A new project of mine. Please let me know if you have questions about anything, and let me know if it is worth continuing. Thank you

"Why won't you just stay down!" roared the fireminder. Nearly a foot taller than Connor, and built like a tauros, he once again threw a fire blast at the young man. Connor, attempting to stand from the dirt, threw himself to the side, the blast just barely missing him.

The fireminder didn't seem tired at all. The crowd surrounding the battle gasped at the near miss, murmuring as the fireminder took a step closer. His flaming hair crackled as he marched across the ring, conjuring a fireball in his hand. Connor stood, facing his attacker.

"I still wish I knew what possessed you, a normal born, to challenge a pure typeminder like this," the fireminder said, shaking his head. Connor crouched, without saying a word. Lightning crackled between his fingertips.

The fireminder shrugged. "Your loss." Then, he raised his arm, and almost like a baseball, pitched the fireball right at Connor's head. The normal born dodged once again, the fire just barely singeing his brown hair. As he leapt sideways, he shot a lightning bolt from his fingertips, landing a direct hit in the fireminder's chest.

"Agh!" he cried, stumbling backward. Connor wasted no time. Using the quickness that comes from being electric learned, he sped behind his challenger, using electricity once again to blast him in the other direction. He knew from experience that fire attacks against fireminders do hardly any damage.

The fireminder, having been blasted both backwards and forwards in less than five seconds, whirled around. His fiery hair blazed angrily as he stalked back towards Connor. The crowd behind the normal born backed up.

"Why don't you fight fire with fire, huh?" he demanded, hands covered in flames. "I know your two chosen magics are electric and fire, so why do you choose only one?" He stopped, flames branching from his hands up to his shoulders. "Because you know that a halfway like yourself could never match up to a purebred."

For the first time, Connor's eyes lit with anger. Normally the smack talk of the purebreds that he battled didn't bother him. But the word halfway had always pushed a button. "Why don't we just see about that?" he said cooly, letting the electricity seep back into his skin, and pulling the burning flames from his core.

"There's no way that a normal born can beat a typeminder with their own magic!" whispered someone in the crowd. "I got 30 bronze on the typeminder."

"I got 30 on Connor to win," someone said. "Don't forget, this is Connor Alexander we are talking about. The extraordinary follows him wherever he goes."

"I heard that he beat a fireminder last week using flames!" someone exclaimed through the murmuring.

"That's 50 for me on the typeminder," someone else said. "I don't care if it's Connor Alexander or not. No normal born can perform a feat such as that." A man in a top hat was walking the circle, taking bets from the crowd. An anthropomorphic aipom was doing the same on the opposite side. Nearly all bets had been placed on the typeminder to win as the two faced off.

Connor sighed. When will people learn? The normal born brought his hands together, combining two fireballs into one. The crowd spread out even more. The fireminder laughed and raised his hands into the air, conjuring two fire balls above his head, each the same size as Connor's on their own.

"Get ready to get crushed," said the fireminder menacingly. Connor kept his focus on the fireball between his hands. It was a standoff, each waiting for the other to move. Connor closed his eyes.

At the sound of the flames hissing as they flew through the air, his eyes opened. Immediately, he opened his arms, the fireball expanding to twice the size of the fireminder's combined. He shot it towards the purebred, his own fire engulfing the twin fireballs heading his way, and also engulfing the typeminder himself.

"How!" was all you could hear him say as the flames surrounded him. They engulfed him, draining him of energy and forcing him to his knees. As it dissipated, the purebred was clearly on the ground, unable to stand.

"The… normal born is the winner!" shouted the bet collector. The crowd cheered, ecstatic, even those who had bet on the typeminder to win. But through the cheering, even more prevalent were the questions of; "How?" "Impossible!" "Astounding!"

Connor, through all the noise, walked towards the fireminder calmly. He wormed his way through the mob of people surrounding the bet collector trying to get their money. He nodded towards the anthropomorphic chansey woman helping the fireminder as he approached. She had already healed most of his burns and scrapes, and he was sitting up now on the ground. "Good fight, man," Connor said, offering his hand.

