Prologue: Rat Guts and Bad Omens
The morning fog was as thick as it was eerie.
Lyra huffed, pulling her scarf up to her chin before rubbing her palms together to generate warmth.
Duke, her travelling companion at the moment, noticed and waddled closer to her side. The heat that emitted from his hulking form provided a sense of security but ultimately did little to chase away the chill in her bones – she appreciated the gesture anyways.
Reaching up, she lightly scratched at the black and yellow swirling fur that covered his belly in praise. "Thanks buddy."
The large monster beside her hummed.
Lyra turned back to the road, eyes sweeping the woods that surrounded them on either side of the dirt path.
Kanto was normally uncomfortably warm during the summer but it seemed as though Lavender town remained untouched by the changing seasons.
The rural town and the road that led to it was not unlike that of a setting for a horror story: bare trees, a thick constant fog and a chilling breeze that only became colder the closer she got. It was almost as though the whole town and the area that surrounded it was sectioned off in it's own little bubble – like some strange pocket dimension that separated it from the rest of the region.
Idly, she remembered the times when Kris had teased her and said that it was the town's resident ghost pokemon who contributed to the dreary atmosphere.
The thought made her shiver. Lyra never was a fan of ghost pokemon – or ghosts, really.
As it was, travelling to lavender town wasn't on the top of her list of things she wanted to do during her summer.
However, it wasn't as though anyone else would visit grandmother the week of her birthday. Dad was off who knows where again, her mom and grandmother got along as great as a Seviper and Zangoose and she was pretty sure Kris was somewhere in Sinnoh at the moment – not that she cared.
Besides, she promised grandma she'd visit.
At least it gave her an excuse to leave the house and her suffocating mother.
Lyra huffed again, twitching when the branches around her creaked from another strong breeze. It was times like these when she wished one of her parents had a psychic pokemon she could borrow. Teleportation was a marvelous thing. She could be in and out of grandmother's house without the hassle of trekking through the eerier parts of Kanto and the danger of running into any ghost pokemon.
Don't get her wrong, she loved her grandmother – but did the woman really have to live in the most supernatural saturated town in all of Kanto?
It wasn't the first time Lyra had been this far from Newbark town. She visited grandmother as often as she could – probably more than the woman's own son. Which was a little sad.
Dad was a free spirit, her mother once told her. He couldn't be cooped up in one place for long. Oftentimes the man would become restless and leave for an undetermined amount of time.
Lyra had to wonder about her mom's patience – if she were mom, could she stand weeks or even months without seeing or hearing word of her spouse?
How could mom stand it?
Kris was probably just as bad. Ever since Elm gave the older girl her starter – Kris had basically moved out. She barely visited during her first year of traveling – she didn't even call home for mom's birthday.
'Like father like daughter', her mom had said in a wistful voice.
Despite the indignation on her mother's behalf, Lyra had to agree.
Kris was like their father in so many ways – outgoing, talkative…strong.
So unlike Lyra. It was one of the few things she used to envy when she was smaller.
She remembered times when dad would disappear for days – even weeks – without a single letter or call. Then he would come back – unannounced and Kris would take up all his time.
Lyra never had a great relationship with her sister. Part of it stemmed from envy. And a larger part of it was because she could barely stand the patronizing way Kris spoke to her. Her older sister was probably just as guilty when it came to the wedge in their relationship, as she never did anything to fix the growing gap between them.
If anything, she seemed to relish in Lyra's mediocracy.
Kris was loud and confident. She was the gem of Newbark town long before she set off on her journey. Lyra often overheard family friends and neighbors praising her parents for how well Kris was turning out and how she would be the next pokemon champion.
In comparison Lyra was not recognized beyond being the 'little sister of Kris'.
Grudgingly, Lyra had to admit that Kris was a bit of a prodigy.
The older girl graduated from trainer school at 8 and the only reason why she hadn't left for her journey soon after was because of the minimum age requirement law that was set within the Pokemon Championship's rules and regulations. But the moment she turned 10, Kris turned her starter application in and was out on the road the second Elm approved it. Kris wasn't the only kid from Newbark to have set off on her journey – but she was one of the most brilliant.
