer two Realms above him.

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I was ambitious. Arrogant. These traits only made me better suited to the Dragon-type. I wanted to change things; I saw how Blackthorn City and our clan and our nation was ran, and I thought, 'I could do better;' then I thought, 'I will do better.'

My little sister, Claire, was born to helm the Rising Gym. If I were to be Champion of Indigo, though, then she would need to step up and lead the clan in my place. I couldn't do both, after all, not without dropping the ball on one. That left a vacancy in the Gym.

Blake was just Claire's attendant back then. The Fantasia clan were the only Dark specialists under the auspices of the Blackthorn, so children from that clan were raised to be servants of mine; they would protect against thieves, assassins, and spies, manage the wardings around Dragon's Den, and occasionally perform espionage. I never came to trust mine, but Claire trusted Blake. It had been her idea, in the beginning; what would be a better sign of change in Blackthorn then putting a branch clan scion in charge of the Rising Gym?

There was going to be pushback. If we were to pull this off, then Blake's cultivation had to be peerless, her team beyond reproach, and there could be no better aspirant to the position. The Fantasias didn't have the resources to invest in her as we needed, so I began spending more and more time with them. Before long, I began to see Blake as my own sister, as well.

The three of us were going to change the future, change Blackthorn. Change Indigo. I still don't know where it all went wrong.

… Blake's mother is an executive in Team Rocket. Her name is Ariana.

I see you've heard of her. She leads the Johto chapter; ironically, we've been chasing her for years.

She was the leader of the Fantasia clan's external affairs, in charge of protecting Dragon's Den from infiltration among other duties. She had been my mother's personal attendant, in their youth. It was a security breach the likes of which Blackthorn hasn't experienced in six hundred years, when we were almost destroyed by the Whitegraves. It made my mother – the Clan Head – and the Council of Elders… panic.

We mobilized within the hour. It was still enough time for the Fantasia malefactors to realize their treachery was discovered and scatter. Ariana wasn't at the compound when we arrived, and neither was half the clan. I don't know if Blake and her father being left behind was intentional or a mistake, don't know how much her father knew or, really, how much Blake knew. I want to say she was entirely ignorant, told my mother as much when she questioned me, but… in my heart of hearts, I doubted.

The others knew how close I was to Blake, and as heir, when I told them I would go after her myself, they let me. I didn't know what I would do or say as I flew after her on Dragonite. I questioned her, pleaded with her, told her I would believe whatever she had to say, and… when she told me that she knew nothing, I didn't believe her. But I couldn't kill her. Didn't have it in me.

I could sense Elder Anders approach on dragonback. I knew my clan would expect me to return with Blake's Dragonair and Deino egg, so I took those. Anders was close enough to sense her Aura, so if she was to escape alive, she… couldn't have that, either. I told her to run, then had my Drakloak – that's a half-Ghost Dragon, they're foreign – follow her, keep her safe, without her knowing. Had Dragonite blast the earth with Dragonbreath.

When Anders arrived, I told him that I gave her a Blackthorn funeral: cremation by dragonfire. He said she didn't deserve it, but I had her starter and egg, and he couldn't sense her Aura, so it all checked out and he believed me. I was still kept under a close watch all of this past month. I contented myself with the knowledge that Blake got out alive and Drakloak was keeping her safe. Told myself I didn't care if she regrouped with her mother and used what I taught her to live a life of terrorism and parasitic cultivation, so long as she was living at all.

Imagine my surprise when he returned to me yesterday, reporting a mysterious, red-eyed trainer had come across her in Icy Path, and they were plotting to steal back that egg.

I don't consider myself to be especially intelligent. I know where my strengths lie, and they aren't in schemes, or reading people, or predicting fallout. That's always been Blake's thing. Still, I know that if Blake spent this past month in Icy Path, then she couldn't have been a Rocket conspirator. That I doubted her… I'm ashamed of myself. I failed as her brother.

I intend for you to do better.

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"What's in it for me?" Red asked, because it has always been easier to play the role of greedy, self-interested trainer than admit to… anything, really. "You're asking for me to take on a lot of risk for negative gain."

"I gave your description to my secretary at dusk, and by dawn, she gave me a ten-page dossier," Lance said, and the words were a threat even if the tone wasn't. "The trainer who stormed the Rocket Base hidden under the Celadon Game Corner doesn't need an excuse to forge the daughter of an Executive into an anti-Rocket weapon."

Red acknowledged the point. He had also offered to help Blake steal a dragon egg from the Blackthorn clan and he sure as fuck wasn't getting anything out of that. "You'd be okay with that? Letting your precious sister be used like that?"

"I want her to be happy, but I know a fool's quest when I see one. She won't let herself be happy until she feels she's been properly avenged."

That made sense.

"I'm also lacking in options," Lance admitted, and that made more. "All my contacts and resources are Blackthorn, and I can't trust them with this. You were taught Pokémon lore at the knee of Champion Oak, and I witnessed your prowess in battle myself. I can trust in your strength if nothing else."

"Fine, fine, I'll do it," Red said. It had taken months of tireless effort to make Executive Archer hate him and dedicate a small Rocket team to harassing and attempting to murder him, and though this whole adventure hadn't earned him the enmity of Lance like he hoped it would, eventually getting on Executive Ariana's shitlist makes for a decent consolation prize.

He had also meant what he said to Blake earlier, about showing up Blue and his student. Taking her on in this way may have been Lance's idea, spoken with a toothy grin during the most terrifying handshake of his life, but that made him no less genuine in meaning it.

"I'm still asking for compensation, though," Red added. "Just think of it this way: anything you give to me, you indirectly give to Blake."

Lance gave him a considering look. "It's… uncommon, but not unheard of, for the Blackthorn clan to sponsor trainers. Doing so for a Kantonian would be new, but I'm considered something of a maverick within the clan."

Red's eyes gleamed with greed.

Lance gave a small laugh and stood. "I'll leave you to your cultivation then. It's best I'm gone before Blake returns. And… thank you, Red. We'll be meeting again."

"That we will. If you're going to be Champion, I'll be coming for your throne."

"I'm looking forward to it," the Dragon Master said with an earnest smile.

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Breaking through to the Fourth Realm was easier than he thought it would be.

Charizard roared beside him, breathing dragonfire upwards, blue and sparking. As the trainer bond was meant to be, Charizard broke through the Sixth at the same time.

"Yes," he said through grit teeth, sweet triumph in his veins. "Yes! Finally."

His Aura expanded within his soul- or, rather, decompressed, from where the past few months of cultivation had seen it become tighter and denser. He could now easily release his entire team and maintain their bonds with room to spare for two more Charizards, if he so wished.

He held out a hand and cupped within it, flickered a small dragonflame. As he gazed into the fire, he could maybe, kind of, sort of understand why someone could pursue this strength to the exclusion of all else.

He shook it out, then set his finger to crackling with electric current. The infusion of Dragon-type power hadn't shifted his Aura out of alignment any, which was good.

The Old Man had all seventeen Types balanced in his soul. A worthless achievement, most people would say, but then most people weren't Champion of Indigo.

Red spent the remaining time before Blake's return in a calmer, more quiet meditation. When the tentative knock came at the door, the draconic euphoria had faded and he was left feeling… still pretty good, naturally, but he wasn't going to weird her out more than he usually does.

He looked down the steps of the Nexus chamber and wondered how much deeper he could go, now. Hesitantly, he turned and walked up instead.

Beyond the door stood Blake, looking frazzled with a black-specked egg in her arms, their Whisperain clan guide nowhere to be seen.

"Congratulations on the advancement," Blake said politely, then struggled to say anything else. Eventually, "I would like to leave, now."

Red nodded understandingly and followed her out. Blake's steps were no less sure than Whisperain's had been on the way down, but her demeanor radiated anxiety and uncertainty. Red didn't like it.

He didn't know what to do about it, though. He was never good at this kind of thing, not like Green was. He was good at cultivating, and training, and memorizing obscure Pokémon lore, not at offering comfort to traumatized teen girls. What would Green do, if she were here?

… Give her a hug, and offer to listen without judgment, then physically assault everyone who had hurt her.

Red could do one and a half of those things.

"Did something happen in the nursery?" he asked, voice inquiring but not, like, too curious.

Blake twitched. "Nothing. I handled it."

Red could still assault Ariana, at least. It was bound to happen eventually.

The trek to the surface passed in silence. The route was just as incomprehensible as it had been before, and Red still didn't know if the lack of human presence was Lance's influence or just the nature of Dragon's Den. How deep did it go, really? Blake hadn't described it except in the barest of terms. Her natural shiftiness, or lingering loyalty to Blackthorn?

Did she know her mother was a Rocket Executive?

"Did you know your mother is a Rocket Executive?"

Blake tripped and fell. She shot him a look of shock and disbelief. So, no, she didn't- unless she was surprised that he knew, not at the information itself.

"Lance told me everything," Red continued, voice pitched in a pleasant cadence. He kept walking. "He said he knew who you were, as he shook my hand, and that he was on your side and to come to Dragon's Den. Turns out he had a Ghost tailing you, so he knew all along. Surprise!"

"Why…" She hesitated, shook her head, then glared at him with a hot, Dragon-like fury. "Why are you telling me this? So you can gloat? Take my Pokémon again, leave me here, fuck off to the conference and your own hopes and dreams?"

"It would have been wrong to keep you in the dark," he said honestly. He didn't hold her rage against her; relished seeing it, even. "I'm a simple soul, Blake. I intend to reach the peak of human potential, raise a team of Seventh Realm monsters, and become Indigo Champion. No more, no less. I seek out enemies and rivalries because I believe it is through challenge and adversity that we surpass our limits. I avoid allies and friends because I was raised to think that other people could only ever hold me back.

"A few weeks ago, my oldest rival and I… no, my first friend and I, involved ourselves in a plot to destroy Team Rocket's Kanto chapter. Long story short, we publicly exposed the identity of Team Rocket's leader, Giovanni. Blue ended up taking on his son as a student. Giovanni is also the leader of the Viridian Gym, which is why I had to detour into Johto for my eighth badge.

"Near the end, I battled Giovanni one-on-one. I performed well. Damn well. Giovanni crushed me like a bug beneath his heel, and if Blue hadn't been there, despite me attempting to push him away to keep all the glory and challenge for myself, I'd be dead.