The fireminder eyed him, almost fearful. He gingerly took Connor's hand. "How…" he said again, repeating what he had exclaimed while engulfed in flames. "You're… some kind of freak of nature."

Connor smiled for the first time, showing pearly white teeth. "Well, I am normal born," he said, words laced with irony. "Name's Connor."

"Charles…" said the man slowly, shaking Connor's hand. The crowd was dissipating around them. "I hate to say it, but I could learn some things from you, boy." He looked around, as if afraid that someone would hear him asking a normal born for tips.

"You just have to be patient. As I am being for my payment," Connor said backhandedly. The man shook his head quickly.

"I almost forgot. A fight is a fight. Here." He pulled from his pocket a small fire-proof sack. Within were 50 bronze and 2 silver pieces. "You won fair and square. Though… I just still can't understand how."

"Patience, my friend," Connor said, taking the bag and smiling again. Without another word, he turned, and headed home.

Isabella Alexander sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, leaning against the windowpane of the stone cottage. She leaned forward, watching how the shadows cast on the ground changed as her blonde hair fell over her face. Then she would lean back, until she could just barely see the tip of her nose, and the almost invisible shadow of her long, dark eyelashes. Then she would start over, trying to see if she could perfectly line up the shadow of her nose with her hair, a game she used to entertain herself as she waited for her brother to come home. But, whenever she thought she might have it, a breeze would blow through the open window, messing up her hair, and her little game.

"Sabra," she called into the house. "What are shadows made of?" She ran her little fingers through her hair again, straightening it in preparation for another round of the game.

Beside her appeared the anthropomorphic kadabra woman. She straightened her purple dress that had gotten rustled during the teleport. "What did you say, dearie?" she asked, pulling on her long whiskers. The shining star on her forehead faded to a dim glow as the magic ended.

"What are shadows made of?" Isabella asked again. Sabra thought, catlike ears twitching like they always did. Her fluffy tail lightly swung back and forth.

"Shadows are just absences of light," she began, sitting on the windowsill next to the young girl. "When you hold your hand up, it stops the light from reaching that spot, right?" Isabella nodded, holding her little five fingered hand up next to Sabra's long three fingered one. The shadows on the ground were crisp.

"But, even when a shadow is made," began Sabra. The star on her forehead lit up once again as a small ball of light appeared in front of her hand. It floated down towards the shadows on the ground. "Light can still come and brighten it up again." The ball of light reached the shadows, making them completely disappear. Isabella looked up at Sabra and grinned broadly, her eleven year old mind having been educated.

"Hello?" called a voice from the front door. Isabelle's eyes widened, as did her grin.

"Connor!" she shouted, leaping from the windowsill and sprinting towards the door, nearly knocking Sabra down in the process. The kadabra only smiled, her eyes crinkling with joy. She stood as well, padding towards the door on her soft paws.

Isabella squeezed her brother tight, her head only coming up to the middle of his chest. At six foot three, he was significantly taller than his little sister. Normal born humans are naturally taller than type typeminders. That, and they are naturally more attractive as well. While typeminders have traits that represent their own type, normal born are extreme representations of, well, normal. Therefore they grow taller, live longer, and are more beautiful, in an almost eerie way.

Isabella was a prime example of this. While only 11 years old, she was already much taller than other girls her age. She had no blemishes on her porcelain skin, and her hair was a silky golden blonde. Her bright green eyes were large and vibrant.

Connor laughed as she hugged him, unable to hug her back, as his hands were full. "Go on, lemme walk in," he said, grinning as she rushed to the table. He placed on the counter two baskets, one with a whole raw chicken inside, and the other filled with oran and pecha berries. A loaf of bread lay on top of the fruit. Connor began to place the food on the counter.

"So much food!" Isabella said hungrily. "We never were allowed to eat this much in the orphanage!"

Connor blinked, his hands freezing for a brief moment, before continuing to unload the baskets. "You're right, Bella," he said. "But now, since I make enough money, we can eat as much as we want!" He turned to her, smiling. "How does that sound?"

She nodded her head, turning back around and sitting at the table. Then, she remembered something. "Brother!" she said turning back around. "Watch what I can do!"

