The trainer shivered as the cold, damp cavern continued to chill him. The air was thinning from altitude. He was feeling dizzy.
But no.
He would not be brought this low by merely the weather. He had endured so much, so MUCH hardship to be cut down before his ultimate goal. The mountain was no tougher than Bruno, no scarier than Koga. Even Lance had fallen before his might—no, not his might. The might of his team.
The thought reassured him as he reached into his pocket. One, two, three, four, five, six. Six partners he had gathered from across the land, traveling on foot for almost a year. They were closer than any ordinary trainer. He reached ahead, grabbed the next rock, and pulled.
He was one step closer to the summit.
Who knew what awaited him? More cold? Another legend to be turned into reality? No one knew, because no one had dared to try. Except for him. He didn't give up, didn't give in. With sixteen badges in hand, he was known as the most accomplished trainer of the time.
A gust of cold wind threatened to knock him from his rocky footing, and he looked up. An opening in the cavern. Was it the summit? Or was it just another test to pass?
The trainer reached again and pulled again. One step closer.
He had reached the opening. As he took a step outside, the sleet and hail slapped him in the face like an Iron Tail. He staggered, taken aback by the sheer ferocity of nature. Surely, this mountain was a champion among others, the best of its kind. But then again, so was he.
There were no more rocks to pull, no more wet footholds to clamp down on. Only a long, seemingly endless passage of white. The weather was forbidding giving only a few feet of visibility. Not even a Pidgeot would be able to see in this weather. But the trainer did not give up.
He began walking, thankful for the jacket on his back. He had not, it seemed, reached the summit quite yet. For hours, it seemed, he walked ahead; the cold was nothing compared to his fiery spirit. The hail and snow hitting his face were trivial. He had lived through fiercer weather than this before. This would not be his downfall, not at all.
Then, he entered the clouds. All visibility was gone, all sense of reality. What was up? What was down? The only thing he could see were his own two hands in front of his face. He reached into his pocket. One, two, three, four, five, six. He was reassured. With his will renewed, he marched on.
The clouds slightly parted every once in a while, but nothing substantial. He was only led by his instincts, his desire to be the greatest.
After hours had passed, the weather did not look any better. His face was bruised, and his outer clothes were all but held together only by a few pieces of thread. But his shining, silver soul, and his heart of gold pushed him forward. Eyes as keen as they could be at this altitude, he scanned what he could of his surroundings.
There! Another cave! Was he at the summit? Was he even close? Surely the mountain couldn't go much higher into Rayquaza's territory? He entered the cave. The hail and snow suddenly stopped. Here, the air was dry. There was no hint of moisture in the surroundings; nothing at all. The silence was deafening. The trainer looked around. Nothing but rock walls surrounded him. Perhaps this was it? A paltry prize for all the days of preparations? He sighed and looked up, praying that this was not the top, that the summit was more than just a hollow spire of rock.
His prayers were heard. When he looked up, a light caught his eye. There was another opening, barely visible to human eyes, higher than he could look without craning his neck to its fullest. There was one more trial.
He grabbed and pulled. Grabbed and pulled. Each burst of strength brought him one arm's length closer to the top. Again and again, he pulled. His strength was flagging, but his resolve was not. Perhaps he had been blessed by Azelf? Nobody could know for sure. The only certainty was that he WOULD reach the top, he WOULD see what awaited him. The pinprick greatened into a dot, and then into a small hole, and finally into an opening.
The trainer had done it. The summit awaited. It was just through this opening. He couldn't perceive what was outside yet; the difference between the dark inside and the bright outside made it impossible to see. He could have rested. He could have taken a nap, or perhaps even tried to readjust his coat. But his didn't. One, two, three, four, five, six. His burning muscles cried in protest as he pushed himself back out into the cold air.
The snow had stopped, and the sun was shining. To be more accurate, he was ABOVE the clouds, so the hail was beneath him. There was a thick layer of snow beneath him, but not as thick as it had been down in the blizzard. The sun was casting off the snow, creating a blinding effect. But the impairment of vision didn't stop him. He looked around; saw that there was only one way forward. he began trudging through the crisp snow, a crunch with every step he took. It was not long before he could see the summit.
And there was already someone there.
The trainer's heart broke. He, for all his troubles, for everything he had overcome, was not the best. There was someone better than him, someone who had risen to become champion of even nature itself. The race to be the best was over. He was not the first to become champion of everything. He had lost.
Grudgingly, and with a broken heart, he trudged forward, no longer a champion. Instead, a broken man was in his place. The trainer walked up almost ten feet away from the other figure and stopped. The other figure turned around.
It was another trainer, someone just like him. Even more, the first trainer saw, the second trainer was only a teenager at most. Someone, he realized with a start, that didn't have decades of experience—someone who was just like him. It was not over yet. He didn't have to back down. He could still become the very best, like no one ever had been before.
There was still one trial ahead. The man on the higher ground raised an eyebrow questioningly, his lips never parting for an instant. Like the first trainer, the current champion spoke with his emotions rather than his mouth.
One, two, three, four, five, six.
This time, when his hand brushed the sixth poké ball, he didn't take his hand out of his pocket. Instead, he grabbed one. The trainer on the hill smiled and reached into his own pocket. The silence was deafening.
Wordlessly, the two pulled out their partners, and began to battle.