-1 His first few steps in Oreburgh were hesitant, almost curious.
The night sky above him was as black as the coal mined to the south, a few struggling stars blinking in and out above, drowned out by the harsh orange streetlamps lining narrow, unpaved streets. This town was close, clustered, and would notice an outsider at any other time, Luckily, Silver had a very powerful connection here, and a story with which no one could argue. No one knew him, yet everyone did. They knew the person he was to play, not the person he really was, but that was the point. You don't leave your home without reason, and his was pride.
Silver stepped away from the ominous, dark cave-mouth, palming his new Pokemon. There were three of them, now, where there had been tens waiting eagerly in the PC for a slot on his small but prestigious team. Once, even the flick of his wrist had sent chills down the spine of every trainer in Johto. Now, he was nothing. Now, no one feared him. Now…he was nobody again. No one would notice he bought a ticket for a cruise ticket and sailed away. Certainly not his father, the failure he had taken after, and certainly not that boy, the one who had destroyed everything he built up. A deep thread of hatred for that boy ran deep within Silver, a hatred that could not be described in simple words but more easily conveyed in venomous glares and twitching lips. However, that was behind him.
Silver was no longer the bitter, brooding, sarcastic Cretan he had been before. Now he had to be happy, optimistic…pleasant. The thought was alien to him. He had never been taught those careful manners of the typical Violet City child, going to the Pokemon academy. No, he had learned to survive on his own, taking anything he could get without a single thanks. That just wasn't his way. He didn't smile, he smirked. He didn't nod in greeting, he grit his teeth. His mind, his manners, his entire being would have to be reprogrammed. He would even have to get used to the annoying black glasses that kept slipping down his face. He hoped that, hiding behind them, no one here would catch on and figure out the truth.
Slowly, a dark figure appeared in the distance, heaving through the night. The man was a brute, a layer of thick stubble growing from his jaw line, and his clothes frayed and tattered. He approached, then stopped a few yards from where Silver stood. Looking the boy over, there were instant and obvious conclusions drawn. Silver was scrawny, but it worked for him. He had strong legs but his arms had never known the swing of a pickaxe or the thrust of a shovel. There was training to be done. However, if was otherwise perfect for the role. His hair, though in need of a cut, was a feasible shade of maroon, and could be compared somewhat to his own. Yes, Silver would work perfect for the job.
"You're it, aren't you?" Byron called.
"Yeah, I am," Silver called back.
Though Byron said nothing in response, his pain was noticeable. Silver might look the part, but he could never replace what was lost. He only wished he could be among the patrons of Oreburgh, assuming their gym leader had been away, training. The truth, a truth only a handful of people possessed, was much bloodier. Yet, here was Silver, ready and eager to take the role, a virtual doppelganger. Byron could only swallow, looking at this boy and thinking of his own, a hundred feet below ground, mangled.
"Welcome home, son," Byron called.
This struck Silver with an intensity he didn't expect. Those words, all put together, were something he had never heard, something he had never even hoped to hear. Son. Was he someone's son? No…this was his part. To take it as anything more would be foolish. Still…Byron's words echoed down into him and stuck to somewhere wounded.
"Glad to be back, dad," Silver's voice broke on the last word, something it hadn't done for many years, since he was a kid, back before he was hardened to the world.
"Come on…" Byron walked forward and put his hand on Silver's shoulder. "Come on, Roark, let's go home."