"Give me a second, Bella," he said. Carving off parts of the chicken, he placed them on the stone countertop. He conjured a brief, controlled flame, roasting the meat almost instantly. Sabra laid three plates out using her telepathy, taking only berries and bread for herself, however. Most psychic types are strict vegetarians.

"Connor," said Isabella again. "Why don't we eat pokemon?" Sabra's eyes widened as she looked at Connor.

You handle this one, she said in his mind, eyes smiling. Connor sat down at the table, placing food in front of himself and Isabella.

"Well, Bella," he began, rubbing the back of his neck. "What do carnivorous pokemon eat?"

"Animals…?" she guessed. Connor nodded in agreement.

"Well, what's the difference between pokemon and animals?" he asked her. She got excited at this one.

"Oh! Pokemon are smart, and if we soul bind with them, they can talk, and sometimes even look like people!" She beamed at her brother.

"Right," he said. "Sentient is the word I would use, but yes. So we don't eat things that are sentient, we eat animals." He picked up a chicken leg. "Like chicken."

"And regular fish?" she asked. "Like… not magikarp, right?"

"Exactly." Connor took another bite of his chicken. "Pokemon can use magic too, like people. So we are similar in that way."

"And so many other ways," Sabra interjected, biting into a pecha berry. "These are absolutely delicious, Connor. Though they are in season, and they…"

"Oh!" interrupted Bella. Sabra stopped talking, grinned, and gave the young girl a look. Bella backtracked. "Oh… sorry… you go ahead Sabra."

"No no, it's alright," said the kadabra woman.

"Well…" she began, unsure. "I got really good at doing this thing today, brother! And I hoped you might watch me do it, and help me." She began to speak faster as she went on. "And it's so cool and I've never done it before and I hope you like it…"

"Just show me!" interjected Connor with a laugh. Bella's mouth snapped shut, and she nodded. Closing her eyes, she held up her hand.

The air above her palm began to thicken, and from her hand sprang a droplet of water. Then several more. And a few more. She kept her focus, conjuring more and more of it as she did so, until a ball of water the size of a fist was floating above her hand. She opened her eyes, and smiled.

"Very good, Bella," praised her brother. She smiled broader, focusing and levitating the ball higher above her hand. "Your control is excellent."

"Really?" she squealed. "I was hoping you would like it!" She bounced up and down. The ball of water began to shake. "I've been working on it all day to show you and—" Splash! Onto the table fell the water, splashing all over the three. "I was really excited…" she finished, frowning.

Connor only smiled at her. "Concentration is key," he said, standing up to grab a rag. "I know you were excited, but you can't let your emotions get in the way." He walked back to the table, drying the water from the wood, and from Isabella's face. "Who was your water master again?" he asked. "Uso or Leah?"

"Uso," she said, the distraction slightly lifting her spirits. "He's the blastoise who lives by the school."

"Right, right," Connor said, finishing up with the towel. Normal born are not born with magic like a typeminder, they must be imbued with it from a fully evolved pokemon of whatever type they choose to learn. And then, they must be trained. While they are able to learn whatever magic they wish, they may only learn two kinds, or the power will consume them, and they will die. However, unlike typeminders, normal born may soul bind with any type of pokemon they choose.

"Have you thought about your second type yet, Bella?" Connor asked her, sitting once again at the table and munching on a piece of slightly waterlogged bread.

"I think fairy, like Mom," she said, getting quieter. "I think she would like that. You know, watching from the spirit world, and all."

Connor nodded, but didn't say anything. The three of them were quiet for a while. Sabra focused hard, trying not to break down. Being their mother's soul bound pokemon, it had been especially hard for the psychic type to stay strong after she had passed away.

But she had to do it for the two children, she knew. After their mother had died, the children's father William, a rockminder, had gone overseas with his pokemon… and had never returned. Two months after he had disappeared… the kingdom had come and taken the kids to the orphanage. Pokemon, no matter how competent, are not legally allowed to care for human children. Therefore, Sabra was forced to watch as the two children were taken from their parents' home, and out of her care.

That was four years ago. Three months ago, Connor had turned 18, and was legally allowed to care for himself and his sister back in their home. Sabra had taken care of the house for those four years., and when they returned, it was almost as if they had never left.

