HEY HEY HOLD UP NOW, THIS STORY IS FOR A SERIES I HAVEN'T EVEN WRITTEN THE BASIS FOR, SO WHAT THE HECK AM I DOING SUBMITTING THE BACKSTORY OF A SUPPORTING CHARACTER FOR IT?
I'm desperate for writing advice ;_; that's it. Please give me advice if you can after reading... and I hope that you enjoy it for what it's worth.
I guess the barebones minimum to know about the setting of the series before reading this is that in some continent where only Pokemon live (a la the PMD series) and speak English and shiz, two countries composed of dragons have consistently risen above the rest except each other in world power throughout history: Taiken, and Xastin. All the other countries that aren't them are sick of the two vying for the other's destruction, and decide to take action when Xastin declares the final war against Taiken, dubbed "Armageddon," to end all wars...
This Three-shot in particular takes place a while before Xastin's declaration of war, btw.
OH YEAH, ONE MORE THING: I'M CANADIAN, SO EXPECT THINGS LIKE "COLOUR" INSTEAD OF "COLOR" AND ETC.!
*SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO Dranicus101... I am so, so, SO grateful that you have considered this story thus far worthy of such a helpful review (the first "actual" review I've ever received for my work)! I have (finally) made all the revisions that should fix up the issues you pointed out. Thank you very much for your kind wishes, and I hope not to disappoint you with the chapters to come lol! And, to anyone else who follows, reads, etc. this story, thank you so much for doing so :D
Edited Mega Stone sprite made by me.
Pokemon Copyr. Game Freak
Chapter 1: Lost Cause
Daima, Capital of Xastin
The morning was dark in Daima, a thin, ubiquitous mountain mist enveloping the fortified head fortress that nestled the Xastinian soldiers. Within the rows of clustered tents and small buildings, its inhabitants shuffled and shifted about, moaning through the open window of the hut the same clinks and clangs of steel being smelted in between whispers of gruff conversation and into the ears of the young hatchling, who was sprawled across the wooden floor of his little pen, encased with gleaming pillars of smelted steel, resting upon a darkened corner of the only place he had ever known since his birth.
Across the room from where he and the pen lay, a life-sized replica of a sword forged on stone toiled away its surface, and to its far right, the exit, covered by a brown, veil-like fabric which swayed back and forth and sometimes wide open during the occasional rainstorm. Littered around the walls of the hut were damp and dreary transcripts and documents of ancient runes and on the wall to the hatchling's left was a wooden rocking chair with a faded maroon cushion daunted with scratches that were starting to bleed into the insides of the wood. In the middle of the two was a fireplace ridden with fallen ashes and tired out matches and fire plows.
It would pass off as a comfy little hut for an average Xastinian inhabitant, aside from the quirks the writings on the wall brought, but it felt all too big, and all too small for the prison-bound hatchling. He was told he'd be out "soon enough" by a quaint-looking Xastinian war general named "Eld" about a week ago, but that General did not return ever since nor send someone else in to honour his promise.
Convinced that both would return someday, he would almost dutifully follow the uneventful schedule of eating the food squeezed through the bars for him (The crusty toast became dull long since the third day. The Oran berries that made up the jam spread across them weren't of the greatest vines, either) from the guards that did enter the hut, before grazing about and, ultimately frustrated of being restricted to the side of a corner, tired the rest his hours pushing against the bars to run away through the entrance before either fatigue wore him out or a Xastinian guard standing guard outside the hut noticed him and quieted his screeching with those (high in demand) sleep seeds.
Today, however, he would break the mold - the fireplace, formerly lifeless, was alight in front of the hatchling's eyes for the very first time.
He squeaked as he got up from his lay position and stumbled over to the bars, drawn by the tempting cackling and crackling of cinders creeping off of the cut-up wood within the makeshift fireplace with his arms outstretched for several minutes. He watched in awe as they twisted through the air in a lively dance before fading away, out of his reach.
He did not understand why he felt a different sense of drive; something more than just curiosity, by the fire's hanging taunts, but who was he but a mere hatchling born to give into his instincts? He switched to wedging himself between the two bars stronger than he ever had before, and after several minutes of getting himself stuck, he managed to fling himself from the clutches of the cold bars, landing face first on the wooden floor. His urges dead set towards nothing else but the flame, he squeaked in joy as he scampered over to the platform where the fireplace was and lept onto its ledge, wiggling his short legs to flop himself on top. When he looked up, his maw managed to grow even more agape than ever by the inviting glow of the flares. The young hatchling slowly crawled closer, the embers exuding from the fire latching onto and tickling his soft skin, which caused him to giggle gleefully. The neglect and hunger the poor boy had felt was miraculously cast aside for a spell, and he grazed beside the stone fireplace.
Something about the fire was so familiar. So... comforting. He recalled from the feeble little egg the constant warmth embracing him in all directions as if it didn't want to let go, and neither did he. That was a long time ago, before the screaming and the tugging on his little shell. Long before he hatched in that blasted pen. He hadn't felt the same, nostalgic warmth since.
