2. how it began

He first met her at the Canalave Library. He was fifteen, cautious and wary, eyes permanently aching with sleep deprivation. The mechanical rhythm of machinery was eternally etched into his mind, as was the hum of engines and the hiss of steam. He was fifteen, but already felt so old, so world-weary. There were mountainous expectations to be met and hurdles to leap, miles to run and knowledge to seek. There was absolutely no room for error.

And she... she was a strange adolescent, only thirteen. Her hair, long and golden, was always tied back in a haphazard ponytail. A persistent lock of hair obscured the left side of her face, shielding an eye. Her clothing always seemed to overwhelm her lithe frame, dark and striking against the pale white of her skin.

Of course, she had always been beautiful. Not the immediate sort of beautiful, though... the subtle kind. It was the kind of beauty photographers yearned for, the beauty only comparable to the sunrise and the flutter of a butterfly's painted wings and a cool wind drifting across the lull of summer. Yes, she was a strange one, an odd one, but if you looked at her closely enough, you could see somebody destined for greatness. The challenging glint in her eyes was evidence of that.

They had met each other in between rows and rows of dusty bookshelves and decade-old pages, he searching for operational manuals and she lost in a paradise of tomes. Her slender fingers would brush across the spines of novels carefully, as if tracing the finest silk, and then suddenly pull several books off the shelves, clearing half the library in his way. Each day, he would observe her meandering through the corridors, a stack of reading material balancing precariously in her hands. And each day, she would meet his tired gaze and send him a reassuring smile, as if he were a long-known friend and not a stranger, a future madman.

Sometimes he watched her with silent curiosity, eyes fixated on how she observed the rows and rows of books lined up on the walls. She would hum gently to herself, fingers tapping against the side of her thigh in a seemingly indiscernable rhythm. As if she sensed his gaze on her, she would turn and smile, not speaking. She never spoke, and he didn't mind. He was at home in the silence, the unquestioning air, the atmosphere thick with nothing.

Days passed, and the boy from Sunyshore and the girl from Celestic formed a strange, silent bond. In the few moments they spent in each other's company, nothing was exchanged but a few glances, amused expressions, and unspoken observations. They didn't quite know what was creating the silent barrier that was so evident between them. Maybe the two were too caught up in reading to care. Maybe nobody could summon the necessary courage to speak.

Maybe, unconsciously, they knew what fraught future lay ahead for them both.

It was she who broke the silence, she who first spoke one breezy summer afternoon. She gently mumbled something about his reading material and he found himself responding, as if the two were continuing a conversation they had left off some time ago. Eyes fixed onto the fine print of his book, he muttered one-word replies to her lilting, light questions. Minutes passed, and there was no hesitation to his voice. The barrier between them had fallen into nothingness.

This girl was different from the adolescents at Sunyshore, the ones who eyed him with cold glares and jeered at the humming robotics that came alive under his fingertips. When she spoke, she addressed him as her equal, not a freak of nature or a mechanical genius. He was hardly enjoying the exchange- if anything, he preferred the silence- but conversing with the blonde wasn't too painful compared to talking with anybody else. She was intelligent without being arrogant, kind without being overenthusiastic. Above all, she was genuine. No artificial flattery coated her words as she commented on his strange hobbies, only a faint but present admiration.

The lull of afternoon gave way to the pastel hues of evening. He learned that she was a Pokemon trainer, mind set on becoming the greatest in the region. She had been born in Celestic Town and was unhealthily obsessed with its mythology, attributing that interest with the fact that she was the town elder's granddaughter. She didn't know much about machines, which slightly disappointed him; however, they did share a mutual interest in reading. Her favorite color was black, she played the piano quite well, she had a thing for archaeology, she loved mint chocolate ice cream...

When she laughed a goodbye and the click of her heels receded down the stairway, he knew everything but her name.

He breathed a sigh of relief and returned to his reading, but the words and technical jargon ran under his eyes; watery, blurry, indescript. Now that the strange girl had gone and left him alone, the air seemed to resound with emptiness and the feeling that something was missing.

