To the honored Professor Samuel Oak,

During your brief visit to the Dragon's Den, you made more than a few inquiries about the journey of a very particular trainer. The Elder, or as you know him, my cousin and former Champion Lance, forwarded your questions to me in an exquisitely (and by that, I mean annoyingly so) detailed letter. As much as I sympathize with your desire for answers, the truth of the matter is that I have neither the knowledge of, nor the permission to divulge, the meticulous details of this trainer's time in any of the regions he visited. I can, however, tell you he visited the provinces of Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, Kalos, Unova, and Kanto in that order, and provide you with my own memories of the day he challenged the Blackthorn City Gym for the first time.

When he entered my gym, he was as unassuming as ever. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and his clothes were patched and dirty. There was no doubt; he was here to challenge me. At the time he had been no more than sixteen, as he had left the city only a few months after his fifteenth birthday. Even if I hadn't half-way grown up with him, I would have been able to tell that it was his first journey; his face clearly betrayed his worn nerves.

Why had he entered the Blackthorn City Gym? That was something I wanted to inquire. I didn't of course; I never needed to. Even without vocalization, the question itself still hung in the air: Why did think to walk through those glass doors; to assume he could challenge and defeat me?

Now before you jump to conclusions, I hadn't been implying anything about the number of badges he had; six months on the road could net you seven of the Johto badges if you planned it right. No, the reason I asked was because I had a reputation for being unbeatable. In fact, until that day, I had never lost to a challenger, and I had been running the gym for four years.

In most regions, that would have meant that there were no trainers competing in the Pokemon League, as entering the Indigo Plateau Conference requires eight badges (this is, of course, excluding those who shell out the money to take and pass the Pokemon League Admissions Exam, and those who graduate from PokeTech in Kanto with Honors), and there were only eight gyms in the Johto province. But the Indigo League is a little different. It encompasses both Kanto and Johto, meaning there are sixteen gyms to challenge, twice the number of the other leagues, yet the League itself still only requires you to beat eight. It was a system that a few trainers took advantage of (read; "abused") by traveling between the two regions to get their share of badges, rather than travel all the way through one of them.

As a result, most Johto-centric trainers tended to skip the Blackthorn Gym entirely, opting to jump over to Vermillion City in Kanto for their final badge (the new leader over there had reputation of practically handing them out), and most Kanto-centric trainers never bothered coming this far North.

I know relaying this information to you is pointless, as you're already aware of the way the Indigo League runs itself, so please forgive my ramblings; I was halfway through describing the particulars before I remembered to whom this letter was addressed.

My point is that, on average, I battled five trainers a year. There had only been three the year prior, and this boy was to be the first (and only) challenger of this cycle.

For those few who did dare to challenge me, the rules were simple: I would field three Pokemon in a one-on-one match. If they, using all of their Pokemon on hand, could defeat me, I would award them with the Rising Badge. To this day, Jason Braun is the only person to ever receive one from me.

But that was near the end of his time journeying through Johto, and you wished to hear the tale from the beginning. Unfortunately, as I said, I know not the particulars of this journey. I wasn't there for any of it, our battle being the only thing of note involving me. If you want to hear the story, you'll have to hear it from him.

So consider yourself lucky, as Jason provided me with a series of audio logs detailing his journies through each of the provinces he visited, from the day he received Typhlosion (then a Cyndaquil, of course) to the conclusion of the United World Pokemon League.

Enjoy,

Clair Ryūō-Braun

Champion of the Indigo Plateau

Chapter I: Mistakes Were Made

The rain pelting my tent was vicious and left something to be desired. That desire was sleep, but it seemed that Kyogre itself was determined to keep me up all night. Route 29 of Johto was known to be a bit wet at times, but had I known it was going to be this miserable, I would have stayed back in Blackthorn City. As cold as the mountains could be, the weather was at least predictable, and not invariably sporadic like the Southern Coast.

By the trills of the nocturnal Hoothoot, I could guess it was still late at night, or possibly, early morning. As I had been tossing and turning in my sleeping bag since after dinner, which felt like an eternity ago, my sense of time might have been a tad bit warped. Or, perhaps that was the time lag from traveling from one end of Johto to the other. Back home, the first peaks of sunlight would be raising over the mountain right about now, and the early dwellers (which was everyone who wasn't juvenile, at least, during my youth) would be starting their days with moomoo milk. Or so I assumed, as I said, my perception of the passage of time likely wasn't accurate.

The smacking of a small jaw diverted my attention from my sleepless dilemma. There was a small yip, akin to a yawn, and my eyes found themselves staring at the source of the sound. It- no, he, was a small shrew-like creature, with an elongated snout and perpetually shut eyes. His fur was a navy blue, that bled into a beige cream near the bottom half of his body. It looked harmless, standing only about a foot and a half high while on his back paws, which was smaller than average for his species, but I had learned very quickly that the four red spots on his wide back could ignite in an instant (there had been a rather nasty incident earlier that day where one of friends, who I'll introduce shortly, nearly had their hand charred to a crisp).

