Prologue
Heat seared against my skin, the pain almost too difficult to bear. My eyes filled with tears that began spilling onto my flushed cheeks. I coughed uncontrollably as I attempted to manoeuvre my way through the smoke filled room.
The orange flames lapped at the walls, the sight almost a blur to me as an overpowering darkness threatened to consume me entirely. I struggled against it, reminding myself I could not let myself give in so easily. An overwhelming sense of urgency swept over me, not in concern for my own life, but for the others inside the burning house.
Fighting the urge to collapse, I trudged forward, disoriented yet still managing to avoid the flame-entrapped pieces of my beloved home that crumbled above me. I had to find them before it was too late, or before I allowed myself to fall.
I wandered desperately into the living room to see a figure standing over the couch, her head bent down in sorrow. My hazy vision gradually registered the familiarity of the silhouette. At the same moment, her head snapped up, her eyes glazed with fear and grief.
Reaching out for her, I called out, "Mom, we need to get out of here."
She stared blankly at my outstretched hand before meeting my gaze once again. To my dismay, she remained unmoving as she spoke in a quietly, her voice barely audible over the intense crackling of the flames around us. "Your father," she whispered. "He's dead."
The same grief struck me, as if it was a contagious disease passed from my mother to me, but I knew I could not let myself focus on it, or I would take on the same vacant expression she wore.
"Follow me!" I told her, beckoning urgently. I turned away from her, searching for the safest way to exit the house. As I glimpsed a few patches of flameless floor, I grasped my mother's wrist and surged forward.
My determination was cut short as I had miscalculated the escape route. I didn't see the fallen lamp on the floor until my foot was caught underneath its base. I screamed in terror as the floor came up to greet me and everything faded into blackness.
Gasping, I sat up straight, my eyes flying open as I glanced around the room. My lungs struggled to keep up with the air flowing in and out. Gradually, I calmed my breathing and put my head in my hands. My forehead was sticky with sweat and my arms were covered in goose bumps.
I glanced around the room, too dazed to remember exactly where I was. Everything was silent, except for the faint breathing of others around me. I breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn't home, not by a long shot. I laid my head back on my pillow and pulled my sheets up to my chin. This was the Pokémon Center in Violet City, not my home in Blackthorn. The mundane wooden walls of the center had never offered me such comfort, yet the shivers racking throughout my body would not cease.
It was just a dream, I told myself multiple times until it calmed my spiked nerves. Satisfied, I closed my eyes, willing sleep to take me as I was in a hurry to forget the terrible nightmare.
Just as I began to drift off, a ringing noise pierced my ears, followed by a chorus of irritated groans from those around me.
"Laila seriously? It's four in the morning. Turn that thing off!" One of them complained sleepily.
Ignoring him, I reached for my Pokégear and rushed from the room for some privacy. Bewildered, I pressed a button and stared at the small screen as I waited.
An unfamiliar male face appeared on the screen, confusing me further. The name "Patrick from Blackthorn City" was displayed below, but didn't make him any more familiar. This has to be a wrong number, I thought to myself. No one I knew would be calling at this hour.
"Laila Lockhart?" he asked, his tone deathly serious, making the hairs on my neck stand.
I nodded, without saying a word. He continued to speak, and I listened intently, my spirit dropping and my muscles tensing as a single tear escaped my watering eyes.