"I'm not going to say it made me reflect on my ways and decide to change. It'd be a lie. I'm… open, though, to the idea that my aversion to other people is born of my own fear, and not a logical certitude that I'd be better off alone. I refuse to be a coward. Blue challenged me to find and raise my own student, and I took him up on it. I intend for you to be that student."

Blake mulled it over. After several minutes of walking, she said, "So, ultimately, this is all about you and not about me at all."

Red laughed. "Yep. Green always said I knew how to make everything be about me."

"She sounds wise." Blake looked at him seriously, and nodded. "You're a Fourth Realm generalist with a Fifth Realm team and eight badges. You don't have any clan ties, you don't seem to have any responsibilities or obligations at all, and you're selfishly motivated to see me succeed as both a cultivator and a trainer. You're also not entirely unbearable in personality. This is probably as good as it gets, for me, so I accept. I'll do you proud, if only because I intend to do myself proud and our goals align."

"Awh, you do like me," Red cooed. He could see beyond her prickly clan-heiress attitude to the gooey feelings within! She looked up to him! She thought he was cool! "First rule of being Red's student: you have to call me big brother."

"I refuse."

"Agree to calling me your big brother and I'll give you a Lapras."

"I… I accept," she said, like the words physically pained her.

Success! "Second rule of being Red's student: you need a color name. How about Black?"

"Like Blackthorn? No."

"So you're willing to accept a color name," Red said, seizing the moment. "Yellow."

Her face scrunched up in distaste. "That's far too bright a color. I'll tolerate Gold."

"But- no, wait, this is perfect," Red realized. Blue's protégé's name was Silver. How better to tell Blue that his student was better than by naming her after the prettier, more precious metal?

Gold gave him a side-eye. "I agree, but why are you so pleased?"

"Hmm. That's a secret."

"You just said it'd be wrong to keep me in the dark-"

They didn't stop bickering once as they left Dragon's Den and Blackthorn behind.
 
1-1 Icy Path
1-1 Icy Path

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There exists a cultivation chamber deep beneath the Fantasia estate, hidden within the heart of Mount Sonata beneath layers upon layers of earth and stone and age-old seals. It's a secret passed down from clan head to heiress since the tumultuous Warring Clans Era, when the Blackthorns had conquered us with claw and dragonfire and hoarded us alongside the rest of their treasure; it's a sacred place, a shrine by any other name, where my Deino's egg had been lain and where it was expected to hatch.

It's where I first achieved Soul Consolidation, breathing in Dark and Dragon Aura and stabilizing it within myself, becoming a whole person in the eyes of the clan. It's where I broke through to the Second Realm, age eleven and ambitious and eager for ever more responsibility, and where I expected to break through to the Third, the Fourth, and even the Fifth Realms, should my aptitude not level off.

It's where I hid, when the Blackthorn dragonflight came, and razed the world to ashes.

… My mother doesn't know about it. She was the Outguard Head, commander of external affairs, but the chamber was a Homeguard secret. She would not think to return and loot it of our clan's treasures, our stash of gems and gold and Deino eggs in stasis, our Unovan black rose incense or the Dread Plate our founder stole and was exiled for.

The Blackthorns don't know about it, either; nor would they find it, when they searched the wreckage for survivors and valuables in the aftermath of their Outrage. This was hardly the first time the Fantasia clan struck against our overlords, though it was the first the recompense was so complete. If the Blackthorns of centuries past hadn't found it, the Blackthorns of today never could, so certain in the accuracy of the records they let us safeguard.

It was with a sickening kind of certainty that I knew the chamber was still there beneath the ruins of the clan estate, untouched, unspoiled, unguarded. Compared to stealing from Dragon's Den, reclaiming it would be child's play. There would have been a kind of poetry to it: the last loyal scion of Fantasia, wielding the hidden riches of her fallen clan against the tyrannical Blackthorns and treacherous clansmen.

It was with fantasies like this that I scrounged for food and safety in Icy Path both before and after re-Consolidating my soul and forcing a bond with Razor; fantasies like this that haunted me as I followed the red-eyed trainer back into Blackthorn City, into the Rising Gym and Dragon's Den. It would be the clever thing to do, I would harangue myself, the cruelty and self-disdain in my thoughts only feeding into my Dark cultivation. It would be the righteous thing to do. What is a dragon without her hoard?

The worst part was: it's still not too late. Red's mindset was disgustingly Kantonian, but I have begun to take his measure, and I don't believe he would steal from me. He may even refuse all gifts or attempts at recompense, claiming such tools and treasures would, by easing his path, deny him the full challenge of it, and weaken him in the end.

So, why haven't I done it?

O Lord Giratina, I so despise Dark cultivation.

"Stop," Red commanded, and I withdrew from my trance with hidden gratitude. "We're calling it for the day. Any more and you risk a rupture."

I gave him a confused look at the statement, but let it go. I have long since learned that no amount of arguing or reasoning would change his mind. Red was the kind of man who kept his own counsel, scheming and contemplating with no sign on his face or in his voice, and would only reveal his decisions half the time and behind a layer of obscurement as well. Case in point: I had not known we would be camping in Mount Whitegrave's Ice Nexus until we were already halfway there, and when I asked, had said in a solemn tone that keeping Ice Specialists away from their natural habitat was trainer abuse.

I followed him back to our camp in contemplative silence. As always, Red gave me only a few minutes of peace before asking annoying questions.

"Far be it from me to tell you how to cultivate," Red said, then began to tell me how to cultivate. "But how come you're cycling equal parts Dark and Ice? Dark is everywhere, but we won't find this much Ice ever again, not unless we hit up Seafoam. Seems kinda dumb to me."

I knew better than to dissemble to my teacher about matters such as this, even if he would deserve it. "I want an equal split, not Ice primary. My First Realm is already three parts Ice to one part Dark. Cultivating Dark on a foundation of two layers of Ice would be… slow." I gave him a look, up and down. "I thought you would understand, with a soul like that."

I made it sound like an insult, but it wasn't, not really. Red was a generalist, and his amalgam soul had twelve types in great amounts: Electric, Psychic, Grass, Poison, Fire, Flying, Dragon, Water, Ice, Steel, Dark, and Ground. It was hard to tell, looking upon a soul three Realms greater, but I think the foundation was mostly Electric, which was a notoriously poor foundation for other elements. He even had the other five types contaminating his soul in greater-than-normal amounts. The Blackthorn in me – in truth, the Fantasia in me as well – wanted to judge him for what seemed to be sloppy cultivation, sure to topple or cave in at any moment, but I had felt him break through into the Fourth Realm. His cycling was clean, efficient, his foundation sturdy.

My own soul, before Lance had shattered it, had been equal parts Dark and Dragon at every Realm. I intended to at least attempt the same with Dark and Ice, now, as a matter of convenience; I would be greatly fortunate to encounter another Dragon in the wild of Indigo, but Ice-types were not uncommon, if you knew where to look.

"A worthy goal," Red assented, "But that doesn't counter my point at all. You don't need to cycle equally to have an equal soul, just have the proportions right when you advance. Seems quicker to gather the Ice here, where it's thick, then the Dark later, since it's, you know. Everywhere."

I frowned up at him. "Are we leaving soon? I assumed we would linger until my advancement. It shouldn't be more than two or three weeks off."

He frowned back. "If you try advancing so soon, your soul will rupture and you will be back at zero again. Or die."

We both looked at each other in equal parts confusion and judgement. Eventually, it dawned on me. "…You don't have any stabilizing regents."

"What, do you mean Berries? I'm not made of money."

There are hundreds in stasis beneath the Fantasia estate, I thought, and pursed my lips.

"I've used some before," Red admitted, but his face was still all frowny and disdainful. "They do reinforce an Aura enough that a protracted cycling session won't cause damage. Does jack-all to protect against the mental contamination of that much cultivation, though. If the Blackthorns eat enough Berries that they take them for granted, then no wonder they're all such assholes; Dragon is already one of the five most dangerous types to cultivate, and they're doing it so quickly that they can't acclimate to what they have 'til they pile on more."

"The Dragon's Pride is not contamination," I said in instinctive offense.

"You even have a fancy name for it," Red said in a tone of horrified fascination. "This explains so much."

"Shut up!"

"No, you shut up!"

The argument only devolved from there.

I had always looked down upon those outside the clan with amalgam souls, or who were 'behind' in their advancement. It had, truthfully, never occurred to me that they didn't have access to Aura-rich foods to strengthen and stabilize their souls, or had refused such on philosophical grounds. I had been on such a diet since before I was born, had centuries of development behind my cycling methods, and was set to advance to the Third Realm by my fifteenth birthday; this was normal, I would assume and not think, and everyone else is lazy or untalented.

I wanted to dispute Red's words, in earnest and not just habit. It's hard to find the anger, though, when the rage of the Dragon had been stripped from me with my Aura, and all that remained was the cold and the dark. If I was now who I had been then, I would have already challenged him to an honor duel, all fire and fury and Dragon's Pride.

Maybe the Fantasia and Blackthorn way was wrong, I think, and feel like a heretic.

I did so hate Dark cultivation. If the use of Dark energy is to deceive and trick, then the cultivation of it is to strip all lies away: to be brutally honest with oneself, to look within and despise what you find. If I had not just spent eight hours meditating and breathing Dark and Ice into my soul, I would not be thinking on Red's words so critically, and would be able to dismiss him out of hand. I wouldn't have to be painfully honest with myself.

I still won't give him the satisfaction.

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Red had us leave two days later. "Your soul is getting a little thin around the edges," he said in a tone of great empathy, eyes soulful and mocking. "Any more and it'll leak little drops of Ice out like condensation on glass."

It's only half the reason. A week prior, Red started moving our campsite around the tunnels, bidding me to sleep and cultivate at odd hours. Someone else was using the Ice Nexus, and either Red wanted to evade their detection – perhaps they were stronger, or outnumbered us – or there was some kind of etiquette in play I wasn't aware of. I confronted him on it, and his only response was that my constitution was too fragile for the shock of witnessing a confrontation. I applauded him on his improved vocabulary and paid his words no mind.

We'd been in Mount Whitegrave for a little over three weeks; it was now mid-November. The Indigo Conference runs the last week of December, hosted on the Indigo Plateau, only a few mountains east. Hence my earlier conclusion that we would linger here longer: with appropriate regents, I wouldn't embarrass Red by being in the First Realm when he hit the arena.