-x-

Light filtered through the darkness, flooding the world in the glow of morning. They were both there again, as if preordained; she tapping an indiscernable rhythm on a hardcover book and he trying to finish the book he had left untouched the night before. He was sitting at one of the gleaming wooden tables, deprived of energy. The novel was heavy in his hands, the words incomprehensible on his tongue.

The fifteen year old from Sunyshore had a reputation. That's the freak, the other teenagers would whisper indiscreetly, as if they hoped he would overhear. Did you know that he hides away inside all day, building robots? Did you know that he skipped four grades? Did you know that he loves machines more than he loves his own family?

"I don't know much about you," the girl spoke then, interrupting his thoughts. She hadn't taken her eyes off the bookshelf, but it was clear that she was addressing him. "I was the one doing all the talking yesterday. It was rude of me, but you're easy to have a conversation with, even if you don't say much." Her voice softened. "I'd like to be around somebody like you, actually. I want to know you."

Did you know that I'm a genius? Did you know that I'm far more intellectual than a person of my age should be? Did you know that I'm a freak? An outcast?

"You don't," he finally muttered, unwilling to meet her gaze. "You don't want to know me."

"I've seen you reading those books of yours," she continued, unfazed. "They're far more challenging than I can understand, but you're fifteen and seem to get them completely. I don't know if you're insanely smart, or if you have too much time on your hands, or..." Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged contemplatively. "...Well, I'm just curious, and a little bit intrigued."

"Don't be," he snarled back. "I'm not worth your time."

She bit her lip slightly, and without a moment's hesitation, quietly strode up to the adolescent hunched over his novel. On impulse, he lifted his head to look. Soft grey eyes met steely black, and he immediately averted his gaze just seconds before her voice broke the momentary silence.

"Why not?" The thirteen-year-old girl queried softly, searching his face for answers. "Why-"

He slammed his novel on the nicked wood of the table, fixed his eyes on her. His heart was raging with unnamed emotions, pounding in his mind though he still maintained a nonchalant composure. She watched him silently, eyes wide although she wasn't scared, wasn't afraid of him.

And without warning, one word slipped out of his mouth and another followed, and he was telling her everything. Everything that he had fought so hard to keep bottled up underneath, everything he had felt for so long and had kept hidden for so long... it was as if she were drawing the words out of him, holding him in place with her gentle gaze, searching, searching.

He told her of the expectations he had surpassed and the expectations he had yet to meet; he, the wonder boy, the child prodigy of Sunyshore. He was a legend in his city, scraps of metal and wires melding into whirring machinery underneath his deft fingers. His eyes would burn with tiredness and his ears would ring with the humming of the robots, the whirring of computers and gadgets and mechanics. His parents were ecstatic- far more ecstatic than was healthy for them. They glorified him and praised him and isolated him. They had to keep his genius untainted. Unsoiled. Unmatched.

They kept him working each day, locked up, as if a second's reprieve would cause his talent to seep away forever. He never questioned their authority; in fact, he preferred the bleak solitude of his confines to the cold stares cast upon him each time he slipped outside. And so he built, the weariness outside a temporary repose from from the emptiness inside. Solar paneling for the city walkways. Lifts for the city gym. Computers for the city buildings.

He built for the city, and the city shut him out. And still his parents pushed for more, adoring his talent far more than they adored him, heaping impossible, insurmountable requests upon him. The adults would praise him as if he were a deity. The adolescents would shun him as if he were a leper. While they plodded through the bleak monotony of schoolwork and involuntary education, he was allowed- no, encouraged- to stay at home, tinkering with useless machines. They resented the boy. Hated him.

"So why do you care?" He demanded. "I know you're just like all the others. You think I'm an antisocial freak, don't you? An untouchable prodigy who can't think of anything but machines. It's true, you know." His eyes were cold, boring holes into her composure. "Everything they said about me was true!"

