I do not own Pokémon Diamond or Pearl or Platinum or the series in general, but I do own my OCs.
The quiet stirring of ocean broke the silence of the mid-morning, the city sounds dulled by the surrounding trees and water. Canalave City was always laid back and innocent, famous for its gym, library, harbor, and tourism to Iron Island. Many called Canalave Sinnoh's paradise, and it was an honor to buy a house in its remote, beautiful property.
Lying on the roof of one of these houses was a young teenager. No older than fourteen, he stood out among the sun-bathed citizens. His pale skin—impossible to do more than burn, not tan—was covered beneath jet-black hair. His bangs were cut to his shoulders and brushed away from his face, like a silky curtain. The rest fell to his waist and was pulled back in a loose, low ponytail. His garb was normal western-sea, a long, loose, threadbare, sand-colored shirt, the sleeves falling over his hands, and a pair of black pants, two sizes too big for his small waist and held up by a thin, brown belt at the hip. His feet were bare and thick-skinned, from years of grinding against sand and stone. Beneath the black locks, vibrant green eyes, the pupils rimmed with a bright gold, watched the nearly cloudless sky roll overhead.
In fact, the only thing unusual about the boy was his hand. He told everyone the bright green and gold mark—running from the base of his right middle finger to the joint of his elbow—was just an odd birthmark. A very odd birthmark. But after fourteen years of living in Canalave, no one really noticed the heir to the Novae name's distinguishing mark.
A smile curled across his face as a flock of Starlys fluttered across the sky, their shadowed forms flicking across the sun's bright, imposing rays. Oh, how he wished his mother wasn't such a nervous woman. The lust for adventure swam beneath his flesh, but his mother constantly forbade him to catch a Pokémon and become a trainer, even if it was probably the boost he needed to satisfy that craving of action.
"Sorën! Sorën!" He sat up, as a tall, spiky-haired blonde boy, dressed in a purple t-shirt and blue jeans, ran into the clearing of the Novae household. "Sorën Novae, what are you doing on the roof again?!"
The raven-haired boy shrugged. "Getting a tan?"
The blonde furrowed his brow. Everyone knew him as Damien Agarn. Most people even believed his name was Damien. Only his family and best friend—Sorën Novae—knew that his real name was Darubianus. A long and tedious name, Damien had said one day. "You're such a liar, Sorën! You don't tan, you're always whining about that!"
Damien was only a year older than Sorën, but sometimes he acted like his father. But his real father had died in a sailing accident when the raven-haired boy had only been six. A frown crossed his face as Damien waited for a response.
"I'm just watching the sky," Sorën replied. "Watching, waiting, hoping, praying." He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on his arms, silent as Damien rolled his eyes and climbed up the stonework to join Sorën. "Waiting for something exciting to happen in our lives," he added as his friend sat next to him.
"Want me to shove you off the roof?" Damien suggested. "That'd be exciting."
Sorën wondered what Damien would look like as a splat on the grass. "Yeah, exciting for my Mom. She'd be freaking out so bad, then she'd be dragging me off to the local hospital and putting me in with internal injuries and broken bones and a concussion and whiplash…"
"I get it, Sore-n!" Damien dodged Sorën's fist. "Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry. Really." He waited until the younger boy had resettled before speaking again. "Sorry, forgot, your bullied name, the likes…"
"You're such a horrible friend, Damien." But Sorën was smiling. He turned his gaze to the sky again. "So, you see the report on the Red Gyarados?" he asked casually, changing the subject.
Damien yawned audibly. "Yep. I was watching it with lunch. Then I ran over to see if you were still alive." He punched Sorën lightly in the shoulder. "Hey, what if there are other odd-colored Pokémon out there? You know, maybe a purple Starly, or a green Gastrodon?"
Sorën's eyes widened at the idea. "But…we don't have any Pokéballs! And my Mom doesn't want me to wander among wild Pokémon—"
"Oh, live a little!" Damien cried, thumping Sorën on the back. "Come on, let's go find a weird Pokémon!" Without waiting for consent, Damien scrambled off the roof, down to the grass, and turned, waiting for his friend to follow.