I did want to embarrass him, just not in public. Despite my resolve, Red has so far done right by me, and I wasn't so ungrateful as to wish him harm for it. It didn't matter to me, that he has ulterior motives for devoting so much time and care to me. He is the only man in all the world who is supporting me, and I wish to support him in turn, despite my lack of ability.

Even if he made it hard.

"Blue's apprentice is going to antagonize you and try to draw you into a battle," Red was saying, cheerful. "It'll be hard, but try not to look too pathetic in front of my rival, okay? And whatever you do, don't battle. He'll crush you. I'll act all mysterious and knowing, so Blue will think there's something secret and powerful about you, and since he's the cautious sort, he'll tell your rival to cool it and gather intel. You just have to get through that first encounter, then stall until you advance a realm or two and become useful, okay?"

"Yes, big brother," I said dryly.

He snapped his fingers. "Yes, do exactly that. It'll be hilarious."

Red often instructed me on conduct and schemes such as this. It was a funhouse mirror to the lectures Mother and Father would have for me. Where they shaped my behavior and mind into the picture of a clan heiress, perfect and prideful and sharp as a naked blade, Red instead taught me how to solve his friends and rivals like puzzles. He made no comment on how I acted or thought or portrayed myself, as if ignorant to how my appearance would reflect on him. His only concern was for victory.

If he knew I was working to apply these values to him as well, work to decipher him like a coded message and understand how best to speak and act to manipulate his behavior, I think he would laugh.

Those first few days after leaving Blackthorn, I kept waiting for more rules than the two he had given me: to refer to him as family and to refer to myself by his chosen name, Gold. I knew the power that came with naming things, knew that by acquiescing to these two rules I was allowing him to shape our master-student relationship how he wished, but they cost me nothing I wasn't prepared to give. No, I waited with a heavy heart for the more serious rules.

Would I be expected to tithe a portion of any tournament or conquest winnings to him, in recompense for the food, shelter, equipment, and time he has given me? How about reputation: how often and to what extent should I attribute any accomplishments to his tutelage? If he ever started a family or chose another student, what would my duties towards them be? Would I be tasked with managing his mail, raising and breaking camp, the feed and care of his Pokemon, cooking and cleaning, tending house (if he even has one, the vagrant), running errands, battling his enemies?

In these three weeks, I have learned that Red can't speak plainly to save his life. He talks often and obliquely, cracking jokes I don't have the context to understand, straightforward only when the topic at hand is cultivation or training. I'm left to interpret his speech and make educated guesses, which I despise.

From these labors, I can conclude that there are five more rules beyond the two he spoke explicitly and early and must value most:

Rule Three: I must show off and show up Blue's apprentice as grandiosely and as often as I can. As a sub-rule, I am to refer to the boy as my rival.

Rule Four: I am to speak to him aggressively and countermand his suggestions frequently. I can only assume this is for the sake of our brother-sister guise, but his motivations are frequently unfathomable to a mind as orderly and logical as mine.

Rule Five: I am not to feed or tend to his Pokemon at all, with the exception of brushing Espeon and Pikachu at night, and even then only if he doesn't do it first.

Rule Six: I am not to put in more work (defined as both labor and time spent) on mundane tasks like cooking and setting camp than he is. An infuriatiangly mercurial rule, as Red seems allergic to following any kind of routine or schedule.

Rule Seven: I am to cultivate a generalist's soul, like Red himself, though I am allowed to maintain an Ice/Dark primary.

This last rule is the only one I almost refused out of hand, only refraining because it's the rule Red takes most for granted. I was taken utterly by surprise when he mentioned swinging by the coast to "cycle that salty Aura" together, knowing that Dark and Ice would be far from the ocean waves. Despite his lax attitude and general permissive mien, I know that there is no defying my master, especially while he is three Realms above me.

What punishment I would be subjected to was kept as mysterious as the nature of the rules themselves were. That makes it all the more terrifying. I will simply have to do the best I can to follow his half-hidden rules- that, and cultivate enough Dark that I can slip away undetected should this arrangement no longer work to my benefit.

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We arrived at Indigo Plateau on the twentieth of November, 81 AU. It is the furthest I have ever been from home.

Nestled in-between cloud-piercing mountains, the Capitol was built more vertical than sprawling, with the League Headquarters at the crown where snow fell year-round. I saw ambassadors, clansmen, Aces, and a thousand other kinds of movers-and-shakers that made the dual – and often fractious – civilizations of Indigo tick, and for every one I saw I saw three Pokemon and ten support staff. The Plateau had been where Kanto and Johto had reluctantly struck the White-Silver Accords under the greedy gaze of Unova in the mask of the Pokemon World League, and in the decades since it had only grown in prestige, influence, and raw commercial capacity.

It wasn't the rival of Saffron or far-off Goldenrod and was entirely lacking in industry or farmlands, but it was here that the beating heart of Indigo lay. Saffron and Goldenrod might be the economic powerhouses of their respective regions, but Indigo commanded both, and in recent years the League had been making inroads to Kalos and Galar, causing an ocean of foreign goods to flow into the Continent. Though the Plateau was the city furthest inland of all (or, I considered, all that mattered), it was here that taxes on those exotic products went, and its here where that wealth concentrated.

Blackthorn was rich in tradition, in reputation, in martial and socio-cultural power.

Indigo was rich in money.

"There's the arena," Red said, pointing like a peasant. I made an appreciative sound.

The Grand Arena was open-air with seating to fit eighty thousand. It was located at the Plateau's lowest point, in the valley between Mt Silver, Ashwick, and Javelin, and I knew from clansmen's stories that there were numerous viewing-towers with telescoped glass walls to artificially boost its capacity to two hundred thousand. Even from here, I could feel its Aura presence, the unleashed might of Pokemon up to the Seventh Realm every year for eighty-one years creating a mixed, violent Nexus.

I couldn't imagine living here, having to feel that every day. The Heart of the Dragon in Mt. Blackthorn was at least consistent.

"I wonder if Blue is already here," Red said cheerily. "He likes to play it up as me just being late, but he's always early to things. If he ever missed a project deadline on his academic degree I think he would throw a tantrum. Hm, maybe I could…?"

To avoid being roped into sabotaging the education of the Indigo Champion's son, I prodded Red down another line of thought. "We could check the Pokemon Center. We could read the update tag on his public profile to see when he last stepped into a Center or Gym."

"My little sister has so many creepy ideas," he said aloud. A passing trainer crossed to the other side of the street. "That part of your spy training?"

It was. "No. It's just obvious."

"Sure," he said, dragging it out obnoxiously. "If you got separated from me, how would you find me?"

His Aura was unique enough I could track it for miles. "I'd follow the explosions."

Red laughed.

The Pokemon Center was identical to the one in Blackthorn City. Indeed, it was identical to the Centers in Hoenn, Sinnoh, Unova, and recently Alola, too, all following the same blueprint, though ours lacked the advanced technology Unova was so slow to share. I hated it like all clan kids did. The Pokemon World League was a farce and they ruined everything they touched; luckily, Red seemed to agree with me about the merits of not being totally honest with the records that we were, by international law, obliged to keep of ourselves.

I omitted Razor's Pickpocket ability. I wrote down a brief description of Deino's egg but kept what grew within a mystery. No one could prove that I knew. The rest, I was honest with: I had remarkably little to hide, because I had remarkably little at all. I fed the paper into the Public Record machine and contented myself with the knowledge Lance had to do this, too, and must hate it twice as much.

Red had more to write, so I had privacy with the machine for a minute longer. Feeling around me with tendrils of Dark Aura, I made sure there was no attention my way then, quickly, printed out a copy of Lance's profile and secreted it away in the black-and-gold messenger bag Red had acquired for me in Blackthorn. It wouldn't list moves or abilities, that was confidential, but what Pokemon he had and what Realm they were in? Valuable. Even if Lance lied on it, too.

A few minutes later, Red was complaining again.

"Two months! He hasn't been scanned in two months! He got his eighth badge in Violet, so he could be anywhere in Indigo right now and we have no clues, none. He must be in isolation, training day and night with Silver, preparing to defeat me in the Conference, and we can't spy on him at all!"

"How unfortunate," I said as sincerely as I could. "I guess we're out of options then. With no one to ask, there's nothing we can do except go into isolation ourselves to train and prepare." And I won't have to deal with this Second Realm rival you're setting me against.

"You're a genius, Gold," Red noticed. "We just need to ask his father. He should be here, in the Capitol!"

We just need to what?
 
1-2 Indigo Plateau
1-2 Indigo Plateau

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Lance was the most powerful human I had ever seen. His soul was like the sun, burning and brilliant, and to be in his presence was to be blinded by his radiance; he never restrained his Aura because to ape weakness was to disrespect the clan. And, who would ask him to? Lance's Aura was coveted and admired by everyone in Blackthorn City, clan, branch, or citizen, and to be in his presence was to be honored in the deepest of ways. Who would deny honor for the sake of momentary comfort?

As a Dark Specialist, I possessed the dubiously useful ability to dampen and distort my own senses. It allowed me to exist in close proximity with Lance without showing any signs of sensory shock or, disgracefully, falling over myself in distraction. I suspected this was, if not the source, at least a factor in his willingness to sacrifice time and effort in teaching me. When everyone treats you like a legend, a blunt and – admittedly – discourteous child like me must have been refreshing.

This realization led, in part, to the manner in which I treat my new master, Red. Though his own advancement is a Realm shy of Lance's, my current advancement is a Realm shy of where it had been when I entered the Dragon Master's tutelage: three Realms shy is three Realms shy. The cold embers of my Dragon's Pride refuse to allow myself to act subservient or demure like Father said a proper spy should be, so instead I act belligerent, and through my boldness subsist off of novelty if not appreciation.

If, when we cultivate together or the sun falls or my dreams turn melancholic, Red's soul burns through my eyelids, I turn the lights down by casting myself in cool shadow, that's no one's business but my own.

I expected much the same from Champion Samuel Oak, the most powerful human in all of Indigo.

I did not get what I expected.

"Red! I haven't heard from you in ages, my boy. So you think you can drop off the face of Indigo and no one would notice, hm? Think you can show up and act like you didn't run off after that mess in Viridian without so much as a by-your-leave? I came this close to putting out wanted posters and making you pay your own bounty!"

"Did you not get my letters by carrier Pidgey?" Red asked in mock surprise.

In a heartbeat the white-haired elderly man had pulled Red over his desk and trapped him in a headlock. Red began whining about how he was a Fourth Realm trainer now and too powerful for this kind of treatment while Champion Oak spoke at great length about irresponsible youngsters and disrespectful protégés.

