AN: Howdy! If you randomly stumbled onto this fic, I recommend reading my two previous stories, which lead into but are independent of this story. Of course, you can jump right into the fray if you prefer! Here are the bare essentials of what you need to know: A month ago, a devastating thunderstorm destroyed part of Professor Willow's lab and resulted in a life-threatening injury to Spark. Blanche (whom I write as non-binary) managed to save his life, and the two have become closer friends, as you do after almost dying / helping someone not die. Candela has felt left out and is frustrated by the lab's slow recovery from the storm, to the extent that she's taken some lab operations into her own hands, leading to shenanigans and bitterness and a weird, semi-suppressed animosity toward her fellow team leaders. But in the end, friendships are strengthened, the lab is rehabilitated, and all seems well, except for a bizarre weather report that calls for a summer snowstorm…
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The frozen weather descended on the town with the silent swiftness of sleep. First came the fat flurries of snow, falling steadily under the glow of the streetlamps, melting the moment they kissed the warm sidewalks and lawns. Then, the wind started to rise, and cold air rattled the trees and fringed the green leaves with frost. The snow fell thicker, coming in sideways, sticking to the ground that turned colder and colder with each icy gust. Fractals of ice expanded across windows. Shop signs swung with the force of winter winds.
Spark witnessed the stages of the snowstorm from the warmth of his dark apartment. As it started, he thought he was imagining things, maybe because he was recovering from an unseasonable cold, or maybe because he hadn't had a good night's sleep in the past month. Which was why he was awake at three in the morning watching ice form on tree branches in late August.
He used to excel at sleeping. He could sleep anytime and anywhere, even during the workday (much to Professor Willow's frustration). But in the weeks since a massive thunderstorm brutalized the town, rest had been hard to come by. When Spark closed his eyes, it was like he was back in the storm. His head echoed with thunder and pelting rain and the monstrous howl of the wind. The fresh scar across his back twinged with the memory of being struck by debris. If he managed to block out the invasive memories, they resurfaced in his dreams. In those nightmares, he stood alone in the face of the storm, overwhelmed by water and sound. He would see Blanche and Candela in the distance, watching him, waving for him to approach. His leaden legs would prevent him, and his friends would tire of waiting for him, and eventually, they'd abandon him to the elements. The panic never failed to wake him.
Something soft and warm pressed against Spark's calf. His raichu – Rutabaga – looked up at him with drowsy, curious eyes. Spark pointed at the view through the sliding glass door, and she noticed the accumulating snow for the first time. She perked up immediately, producing a few anxious sparks from her cheeks.
"Yeah, I know, this is bad," Spark said.
His communicator chirped, announcing a call. Spark unplugged the device from its charger and answered. Blanche's face appeared on the screen, their long, white hair lopsided and frizzy.
"I'm digging the bedhead," Spark commented.
If Blanche heard his quip, they chose to ignore it. "You should look outside."
"I am looking outside, and I'm not liking it."
Blanche's brows shifted so slightly that Spark almost missed it. "I didn't expect you to be awake at this hour."
"You're awake, too," Spark accused. "Aren't you the spokesperson for the recommended eight hours of sleep a night?"
"I stayed up to watch for unusual weather reports. I know the one earlier this week was never verified, but more and more predictions of snow have been turning up. However, I, ah…" Blanche's cheeks reddened. "I fell asleep for a little bit, and woke up to this. Hold on, Spark. I'll bring Candela on."
Spark waited as the communicator buzzed. Candela answered on the very last ring, and her face appeared next to Blanche's as a dim close-up. She was clearly still lying down. A faint track of dried drool led from the corner of her mouth to her pillow.
"Why?" Her voice was low and rough with sleep.
"Wanna have a three a.m. snowball fight?" Spark asked.
"Wanna have a three a.m. broken nose?" Candela growled. "What's going on?"
"Look out your window," Blanche said.
Candela moaned and cursed and disappeared from frame. After a few seconds of silence, she reappeared on the screen with wide, alert eyes, all traces of fatigue gone.
"Holy shit," she said.
"I've been developing a theory. I'd like us to meet in the conference room immediately," Blanche said.
"Blanche, it's O dark thirty," Candela said.
"Could you really sleep through this?" Blanche asked.
Candela's face turned away, and the bluish lighting on her profile indicated she was looking out into the snowy streets again. "I guess not…"
"Then I'll see you both there," Blanche said, and disconnected.
Spark set the communicator down and rubbed warmth back into his arms. There was no choice but to turn the heat on, as weird as it felt to do so in August. His breath steamed in front of him as he spoke to Rutabaga.
"You don't know where I stored my parka, do you?"
§
The lab's conference room could have doubled as a walk-in freezer, and the plain walls and white, modern furniture made it feel all the colder. Spark pulled the collar of his coat tighter as Professor Willow tampered with a control panel at one end of the table. Willow looked to be the most exhausted of the lot of them. Every small movement seemed to require gargantuan effort, and his eyelids fought with all their might to remain open. The members of the lab had all been pushed to their limits to fix up the damaged building, Willow most of all. He'd watched his baby be destroyed, and had poured all of his energy into nursing it back to life. Spark's heart ached for him. He didn't need another crisis.