For a moment, it seemed as if she had just been slapped. She was unaccustomed to hearing him speak, and to hear his voice, weighed down by the gravity of some immeasurable hurt... it was too much for her to absorb immediately. Silence reigned as she fought for words, what she couldn't say swimming in the empathy of her eyes.

Finally, she clenched her eyes shut and whispered:

"I may not know you, but I know how you feel. I've felt it too, that innate desire to be something great... to do something great. But there's the pressure of upholding some idiotic reputation, with the entire world seeming like it's against you. It's difficult, I know." Her eyes flickered open and found his. "We're in this together, whether you know it or not. We're two different people with different goals, but what we're up against is the same. You've never told anyone any of this before, have you?"

He remained silent, so she continued, voice resigned.

"It's because nobody will listen. I know this, too. And I'm willing to bet you ran away from Sunyshore, just like I had to run away from Celestic." Her eyes took on a hard, furious gaze. "Nobody thought I could be a Pokemon trainer. It was frowned upon in my town, battling and such. The people there clung to the old ways, and we were supposed to follow those rules and regulations. No gyms, no contests, no fraternizing with the travelers. And as the granddaughter of the town elder, I had to uphold those rules not just for myself, but for the entire place. I was hated! I was set apart from the others, just like you were forced into isolation. It was the worst life imaginable, you know, but I was bound to it. I could handle all the mythology and ancient studies- I loved it, stupid as that may sound. But I could never stand shutting myself in and casting the world out. Never! Arceus, it was unbearable!"

She took a shaky breath, and met his cold, striking gaze. He didn't speak, caught off guard by the sudden display of emotion, heart pulsing with some foreign, strange feeling.

"But here I am, and here you are. We feel the same things and we face the same things. And no, I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for me or throw some idiotic pity party. I'm just saying that I understand how you feel." Her voice lost its edge as she met his eyes. "We can get through this together. You're not too alone now."

He was unable to speak, unable to move. She simply shrugged and walked off again, drifting to the nearest bookshelf as if nothing had gone wrong. Her heels clicked a rhythm on the floor, alleviating the silence that was so heavy in the stifling air.

Click. Click.

Finally, he turned to his book and muttered, "You... are you really just thirteen?"

"I'm going to be League Champion one day," came the amused murmur, and he could hear her determined smile even without seeing her face. "Don't underestimate me."

-x-

A week passed, and strangely enough, nothing else was exchanged between the two. One day, though, he dared to break the silence.

She was wandering the floor, as usual. Wispy locks of hair fell across her face as she bent her head to read, and the faint sound of her heels clicked a steady beat on the mahogany floor. Instead of fixating his attention on the book, he watched her drift between the rows and rows of shelves, pure serenity written in her eyes. The girl seemed to enjoy wandering among the books more than actually reading them.

Sensing his gaze, she turned and cast her eyes on him. Instead of lapsing into the usual quiet, he abruptly asked:

"What would you think of a perfect society? A world without any imperfection?"

The girl didn't answer immediately. She hummed gently to herself, fingers tapping against the side of her thigh. For a moment, he wondered if she had heard him at all.

Just when he was about to repeat himself, the melody of her voice answered the question.

"A world without imperfection?" She mused to herself, an unreadable expression in her grey eyes. "Well, you could hardly call it a world anymore."

"Stop with your stupid philosophy," he snarled back, eliciting a raised eyebrow from the adolescent before him. "Just answer the question."

She contemplated slowly, more to annoy him than anything else.

"Well, it's a difficult question. Not really one to be taken lightly-"

"-I'm only asking for an opinion," He interrupted. "Stop trying to be intellectual."

She sighed resignedly, though a spark of amusement shone in her eyes.

"Fine, then. A world without flaws would be pointless." She tapped her fingernails lightly on the cover of a novel before carefully placing it back in its designated spot. Wisps of golden hair brushed across her forehead and obscured her vision, but she made no effort to brush them away. "What would be the purpose of a perfect world? If everything went smoothly all the time, life would hardly be exciting."