I leaned against the door and watched, letting my amusement show on my face, stopping the anxiety from doing the same. Champion Oak had none of Lance's raw power, or the Blackthorn Head's stolid demeanor, or my mother's domineering personality. As these were the three strongest people I knew, I thought it only reasonable to assume this is how strong people are, but Champion Oak looks for all the world like a normal, cantankerous old man. His soul was even veiled: all five layers were visible but the radiance, the pressure, was muted, weaker than Red's.

I had attempted to subtly question Red about the Champion on our trek to his office at the crown of Indigo. Red had told me a half-dozen horror stories about being stranded on Mt. Silver as a Second Realm trainer with only a Pikachu and Eevee, or having to care for a beast of a Seventh Realm Dragonite that could blow his eardrums with a roar, or randomly being Teleported cross-region by his Alakazam in the middle of the night. I had believed these stories, so earnestly Red had told them to me, and thought this another instance of my master preparing me for a confrontation with a powerful trainer, in essence no different than the advice he gave me for Blue, Green, and Silver.

Now, I questioned. Were the stories true, and the Champion merely mellowed in his old age, or hiding his viciousness behind this façade? Were they false, just the latest in the absurd things to come from Red's mouth? Were they somewhere in between, or slanted a certain way, to ensure I stood behind Red – or just to rile me up and tease me?

He's so annoying.

"And what's with the girl? You kidnap her, Red? What did I say last time you kidnapped someone, you troublesome little shit?"

"How would I know? Does it look like I listen when you scold me, Old Man?"

"Why, you-"

This went on for another few minutes, and in that time period, Champion Oak had somehow drawn seemingly-accurate info about his health, recent accomplishments, and the state of his team from Red's mouth. Their male bonding concluded with Red flouncing into the plush chair across from Oak with a dramatic huff.

I looked around, unsure what to do with my hands or where I should be standing- or, gods forbid, seated. The Champion's office was large and grand with three glass walls, accessed by elevator – a novel experience, for me – and outfitted like an academic's library and not a beaurocrat's or trainer's office. There were multiple redwood bookshelves flush with thick tomes, ruining the view, and what appeared to be a small computer disassembled on a workbench, next to three open Pokéballs.

There were no Aura defenses I could sense. Was there truly none, or were my First Realm senses too weak to discern their presence from the background Aura flow? The design and location of this office would make it trivial to aim a Dragon Pulse or Draco Meteor at it from anywhere in the Plateau or on the sides of the three neighboring mountains.

"What, don't have another chair for my student? Your hospitality sucks, Old Man," Red said, baiting the most powerful man on the continent.

"That chair is for your student. You can leave and think about what you've done."

Red snorted. "How about, instead, we think about what we haven't done yet, huh? Where's Blue? I thought he would be here by now, but he hasn't checked in at a Center in two months!"

"He just arrived last night, and came to see me first thing like a dutiful grandchild," Champion Oak said, in a tone that screamed unlike you. "Knowing him, he's lazing around my house, eating my food and using my training fields. Go bother him."

Red made a disrespectful sound in the back of his throat. "Fine. Gold, let's go, we got what we came here for."

"You can go," the Champion said pointedly, "The girl – Gold, was it? – can stay. I'll have Alakazam Teleport her over when we're done, no foul."

Red turned and looked the Champion in the eyes, and a sudden tension filled the office, thick and cloying. Red was honor-bound to stay, and not allow himself to be commanded to leave his student behind in unfamiliar territory. Champion Oak was a Realm above and his own mentor besides, and his words were absolute. Was Red so impetuous that he would refuse?

For a moment, it looked like he would.

"Fine, whatever," Red said, then rose from the chair and left. As he passed me, he put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, but I only felt cold.

"Please, sit," the Champion spoke, and most of the aggressive attitude melted away like snow in summer. "I always said that Red had an aptitude for the Rock-type. Like drawing blood from a stone, trying to get something honest from that one. Only way you can break through the rock to get to the gemstone within is to bash it against another rock."

"That sounds like Red," I said carefully, delicately lowering myself into the chair. It was still warm.

The Champion sighed. He leaned back in his own chair, taking off his glasses to clean them with his shirt.

He didn't look like a terrifying and fearsome trainer, but neither did Lance's mother, with her heart-shaped face and smile lines. It was in the eyes: a sharpness that saw more than other people could, that read people's weaknesses like ink on their skin. It was in their smiles, too, a kind of self-assurance that said I've seen the world as it was, and carved myself a place on top of it.

Champion Oak lacked that sharpness, that assurance. He looked almost like the plush doll I used to have, after a decade of use wore it out at the seams and left it a ragged, hollow thing, wearing its age like a cloak. His hair was white, his skin leathery and wrinkled, and even his Aura had a kind of… looseness to it, like he hadn't cultivated in a long time.

I wondered, suddenly, how much of a fight he was going to put up, when Lance came for his title. Not that he was weak – but that he was tired, and old, and maybe happy to pass his burden off to someone else.

…I dismissed the arrogant thoughts. A Fifth Realm trainer is so far beyond my comprehension that there's no surety to be had in deciphering their motivations. Whatever I see when I look at him, I can only assume it is precisely what he wants me to see. I should be much more worried about what he sees in me.

"I'll not waste too much of your time," the Champion said at last. "I've been around long enough to see the signs for what they are. Who shattered your cultivation, and assuming Red hasn't buried them yet, who are they so I can do it myself?"

I froze.

If I say 'Lance Blackthorn,' would that provoke Champion Oak into using his not-inconsiderable power to block Lance's Elite Four bid? If it did, then with two words I would torpedo the lifelong ambitions of two people I once loved like family. Could I even lie? I could say Red took care of it, or make up a target, but would any story I weave be believed by a man so experienced, cunning, and with such large quantities of Dark and Psychic in his soul? …Would I even want to lie?

I hated Lance Blackthorn. I am a Dark cultivator, so I know this to be true, and not a delusion born of grief and pain. It might be an illogical feeling born of grief and pain, but it's true regardless.

"I am deeply sorry, to bring up such painful memories," Champion Oak said, and seemed honest in it. "However, as Champion of Indigo, I have both a moral and legal responsibility to intervene when evidence of such malicious wrongdoing is made known to me. I can assure you, you are not in any trouble for anything that happened. I will protect you from reprisal: you have my word."

I will protect you.

How long have I waited for someone to say those words to me?

I was still crying when Red returned several minutes later, incensed and raving about how Blue wasn't there and the servants hadn't seen him in months.

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I was given my own room at the Oak Estate to… convalesce.

"How humiliating," I mutter. I can't believe I cried in front of the Champion of Indigo. Without the Dragon's Pride to shore up my ego, it seems I have become a trembling, weepy thing. Blake Fantasia would be quite judgmental, were she here to witness Gold's atrocious behavior.

I can't even cultivate to take my mind off things. Red has forbidden me from cycling until my soul has stabilized, after our prolonged stay at Mount Whitegrave's Ice Nexus. I would do it anyway if I genuinely thought it a good idea, but a cultivator of Red's talent would be able to tell with but a glance, and I'm not so reckless as to defy a clear order.

Razor has fully recovered, though, I realize- and didn't Champion Oak mention there were private training grounds?

A servant leads the way, and I let thoughts of advancement and progress consume my mind.

The training ground is a simple thing, a plain of blasted rock a few hundred meters wide, Psychic barriers keeping the destruction within and spying eyes out. The moon was dim and waning in the night sky, scarcely more radiant than the stars, but no Dark Specialist needed light to see. A few, scattered training dummies were off to one side, shaped like Tauros and Raticate and Machoke, with a bag of clay Pidgeys. I doubted any Pokemon above the Second Realm trained here, unless it was for something nondestructive like Reflect or Iron Defense.

I couldn't have done anything meaningful with Drama, my Dragonair.

I dismissed my guide and released Razor from his ball. The black-furred weasel immediately ran in an excited circle, looking for new areas to explore or people to play with, before dismissing the training ground with a whine and returning by my side. He tugged on my leg with a hopeful look, his blade-like claws tearing a hole in my leggings but not scratching my skin.

I knelt, gently extracting his claws before they could snag further and giving him a small smile. "Good evening, sweet thing. Are you ready to practice with your Ice some more?"

Razor nodded, red eyes wide and excited.

Ice manipulation did not come easily to Sneasels. Though their Auras had enough Ice to be classified Ice-secondary, and they were native to and operated best in frozen hellscapes like Icy Path, their instincts and skill-sets revolved around stealth, speed, and vicious slashes with their claws. This kind of behavior was well in line with the Dark-type, and so Razor found it easier to call upon that energy; the kind of stillness, patience, and icy clarity needed to channel Ice was much more difficult, for him.

I didn't let it get to me, and made sure to leak no discontent through our Aura bond; Razor had the innocent eagerness to learn of a newborn Pokemon, and I didn't want to spoil that with my unreasonable expectations. I knew well how Sneasels were best trained, their strengths and weaknesses, what they learned faster or slower, how to motivate them and how to teach them discipline for when motivation failed. Sneasel was the most common Dark-type in the Fantasia clan, after all. Common, nearby, and type-effective against Dragons, why wouldn't they be?

Pokemon didn't cultivate like humans did- or, rather, though they could, they wouldn't without human instruction. They also wouldn't learn moves, with a few notable exceptions (like the entire Psychic type). This is because the way humans cultivate is artificial – designed, rather, an approach created through reason and the knowledge of those who came before – while Pokemon just exist, acting in accordance to their instincts.

As a trainer in the First Realm, almost all of my soul's capacity was taken up by my bond with Razor. A small piece of his soul was nestled within mine just like a piece of mine rested within his, and through it Razor and I could understand each other implicitly, able to feel each other's emotions as if they were our own. A Pokemon, though, has a much more formidable soul than a human, and could channel much more Aura.

It's like a river, my mother had explained to me, when I was first training my Dratini. If a soul is like the earth, then a move is a groove in the rock that Aura can pass through like rushing water. All Dratini can harness Dragon-type energy and control it freely, but if they want to do so with the speed, control, and power to be viable in battle, then they need to practice a single, narrow use of that power so many thousands of times that it erodes a furrow in their soul.