Cyndaquil (that was both his name and his species, I didn't really care for nicknames back then, and I still don't now) crawled forward from where he had been curled up next to me, only to lay his snout across my thigh, and attempt to continue sleeping. Bastard. Now I couldn't move or I'd risk waking him up, which, upon reflection, I figured was more than likely the point. There was little doubt that my constant shifting had been rousing him from his slumber periodically. I supposed being used as a pillow wasn't much of a punishment; after all, I knew of a few Dragon types that would have roasted me alive for such a heinous crime.

I had resigned myself to a sleepless night when I heard the cry; shrill and human, calling out in fear. Cyndaquil heard it as well, and in mere moments we had pushed our way outside of the fabric cover of the tent. We waited there for a second, scanning the grounds of our makeshift camp; three small tents hammered into the ground and a pile of ashes still warm from cooking our dinner. Then another cry for help, closer and louder now. It was then that I noticed that one of the other tents had its netted screen wide open, and was entirely unoccupied.

And so the shrew and I made for the thicket of trees we heard the voice yelling from. He was far faster than I, and I had to call for him to slow down and keep pace with me. While I was confident that the little fire-spitter could hold his own, the thought of watching him disappear into the shadows of the forest disturbed me nonetheless.

"Light up," I told him, if only as a precaution.

He quipped to affirm that he had heard me, and fire spouted from his back not a second later. Had I not been preoccupied with avoiding unearthed roots as we ran, I would have been impressed with how quickly he lit his flame. Cyndaquil were known to be timid; only lighting the flame on their backs when they were cornered. The fact that mine had lit his so quickly, as if he had anticipated the order and was simply waiting for me to speak the words, spoke of just how bold and brave he was. He knew there would be a fight, and he wasn't deterred in the slightest.

We broke through the thicket and into a wide clearing, marked only by a gnarled stump. From the other side of the treeline came a garbled cry, one that wasn't human but I knew nonetheless.

"Run Totodile! Run!"

And out from the trees came a bipedal crocodile, with a scaly blue hide and red spines, and behind him, a slightly overweight boy my age. He wore an old band tee, so old, in fact, that you could no longer read the logo on it, and blue jeans. His face lit up as he ran full sprint at me, almost trampling his Pokemon.

"Jason! Bro you gotta help us!"

Before I could inquire what the problem was, they broke through the brush.

A score of purple Rattata squeaked loudly as they came charging at us. They made it as far as the stump, before I yelled out for Cyndaquil to roast them.

His response was primal, letting loose a hail of pebble-sized Embers that scattered across their ranks, singing their fur and scarring the smaller individuals of the pack back into the forest. Despite their wounds, the remaining rats, about nine or ten altogether, kept advancing on us.

"Ben, some help would be nice! Cyndaquil, uh, keep it up!"

Ben called out for a Water Gun in an uneven voice, and Totodile complied happily. A spout of water left his powerful jaws, catching two of the Rattata in the chest and pushing them back. He didn't stop there, opting to continue spraying water out of his mouth like a firehose without needing to be told to do so. A second volley of Embers joined the attack, Cyndaquil being cautious enough to aim away from the wet Rattata and the crocodile's spray, and the third volley of fire finally convinced the pack of Rattata to flee in the direction they came in.

As they ran back into the forest, tails tucked in between their hind legs, I took a second to let out a pent up sigh. We had nearly been rat food, and I won't lie; I had been terrified. Another, smaller, sigh at my feet told me that Cyndaquil was just as relieved. I bent down to scratch the crown of his head, and thanked him for being on top of things.

"Arceus above, I owe you one Jason. Totodile and I were pretty sure we were screwed!"

The little croc chortled in agreement.

"More than one," I said, trying not to let my lingering fear creep into my voice, "what were you doing out here anyways? It's like two in the morning!"

"It's, uh, five actually, but that isn't important," he said sheepishly and as I crinkled my brow at him, I dimly registered Cyndaquil climbing up to perch on my shoulder, "I was hunting a Raticate, and stumbled upon its den, which I'm sure you can imagine it wasn't pleased with…"

He continued to trail on about how he accidentally stepped on one of the Rattata's tails, but I had tuned him out. Raticate were fiercely aggressive, and much bigger than Rattata, its prior evolution. They were den Pokemon, who were outrageously protective of their homes.

And Ben had accidentally approached, no, invaded, the lair of one.

My relief at avoiding death by rats vanished, to be replaced with overwhelming trepidation. Cyndaquil shivered on my shoulder, and I knew it wasn't because of the cool night air. We needed to leave, now, before the Raticate itself tracked us and our tired Pokemon down. We then needed to get back to our campsite, rouse Tyson and his Chikorita who were asleep in the third tent, and pack camp and make for Cherrygrove City as fast as we could.

If only it were that easy.