It was a thing of reputation, Lyra supposed. Newbark hardly had any recognizable celebs tied to its' name.
If anyone were to change that – it would be Kris.
But, to give herself some credit, Lyra was making some progress of her own.
She finished trainer school – maybe not as early or at the top of her class like Kris, but she finished – and she did have her own Pokemon license. She just never got around to actually starting her journey…or getting her first Pokemon.
It was a dejecting thought – no one's fault but her own…and maybe even her mother's own reluctance to let Lyra go. There are only so many starter applications that Elm can approve every year - those who passed trainer school with stellar grades and teacher recommendations or had parents with connections often got priority. Lyra admittedly struggled in Trainer school. She was always just a little above average. She knows she should have studied harder - tried harder, but it was a discouraging experience trying to meet the expectations that were placed on her as the 'sister of Krystal Soul'.
When she found that her application was denied, she was admittedly on the verge of tears. She scrambled to find alternative ways to get a starter. She thought about catching herself a wild Pokemon - but she couldn't do that without a pokemon of her own or a pokeball - which were pricey for a ten year old with an allowance of ten pokedollars a week. She tried asking her mother for help, but the woman said that wild pokemon were not ideal as a starter and that she was too busy to catch and train one for Lyra in the first place. Her mother wouldn't buy her a pokemon off a breeder either.
'We just don't have the money,' was her mother's argument.
You had enough money to get Kris a brand new Pokegear set last year , Lyra had thought snidely.
Two years after the fact, Lyra was still stuck at home.
At least her mother allowed her to travel outside of town, even if she had to be babysat by the woman's pokemon. She was thankful for such a small freedom - she enjoyed traveling - a trait every successful trainer should have, she was sure.
In that way, she liked to think she had a little bit of her father in her too.
Lyra's little trips outside of Newbark were a common occurrence. Her mother took advantage of Lyra's restlessness and often sent her out to run errands in Goldenrod. If Lyra was lucky, she would sometimes get to go with Ethan when he had to go out on behalf of Elm's research.
Lyra enjoyed the time she spent traveling during her little trips – the solitude and peace she felt when the distance between herself and Newbark grew, was riveting. Of course, her travels didn't go without a few problems: she got lost more times than she liked to admit, ate vegetation that gave her terrible diarrhea, and was chased by Pokemon she might have unintentionally angered - she was almost eaten a few times too. Her mother's pokemon always got her out of trouble, but Lyra learned more from those horrible experiences than she ever did during the summer trainer camp programs her father signed her up for.
'Road Apples,' her father had called them, 'Shit on the road you'll learn to avoid after spending years stepping in it.'
Lyra smiled to herself at the memory - one of few that she had where it was just the two of them.
Lavender town was probably the furthest she's ever traveled on her own (with her mother's pokemon babysitting her, of course). The trip was a lot harder than the others.
But, a part of her appreciated the experience - it was trips like these when she could pretend she was a trainer herself – just like Kris.
It was great practice too – for when she actually does start her journey.
If only she could get over her dumb fear of ghosts.
Lyra was pulled from her thoughts just as another chilling breeze went by. A cold gust of wind raked through her pigtails, knocking her hood off.
The trees around her swayed precariously.
For a moment, she could have sworn that she heard laughter – a rasping sound that made her hair stand on end.
She quickened her steps. Beside her, Duke easily matched her pace, his snout twitching and red eyes surveying their surroundings cautiously.
The air around her became colder and stiff. A niggling sensation in the back of her head told her she was being watched.
A Pokemon was nearby .
She casted a glance around her before looking down at her navigator. Her grandmother's cottage was only another hour away.
Chewing on her lip, Lyra weighed her options – she could sprint until she reached the outskirts of Lavender town and risk catching the attention of whatever Pokemon was lurking nearby.
Or she could continue down the road in her present pace and hope the hiding creature left them alone.
Just as she seemed to finish the thought, a presence suddenly materialized behind her.
A purple translucent claw reached out and brushed against Lyra's cheek. Her body stiffened at the contact. It felt wrong – rancid and cold. It felt… Ghostly.