The first move I had taught Razor was Slash. Through our bond, I guided his Aura from his soul and pooled it in his claws, strengthening and sharpening them, so his targets were cut not just by the curved blades but by his Aura as well. Night Slash came after: the exact same technique, but with Dark-aspected Aura instead of typeless, or 'normal,' Aura. Winter Slash would be next. Technically, all three of these were the same move, using the same 'furrow,' differentiated only by what kind of Aura flowed through the channel.

Razor's soul was small, weak. First Realm. It was big enough to house the splinter of my soul and engrave two, maybe three moves on its surface. By the time he was as strong as my Dragonair, midway through the Third Realm, he could have eight or nine.

That's all for the future, though. For now, Razor still needs to learn to channel the Ice Aura in his soul.

"Ice is stillness," I began the mantra, voice precise. "Ice does not grow or move: it eats, ever-hungry, and in so doing, spreads. Ice is not the cold: it is where the warmth is not, defined by what it lacks, not what it has. Ice does not feel: not envy but apathy, not rage but dismissal, not cruel but not kind. In this way, Ice is entirely unlike Dark, which is very full of feeling…"

Through our bond, I channeled Ice, and with clumsy, uncertain motions, so did Razor. Cold aura flowed through the Slash channel, and frost crept across his claws.

"Close," I praised, "But Ice will not rush through your soul like Dark, because Ice does not move: it eats, ever-hungry, and in so doing, spreads…"

Some time later, after cloud cover has shrouded the moon and Razor has successfully used Winter Slash two and a half times, Red appeared.

I ignored him, at first. Razor was in a flow state, every attempt to channel Ice quicker and more efficient than the last, his entire being so intent on his task that the approach of a Fourth Realm trainer wasn't noticed at all. I'd be a poor trainer if I disrupted him from his learning, wouldn't I? And, it's just Red- no one important enough to get distracted over.

Then, Red began channeling Ice of his own: slowly, at first, so as not to startle Razor, but continuing well past my own peak, until my Aura sense tells me I am seated next to a glacier, and not a human. With so much Ice in the air, powerful and pure, Razor's channeling accelerated greatly, his mindset slotting into place as his Aura, mine, and Red's resonates.

There's a shriek and a rush of movement, and the Raticate dummy was cleaved clean in two, frost sparkling brilliantly along the 'wound.' Razor crooned in satisfaction, turning to me for praise.

Us. Turning to us for praise.

"Good." My voice is clipped, despite my best intentions. "Now, again, without our aid." I pulled away the Icy grasp from our bond, and, after a moment, Red stopped channeling.

Razor… deflated, but made a noise of agreement, and called upon Ice once again, slower than before.

With the Ice in my own soul, I smothered the guilt.

"Damn, that's my fifth fuckup today," Red said, voice irreverent as always but not quite so extra about it, for once. "I'm sorry, Gold. I shouldn't have sprung Champion Oak on you, shouldn't have gave you false expectations of what he was like, shouldn't have left you with him, shouldn't have told him your story after you were Teleported here, and shouldn't have intruded upon your training with Razor without your request or permission. Those are all my mistakes, and I'll own them, and make it up to you, if you'll let me."

Being apologized to is a novel experience, for me. It made something in me glow and turn towards him, like a flower to the sun. "You told Champion Oak who I was?" I asked instead, because I am, apparently, worse at emotional honesty then even my disaster of a master.

"I did it as one last character test for the Old Man," Red answered, which I hadn't expected at all. Red frowned. "I shouldn't have used you for that, but… before I said what clan you were from, the Old Man was making all these promises: that he'd bring justice to them, wield the might of Indigo in defense of the law, so on and so forth. Then I told him, 'it was Lance Blackthorn, and swept under the rug as a clan matter,' deliberately phrasing it to be as bad as it could possibly be, and he just… sighed, and shriveled, and aged twenty years before my eyes, and said Indigo had no power over the old clans. The coward."

I gave him a careful look. "I've never heard Champion Oak called a coward, before." The Blackthorns – and, truthfully, we Fantasia as well – certainly thought of the man as a menace. His track record was the stuff of legends.

"He was always a towering mountain in my mind, when I was young," Red said, voice distant. "Like Mt. Silver. Unyielding, invincible, omnipresent. No matter where I was, what I was doing, or who I was with, just like I could turn and see Mt. Silver in the distance, the tallest mountain on the continent casting its shadow over me, so too could I see Champion Oak. Escaping his shadow is what drove me so far, to be strong enough to climb that mountain."

Red turned, then, and I saw what he was looking at: Mt. Silver, a wild area so dangerous and inhospitable that the two strongest clans of the Warring Clans Era, the Blackthorn and Whitegrave, couldn't claim it for their own. The White-Silver Accords written by Unova and which united Kanto and Johto were to be signed on its peak, Indigo City to be built atop it, but not even the superpower of the Pokemon World League could conquer it, and the Capitol was built here, on the Plateau, instead. Champion Oak was much like Mt. Silver in the minds of trainers across the continent, more myth than man.

"It's not what drives me anymore," Red admitted. "Being Champion… it's broken him, killed the man I looked up to and left his Ghost to haunt his skin. I've been telling him to retire for years. He's tried, a few times, over the decades, but he claims none of the Gym Leaders or Elite Four have both the strength and the motivation to block Unova from encroaching without favoring Kanto or Johto over the other. He doesn't, either, but the Old Man's too arrogant to listen. So I'll have to grow strong enough to knock over Mt. Silver and become Champion myself."

"You'll have to race Lance," I said, but my voice wasn't challenging or taunting. "He's got a headstart on you."

"Finally, a worthy opponent," Red said with eagerness, and I giggled, happy.

I rooted through my bag for the crumpled-up public profile on Lance, retrieved from the Center earlier today. "Here, I grabbed something earlier. I'm sure he's got tricks he hasn't shown me, but I've watched him train hundreds of times. His ace, a Seventh Realm Dragonite, has cultivated Dragon energy to the exclusion of all else, and has an incredible mastery over Draco Meteor…"

It's a kind of revenge, training the man who'll destroy Lance's dreams, right? And kind of fun, being the teacher for once.
 
1-3 Violet City
1-3 Violet City

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"Blue's off in Johto, studying some ruins," Red said a few days later, in the same disdainful tone as Claire would say 'cultivating the Fairy type.' "The Old Man offered to teleport us over to bully him into attending the Conference. Apparently, the nerd is planning to miss it in favor of licking rocks and writing hoity-toity nonsense for his Pokemonology degree."

"There is no such thing as a Pokemonology degree," I responded on reflex.

"Yeah, exactly."

I have never teleported before this week. This isn't unusual: teleportation was a rare move, a hellishly complex technique that only a scant few species could learn at all, let alone with enough proficiency and power to ferry humans alongside. Here in Indigo, that was the Alakazam line, though a few rare Xatu could travel short distances and, thanks to Unova, some World League affiliates had Gardevoir and Claydol. Additionally, the move had a number of caveats that made it impractical to rely on for common use. Besides its rarity, the distance, number of passengers, and Aura advancement of those passengers scaled the cost of the move exponentially; this could be circumvented somewhat by doing numerous, shorter hops, but at some point it just became faster to fly on Dragon- or Pidgeot-back.

Champion Oak had a Seventh Realm Alakazam, so Red and I appeared by Violet City in the blink of an eye.

I never saw it coming. I had expected to stand in a small circle engraved on the ground, uncomfortably close to Red and a hellishly advanced Alakazam, awaiting a countdown before being transposed over the course of seconds while fighting nausea and shutting out the polychromatic flashes. This is how it was always described to me, when Lance or Mother complained about having to respond to some distant emergency too far to reach on dragonback. It is not what I experienced.

One moment, I was walking with Red down a hall in the Oak Estate, on our way to the Champion's more private office; the next, we were in a small clearing in a dense forest, the chirping of Flying and Bug-types loud and close, the nourishing scent of fresh rainfall in the air. The transmission was so smooth, quick, and sudden, my stride didn't hitch, though Red's did: he appeared on the hill's downward slope, and when his foot didn't touch solid ground he fell onto his knees with an aggrieved cry.

"God damn it, Abby!" he shouted. "You've got to stop doing that! I'll get you back for this, you tyrant!"

A leaf floating in the gentle breeze shifted trajectory and slapped Red in the face.

Alakazam placed him there on purpose? I was impressed further. That kind of precision added an additional layer of complexity to the already tremendous feat; Champion Oak is truly a once-in-a-generation trainer.

"I'm sure it was an accident," I lied dismissively. "Maybe, if you treated 'Abby' better, they'd take more care. Thank you for the smooth transport, by the way, I appreciate it." A leaf did a brief loop-de-loop in the air in front of me, and I smiled in response.

Red snorted. "Yeah-huh, sure. Let's just get moving. Abby won't return us, so we only have two weeks to manhandle Blue into coming with us to the Plateau if we don't want to miss registration."

"Sure. Let's crash an archaeology site."

I didn't need to ask which direction we would go: it was blindingly obvious.

To the south, there was a Psychic Nexus many times larger and more powerful than Blackthorn's Heart of the Dragon or Mount Whitegrave, and far purer than either. Over the course of the minute since our arrival, it had shrouded itself and disappeared perfectly into the ambient Aura flow. There was a pause, a brief moment of absolute silence gripping Violet Forest, then the Nexus reappeared, growing, swelling. Breathing in, almost, like a thing alive.

I cycled a drop, and felt like I were punched in the gut.
-Gain glory or die.-
It was Aura same as any other, but somehow impossibly distilled, more potent. A shot of everclear when all I've ever had was watered-down wine. I had intended only a taste – to gauge the strength of it, and spit it out after – but it burned a hole in me, my soul. It hurt, and for a moment I panicked, thinking I was back on the Fantasia green with Lance and his hand through my chest gripping-tearing-ripping, but-

I smothered myself with refreshing Dark, detached with freezing Ice, and I was okay, again. I was okay. It wasn't an attack or a poisoned well, just… too powerful, for my level of cultivation. If I were Fourth Realm, like Red, or even Third, I'm sure it would be a great boon to my advancement, if I could stomach cultivating Psychic in my soul, anyway.
-May your heart never be vain because of what you know. Take counsel from the ignorant as well as the wise.-
The wound was already healing. I'd have to hold off cycling, until I fully recovered, but that wouldn't be more than a few days, and I shouldn't be cycling in a place this strongly aligned to an element I disliked, anyway. It was fine. I'm fine.

"Brisk," Red said, as if commenting on the wind. "I don't know if I want you near this weird Nexus, baby sis. It's bad news." Contrary to his words, his expression was interested, curious.

