Odd Feeling

It happens in a brief, infinitesimal moment that nonetheless shakes Cynthia to her very core. It's the moment in battle she has been both dreading and anticipating, the moment she has not tasted since her spectacularly established reign as Champion. The moment many, including herself, doubted would come.

It's the moment when she knows she is going to lose.

She has never understood Lance's reaction to his dethronement. How could anyone feel happy over a loss? And, in her case, a loss so big that it takes away the title of Champion, a title she has worked all her life for.

It's over. But it's an odd feeling. I'm not angry that I lost. In fact, I feel happy. Happy that I witnessed the rise of a great new Champion…

As his words suddenly flit through her mind, doubt and anxiety surges through Cynthia, whipping her already pounding heart into a frenzy. Impossible. She didn't know a single person who could feel no anger over a loss. There was nobody. Not even her. She loved to win. She lived to win.

The smell and sound of the battle around her are what she's accustomed to. The roar of the crowd, the snarls of her fierce and valiant Garchomp, the smell and feel of an atmosphere perforated with the hysterical excitement any battle of this scale brought. But none of this madness can penetrate the calm walls of Cynthia's focused mind. Nothing can shake her steadfastness, her ability to serenely destroy her opponents, who time and again are left in breathless awe of the woman before them.

Nothing until now.

"Empoleon, Hydro Pump!" Cynthia's challenger commands.

A generic use of raw power, Cynthia thinks to herself; one easily countered by Garchomp's unparalleled strength and agility. She calls her Pokémon for the signature Giga Impact assault. Not even an Empoleon, with its steel armour, can withstand an attack of that magnitude. Not when it has wasted its efforts in a futile attempt to blast a bulk of water at a Pokémon that can move at mach speed.

And as Garchomp hones in on its target, the challenger suddenly calls for a Mist attack. Such a strange tactic to use when facing the oncoming full brunt of Garchomp, Cynthia vaguely muses to herself. Perhaps she's panicking, which is understandable for someone as young as her, no matter how talented she is. It's been a long, hard battle; somebody is bound to make a mistake.

But it becomes clear it is no inexperienced, panicked decision. Silvery-blue mist envelops the battlefield with alarming intensity and speed – more so than she had anticipated. It continues to spread, like a delicate snow flower blooming out over the dusty, defrosted ground. A blast of chilled breeze whips Cynthia's river of pale, blonde hair back, ruffling her black, teardrop-shaped hairpins. She cannot see anything within the maze of frosty vapour, and she doubts even Garchomp's superior eyesight in the swirling, obscuring fog.

A moment later, Garchomp's Giga Impact attack lands, but Cynthia can only bite down on her lower lip, hoping that Garchomp has hit Empoleon, and has not instead slammed into the ground. It doesn't take long for her to quickly call for an Earthquake attack, if only to disorientate Empoleon and regain the upper hand, praying her voice penetrates through the mist towards Garchomp's ears.

Then the challenger's high, sweet voice rings out from the other end of the battlefield: "Empoleon, Ice Beam!"

And it's then that Cynthia is, for the first time she can recall during a battle, at a definite, resounding loss. She can only stare as glittering arrays of piercing ice, delicate in appearance and yet so destructive (perhaps like Dawn herself), tear through the mist in all directions like merciless, translucent bullets. She can't see anything; she knows Garchomp can't see anything; she knows she has been trumped by this ingeniously simple combination of ice attacks. And it's that very moment that Cynthia knows she is going to lose.

And when she does lose, and when the mist and the dust fade, and she finds herself staring across at her victorious challenger, she suddenly understands Lance's strange words. She's not angry at all, and it's an odd feeling. And she's not sure if she's calm, almost serenely content, in the face of defeat for the right reasons. Because somewhere in the back of her numb mind, a voice is telling her that of all the people to bring down Sinnoh's glorious Champion, there could be no better person than Dawn.

Dawn. Petite, but with a personality filled with the love of life that could enchant even the most world-weary; cheerful, upbeat and over-enthusiastic; idealistic and naïve. But strong. Persistent. Passionate. And enchanted Cynthia she had.

It's such an odd feeling, as Cynthia proclaims Dawn as the new Champion to the screaming mass of people within the stadium. Dawn's face is shining, not just with elation, but also with tears of happiness that gleam on her pale cheeks. Her black hair dances on the breeze, set in a slight dishevel that makes Cynthia almost compulsively reach out to smooth the stray wisps of hair down, and then her slender fingers slide gently over Dawn's face, wiping her tears away, and her hand lingers, light as a feather, on Dawn's cheekbone for barely a whisper of a moment, but to both Cynthia and Dawn it feels as though time as stopped only for them.

And then both of them are jolted back to reality. And what an odd but wonderful reality it is when Cynthia is not only devoid of any ounce of anger after this loss, but she feels, in fact, happy. Happy that she has not only witnessed the rise of a great new Champion, but happy that she has witnessed the shining success of the person she loves, and that they can share this moment together, as bittersweet as it may be for Cynthia as she smiles and waves, teary-eyed, to the applauding crowd.