The world of Pokemon, known for its immense variety of life and their symbiotic relationship with humans. Battles, contests, family, these are a way of life to many. But, what if the world had taken a different turn? Behold, a world where humanity did not emerge as we know it, instead coming from ranks of Pokemon, some species entirely breaking away from standard evolution, others remaining as we know them. Their society would be akin and unlike anything known, their own history and legends and stories.

This is one such story, of a young knight who is pure of heart, an infamous sell-sword with no equal, an innocent princess with hidden power, a paranoid king with good intentions, and a war the likes of which never seen. There will be love and hate and war and friends, and when everything is said and done, a legend shall be born.

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Deep in the forest, the sounds of metal clashing against metal can be heard for miles around, upsetting the pidgey and spearow that call the area home. Shouting can be heard with it, the grunts and exclamations of a boy on the cusp of full manhood, still somewhat light. The source of these noises are two individuals, eyes locked in a clearing. One is the source of the shouts, a young lucario with silvery highlights instead of tan, wearing a simple cotton shirt and durable pants. His only armor are vambraces and greaves, his only weapon a battered training short sword, ready to snap in half at a slight breeze it seems. He's somewhat tall for his species, a few inches short of six feet tall, but still very lean, and his eyes are a piercing blue, the kind that gaze into your soul itself. His opponent is a massive zoroark, easily over six-and-a-half feet tall, decked out in heavy armor of a mysterious black metal. His hair is black with red highlights, the reverse of what is usual for his species, and his eyes are a dark, blood-red color. His sword is a masterpiece, an almost five foot long blade with another foot of length for the handle, the blade made of the same mysterious black metal.

The two are in stark contrast to each other, dark and light, and it shows in their stances and expressions. The lucario is ready, open and ready to move at a moment's notice, his face animated and his breath coming in pants and gasps from exertion. His hand is on a death grip on his weathered blade. The zoroark, on the other hand, is relaxed in his stance, legs set to remain immobile against anything. His sword is lightly held in a single hand and his face betrays nothing.

The lucario jumps forward without a sound, without any tell, aiming his beaten sword with pinpoint accuracy. The zoroark moves even faster, his massive blade moving to block faster than the eye can see. The young blue-eyed warrior pushes his attack, striking faster and faster, trying for any opening he can find. The clashing of swords produces a melody all its own as the pair battle furiously. Until, at a tremendous collision of blades and wills, as the ground itself cracks, the Lucario's sword snaps in half, throwing the young warrior off balance. In a flash, the Zoroark's massive claymore is leveled against the smaller combatant's throat. The larger one sighs, sheathing his blade on his back with a light flourish, as the younger kneels, tears dancing at the edges of his eyes, as he holds the remains of the shattered sword.

"You were doing very well, little brother," the Zoroark says, his whole demeanor lightening. His voice is strong and deep, it speaks of experience beyond his two decades. "You might have had me if you had a worthy blade."

"It doesn't matter. I failed..." The Lucario's reply is mournful, his tone rapidly changing to annoyed as his brother ruffles his hair. "Hey!"

"Lucien," the elder says, laying his hand on his brother's shoulder. "I have trained you now for almost a decade, ever since I allowed you to wield a blade, and you have grown mightily. Despite your substandard blade, our bouts last an average of fifteen minutes a piece these days. How many others do you know can face me for even ten?"

Lucien scowls. "Zerran, brother, we both know you aren't putting your all into it. You're afraid you're going to hurt me, and rightfully so. No one can beat you. No one ever has. This trial you have set is impossible!"

"Lucien! What have I said about that word?" Zerran's demeanor suddenly turns cold, back to the role of the teacher.

Lucien seems to crumple, his anger gone. "It's not impossible, we just haven't gotten around to doing it yet."

"Exactly. We do not fail. We do not lose. We do not surrender. Nothing is impossible. These are lessons I have taught you again and again. Never forget them. We were born of blood and war, we have been tempered by the world and by this life we live. You can survive alone in the woods for months at a time, you can wield a blade better than most men of twice your years." Lucien huffs at his brother's long exposition, and Zerran laughs. "But you are still young and naive about many things, and until I am certain no one can hurt you, you may not begin your journey. Now then, rest up, drink some water, and grab another practice sword. We'll spar again after you're rested."

Lucien nods, resolute once more, as he runs off. Zerran meanwhile sits down on a nearby stump in the clearing they use to train. He looks around at their home. At one end of the clearing is a large tree they've cleared out over the years and in which they have made a home. Lucien made the different levels, putting the sleeping chambers towards the top, the kitchen at the bottom and partially underground, a pantry attached. Zerran himself had made the main room of the home in which they rested at the end of the day and in which they took their meals, as well as the training ground, with its practice dummies and targets.