Almost.

Connor would never forgive his father for abandoning them, and he would never abandon his sister like that, as long as he lived. He would teach her to be strong, independent, and reliable. He would make sure that no one would ever leave her like their father did. That no one would ever hurt her like that again.

"Brother, are you okay?" asked Isabella worriedly. Connor looked down. The table beneath his hands was starting to smoke. He immediately took them off the wood, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

"Like I said, Bella," he breathed. "You can't let your emotions get in the way."

He stood from the table. "Sabra, I hope you don't mind doing dishes tonight…" he asked. The kadabra shook her head.

"I'll help her, too!" exclaimed Isabella. Connor nodded, turning away.

"I need to go see Yawe, I think. I'll be back tonight, don't worry." He walked past his sister, kissing the top of her head, before leaving the house. He made sure the door did not slam behind him.

Between the two sat an old wooden chess board. Gingerly, Yawe grasped his ponyta piece in his paw, moving it two spaces forward, and one to the right.

"Check," he growled, smoke blowing from his nose. His opponent sighed, and with a webbed hand, moved his wooden blastoise out of harm's way.

"I told you before I am horrible at this game," moaned the old golduck. he leaned back in his chair, waiting for Yawe to make his next move.

Yawe studied the board for a bit, before moving a charmander piece forward only one square. "That's because I know how to be patient. You, on the other hand…" he gestured over beside the board, at the large pile of blue pieces that he had accumulated throughout the game. "Move much too fast, and do not think about your actions."

Taro laughed, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Wise words from a wise arcanine," he mused. He moved a goldeen diagonally nearly all the way across the board. "But perhaps you are not decisive enough."

Yawe stared at the board, his muzzle twitching in thought. One side of his muzzle raised slightly, appearing menacing, but in all actuality was just Yawe being deep in thought. His teeth bared, his eyes continued to twitch back and forth. Suddenly, his cheek dropped, covering his teeth, and he sighed in relief. He took his flareon piece and moved it in a straight line in front of the blastoise. "Perhaps… I am," he said. "Checkmate."

"Yawe?" came the voice from the door. The old arcanine's ears twitched, recognizing the voice he knew so well. Footsteps approached the kitchen where the game was being played. A young man appeared in the doorway.

"Connor," smiled the fire pokemon. He stood. "For what am I graced with this visit?"

"This is Alexander?" questioned Taro, referring to Connor by his last name. Yawe nodded, proud.

"Just in need of council, master," he said, bowing his head. Yawe nodded, glancing towards Taro. But the golduck was already moving towards the door.

"I'll take my leave here," he said, looking Connor up and down. "An excellent game, Yawe, as always."

"Of course," Yawe answered, eyes still on Connor. The golduck exited, the door shutting quietly behind him.

Connor glanced around the room. Yawe's house had become a second home to him after having lived in the orphanage for so long. The kitchen was simple, with many plates and glasses and forks on the shelves. However, they were dusty, not having been used, for Yawe himself hunted for all of his meals, and ate always in his beast form.

On the floor was a table and some chairs, very plain, but worn, as if they had been in the house since it was built. And they most likely had been. Yawe sat back down in his seat, beginning to rearrange the chess pieces. "For what am I owed this visit?" he asked again, gesturing absentmindedly to the other seat.

Connor walked over to the chair and sat down, watching Yawe put the pieces back in place. "I never want to be like my father," he stated.

Yawe paused for a second, blinked, and then continued arranging the pieces. "Then you never have to be," he said simply. Connor frowned, leaning back in the chair.

"Is it that simple though?" he asked, both himself and his tutor.

Yawe sighed, looking up at Connor. "This is just what you asked yourself after you were bestowed with the power of fire. 'Is a flamethrower that simple? Is a fire blast that easy?' And the answer is…?"

"It was always yes…" answered Connor slowly. "But that was just me, it just came easy."

Yawe was finishing up his organization. "And because the difficult things come so easily, I expect something so simple as not being like your father to be easier than an ember." He placed the last charmander back in the line, admiring his work. "Understand?"