How ironic for a hatchling, of all things, to know the emotion of sentimentality.
He did not even turn to the door at the sounds of footsteps creaking through the wooden floors of the hut. The figure that had entered cleared his throat, but the baby did not respond.
Sighing, he grasped onto the hatchling's back, who squealed in terror as he was flipped onto his backside and met by the eyes of the large Hakamo-o that picked him up, dressed in extravagant Xastinian body armour including a finely smithed steel breastplate and gauntlets shaped like the left and right hands of a Hydreigon. It was the war General who promised the hatchling of his return. Instantly recognizing the figure, he quickly smiled at his appearance.
"Kid." The dragon plainly stated.
"Hi, Master Eld!" The hatchling almost screeched as he happily gestured to the fireplace with his body before flopping back down onto the stone. "Check it out! I miss this warmth! Soooooo cool!"
The dragon only eyed him with an almost underwhelming frown that seemed to share the same sense of frustration as a facepalm. Of course, the young hatchling did not notice. The dragon tried stomping his right foot against the creaky wooden floor, and the hatchling quickly sat back down, convinced that he would stay outside if he was patient. His smile did not fade in the least.
"Listen." The dragon began, "You love it here, don't you? Where it's safe?"
The hatchling stuck out his tongue as he turned his gaze back to the fire. "Well, it's safe, but it's boring! But this thing... whatever you call it, it feels so ni-!"
"Then listen to me." The Hakamo-o frowned, interrupting the hatchling's stride. "Master Hujarr has decided that you should finally come out of your cage and train with the other hatchlings to become strong to help protect all of the smallfolk."
"Does that mean I can stay near the fireplace again?" The hatchling almost interrupted.
The dragon was silent for a moment, the same frown still on his face. "...As long as you follow our plan for you. It won't be an easy one."
The hatchling's eyes went wide as his grin curved even more inwards as he got up and bounced around for joy. He wasn't too sure about what this "plan" meant, but if it meant he could spend more time near the fire he was all up for it. Again the dragon promptly stomped a right foot on the ground to garner his attention, but this time the baby was too excited to stop himself, so he held him in his hands again and the hatchling obeyed. The ecstatic embers tickling the boy's back kept his silly grin ever alive.
"It isn't something you can slack off on," Eld continued. "You need to behave. And you can start by following the same things the other hatchlings do. You must stay with them and learn with them and don't ever think about breaking apart from them."
"Stay with them! Learn with them!" The hatchling repeated.
The Hakamo-o retained the same stern expression as he unraveled the musty-looking scroll he had tucked underneath his left arm and showed its contents to the young hatchling.
"You see this?" He asked as the hatchling took in the sight. Drawn so vividly on the paper with lively ink was the spitting image of a ferocious black-winged beast with majestically shaded flames exuding from its maw and claws reminiscent of flowing scarves, as well as on the end of its curved tail and from within its maw as if it were preparing an undying flamethrower. The picture was so masterfully drawn, in fact, that the dragon portrayed almost looked real.
"Woah!" The boy gasped for a long eight seconds as he took in the majestic sight. "That looks super strong!"
"That could be you. You are part of a... special group of Pokemon that can change into super powerful forms like the one you're looking at. You could attain the power of us dragons, and be a hero! Hujarr, Hera, and... and even... I... would be so proud of you!"
"Mhm!" The hatchling spontaneously agreed, "I'll do it! I'll become a hero!"
"That's right." The brute plainly stated. "Only dragons for the big man."
"Only dragons for the big man." The baby jubilantly parroted. "Only dragons for the big man!"
Eld picked up the hatchling, whose smile faded into a pout as he whimpered and waved his tiny arms towards the fire. The elder dragon grunted as he placed the squirming baby back into his cage.
"M-Master Eld…?" The hatchling croaked, tears welling from his eyes. "Can't I please stay near the fire for a bit longer?"
Eld stared down at the floor for a moment with a gaze dripping with hopelessness.
"Tomorrow..." The Hakamo-o finally answered as he turned to walk away, leaving the hatchling bouncing about in fervor and anticipation. Before he left through the brown veil, he turned his head back to finish. "...we promise we'll let you out for the start of your training tomorrow, okay?"
"Tomorrow!" The hatchling echoed in joy as he ran around the pen in overwhelming euphoria.
When the armoured dragon passed through the entrance curtain, he was immediately met with a longing gaze from his familiar, a frantic looking Goodra with her arms crossed, adorned in a flowing brown robe carrying a bundled collection of what seemed to be scrolls and papers littered with footnotes. Her scrunched up face was decorated with many beads of rolling sweat, an expression akin to what one would make when they received dire news. They eyed each other for what seemed like an almost uneasy while, before the Goodra, who finally caught her breath, decided to start the inevitable conversation.
"...So. How'd it go?"
"Well, it was singlehandedly the most disgusting experience I've had to go through." The Hakamo-o sneered. "And I can't believe you couldn't do it instead."