"I can handle it," I snapped.

He turned to look at me, face falling in a tense frown. "One breath did that to you? Fuck. I'll borrow a few Berries off Blue, should strengthen your soul enough to heal quicker. If I had known, I would've warned you."

"I thought you hated Berries," I countered.

"I dislike that it enables stupid people to poison their minds. Medicine is a worthy use."

I crossed my arms over my chest and let it go. Stupid master.

"You know what… here." He rooted through his bag, then handed me a small stack of cash. "That should be enough to buy enough Berries for a smoothie or a salad or however you're supposed to eat them, and a suite in a hotel too. You should be able to sense all the people in Violet City from here. I'll go interrogate Blue and find out what sciencey trouble he's gotten himself into, and I'll be back my morning, promise. There's no way I'm bringing you closer to that living Nexus."

I sulked, though inwardly I glowed at the length he was going for me. "I'm not a burden."

"You are, and that's fine," Red said plainly. "Venusaur was a burden for months until he hit his stride, and I was a burden to the Old Man for most of a decade. It's my job to carry you around and stuff you full of useful knowledge until you're strong enough to walk by my side. You'll get there, just not today."

I had nothing to say to that.
-Hold my hand in yours, and we will not fear what hands like ours can do.-
"Just in case, take…" he paused, hand over a ball in his coat pocket, then shifted and palmed another one. "Take Pikachu. If anyone in Violet bothers you, he'll stop their hearts."

I laughed.

"Take care of yourself. I'll be back my morning." He mussed my hair with a gloved hand, smirked, and walked south.

Holding his starter's ball in one hand and ten thousand dollars in the other, I watched him leave, feeling warm.

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I had rarely strayed from Blackthorn City, and had never gone beyond Mt. Whitegrave to the east or Mt. Sonata to the north, until my desperate escape from the Fantasia Massacre. This was by design; rarely are scions of a clan under the aegis of Blackthorn allowed out from under the elders' watchful gaze until they reach the Third Realm, when the secrets and honor of the clan can be appropriately defended. As heiress of Fantasia, this was doubly true for me, and the most freedom I was offered was training excursions around the mountainside with Clair as my charge and Lance as our chaperone.

The first time I ate a sweet was two years ago, when Lance offered me a dumpling stuffed with red bean paste and sugar as congratulations for evolving my Dratini. I still remember the taste, and as my mastery of the Dark type improved, I had occasionally snuck into a bakery in Lower Blackthorn to acquire more, on bad days. I still paid, of course, but couldn't risk word of my indiscretions returning to the clan.

Silly. In hindsight, if I had only made the request, or just bought and eaten some with confidence, no one would have critiqued me for it. Who would? Who would care? I was never forbidden sweets, my parents were just the distant sort who never thought to give me any. That I associated sweets with rebellion and freedom was entirely my own conceit.

Pikachu tugged on a lock of my now-blonde hair, pointing at the bakery stall with his other hand, a pleading look on his face. I melted.

"Three of the red bean, please," I told the baker, and the kindly-looking gentleman cheerily wrapped them in paper for me.

Pikachu stuffed the whole thing in his mouth, chewing while vibrating happily on my shoulder. I wondered how often Red gave him sweets, unsure if he was too dedicated to the pursuit of power to cheat in this way or too relaxed not to, and decided this would be a secret between the three of us, for now. Razor approached his own with more caution, sniffing it before spearing it with a claw and licking it. Globs of red bean paste fell on the grassy path, but before long Razor was licking his claw clean with gusto, and I anticipated that there would be no wasted food next time.

Mine… didn't taste how I expected. The recipe was different than Blackthorn's. Not worse, but…

Pikachu made a cutesy grasping motion with a paw, and I gave him the other half. Razor made an aggrieved noise.

"We'll come back, sweet thing, have no fear," I told him, and he accepted with a grumpy pout. It was probably a lie; I would be hard-pressed to find this exact stall again, what with how large and byzantine the marketplaces of the Noctowl District was.

The people of Violet City numbered in the tens of millions. I had known this, intellectually, but I hadn't understood, not really. Blackthorn City had never broke a hundred thousand, much of that number spread across – and inside – a dozen mountains, somewhere in the realm of twenty thousand being clanless citizens. How easy it is, to look upon the lights of Violet City and Johto's other settlements every night for fifteen years and not truly appreciate its size.

It hadn't always been like this. Like most things, it was irreparably changed when Unova forced a treaty between Kanto and Johto. Suddenly, Violet Town – a small community of fifty thousand or so – sat directly on a valuable trade route that connected the two halves of the continent. There still existed oceanic trade, though that was taxed heavily by Unova and their peerless navy, and a few twisting, dangerous mountain routes across the Spine of Giratina, though merchants who braved it were as likely to be harassed by the Blackthorn clan as they were wild Tyranitar and Golem, but if it passed through the Indigo Road? It passed through Violet.

This put Violet City on the map. Within a few decades, their wealth rivaled Olivine or Cianwood, though not Goldenrod, and they even acquired a Gym. Of all the cities in Johto, it was here that pro-World League sentiment was highest, here that bore the most Kantonian influence. It was obvious in the architecture – boxier, lower to the ground, more obviously artificial and likely to be painted garish colors – obvious in the modes of dress and mixed accents. I even saw a shrine to the Three Birds of the Storm, tall and proud in the center of a forum.

I wondered how much was Unovan influence, and couldn't tell. The Fantasia clan was always hesitant to seem too knowledgeable or aware of Unovan culture or history, lest the Blackthorn remember where our founder hailed from, and so my education was incomplete.

Could Red teach me? I didn't know how educated he was on matters outside cultivation and the training of Pokemon. He learned under the Champion, but was not of his blood like his rival, nor did he hold much respect for the higher education that Gary Oak pursued. If Red had learned about Unovan culture and their meddling in Indigo's affairs at the Champion's knee, did he internalize any of it? Should he acquire the power to usurp that title, did he have the knowledge to wield it well? It had never come up.

"Pikachu, darling," I asked, "How intelligent would you say your trainer is? Academically."

Pikachu gave a mocking squeak. I was unsure how to translate it.

I had to cut across the street to avoid a performer, but when Razor stopped to gawk, I found a spot in the crowd and lifted him up so he would have a better vantage. The performance didn't interest me: I knew through my Aura Sight before my eyes fell on him that it was some Kantonian thing, a Second Realm with evenly split Fire and Flying and the tell-tale grooves of techniques. I was always taught such use of Aura was low-class.

The performer took a strange pose, leaning forward almost far enough to tip over with a hand held dramatically out to the side and the other cupped in front of his face. He took one obvious puff into his fist, then a second and a third, and with a flourish and a sound that reminded me of the night I lost everything he breathed a long plume of blue fire into the air above the crowd. There was loud applause and hollered cheers, but the Fire and Flying cultivator wasn't done. Channeling Aura through the Flying groove, a gust of wind blew behind the fire and expanded it into a great, spinning whirl in the air above his head, looking not unlike the Fire Spin move. Over the course of seconds, the fire flickered out in such a controlled way it appeared to transform into smoke.

The performer used his third technique, then, and channeled both Fire and Flying at the same time. The smoke began to dance and take shape, turning from a formless whirl into a cylinder and, slowly, into the shape of the mythical Moltres. Using his Fire technique he gave the bird of smoke burning wings and eyes, and commanded it to take flight over the heads of the crowd.

Razor was vibrating from where I held him in my arms. He turned to me and, gently with his claws, tugged on the sleeves of my jacket, as if to say "Hey! Did you see that?"

I gave him a sweet smile. "One day, Razor, you will create art out of ice and shadows that makes this performer look like an amateur."

Razor trilled happily.

The performer had great skill, and he was obviously dedicated to his craft; he had shaped his soul to better produce his art, and the results were self-evident. It seemed like a waste to me, though. Techniques carved into the soul took up space on the same 'canvas' as Pokemon bonds did. Of course they did: a technique is indistinguishable from a Pokemon move, its just called something different to clarify a human knows it. With three low-level techniques, that performer, being in the Second Realm and otherwise having the capacity for two bonds, likely didn't have a single Pokemon. And, unlike Pokemon that could be kept in stasis and the bonds shrunk, the technique would always be there.

There were some in my clan who knew the Shadow Step technique. It was invaluable for a spy and saboteur to turn to shadows and be able to listen in on a closed-door meeting, or teleport from shade to shade to infiltrate a building. We could get away with this where the Blackthorn clan couldn't because, as behind-the-scenes operators and not frontline fighters, being unable to field a full team didn't really matter.

As heiress of the Fantasia clan and aspirant to the Rising Gym Leader position, I wasn't forbidden from learning a technique so much as I knew that doing so would disqualify me on grounds of being too dumb for leadership. A Gym Leader or clan leader are expected to be able to field a full team of eight simultaneously in defense of their people, and if I learned a single technique, I wouldn't be able to do that.

Furthermore… well, it was kind of gauche, wasn't it? Why learn a single technique to breathe fire, when I could bond a Magmar that could learn a dozen fire techniques and use them for me while I sit on a chair and fan myself? Humans developed techniques to defend themselves against Pokemon in the age before Pokemon bonds were discovered. That age is long gone.

Up ahead, a tower reached far higher than the others on the street, a humble wooden design painted the red of a Johto shrine. It had obviously been retrofitted sometime in the past years – it was covered in wall-to-wall windows, clear glass of a quality so high it could only be Unovan – but, unlike its neighbors, maintained some semblance of what must have been Violet's original architectural traditions.

There was no signage, but after spending a half-week on the Plateau, I recognized it's function easily enough. I crossed the wide road to enter it immediately; this kind of entertainment was much more my speed. The crowd flooding the street made way for me – or, on further thought, for the Fifth Realm Pikachu on my shoulder – and I didn't hesitate to pay five hundred World dollars to reserve an hour on the highest floor.

The lounge was lush, gorgeous, and mercifully quiet. Only two others had claimed seats, one with her nose pressed against the glass and the other reading a book with only the occasional glance revealing his interest. There was a cabinet in one corner full of drinks and snacks, one of each I was allowed as part of my ticket and the rest priced double what a stall on the street outside would charge, and a game table of some kind I didn't recognize standing tall and velvet in the room's center.

I curled up in the corner on the same side as the girl, Pikachu quickly falling asleep in my lap and Razor vanishing underneath the couch. I didn't wait to get sucked into the show.