I had been halfway through relaying my thoughts to Ben when the object of our terror leapt off of a branch, and landed on the wooden stump. The Raticate in question was massive, even by normal standards, standing three feet tall. Its bulky body was covered in tangled fur, brown in color with a white belly. But most impressive were its four large teeth, two on top and two on bottom, that were white as bone and sharp as a knife. My blood ran cold as that simile passed through my mind.

Glancing over, I could tell that Ben was just as terrified as I was. His teeth were chattering, and his hands were clenched tight. He turned his head to look at me, desperately searching my face as though it, or I, would have a clue as to how we would get out of this. I offered a shrug and a shaky smile. I hadn't a clue as to how to avoid our fate. His face went blank with despair.

It was then that the towering rat let out an angry screech, challenging us to a battle. We had intruded upon its home (well, Ben had but it seemed I was to be judged guilty by association) and it was going to teach us a lesson for our audacity. The Raticate gnashed its teeth with a snarl, and waited for us to make a move.

Cyndaquil leapt off my shoulder, bruising me in the process with his powerful hind legs, and bristled on the ground as he dared to meet our aggressor's challenge. His back flared up, and he cried out, prepared to fight. Totodile, clearly inspired by my little shrew, waddled to Cyndaquil's side and let out a noise that could only be described as a low roar mixed with a growl.

For better or worse, the Johto starter duo had sealed our fates. I heard Ben gulp beside me. He had come to a similar conclusion. I looked back to him, eyes widened, looking for some sort of confirmation with the same desperation he had searched my face with only moments before. He could only nod slowly, eyes as wide as mine. Resigning myself to our fates, I looked back at the fat rat.

Raticate moved first, having grown impatient as it had waited for us to respond. He rounded on Cyndaquil, moving quicker than anything that big had any right to, and slammed into him. Cyndaquil rolled backwards, and as he righted himself, I realized that move had been Quick Attack. Getting around that kind of speed was going to be challenging, especially since our Pokemon were already tired from spamming special attacks against the Rattata pack. I'd have to think of something, and fast.

Ben took advantage of Raticate's focus on Cyndaquil, ordering Totodile to attack with Scratch. Despite his slower speed, the croc landed the blow, raking his claws along Raticate's fat cheek. After letting out a squeal, it responded by digging its sharp teeth into Totodile's scaled arm.

Cyndaquil, upon my orders, attempted to use Tackle, but the small shrew couldn't even make the much larger rat budge. It craned its neck to glare at him, dragging Totodile along, as it still hadn't released him. Totodile clearly did not care for this, evident by his frown as he blasted Raticate in the face with a geyser of water. The rat was forced to release the arm it was chomped down on, lest it wanted to drown.

Another screech emanated from its fat mouth, and the rat gnashed its teeth together. They started to glow with a white hue, and I struggled to recall the name of the attack. I stopped myself, chiding that the name didn't matter (I would later remember it was Hyper Fang). I knew the next attack had to be avoided. So I ordered Cyndaquil to do the only thing I could think of that would help in this situation; to let loose a Smokescreen.

The shrew opened his maw, and from within came loose a torrent of black smoke. It enveloped the Raticate in a haze, and continued to do so until the Pokemon was entirely blocked from view. Cyndaquil and Totodile both hopped backwards, putting distance between them and the mass of smoke that was now nearly five feet wide in diameter, and just as tall.

Needless to say, we didn't wait for Raticate to emerge. Cyndaquil unleashed Ember for the fourth time that morning, the small burning projectiles earning a painful squeal from inside the hazy smoke. Totodile immediately let loose another Water Gun, which cut through the smoke and knocked Raticate onto its back.

I called for one more Ember, before Ben shouted at us.

"Wait!"

Next thing I knew, there was a ball soaring through the air, white and red in color. It flew true, right through the hole in the now dispersing smoke made by Totodile, and the small button on the front of the Pokeball smacked into Raticate's side. The ball opened at its midsection, where a black ring had been painted around the circumference, to let you know where it would split apart, and a red light painted the rat.

A second later, Raticate was within a closed Pokeball on the ground, having been converted to pure energy. Ben and I waited for a tense few moments, as the ball shook. The Pokemon was fighting its capture. It was going to break out. I ordered Cyndaquil, who was panting slowly, to be ready to attack.

Then the ball went still.

I looked at Ben wordlessly. It was over. We had survived the wrath of Raticate, and Ben had made it his own. He wiped sweat out from under his curly mop of hair, and made a little fist pump into the air as he jumped with what was either glee at his new capture, or relief at his survival.

The sun finally rose over the trees, painting the sky with a pink hue (I recall thinking it was about damn time it came up). Ben collected his occupied Pokeball, and returned Totodile to another one with a "thank you." He placed one Pokeball into each front pocket of his jeans, and turned to look at me as I scratched Cyndaquil under his chin, having reclaimed his perch on my shoulder.

"I guess you're right. I do owe you more than one."

"Nah, we're best friends. Helping each other is what we do. Now let's go wake Tyson up so you can rub this in his face. Then we can start making our way to Cherrygrove."

With a fresh catch in the party, we started the short walk back to our campsite, certain that we could handle whatever the future held for us.