She shrieked, flailing away from the presence behind her just as Duke's large flame covered fist came crashing down where the creature once was.
Lyra was quick to dart behind Duke's massive form, fingers finding purchase on the black fur along his arm.
Rasping laughter seemed to come at her from all sides.
Lyra's eyes frantically darted around, body trembling slightly despite her best attempts to calm herself down.
It was then her assailant finally made itself known: a Haunter, one that appeared seemingly out of thin air.
It's form hovered in the middle of the road – a perfectly still mass of cackling purple poison.
Duke stood tense and alert beside her, eyes narrowed and the flames on his shoulders blazing high in a show of aggression.
The Haunter seemed to grin, raising a small limb in the air in some mock attempt at a greeting.
Lyra pointed a trembling finger at the ghost, her other hand still gripping the course fur of Duke's side. "D-Duke, Blast it!"
The giant hog sucked in a breath before releasing a stream of fire at the cackling creature.
The haunter screeched as the fire licked at it's form – backing away from the duo with a dark glare before hissing and fading out of sight.
After a tense moment derived from movement and sound, Lyra released a shaky breath of relief, bending slightly over her knees.
"We're buying stronger Pokemon repellent before we go home." She huffed, "And an exorcist - we're hiring an exorcist."
Duke hummed in sympathy, his claw like digits gently squeezing her shoulder, encasing it in his impossibly large hands.
"I'm fine Duke, really," She said patting the creature, her hands still trembling, "The sooner we get to grandmother's house, the sooner we can get off this stupid ghost infested road."
The fire pig glanced down at her, snorting smoke into her hair.
"Hey!" Lyra coughed, shoving the hogs face away from her. "Duke- seriously?!"
Lyra's previous encounter with the Haunter was all but forgotten when her next inhalation rewarded her with a sour taste of ash. She gagged, shooting the fire type a dirty look.
Duke grinned in response, canines overlapping his upper lip, before pulling Lyra close and slid his flat slimy tongue up the side of her face.
Lyra screech, quickly wiggling out of the creature's claws all the while spluttering and wiping the saliva off her cheek and neck.
"Stupid Boar." She grumbled, stomping ahead of her mother's chortling starter.
It was just around lunch time when grandmother's cottage finally came into sight, just down a semi-steep slope off the main road. Lyra felt the tension in her shoulders slowly dissipate, knowing she was a step closer to a warm fireplace and what hopefully smelled like warm cookies.
She breathed out a sigh of relief.
"Made it in one piece," she huffed, glancing up at her companion, "Alright Duke, you know the drill."
Beside her, Duke grunted – a resigned little noise.
Lyra shot the Emboar a look, "Oh don't be like that."
The Unova starter whined again.
"No - her house, her rules," said Lyra, pulling out Dukes Pokeball from her bag.
The Emboar disappears in a flash of red. She shrunk the device before tossing it back into her bag and making her way down the path to her Grandmother's cottage.
Grandmother's cottage was a small two story rickety thing that was probably as old as the town. Grandmother had settled down in the building after giving birth to Lyra's father. The place had two bedrooms upstairs, a kitchen that took up most of the first floor, a single bathroom that was probably as big as an outhouse and a small living area that faced the back of the house overlooking the woods. Lyra often thought it looked like something out of a fairytale - if it weren't for the location.
She paused briefly in her thoughts when the cottage door opened, the light from inside cutting through the fog. Her grandmother's head popped out of the doorway and Lyra could vaguely see the woman's signature half moon spectacles glinting back at her. Grandmother seemed to be surveying the yard before the elder lady's gaze locked onto Lyra's form.
"I knew it was you!" She hollered, voice shrill, "I'll get the kettle goin' - you jus' let yourself in!"
Lyra tiredly waved back.
The woman's figure disappeared back into the doorway, leaving the entrance wide open in her wake.
Lyra allowed her own hand to fall, still unsure how the old woman was able to tell when someone was walking onto her property.
She continued down the hill, stopping again to push open the gate that surrounded the old woman's front garden.