Kilometers away and viewed through Psychic-treated, telescoping glass, the Leader of the Violet Gym crushed a challenger beneath his heel. I couldn't see the Aura from here – only the visual appearance was conveyed through the glass – and so didn't know what Realm the bird was in, but it was easily as fast if not faster than the red Gyarados Lance had battled my master's Charizard with. That alone was impressive, even if the raw power wasn't in the same class.

A moment later, I remembered that other Gyms didn't seek to overwhelm their challengers with raw power, and instead meet them on their level. It was a difference in philosophy I truthfully didn't yet understand, but knew I probably would, in time.

I wondered: would Red let me challenge this Gym, once I reached the Second Realm and qualified for a Challenger's License? Or, would he claim a Flying Gym was too easy for a budding Ice Specialist, and fly me to Cinnabar or Pewter for a more difficult trial? I wasn't sure. Red could be mercurial and stubborn, but he wasn't unreasonable, not truly.

I was looking forward to what he had to show me, as we journeyed for next year's season.
 
1-4 Goldenwood
1-4 Goldenwood

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"I should've expected this," I muttered, pacing back and forth in the receiving room of the suite I rented with Red's money.

It was a gorgeous thing, too, all soft shades of blue with bronze accents, a window with a view of Mt. Silver, and a tri-sectional couch with too many throw pillows to sit on. It had a small kitchen inset into a corner with an island and two stools pulled up against it, as well as a thick, fur rug that lead from the front door to the larger of the two attached bedrooms. Which I had claimed, of course, leaving the smaller, kid-friendly one for Red to have.

Which he didn't, because he never arrived, and now I will associate hotels with this anxiety curdling in my heart.

Pikachu made a frustrated noise from where he was pacing against the windowsill.

"He's not dead or even moderately physically harmed, or you would have felt it through the bond, regardless of distance," I thought aloud, breathing Ice in deep. Working through problems this way was a habit I picked up from Mother. "Nor can he be severely psychologically or emotionally harmed, you would have felt that too. So, he must be either unable to travel to Violet City, unwilling to, or is currently in the process of doing so and simply running late.

"If he is unable to come to Violet, it can only be because of a powerful threat. Even absent you, Pikachu, his team is just too powerful, and he himself too aware and cunning, to be waylaid or somehow entrapped by anything but a Fifth Realm or greater opponent. With Espeon I don't think he could have been abducted through teleportation, and with Venusaur's skill in Ground-type control he couldn't have been trapped underground or in some kind of structure, unless he didn't have his team with him… no, if he's unable it's almost certainly because he either lost against, or is in a contest with, another trainer in the Fourth Realm or at least three in the Third."

That is the general rule: three in one Realm can equally contest one in the Realm above. Stupid people would then claim nine in one Realm can challenge someone two Realms above, but the simple truth is, a two-Realm gap is impassable.

"If that's the case, then we shouldn't go to reinforce him. Weak as I am, I and Razor would only be liabilities, valuable hostages for his enemy at absolute best. And if he's currently in the process of arriving and simply running late – which, I gather, is normal for Red – then whether or not we stay here or leave Violet doesn't matter at all. What if he's unwilling, though?"

Pikachu made an aggrieved sound, and I nodded in acceptance. Zero chance Red simply chose to stay longer. He made a promise to me, and has been attempting to be more straightforward and honest in his dealings with me. Additionally, there's the matter of the Pikachu he tasked with my protection. He wouldn't spend longer than he absolutely had to away from his precious starter.

"If he is choosing to delay his return, I can only think of two reasons why," I said, and my breath crystallized in the air. "The first: there is something at the archaeological site that is both time-sensitive and more important than returning to us promptly. If Gary Oak is suffering some kind of issue, or there is a delicate situation at the site, I suppose I can see Red deciding to stay a while. He will eventually come to Violet, and likely open discourse with me with an apology and a promise of some kind of lavish gift. This is the better possibility and, honestly, the more likely.

"The second possibility is he is in some kind of context that, while not an outright, or at least immediate, danger to him, would be a danger to me. The situation would need to be resolved before he can come to Violet or bring me to the site. Maybe there was an altercation with Team Rocket at the site, low-ranking members that he can annihilate but which could in turn annihilate me, or some kind of discovery at the digsite poses a hazard to trainers with weak cultivation. … The more I consider it, the more likely this seems, actually. Perhaps that bizarre Psychic Nexus would pose a danger to me even if I didn't cycle it in- or, perhaps he cycled it, like a moron, and is concerned that he would pose a danger to me with his presence alone if he came to Violet."

Pikachu made a chittering sound, and I nodded.

"Yes, that would explain why Blue and Silver weren't coming to the Indigo Conference. If something at this expedition site, most probably that Psychic Nexus, leaves a taint on the soul after cycling it, then coming to the capital of Indigo during the time of year it is most populated then performing in a high-intensity, televised event would be, ah, really dumb."

The more and more I think about it, the more obvious it is that I should hole up here in Violet for a week, then reconsider if he still hasn't shown. He gave me more than enough cash to afford it, and if I switched to a lower-end hotel, it could stretch to a month. I could subsist forever, honestly, if I utilized Pikachu's strength to accomplish jobs. I'd have to do so under the counter, of course, as Pikachu wasn't registered on my license, but Mother had taught me the ways to do that, so it wouldn't be difficult, just moderately tedious.

I exhaled, breathing out the Ice and switching to my generic, Aura-recovery cycling rhythm. I wasn't anxious, anymore, so the Ice cycling rhythm had done its job, but it was rarely wise to make irreversible life decisions while under the influence of a Type. Ice, despite its reputation as the logical aspect, wasn't unique in this regard. I had only been cycling it for a few months, and already I understood how the Whitegrave clan had been able to optimize themselves out of relevance in Indigo's political scene.

Every thought is crystal-clear, made entirely without the burden of emotion, and utterly rational. Every thought that comes after is built ontop, and when looking from one thought to the next, seems entirely sane. But, after the cycling ends and upon looking at the entire chain, it becomes impossible to understand how someone could have possible gotten from point A to Z. Like ice, the logic had simply continued to stretch, and stretch, and stretch, endlessly.

One of my tasks, as a budding Fantasia intelligence agent, was to keep tabs on trainers that challenged the Rising Gym. It wasn't for any constructive reason except to give me, and every other Fantasia member with the aptitude for it, a soft target to practice and sharpen our skills on. As such, I was assigned the easy, low-priority, and utterly thankless task of building a profile on and constantly knowing the location of an Ice specialist of middling talent called Mariah of Cinnabar.

At the time, I thought the most difficult part of my task would be discovering why a volcano island native would become an Ice Specialist, but that proved easy: she had simply thought that Ice Types were most beautiful and, well, fair enough. The tricky part was in giving my Mother a comprehensive psychological profile on a mid-twenties, Third Realm trainer who sold multiple of her own internal organs, invested in a failing business in Saffron, then died of starvation months later.

As it turns out, she had convinced herself that she needed great wealth to advance in her cultivation. She decided that a certain business could give her that wealth if she became an investor, but she didn't have the credit to take out a loan for cash to invest. By selling her own organs, however, she could rapidly generate that cash, then with the proceeds from the business she could pay for synthetic organ transplants, and as an Ice Specialist, she could use her Aura to keep her body alive without them until that happened. And, if she was already using her Ice Aura to keep her body in near-stasis, then she could cut costs on food, similar to what I had done while surviving in Mt. Silver.

Doing that for a long time, however, also slows the mind, and she eventually lost focus, and slipped on both her diet plans and her channeling. She died peacefully in her sleep, in her home in Cinnabar with a stocked pantry.

When I gave my report to Mother, she had laughed. I had laughed, too.

It didn't seem so funny, any more.

A part of me realized that this story wasn't any different than the innumerable stories of Fire specialists burning alive when they channel too much, or Psychic specialists having seizures from too much stimulus, or Water specialists becoming so pacifistic and lax they won't defend themselves from abuse or threat of violence, or, even, Ice Specialists who die of hypothermia. It was merely delayed. She cycled too much, too fast, and instead of being colored by a Type, she was shaped by it. Ice may be rational, but it is no more sane than any other.

Another part of me knew that Red didn't save me from this, not really. His views on cycling would save more of my mind, but they wouldn't save my life, because I was in very little danger of being another tragic death to flawed cultivation. I was a Fantasia, after all, an old and powerful branch of the Blackthorn Clan, with a classical education and a keen sense of the limits of both my mind and my soul. I wasn't willing to cultivate longer and harder than Red because I was unaware of the contamination, but because I hadn't cared, at the time, and truthfully still don't.

With my next breath, I cycle the Dark in the shadow of the couch, and I stop thinking about this situation in terms of what I should or shouldn't do, and start thinking in terms of what I want.

And, what I want, I get.

"…I want to move forward," I say aloud, and sigh. Internally, I add: "I want to not be alone."

That's the decision made, then.

I look at Pikachu, who was watching me from the windowsill with his head tilted cutely to the side, and give him a warning look. He chitters softly.

"When we catch up with Red, I'm telling him it's because I don't want him keeping whatever trouble he got wrapped up in all to himself. He needs to save some challenge for me, or I'll never grow, right? Idiot."

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There was once a clan of Grass and Fire masters who conquered the Johtonian peninsula, using controlled wildfires to incinerate their enemies to the south and rout their enemies to the north. Their territory covered the entirety of what is now Azalea Town and Ilex Forest, and, at differing times throughout the centuries until, as most such stories go, the Blackthorn squashed them, extended all the way up to where I am now, just south of Violet City.

They were called the Goldenglow Clan, and they still exist, actually. Nowadays they waste their time on frivolous pursuits like breeding colorful mutations in domestic Pokemon, like Meowth and Aipom, so they don't really matter. Goldenrod City had been built by them, and the Goldenwood had been named after them. Razed then regrown by their Aura so many times over a millennium the brush here took on an unusual, golden-red tint that gave the clan its name, and was obviously, visually distinct from every other forest in Johto, even Ilex further south.

Some of the clan's power had come, or so the old Fantasia records claim, from relics unearthed from an ancient kingdom that preceded even the Blackthorn Clan. I thought kingdom may have been a strong word for a state that couldn't have covered more than a tenth of what Johto does now, but I suppose the accomplishment would have conversely been much more impressive back then.

