Pokémon: The Exp. Chronicles
By: Bilaal Axmed
Dedicated to my little brother who said it sucked the first day.
Prologue
As the tall man walked into seemingly endless tunnels, he made his way past large amounts of cave-ins and the musty smell of the damp air. Thick vines made it impossible to move, dampening his ancient sandals against the soggy ground. In size, he was thin, and physically built. His hair, trimmed, gave a slight furtive curve at the forehead, which many of his female co-workers admired. The clothes he was wearing were no different than the modern apparel of the Kenosha Region, aside from his sandals. A sort of curiosity and amazement loomed inside him, just waiting to be released. His main objective was the room that would contain the item he was to retrieve. He crawled through a small hole in the cave, a fit for his size. He gazed at the beauty of the room, its old vine-dense pillars, and the breeze of the crack in the ceiling, which it shared with the sunlight peeking in.
Illuminated, the object had a sort of power it concealed, and affected the space around it. He hesitated to pick it up, for he had read about explorers who lived out the rest of their life dying in a surprise sand trap. Of course, to him this was a mere story. But, to the amazement of himself, his feet and hands attained the power to suddenly move again, picking up the white stone. Held in his hands, the ball weighed as much as the shoulder bag he had to store it in. He quickly looked around for a trap, awaiting something to prematurely end his life. The silence, openly floating around the room, gave a sense of fate, as if it he was meant to be there. This made the room seem even more deadly. Only when the watch on his wrist violently ringed was the silence shattered. The voice of a man emerged, cracked and old.
"Did you find it?" the gruff voice asked.
"Yep." His tone of voice suggested that he wasn't interested in talking to the man.
"Good. The heli is waiting for you near the base of the mountain. You should hurry, the tech guys are telling me there is a bump in the readings, so be careful."
"Yes sir. It seems that way on my side too. Desmond out."
He powered down his watch and looked around. Curious as usual, he found that the thick limestone walls around the room were inscribed with messages. Set in stone were old dialects spoken by the ancient Kenosha people. It was not all forgotten, and throughout the centuries, it was passed down, under rocks, on the barks of trees, through folklore, and children's games. His ancestry, one of the last known to speak it, eventually died off but was taught to the only survivor, his mother. He began to read.
"Alk Mutel Jefa Nobe Resh Rem. The great white noble, Reshiram."