Grandmother was an eccentric individual - or a sadistic evil witch, if you were asking Lyra's mother.
The old woman lived mostly alone, with only her weird looking not-meowth, and the urn of her deceased brother to keep her company. She ran a small business out of her own house, making a decent stampede off her foul garden of bitter herbs and powders.
Lyra's face scrunched up when she eventually passed by said garden right outside the cottage's front entrance - the smell of sour roots carried by another breeze made her eyes tear up.
'They're for healing' - her grandmother once told her. But the odd twinkle in her blue eyes suggested other uses.
Between the small shrubs and plants - Lyra could see small bodies of Rattata splayed about, their small corpses resting in what looks like pools of red vomit. As she neared closer to the home, she could see the resident not-meowth, Muffin, glaring at her from the kitchen window. His silver eyes watched her with an unwavering focus.
Lyra suppressed a shiver. Perhaps her grandmother really was a witch.
"You're too skinny," Was the first thing Lyra's Grandmother told her when she stepped foot into the welcoming warmth of the small cottage.
"Hi grandma," said Lyra, allowing her grandmother to herd her to the kitchen table.
"Honestly," The matriarch tsked, removing Lyra's jacket and scarf before shoving a basket of scones and a cup of tea in front of her. "What's that woman been feedin' you? Crumbs?"
Lyra sighed, accepting the food with a patient smile. "Thanks Grandma."
Grandmother Winry was a stout woman of 5'4 with braided graying hair, skin tan and wrinkled from years of sun exposure and a stubborn streak that went a mile long. She was a fiercely independent individual, always said what was on her mind, had the energy of someone twice her junior and was someone Lyra greatly admired all throughout her childhood.
Even if the woman scared her just a tiny bit.
Grandmother Winry huffed, planting a kiss on Lyra's forehead before she went bustling around her small kitchen. Lyra tried not to look too excited when the older lady pulled a fresh batch of cookies from the oven. "You'd think by being the only mouth she has to worry about - you'd be as fat as that rodent she coos over."
'Mom's Cinccino,' Lyra's mind supplied, after a moment of confusion.
Muffin jumped up suddenly onto the table and attempted to swipe at Lyra's tea cup. Lyra managed to pull the priceless china away just before the fat meowth could spill hot tea all over her lap. She glared at the cat, who met her gaze with an even stare.
"He almost gotcha that time, eh?" Grandmother cackled, swooping in and shooing the miserable cat off the tablecloth with an impatient wave of her hand, "Go terrorize the town or something."
Muffin yowled, but slunk off obediently.
With the household monster safely away from her food, Lyra turned to her grandmother. "I think you might have a Rattata problem - there were quite a few dead ones I saw lying around in your garden on the way in."
"That lazy cat," Her Grandmother grumbled, placing a small plate of cookies in front of Lyra, "Muffin's 'pose to scare the vermin away - 'guess I'll have to go out tomorrow mornin' and see how much damage they did. If they were dead already - they might have gotten into my Solanum Berries. Serves 'em right, son's of-"
Lyra hid her smile behind a cookie. Despite her grandmother's rough words and grouchy demeanor, Lyra had always been very close to her. Grandmother Winry never minced words with Lyra. She was always honest - straight to the point - if a little crude about it.
"Girl!" Her grandmother's voice startled Lyra from her thoughts suddenly.
Lyra blinked, straightening her spine, "Yes Grandmother?"
"I was askin' how the trip here was," Her grandmother grouched, "Pay attention when your elders are talkin' to you."
"Ah- Yeah. It was fine. I had a few bumps here and there but nothing unusual," Lyra supplied, "Duke and Scout kept me safe."
Unsurprisingly, Grandmother Winry's nose scrunched up at the mention of Lyra's companions.
"Glad to hear it," She puffed, standing up to retrieve the kettle from the stove.
Returning to the table, she looked down at Lyra with an even stare. "You'll do well and remember to keep that woman's creatures in their pokeballs while you're here, understand me Girl?"
Lyra nodded dutifully, holding out her empty cup for more tea. "Yes ma'am."