Sorën cursed, then stood and followed Damien to the ground. "You know, if my Mom catches us, I'm blaming you!" Damien laughed, and ran into the woods that surrounded the large house, Sorën right on his tail.
*
The two boys summated a fallen log, sweat pouring down their faces and their hands and feet grimy from dirt. "Wow," Damien panted, sitting on the rotting wood. The forest was filled with creatures, and it was taking everything they had to avoid the wild Pokémon.
Sorën just jumped over the log, and turned to face Damien. "Damien Agarn, you better know where we're going!" he accused, reaching up to touch one of the scratches across his cheek, from the stray branches. "If my Mom comes home from work, and I'm not there or at your house or even in the city, she'll go berserk!"
"Don't sweat it!" Damien insisted, pushing a strand of damp, blonde hair out of his face. "I'm the master of direction, Sorën, we'll get home good and in tact and on time."
"Live in fantasy," Sorën muttered angrily, turning to look ahead. "If we find the ocean, we can wash off, and follow the shoreline home to Canalave. Then we can just say we were playing on the beach."
"Little young there?" Damien stood to knock the fourteen-year-old on his skull. "Helloooo? Good, you're alive," he added as Sorën's death glare. "We've gotta hope there's some kids down there, then we have an excuse."
"Fifteen going on seventy," Sorën moaned, rolling his head in sync with his eyes. "Come on, let's hurry outta here!" He grabbed Damien's sleeve and pulled him forward, deeper into the forest. Where the wild things are, Sorën joked bitterly.
His bare feet sunk into the decaying leaves scattered across the ground, and puddles of mud from the constantly damp environment. Twigs snared at his shirt and hair, branches scratched his skin, drawing one or two drops of blood that slithered down his jaw line, streaks that were quickly brushed away by foliage. "Damien, I hate you," Sorën complained.
Damien heard the comment at least seven times a day, and took no notice of it. "I think I can smell salt, Sorën!" he said instead. "The ocean! We're almost out!"
"Good," Sorën replied gruffly. "I don't want to find myself in an unfamiliar location just yet. Maybe if my Mom decides she wants to fly off to the eastern sea on vacation."
"Like that'll ever happen," the boys mumbled in unison. Sorën clambered over another fallen tree, barely noticing as the bark bit into the soles of his feet. Fourteen years of life made him resistant to minor things like tree bark.
Damien looked even more comfortable among the forest that Sorën did. Then again, the latter was always mad and worried about upsetting his over-bearing mother. Ever since his father's death…
The thought was startled out of Sorën as he crashed into Damien's back, the blonde having stopped. "What the hell, Damien?" he demanded, peeling himself off to stand next to his friend. "Is…"
"Look." Sorën followed Damien's gaze to a break in the trees. The glistening, azure ocean was visible, the faint sounds of breaking waves filling his ears. In the distance, Iron Island was prominent, towering like a ragged cone above the blue. Black smoke billowed off the island, as though someone was burning wood and dirt. And then it disappeared.
Sorën didn't realize Damien was running towards the sea until the bigger boy turned around and smacked Sorën upside his head. "Come on!" Damien snapped. "Let's go find out what that was! It'll be a great adventure to tell the younger kids about!"
Adventure. The word coursed through Sorën's veins like fire. His hands shook beneath the sleeves, his heart pounded against his chest, and a new energy found its way into his legs. Before Damien could say another word, Sorën's trance was broken, and he took off, feet digging into the mud for better traction as he ran for the beach. "Hurry up, Damien, you kröte, we've gotta hurry, or we'll never find out what's going on!"
Damien grumbled under his breath. Kröte. That had to be one of Sorën's favorite insults. And he didn't even know what it meant! Stupid Sore-n, with his weird words and weird hair and weird birthmark… Why were they friends again?