"Yes, master," Connor agreed halfheartedly, still not entirely sure himself.

Yawe leaned back in his chair, eyes now fixed on his pupil. "Did you challenge today?" he asked the young man. Connor nodded, eyes unfocused.

"Yes, a man named Charles," he said absentmindedly. "A fireminder. I beat him, but it was close." Yawe nodded, eyes narrowing.

"Did you win with electricity?" the arcanine asked. Connor shook his head.

"No. I nearly did, but then he made a claim that I would not be able to fight fire with fire." He shrugged. "So I did."

Yawe looked down for a bit, thinking. His cheek raised slightly, baring his teeth unintentionally. "You are very powerful, Connor," he said quietly. He looked back up. "When a normal born beats a fireminder with fire… people talk. And I don't want to see you assassinated by a jealous coward."

Connor nodded, understanding. He knew he had to be careful about being too showy with his strength. Some people took challenges very seriously, and would rather kill you in your sleep instead of lose a match. "I will be more careful, master," he said.

"Now go back," Yawe instructed. "It is getting late, and you and I both know that your sister will be worried sick."

Connor nodded once more, bowing and thanking Yawe for his time.. He left the house, walking slowly back to his own home. The moon was high, and crescent in shape. Stars decorated the sky, and combined with the moon, they created enough light to where Connor did not need one to see. The road almost seemed to glow in the dim lighting,

The lights were off at the house once he reached it. He crept slowly in, gently turning the handle on the door as he shut it so it didn't make any noise. In the living room was Sabra, in her beast form, deep in meditation. She didn't move at all as Connor silently moved towards his room.

He stopped by Isabella's room before his own, opening the door gently to check on her. Her blonde head of hair was the only thing visible amongst all of her blankets and pillows and stuffed pokemon. He smiled, and closed the door once again.

As he entered his own room, he shot a small flame into a lantern in the corner, with it soon lighting the whole space. He sat on his own bed, plain and black, and leaned his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

He sat like this for a while, breathing, and trying to remember what it had been like in that same house years ago, with his mother and father. The absence of both of them, no matter the circumstance, had been taxing on both himself and Isabella. Isabella had almost been too young to remember either of them, but Connor hadn't. Losing them both… in such a short amount of time…

Connor sniffed, holding back tears. In doing so, he smelled smoke. He opened his eyes, looking down, and realized his sheets were smoking where his hands were. He quickly picked them up, clenching his fists. He couldn't afford to keep ruining furniture.

Deciding to channel his energy in a different way, he stood and closed his blinds. Then, picking up a small text book, he opened it to a random page. It was a biology book, with pictures of birds and bird pokemon throughout. The page he turned to had on it a tailow, a small blue bird pokemon.

Glancing around once more, making sure no one would see, he began to conjure fire from his palm. As it grew, it began to slowly change shape. Soon, it had grown to the size of a basketball, and had shaped into a bird. A tailow to be exact. The phantom bird pokemon made of fire spread its wings. Connor cut off the flames, leaving the burning bird free from his body. Focusing, he made the creation flap its wings, and take off from his hand.

The fiery phantom pokemon levitated in front of Connor's face for a second, until he made it fly around his room. He practiced landing it, and then taking off once more, this time from his windowsill, not his hand.

The art of Creation is highly valued in the Piomingo Kingdom where Connor lived. However, it is seen by some as girly or weak, and those who participate in challenges wouldn't be caught dead practicing Creation. But Connor found it fascinating.

Creation can be practiced by any of the 18 fields of magic. It is an art, creating things that seem to live and breathe on their own from the powers within humans and pokemon. It is a female dominated practice, with priestesses often being trained in Creation, performing during worship hours. Even the King himself has Creationists, performing at his leisure for entertainment.

It is also a method of meditation, channeling magic in a non destructive way to release tension, and this is one of the reasons why Connor had decided to start practicing Creation. He began the practice soon after his parents were removed from his life, and kept up with it in secret both for utility and recreation.

Letting the tailow land once more, Connor let it dissipate, feeling more relaxed soon after. He laid on top of his sheets, feeling too hot for blankets, and soon fell fast asleep, daring only to think of tomorrow.