Meanwhile, Lucien heads off to the nearby river, where he takes off his armor before jumping in the water. Sighing, he lies on his back, floating in the gentle waters, looking up into the sky. "I almost had it. I know it," he says to himself. "If it hadn't broken, I could have done it." Grunting in frustration, he sits up, shaking the water out of his hair. "Alright. I'll have to get a better sword. But this time I *know* I can do it." Scrambling out of the water, he squeezes the water out of his tunic before donning his armor and making his way back. He's met by his brother, who's holding a particular sword.

"Lucien, I think it's high time I gave you this." Lucien tentatively reaches out, taking the sheathed blade. "It's something I made some time ago, about the same time I made your vambraces and greaves." Lucien looks up in surprise, realising what that means. "Yup. It's forged from the same meteorite. And now, I think you're ready. Draw your blade, and let's go." Stepping back, Zerran draws his blade, holding it more tightly than before. "I won't pull any punches, so now's the time to give me your all."

Nodding, Lucien straps the sword to his hip before drawing the blade, the sound of it sliding against the sheath producing a vibrant tone. It's of a pure silver tone, the same as his armor. Lucien takes his position, blade pointed down in front of him, body coiled. In complete silence he lunges forward, the match started.

His blows are even faster than before, his new blade lighter, stronger, and more streamlined than the old one, Zerran matching him blow for blow. Flipping over his larger opponent, Lucien tries to slash down Zerran's back. Unfortunately for him, Zerran shifts, the blow sliding off and knocking Lucien off balance, but not for long. He rolls with his fall to a kneeling position where he blocks three strikes from his brother, each one pushing him back along the ground. Jumping high, Lucien puts all of his force into a massive overhead strike, at the apex of his leap firing aura from his feet to launch him down faster. Zerran smiles, holding his blade to block, a darker aura covering him. The collision is intense, the ground cracking up around the two, Zerran grunts, feeling the ground shift beneath his as he is moved back, just an inch. Landing, Lucien moves almost preternaturally, leaving his image behind to strike, his blade stopping just short of his brother's throat.

Panting, the brothers sit there, blades poised to strike the other down with a motion. Laughing, Zerran lowers his blade before enveloping his brother in a massive hug. Lucien laughs, crying in joy.

"You've done it, bro! You fought me to a stand-still!" Laughing, Zerran spins his younger sibling around in circles before setting him down. Calming down, the two bow to each other, sheathing their blades. Smiling more than usual, Zerran leads the way to their tree home. "Congratulations, my brother. You have passed my trial. You may go on your journey." Chuckling, he grabs his brother in a choke-hold, giving him a noogie. "I know you had it in you."

Laughing, Lucien slips out. "I guess I did."

Inside, the two take off their armor and weapons, hanging them on their stands in their rooms. Lucien is down first, having less armor to remove, wearing a new tunic and his leggings. Zerran is down some time later, wearing a fine black shirt and pants, an amulet around his neck. Lucien has already started cooking their dinner for that night when Zerran picks him up, setting him down outside the kitchen. "I cook tonight. You get to relax and celebrate." Lucien shrugs, not passing up a break, and heads toward the den, grabbing a book and sitting in his chair. It's a book of legends, telling of the ancient legendaries who used to rule all, the mighty kings Groudon, Kyogre, and Rayquaza, among others. And above all of the legendaries, the mighty Arceus. The particular legend he was reading spoke of the Order of Regigigas, of his three priests, and of a noble Bisharp knight on a quest to return balance to the region.

After a few minutes, Zerran enters the den carrying two steaming bowls of soup. The brothers eat in companionable silence for a time, finishing their soup off rather quickly. It is now, full and content, that Zerran turns to his younger brother, his ward, and asks an important question. "Where do you plan on going?"

Lucien sits back, unsure of where to go despite thinking about that exact question for a long time. "I want to go somewhere I can grow even stronger, somewhere I can test my skills. I was thinking Kantus. It is well known for its Arena, after all. That or maybe Kale. It's at war with Shin right now, and I could easily enlist as a sell-sword."

Zerran ponders these ideas, liking the concept, but unsure of the locations. "Why not travel to one of the Mountains? See the places of legend, learn from masters, maybe even meet the Old Kings." The brothers go back and forth like this for a while, debating the merits of the separate Sacred Mountains and of the benefits of Hinnae, Jatun, and the minor kingdoms. As the sun sets over their part of the forest, the brothers head up to their sleeping area, Zerran once more posing the question of "Where?"

"I've decided to check out Hinnae," Lucien announces. "It's known for its masters of battle, and it's got roving bandits I can practice on."

Zerran laughs, proud of his brother's choice. "Sounds like a great plan. I expect to see you back in three years, no sooner. Understand?" Lucien answers with a mock salute, and the brothers wish each other goodnight.