"Good. Now," Her grandmother begins, leaning in with a mischievous grin, "How bout you entertain an old woman and tell me bout 'lil ole Ethan - has he made a move on my grandbaby yet?"
Lyra almost spat out her tea, "G-grandmama!"
Her grandmother cackled in response.
The next morning found Lyra aiding Grandmother Winry in her garden. The weather was significantly less drearier than the day before and 'optimal' for 'bagging some rats' as her grandmother had put it.
Grandmother had given Lyra the job of collecting the dead Rattata that littered the yard while she tended to her usual herbs. Lyra did so without much complaint, every once in a while entertaining the idea of flinging one of the unfortunate creatures at Muffin, who had decided to rip the bodies up into pieces with his claws once he saw that Lyra was collecting them.
"Miserable cat." Lyra hissed, shoving guts and other remains of the Rattata into her compost bag.
The cat sat with a smug look on his face on the porch a little aways, silver eyes gleaming and his blue-gray fur shining. He purred, stretching his stubby arms - red coloring the underside of his claws.
Lyra settled for flicking her blood covered glove at him instead, sending bits of guts flying at the cat's pristine coat. Lyra tried not to take too much pleasure in hearing him screech and watching him leap away from the porch.
Her grandmother cackled from behind her. "You're my flesh and blood alright!" An arm wound around Lyra's neck as noogie came down on top of her head.
Lyra flailed. "Grandmama!"
Grandmother chuckled. "Ole' Muffin had it coming, I hope? That lil' shit is gonna be in a mood for a while because of you."
"He's always in a mood!" Lyra grumbled, finally wiggling out from her grandmother's grip.
"Nah, he just hates your guts. He's usually a perfect gentleman when it's just the two of us," Grandmother said, collecting her basket of herbs that sat by her feet, "I'd take his behavior as a compliment. 'A Dark Type's ire is usually a sign of admiration' as they say."
"Doesn't feel like admiration to me…" Lyra griped.
Grandmother chuckled, "Take a break and come inside - I'll rustle up some grub for us. Besides..."
Her grandmother paused, looking up at the sky. Lyra blinked as the woman's eyes seemed to suddenly glaze over with an odd expression.
Her next words were devoid of mirth.
"A storm is coming," she said.
Lyra followed her gaze and in the distance a horde of grey clouds could be seen coming from the horizon. For a split second, Lyra got it in her head that her Grandmother wasn't referring to the clouds - at least, not completely.
"...Happy Birthday Grandma. I realized I hadn't said that to you yet." Lyra pulled her gaze away from the distance, discarding her bloody gloves and reaching down to pluck a small parcel from her hoodie pocket.
"It's not much," Lyra started, holding it out for her grandmother to take, "I picked it up at a small kiosk in the Saffron station after getting off my train."
Her grandmother looked away from the horizon to unwrap the parcel - revealing a delicate chain with a small meowth charm welded onto it.
"It doesn't look like your meowth," Lyra babbled, "but they didn't have a not-meowth like Muffin."
For a long moment, her grandmother just stared silently at the pendent.
Then she spoke, her words pierced the air - sharply and deliberately - as if imprinting themselves into the world.
"A path in which the beginning and end meet is often a sign of self destruction." She said, her too blue eyes staring down at Lyra's warm brown. "Never change Lyra, at least not in the ways that truly matter most."
With that, the older woman retreated back into the house.
Lyra did not immediately follow her. Instead, she stared back up at the ominous clouds that thundered in the distance, burning her grandmother's words in her mind.
Her mother often called Grandmother Winry a witch, mostly out of malice, but Lyra believed that when Grandmother Winry said something, you'd do well to listen to it.
The next morning found Lyra heading back home with her mother's Emboar by her side.
The rest of her visit had played out normally - with Lyra helping her grandmother around the house and occasionally engaging in some petty warfare with Muffin.
Lyra opted not to bring up the warning Grandmother Winry had bestowed the day before.
As the two exited the town, wading through a fog that seemed thicker than the one they had traversed through when they had arrived - not a single ghost interfered with their travel.
But Lyra could have sworn she felt eyes watching her from the woods, a penetrating gaze that made her back itch like mad.