"Hey!" Damien yelled as Sorën jumped a rock and disappeared from view. He ran to the edge of the rock, and was met by a sheer cliff, that fell twenty feet to the beach below. Dread filled him. What if Sorën had gone off the side of the cliff and fallen to his death? Damien cursed himself for letting his best friend escape his sight, a brotherly urge to protect a little sibling rushing through him. "Sorën!! Sorën, where are you?!" There was no response. "Sorën!"
"BOO!" Damien nearly smashed face-first into a tree, almost comically. The sound of his ears ringing and the sea beating on the shore was broken by Sorën's laughter. "Gotcha!" Sorën snorted, bracing himself against the rock to not fall over.
"Dammit, Sorën!" Damien peeled himself off the tree, and stood strait, red-faced. "I thought you'd fallen off!"
The younger male just grinned, and raised his hands, palms facing forward. "Who the hell do you think you're dealing with, Darubianus?" Voted unanimously best snake hybrid in the fourth grade, Damien thought sourly. I hope that kröte or whatever falls and breaks his ankle.
"Awww, cheer up, Damien," Sorën pouted when he realized his friend was not finding it funny. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? Call it my revenge for you hitting me earlier."
Damien sighed, and shrugged his anger off. Friend couldn't stay mad forever. "Bah, yeah, but next time, you're getting a fist in your smug face, Sorën." He thumped Sorën on the back, then looked back out to the sea. "So, we'll wash off, and then go to Iron Island?"
"I think that's the plan," Sorën replied. His face was calm and stone-set, as usual, but excitement brewed beneath his skin, twisting his stomach into a tight knot. "Give me a moment, I'll find a way down to the beach."
He catapulted himself over the edge again, one-armed, and landed on the small ledge beneath he'd hidden on seconds earlier. Sorën's gaze scanned the rocks, the bright green irises narrowed against the sun's rays. Eventually, he spotted a cluster of rocks that looked the most promising to get to the beach. "Hey, stumme blondine, I think I found a way down."
Damien carefully followed Sorën down onto the ledge. "I wish you'd stop speaking gibberish," he sighed, walking over to where Sorën pointed. "You sure this is safe?"
"Absolutely no idea!" Damien stared dumbfounded at Sorën's idiot grin, and stepped aside wordlessly to let the raven-haired boy begin a rapid decent to the ground below.
"Sorën, you're crazy!" Damien called, before following him down.
*
When you grow up on the beach, you learn to swim. And if it so happens to be you learn to swim in salt water, you learn to ignore the bite of salt against your eyes and watch the world around you clearly.
The lukewarm, clear, shallow water felt wonderful against Sorën's skin as he splashed into the ocean, letting the coolness soothe his skin. The salt found its way into some of his scratches, but the stinging was miniscule and tolerable. He waded waist-deep, feeling sand and smooth stones and shells beneath his feet, waves lapping over his chest, before he pulled his hair free of his ponytail and dove into the blue expanse, washing dirt and grime and blood off his body, running his fingers through the curtains of black, curling around him like a blanket. Now his mother would just think they went to the beach and for a swim, not into the forest for an unsuccessful hunt for rare-colored Pokémon. Bubbles swirled around his head, a dance of trapped air making its way to the surface, as he swam farther out, until the sea floor was darkened below him and fish flicked around his toes.
After a couple of minutes, his chest began to hurt, and Sorën surfaced, throwing his head back to flick his hair out of his face. It still clung to his cheeks, and he reached up to brush them away, all the while treading water.
"Sorën!" Sorën looked to see Damien floating on top of the water, arms and legs spread like a starfish to neutralize his buoyancy point. "Sorën, maybe we can find some rare Pokémon out here!"
"No!" Sorën replied. "Remember, we're just washing off so we can go to Iron Island! Remember the smoke?"
Damien's face crumpled slightly as he did remember. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Let's go back, then."