"There," said Willow, jamming his hands into his pockets to conserve heat. "It should start warming up in here. Go ahead, Blanche."
Blanche slipped their communicator into a port on the side of the table, and the tabletop lit up. A map formed, rising into digital hills and projected valleys. Spark resisted the urge to pass his fingers through the fake mountaintops of the range that grew in front of his place at the table. A layer of clouds materialized above the terrain.
"Last week, I sent you a report predicting a snowstorm on the way, but it never developed, and so was dismissed as a computer error. Since yesterday afternoon, more reports have been released by meteorologists, all conservatively predicting an unusual cold front. I monitored these reports through the night, as the meteorologists themselves couldn't provide an explanation for the cold air coming up from the south, apparently without a source or cause," Blanche said.
"And now it's snowing. I think we're all on the same page with that," Candela said.
Blanche silenced her with a sharp glance. "Yes, and I believe I know why. As you can see from the past and projected radar, the snowstorm is coming up from the south, passing over town, and if it continues on the same trajectory…"
The thick patch of clouds swirled and passed above the icon of the lab, dropping pixels of snow as it moved. The storm proceeded toward the mountain range in front of Spark. Blanche reached over the table and used a stylus to trace the path, leaving a floating blue line. The map reset, and new clouds formed in the west.
"Here is the path taken by the thunderstorm last month," Blanche said.
The dark clouds flashed fake lightning and rolled toward town. A funnel formed and touched down near the miniature lab, and Spark caught himself holding his breath. The storm system then turned north, joining the blue line Blanche had marked in the sky and stopping above the mountains. Spark impatiently waited for Blanche to finish tracing its path with a yellow line and breathed a sigh of relief when the clouds disappeared.
"Both systems should end in the same place, where the first storm broke up," Blanche said, rounding the table to stand over Spark's shoulder. They circled the tallest mountain in red. A label appeared at its base: MOUNT AKANOIR.
Candela leaned forward. "OK, and?"
"There was no reason for the thunderstorm to turn north. There's no reason for the present snowstorm at all."
"But you have an explanation?" Willow prompted, staring hard at the red hoop on the mountain.
Blanche nodded. "These weather patterns cannot have been conjured by atmospheric fluke. The only possible explanation is the wrath of the legendary birds Zapdos and Articuno."
Their audience sat in stunned silence. Every so often, some trainer in the world would claim a sighting of the extraordinary pokémon, but such claims were difficult to confirm. The legendary birds were elusive creatures, if they were actual creatures at all. People theorized they were spirits, or mirages, or mythological figments of the cultural imagination. Others claimed they were members of rare, particularly evasive breeds of flying pokémon, evolved to the point that they couldn't be captured. Spark believed in the original legend, that only one of each bird existed in the world, and he believed this because he'd seen one, and there could be no other pokémon like it.
"So, where's Moltres then?"
Blanche drew their head back a little, either impressed or surprised by Candela's casual question. "I thought you'd immediately disagree with me."
Candela shook her head. An intense gleam entered her eyes, the same sort of look she wore in the face of battle. "No, your theory makes sense. More sense than the winter wonderland outside our door, anyway. But if there are two of the birds, where's the third? And how does this theory help us?"
"Legends tell us that Moltres is the most prone to roam," Professor Willow said. He toyed with the control panel, and the circled mountain range moved to the center of the table and enlarged. "Moltres could be somewhere else entirely, not drawn to whatever brought the first two here, to Mount Akanoir. Or, it could be that Moltres is drawing the others there."
"If the stories we've heard are true, the birds are extremely territorial, and would not congregate outside of an extraordinary circumstance. However, they're also described in the old myths as eternally bound to each other, and sworn to each other's aid," Blanche said, taking a seat.
"I'd certainly call these storms extraordinary," Spark said. And then some.
"Precisely," Blanche said. "I believe that Zapdos and Articuno have been rampaging through our region, searching for Moltres."
Candela finished Blanche's line of reasoning. "And if they're setting aside their territorial disputes to look for Moltres, it must be in distress."
"So, we rescue it?" Spark asked. His stomach felt full of squirming caterpies. This was all too unbelievable. The weather, the birds, the possibility of seeing that incomparably pokémon again, like he had as a child.
"We investigate it," Blanche said. "If that's agreeable to you, Professor."
The professor leaned back in his chair. His tired eyes passed over each team leader, and Spark sensed he was looking for something beyond what he could hope to see. He was too calm; they all were. Even Blanche was eager to dive into this crazy, impossible, probably irrational adventure. That wasn't like the cautious, skeptical Blanche he knew. And Candela… she pursued everything wholeheartedly, and had likely dreamed of just this kind of situation. But the intensity of her amber eyes was enough to heat the room, to fill everyone's hearts with fire. The intoxicating energy of the moment could almost make Spark forget his sleepless nights.
Willow smiled and crossed his arms. "Of course. Besides, I don't believe there's a force on this planet that could stop you from trying."
Candela whooped and pumped her fist in the air. Though Blanche's mouth barely moved, Spark could tell they were smiling.
Spark stood, unable to keep still with all the emotion charging in the room. "So, we leave in the morning, then?"
Blanche pulled their communicator from the table and permitted a rare smirk. "By dawn's first light, rain or snow."