"Is that all you can think of? Excitement?" His cold eyes smoldered as they settled on hers. "Think rationally. The benefits of a universal utopia would far outweigh the consequences, even if perfection comes at the cost of your beloved playtime."

She rolled her eyes, disregarding his insult.

"I'm not saying that a 'universal utopia' would be all that terrible. You and I'd be rid of all this pressure, free to do what we want. Maybe you should reinvent the world to be like Canalave, where everyone's nice." She shoved the remainder of the books back onto the shelf uncharacteristically, contemplating the matter as she did so. "But still, I don't agree with you. Everybody's notion of perfection is different, and so it's impossible to create a perfect world."

"What if the world were rid of unnecessary evils, then? Wouldn't that be as close to perfection as one could get?"

"I guess so, if everybody agreed that the eliminated evils were really unnecessary."

He thought for a moment. "And what if we were to eradicate the entire basis of evil?"

"That wouldn't be a good idea. Without evil, there can't be good- just like you can't experience happiness without having felt sadness. I think you have to keep a balance of the two, and the same probably goes for the world."

"So if I were to construct a world without any of this strife- any of this idiocy, the rules and regulations you hate so much- you still wouldn't agree with me."

It was more of a statement than a question, but the girl still felt compelled to answer "Yes, I think so."

He turned away and didn't reply. Minutes passed without either adolescent having spoken, and the matter was dropped. It lay like a impassable, bottomless trench between them, a chasm that could never be crossed without dispute. It would remain like this, forever, though they hardly knew it now.

Ironically enough, though this was the subject that had brought them together, it was also the matter that would finally tear them apart.

-x-

She had to leave eventually. As he learned, trainers came and went, never stopping too long in one city or town. Days were wasting away, and the time between now and the League challenges was dwindling. To her, this time was everything.

On her last day in Canalave, she tossed him her journal. Sunlight filtered in from the raindrop-stained windows of the library, bathing the mahogany floors in morning light and illuminating the two as they sat together for the final time.

"Look," she told him as he thumbed through the pages. It felt like any other day, when deadlines and departures were the least of their concerns. "I've wasted June first to June twenty-third reading! I've spent three weeks here, and only two days were actually productive ones. If I don't leave now, I'll hardly make it past Sunyshore before August."

Sunyshore. He tensed at the mention of his city, eyes hard with pain. She noticed this and said nothing more about the subject, instead choosing to snatch her journal back before he could catch a glimpse of its contents.

"There's nothing interesting inside anyways," she assured him, smirking at his unconvinced expression. "Let me read you the last four entries. 'I spent time at the library.' 'I checked four books out at the library.' 'I went to the library again.' 'I had a riveting discussion with Cyrus at the library.' There, you can see how I spent my entire visit, and you can tell that I need to get a move on."

His eyebrow shot up when she mentioned his name, and she shrugged, not reading too deeply into his surprise.

"It's not as if you're a complete stranger," she explained. "Besides, you're part of the reason I stayed. I'm honored to have met you, actually- there's not many people like you in the world."

It was spoken kindly, without the mocking undertone that had accompanied most other compliments. He nodded in acknowledgement, feeling a sudden, foreign pang of regret as she stood up to leave.

"Be sure to greet everyone in Sunyshore for me," he managed to mutter. "Tell them their mechanical genius found a better city to lurk around."

Her eyes glinted with amusement. "Of course I will. I'm sure they'll all be jealous."

And then, before he could say a goodbye, she was gone.

Author's Note: In this chapter, Cyrus is uncharacteristically upbeat compared to... his usual self. It upsets me a little, but I don't want to write him all psychotic and bent on world domination just yet. Adolescence is fun, is it not?

Am I the only one who holds onto the theory that Cyrus and Cynthia were childhood friends? To me, they seem to have known each other before all that nonsense at the Spear Pillar/Distortion World. I know my brother thinks so, but he's nine and agrees with pretty much anything I say.

In any case, thanks for sticking on for so long. It's much appreciated.