Author's Note: Add to the beginning of the URLs in the description. doesn't allow hyperlinks in descriptions, apparently.
First there was the Doom. A disaster so immense, it could only have been crafted by Arceus Himself. Except they fashioned it with their own hands. They built their Babels higher and higher until one day, they fell and crushed them all.
Then came the Chaos, a time of unbridled depravity. They left no records-but nobody wants them. Nobody mourns the Chaos. Nobody sings their songs or tells their stories. They remain as they have always been-in darkness.
Then came the Age of Heroes. They came in all forms and from all corners of the realm, but one thing united them-their hope. When we all mourned the darkness, they lit their own torches. It is their stories that we tell. It is their words that fill our books. It is their aspirations we share.
The jewel in the Heroes' crown was their capital, Kartvelia. In their tongue, "the sun's abode". Wreathed in stone and washed in light, Kartvelia was their fortress. Within a few decades, Kartvelia grew from a hamlet into the greatest city we had ever known, so great that her name was shared by the realm itself. Though the Heroes grew old and died without seeing the Ferals purged, they saw something more important: hope. We hoped that one day, order would return and reign as it did so many years ago. We still do today. And so lived Kartvelia for centuries.
Then one day, two more heroes were born.
The one born under the midday sun was named Veras, their word for truth. The one born in twilight's embrace was named Asa, their word for hope.
Asa and Veras were the delight of their people, but they couldn't be more different. Asa was an Aggron borne of star-fire, a light that shone in the darkest skies. Her conquests on the battlefield were matched by those in the bedroom. Wild tales spread of her, her roaring laugh, indomitable will, how Ferals scattered from her like insects in the light-but most of all, her charisma. The young, the old, the weak, the strong, all found refuge somewhere with her. She was made captain of the Kartvelian rangers, and under her leadership, Kartvelia bloomed. Her borders grew faster than anything seen before.
Veras the Malamar was a ghost. Starting as a member of a local council, he slipped into every crack in Kartvelia's government. Every street, town, district, every single household and citizen under Veras saw productivity flourish tenfold. Lawlessness was not tolerated, and one by one, every major criminal was wiped off the face of Kartvelia. While Asa brought light to those outside Kartvelia, Veras rekindled torches within. Their influence grew until all of Kartvelia was shared between them both. Lesser souls would have divided Kartvelia, guarded their own spoils, and left each others' in peace. But Asa and Veras were not lesser souls.
Asa believed that destiny was a simple choice: innovate or stagnate. Kartvelia was to expand, expand forever, bringing civilization to Ferals in the name of God and honor. The Feral cancer would be purged and the realm would be renewed, with Kartvelia as her heart. But Veras saw differently. Years of study taught him that greed was worse than idleness. He knew that the war Asa had planned would be risky enough to threaten Kartvelia's very existence. It was a war he could not win. To Veras, the outside was filth, and to corrupt Kartvelian blood with foreign blood was like mixing wine with mud. In Veras' utopia, Kartvelia would remain isolated. It was only the Kartvelian who had knowledge needed for, even the right to, wisdom. Science, culture, and art would flourish here, while the rest of the world rotted itself away. Kartvelia would be their Eden.
Their squabbles festered into hatred. As the city descended further and further into conflict, all fell under Asa or Veras. Kartvelia watched as their conflict grew stronger, more violent, until all their work was undone. Arms were turned on each other instead of the Ferals. Funds were diverted from the scholar to the assassin. The two realized that if this continued, the Ferals would strike at Kartvelia's weakened heart, snuffing her out for good. So they agreed to a duel. Asa chose a champion, Zekrom, his electric radiance as bright as Kartvelia's future. Veras chose Reshiram, his fire as sharp and certain as truth itself.
As Kartvelia's elite watched, the two champions fought. Every attack was laced with intent. Several times, one appeared to have bested the other, only to watch their foe reply with even more authority. After what seemed like an eternity, their hands were wrapped around each others' throats, and for a moment, every heart stopped as Kartvelia's destiny lay suspended in the air.
But Fate had other designs.
Some say they said something in an even more ancient Kartvelian, the language of the original Heroes. Others say their glance was enough. What they had said to each other took the form of one final declaration.
"It is your words that have divided this city, your promises that have burned as all. Let the musician be the first to play; let Asa and Veras be the first to fight."
And so they fought. For some time, all believed Asa had won. With years on the battlefield and blood on her hands, defeat seemed impossible. But Veras' quick mind had proven every match for her. Blow after blow was parried by his psychic powers. And still they fought, knowing that defeat would snuff out not only their lives, but their ideas, their whole essences, flushed into the desert.
But in one instant, those two destinies were shattered.
Nobody screamed. There was only the sound of flesh against flesh, of two wounds, and the silent scream of two dying hopes. The people turned to Reshiram and Zekrom, but they were gone.
The scratch of two corpses over the ground, then ten thousand screams and an orgy of steel and blood.
Kartvelia is divided between Asa and Veras' camps. The dividing lines between territories are as intricate as they are fine. Even children are not spared-children who play outside of their parents' camp's territories are often kidnapped or worse. Buildings, even houses, can be split between the two camps, with opposing sentries stationed in different rooms. The war shows no signs of slowing down, and it seems only a matter of time before the city itself collapses.
Many Pokemon, desperate to preserve their heritage and lives, have fled Kartvelia. There have been a few attempts to set up dwellings elsewhere, but without a source of protection as powerful as Kartvelia, or without the numbers to preserve themselves, these camps are overrun by Ferals. Most refugees from Kartvelia now choose to flee north to the continent of Solstice. Very few Kartvelians have even a minute grasp of Solstice's language, and fewer its culture, but xenophobia and alienation are preferable to the possibility of total destruction.
Reshiram and Zekrom have not been found. They may very well still be in Kartvelia. There have been no major searches for them, as all available manpower goes to the war. Their likenesses are often used as standards and banners. Over time, their tales have been exaggerated, with some going as far as declaring them gods. Some say they have fled across the sea to Solstice. Like all other sightings, these have not been confirmed.