The two boys sadly abandoned the deeper water for the kid-laden shallows, running back up onto the beach and adjusting their clothes so they wouldn't slip off their bodies. Sorën pulled his hair back again, deciding he'd worry about brushing the salt and stubborn snarls out later.
"Hey, you two!" Sorën heard some kids approach from behind, and he kept his back turned, staring out at Iron Island. Surely Damien could shoo children away. "Hey! Blonde guy," said one of them as they ran up. "Is that your girlfriend?"
Girlfriend?! Sorën spun on the spot, turning to face the quartet of bathing suit clad youth. "Girlfriend?!" he echoed, his voice clearly deep and masculine. "Who the hell do you brats think you are?"
"S-sorry!" the boy who had asked the question cowered. "I just thought…the hair…"
"CAN'T A GUY HAVE LONG HAIR?!" Sorën roared back, face scrunched in fury. Damien, having stepped back to observe the conflict, was used to Sorën's tempers, but his angry face was really something to be terrified of. If you didn't know how to calm the guy down, you were pretty much screwed.
"Ah! It's a monster!" one of the little girls screamed, and the children fled the spot, crying for their Mommies and Daddies.
Sorën took a full minute to fume, and then regain his composure. "I hate kids sometimes," he decided, looking to Damien. The thoughts of Sorën's feminine hairstyle ran through his brain, and he just nodded, a childish fear that Sorën could actually read his mind and decipher his agreement with the kids' comments. Sorën really did need to trim his hair.
The raven-haired boy shrugged. "Anyway, let's go. We don't know if we'll even be able to catch a ship to the island if someone else saw the smoke." At Damien's replying nod, Sorën took running, his wet feet covered in hot sand, towards the harbor, the blonde on his tail.
*
"Iron Island?"
Sorën scowled at the sailor. They had run into town, sand-covered and dripping ocean water—much like many sailors did—and then they were questioned for wanting to go to the island. "It's a school project," he said, fighting to keep his temper. "We're going to observe the wildlife on the island, see what the Pokémon do when they aren't being threatened, the likes."
"But, you're Ai's boy," the sailor said. "The Novae kid. She says—"
"Look, we'll be fine," Damien interrupted. "We're not going to get into any fights, so don't tell our parents, okay? We need to do this to pass our class!"
The sailor relented, the calm, blue waters beyond the bridge tempting and overpowering him. "Alright, then. But come back before sundown, understood? I've got a family too." Sorën and Damien coughed up the money for the trip's fee, and in minutes they were chugging cheerfully out of Canalave harbor and towards the cone-shaped Iron Island.
"What do you think happened out there?" Damien's voice drifted over the boat's engine, and Sorën looked over his shoulder to see the blonde leaning against the starboard hull. "On Iron Island. Why was there smoke?"
"Maybe it was one of the Pokémon letting off some steam?" Sorën replied. "I read some Pokémon self destruct to escape fights, maybe that was one?" Damien shook his head, and Sorën bit his lip. "Aren't there people working in the island's mine? Maybe they just had a problem…"
"Didn't you see it?" Sorën blinked as Damien spoke.
"See what?"
"The shooting star."
"…Shooting star?"
"Yeah. When the smoke was rising, a shooting star came out of it and disappeared at the very top of the island. Maybe the star caused it?"
"Stars don't fall from the sky," Sorën replied matter-of-factly. "They're thousands of millions of miles away. It said so in the library. Usually, they're rocks."
"But still." Damien left it at that, and Sorën did too. The latter turned back around, feeling the ocean spray against his face and chest and arms, and let wonder consume him.
What had caused the smoke?
Author's Note: I'm going to tell you people right now: Sorën's name is pronounced "Soar-EEN."
Otherwise, this is my second fanfic, and is clearly longer than my first. That's only because that's how I'm dividing the chapters up. Heck, I was going to triple the length of this one, but I decided not to. Feel pleased. I will update when I can. Hopefully, once a week, if I put myself at the right schedule, along with 'God of the West'.
-Muse