The gooey dragon huffed. "Hujarr needed me to go over the baby's education regiment. The physical training regiment that you will have him follow is in production as of right now for you to pick up later. Besides, you'd spur that hatchling on better than I would. 'For the big man' and all, yes? But truly, no jests. How'd it go?"
I wasn't kidding around. He thought with frustration, but since it was her he was dealing with, he rightly assumed there was no way she'd catch on.
"Well, for starters, the cage was broken out of in order to reach the fireplace." The Hakamo-o muttered to himself with a sense of disbelief and knowing.
"Oh?" The Goodra replied in half-surprise. "An encouraging observation."
"Yeah, yeah. It's off to a great start, running towards a flame. It's stubborn... guess that's a trait inherited from the 'Basilisk,'"
"'It' has a name. Hujarr called him 'Rael,' yes?" The Goodra frowned as the Hakamo-o rolled his large eyes. "And you speak of his valor as if it's a bad thing. Healthy dragon hatchlings demonstrate a great sense of it, do they not?"
"How is any of that valor?!" He protested, "If anything, that's stupidity; something a dragon wouldn't do!"
"Well..." She scrunched up her face into a scowling glare as she always did when she pondered deeply about an appropriate response. "Rael possesses some undefined amount of dragon blood coursing through his veins, Eld. Surely you think that it at least gives him a fighting chance?"
"Pah... an undefined amount. Very reassuring." He sneered. "He's useless with that vile blood his mother gave him."
"Not necessarily; from what I've gathered, the blood that runs thicker within him will determine the stone he is to favour."
Eld's frown returned as he began tapping the ground with his right foot. "So essentially, we could be devoting so much time to raise another hatchling that could turn out to be more vile breed than naught?! What was Hujarr thinking, bringing it in?! Isn't the baby the entire reason why he gave that traitorous 'Basilisk' the boot? The mere sight of it reminds me of his face, and it pushes me to complete disgust!"
"Don't give up so easily. I may not know much of the details, but I do know that Hujarr has once engaged with a Pokemon that could tap into this… hidden power... and he must have been impressed enough to take interest in potential candidates of his own. It isn't just anything that impresses Hujarr." Hera paused to consider the possibilities, a wide grin spread across her face. "We could be nurturing the nuke that could alone end this war! If we get this right, Hujarr will see us as heroes!"
Her optimism annoyed Eld greatly. "Come on, Hera. Now that Hujarr's made good on his promise, we have an astonishing amount of control over the soldiers; we can guarantee progress by sending shock troops to pulverize the Taikenians when they least expect it. Maybe we could even lead the charge! Besides, do you even know if this... form is permanent? If it is, then that's nice and all, but if it isn't... well, that kid is going to have a hard time securing his spot here."
The Goodra shook her head. "I'll figure something out. Besides, I don't waste my brain cells every day at the lone thought of tearing apart the claws of a rival Dragon. Instead, I look at the bigger picture."
Eld gritted his fangs and clenched his fists. "That cretin needs to know the same pain he dealt with-!" He almost hissed.
"Revenge! I haven't heard of that one before!" Hera interrupted with a glum groan, resisting the urge to throw her arms up in the air in fear of scattering her precious papers. "It's always vengeance or a muscle match between you males, always making sure everyone else knows who is the strongest."
She paused to shake her head in disgust. "It's like that menial excuse for a meal you have him eat: a loaf of bread run stale, never going to be baked fresh. if I were you, I'd be more worried about simply surviving the conflict. And we definitely can if we play our cards right! We don't have to throw away our lives on some rotten battlefield."
The Hakamo-o sneered again and waved his hands in dismissal as he began to walk away. "If you want to delude yourself into thinking you're ever going to get anywhere with that child, then go right ahead!" The dragon dismissed as he turned and began to walk away. "There's no way I'm helping some callous scientist try to raise a lost cause!"
Frustrated, Hera caught up and stood in front of him with her gooey arms tightly locking her papers around her body. "Then explain why Hujarr would bother handing it over to us! He TRUSTS us, Eld! Are you so willing to throw that all away trying to kill that blasted Fraxure?!"
Eld grit his fangs and wanted more than anything else to scream at how privileged she acted, thinking that she could get through this war with her hands clean. Xastin was a country built by an iron fist; by stomping out the weaker powers. Hera, however many research papers or historical texts she could read in her lifetime, would not understand that. She was not one of the thousands of mothers and fathers who lost their sons to battle. She was not one of the many Xastinians who had to spend decades rebuilding, healing the hurt of Taiken's multiple attacks and coming to terms with the fact that the scars would surface and their home might never be the same again. Instead, she was always buried in her glass home of the nearby forests observing its ecosystem, thinking she could resurface from this war unscathed using her "research" as a shield.
The Goodra's ignorance soon shone through even brighter, halting the furious Dragon's train of thought.
"Why… why won't you believe?!"
It took him a minute's time to give Hera the answer she so itched for. But it wasn't because he had to put any sort of lengthy thought into it; he found himself bursting into irrepressible laughter. Any mature Xastinian would've said the same thing he was to say, in a heartbeat.
"Oh, Hera...why would I? How could a Charmander ever become a Dragon-type?"