When Red had, just yesterday, told me that Gary Oak and his student were at a digsite south of Violet City, I only nodded as this confirmed my thoughts on the Goldenglow Clan's ignoble fall from grace. Only a few decades ago, they would never have consented to a League-associated archaeological dig at one of their ancestral sources of strength. These days, they might have even sold it to the League themselves.

As I neared where I assumed the archaeological site to be, I wondered what it could be they found. Obviously, it had something to do with this bizarre Nexus: a ludicrously potent wellspring of Psychic power, that ebbed and flowed like the tide or, perhaps, opened and closed like the Eye of… are there any Psychic-type Legendaries? Here in Indigo, the closest we have would be Mew, I suppose, but Mew aren't said to be any more powerful than a normal Pokemon at the absolute peak of their potential. Celebi? I have no idea how powerful Celebi are supposed to be, but can't be much more powerful than Mew, surely.

Approaching the Nexus made it more unpleasant but, thankfully, no more dangerous. I couldn't cycle anything here without risk of some of that corrosive energy entering into my soul, which was annoying, but the Nexus wasn't aggressive. Some are like that, I've been told: it was most commonly seen in Water Nexuses beneath the ocean floor, which would seep into a trainer's soul through sheer proximity if they dove beneath the waves, but it's been known to happen with every Type.

And, though it burned me, the Nexus didn't feel malevolent to my senses. Some Nexuses are like that, too. It just seemed… intense.

I could only hope that it continued that way as I drew near.

Without a Pokemon to carry me and still suffering the malnutrition and weakness I had developed in Mt. Whitegrave, a trek that could have taken Red an hour has taken me two days. As a Fourth Realm trainer, Red should have been able to sense his starter and veer towards us if he journeyed to Violet City, regardless of which path he took or if he did so atop Charizard's back. Any lingering hopes that Red simply forgot himself and was late have vanished.

Less concerningly but much, much more ominously, I have seen no signs of human life on my trek to the Psychic Nexus, despite tredding the Union Road. This path connects Violet City to Union Cave and, through it, Azalea Town, and truthfully I expected it to prove unpopular. Azalea Town was an out-of-the-way city of low-to-middling importance, and most people traveled to it by boat if they had any reason to visit at all. It was easily the least popular Gym in Johto bar, maybe, Cianwood far to the west, and as such only challenged by trainers who had a Type advantage, wanted a pure-Johto badge case, or were taking a boat from Goldenrod or Olivine to Kanto and wanted a brief diversion on land in the middle of their month-long cruise. In the uncommon circumstance that a trainer was both in Azalea Town and wanted to head to Violet City, it'd be faster and safer to cut through Ilex Forest into Goldenrod then take the Golden Road to Violet. This close to the end of the year, the low traffic undoubtedly cut to near non-existent.

Zero traffic, though, over two days? I expected to see some people head this way for fishing or foraging or to catch Pokemon native to the deepest reaches of the Goldenwood. This was the only place in Indigo where wild Smeargle could still be found, and they sold for quite a lot due to their valuable artistic abilities. Jigglypuff, too, were popular to give to young children, as a Fairy Type not liable to abscond with a child or play some lethal game, and I'm told their music is gorgeous. I'm sure some people care about Stantler.

I regretted not asking around in Violet City about the mysterious, tidal Psychic Nexus. That I hadn't done so is quite unlike me. If Red is sanding down my edge, I'm going to make him regret it.

I arrive at the campsite near sundown on the second day.

Without my Fantasia training, I might not have been able to recognize the camp at all. It had been neatly packed away, traces of its presence carefully erased, presumably out of habit and care for the forest than fear of being tracked. The only physical sign was a pit dug for a fire, that had been improperly filled back in.

I was only so certain that this was the campsite of the archaeological expedition for two reasons:

I could feel traces of their emotions and presence in the ambient Aura flow. I couldn't sense very far or deep, as I was back in the First Realm and opening up my soul to the world would see it seared by the Psychic Nexus, but this is one of the strengths of Dark cultivation. Through my Aura Sight, I saw a greater-than-normal concentration of those Types uncommon in a forest, such as Fire, Electric, Steel, and Dragon. Impressions of powerful souls on the Aura flow, even days after they left. I could also feel echoes of particularly potent emotions, but the trainers of the expedition must have superior control because all I felt was focus and determination.

Second, the Psychic Nexus was directly beneath me.

I couldn't estimate how deep; looking at the earth with Aura Sight is rarely a constructive idea, as the power of Rock, Ground, and Steel is too blinding. It wasn't close, though.

There were no signs of any tunneling into the earth. I knew there would be some dating back to the time of the ancient kingdom, but I didn't know if the Goldenglow clan had shared that information with the League, or if the expedition had a powerful and keen enough Rock or Ground specialist who could locate it through their tremor-sense. If they had found no tunnels and been unwilling to make their own, then they must have went south. The Union Cave goes deep, and I wouldn't be surprised if it connected to this Psychic Nexus.

While I contemplated this, Pikachu and Razor explored the site, the Electric mouse leading the way and occasionally stopping to squeak something at the Sneasel. Razor was paying diligent attention to the lesson. Eventually, after sniffing the ground in a half-dozen places, Pikachu began to glow with Ground power in my Aura Sight and Dug into the earth.

A few moments later, he emerged with a thick paper envelope.

I knew that trainers could leave this messages in this way; Pikachu and Red could sense each other with incredible precision over great distances, so leaving a drop of Aura on a letter and burying it would be a reliable way of leaving a hidden message. There isn't any Aura on the letter, though. Did Pikachu find it with smell? That could only work if Red knew that Pikachu would search for a hidden message, and so didn't need to risk using Aura to attract attention. … How often does Red get into this kind of situation, that Pikachu knew to Dig for a letter?

Dear favorite sister,

If you're reading this, then you didn't stay in Violet City like you should've. Tsk, tsk. We're going to have a talk about running into dangerous situations when I'm done with this.

My rival has decided that this cute little expedition is more important than our rivalry. Can you believe that? I certainly couldn't. I've decided to tag along to see if I can shake some sense into him. Besides, this Nexus is pretty intriguing. The longer I study it, the more certain I am that it's not a Nexus at all.

I'm sure you're eager to cut your teeth on this mystery. I'm afraid this one is a bit beyond you as you are, though. Worry not, for I have a quest for you! It seems Silver and Blue got into an argument before I arrived, and Silver marched off in a huff. You should be able to find him in Violet City. If you do, I'll have a reward for you.

He has red hair and eyes, and can't be more than a year or two older than you. Late second realm, Poison specialist, traces of Ghost, Dark, and Psychic. Kind of unique, no? He totally doesn't feel like the average Rocket.

I might be a week or two. If it looks like we're going to miss the Conference, even with Abby's Teleport, then you have license to freak out. Go to a Pidgeot Courier Service office and ask to send a letter to Box 717 via priority mail. That's the Old Man's personal box.

Take care of yourself, and look after Pikachu for me. Don't go getting lazy on me, either. You should be knocking on the door to Second Realm by the time I catch up with you.

From,

Your favorite brother


After reading the letter aloud, Pikachu made a disgruntled sound. I did the same a moment later.

"The Champion's son is getting brainwashed by a Psychic presence powerful enough to mistake for a Nexus, and he wants me to go back to Violet and play house?" I ask, words dripping with disdain. "Or, Pikachu. Please tell me he expects me to mail this letter to the Champion and just couldn't bring himself to be straight-forward about it."

Pikachu shook his head no.

"That's what I thought. He wants to handle it himself. Gross."

Part of me wanted to mail it to Samuel Oak out of spite. The rest of me wanted to do exactly as Red said, even knowing he was being an idiot.

"Ugh, fine," I decided. "Let's find Silver. I wouldn't know how to find the expedition's new campsite anyway, and I'm not wandering around Union Cave in the vain hopes of running into them."

.
.
.

I was halfway back to Violet when I walked into the invisible wall.
-When you walk towards the sun, you put your shadows behind you.-
I gave a startled shriek of surprise as I fell on my back. Razor, the traitor, snickered in amusement, but Pikachu hopped out of my arms to walk up to the wall and place a paw on it. He frowned.

"I don't see it through Aura Sight," I said. "Do you, Pikachu?"

Pikachu nodded, then, glowing with Aura, raced up the wall. He looked to be going straight up, but, as he picked up speed and got further away, it became obvious:

"It's not a wall, it's a dome," I muttered to Razor. "Or… a sphere?"

I stood back up and placed a hand against it. I couldn't see it with my eyes or Aura Sight, which was a difficult, impressive feat, but with touch it was obvious what it was.

"It's a Psychic barrier, right?" I asked as Pikachu landed on the ground, sending dirt and blades of grass every which way on impact. Some of it splattered against the barrier.

Pikachu nodded, seeming concerned.

I knocked on the barrier, but there was no sound. The texture was smooth and frictionless. That Pikachu could run up it is a testament to his raw speed, I suppose.
-Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see.-
I didn't know if the barrier had been raised after I passed this point, or if it had been one-way permeable and neither I nor Pikachu or Razor noticed as we passed through it. Red clearly hadn't noticed it if it had been there, or his letter would've been very different. Pikachu also didn't notice it until after I walked into it, so though he could sense it it must be very subtle. There's no way of knowing.

Suddenly, the barrier pushed against my hand, and I stumbled back a step. I felt it against the toe of my shoe a moment later, and I grabbed Razor by the scruff and raced back a few dozen meters.

Pikachu sparked with electricity by my side, and turned to look up at me with worry.

"What are the odds the barrier isn't contracting towards the source of that Psychic power, and we won't get smeared against the ground as it passes through us and into the earth?"

Pikachu turned and, suddenly, threw a deafening Thunderbolt at the barrier. It lit up pink where it was struck and dispersed the voltage across the wall in every direction, little curling trails of pink light stretching hundreds of meters across its surface.

Pikachu turned towards me and shook his head. I took a deep breath of Ice.

I don't have a map on hand because I had, foolishly, trusted in the map I memorized for my studies. Now, assuming this barrier is a perfect sphere with the not-Nexus at the center, with the distance I had traveled since leaving from the campsite as the radius, is the entrance of Union Cave within the sphere's range?

I'm… not sure. I think it might be, but I also don't know how fast the sphere is shrinking. It seems to be doing so in a jerking, inconsistent manner. If it's outside the barrier already, I need to either find one of the ancient kingdom's passages or have Pikachu Dig into the ground and pray for salvation.

"We need to run," I said, and raced south.
 
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