Chapter LXV

The roar of thousands of voices, joined as one.

Flint stood in the centre of the Stark Mountain arena, the blinding scorch of the sun glittering on the lengths of razored chains he twirled around his body. He was clad in gleaming steel, arms wrapped in scaled mail, greaves at his shins, and his face was hidden by a polished helm.

The people from all across Sinnoh were surrounding the ring of red stone and dust, a few kids carrying small rusty swords as they cheered. There were a few acts before the main event – a few of the strongest men from the Stark Mountains facing off. A Tangrowth whipping its arm into a Magmortar's belly, only for the fire-type to shoot flames at its rear. A whistling wall of steel, then, as a Scizor crashed between them, slicing for their arms.

As the crowd's cheers swelled louder, as the walls of the arena nearly shook from the stomping of the feet, Nova stood at the edge of the fighting grounds. Staring.

It wasn't a fight today, but a race. She was to ride Rhys, while Barry had his Rapidash – Novemba, of all fucking names – and they were facing off against Flint and Volkner. The rules had sounded simple enough; run ten laps around the arena, which was meant for racing Rapidash as it was, while collecting as many blazing wreaths from the ground as possible – wreaths made of burning red flowers, bounded by steel.

It shocked her. A race, in front of so many people in Sinnoh, meant that Flint couldn't pull anything funny on them. Not with so many people watching.

Perhaps he was actually just skilled on a Rapidash, and knew he would win?

Or was there something more?

Barry was humming beside her as she checked for her own armour; a boiled leather breastplate, spaulders and greaves of dark iron on both herself and Rhys.

"Nervous?" he asked her.

"Are you not nervous?"

He shrugged. "Always. But it's more… a good kind. Not scared. Just… ready."

Nova nodded slowly, making a small hum of agreement.

"Besides, we do have a chance, I reckon," Barry rattled on. "All we gotta do is keep breathing."

"You make it sound so simple."

"Is there anything more to it?"

She smiled, snorting. "I suppose not."

But Barry was already rambling away, his chatters almost a comfort to her as he said, "I can't wait to kick Flint's arse. Volkner's, too, since he's doing it as well. Then Lucian, and then…"

"Cynthia."

"When she returns, aye."

It was so strange to think about – the woman who was betrothed to the man Nova loved was still out there. Hidden in her very own kingdom. Would she ever come back? Did she want to? And—

"Wait, why do you want to fight Queen Cynthia?" Nova suddenly asked. "I thought you didn't wanna become king of Sinnoh."

"I don't," Barry answered.

"Then why fight her? Because it'll be riveting?"

"…Aye?"

"Bullshit. There's more to it."

Barry opened his mouth. Closed it. Sighed, and opened it again, saying, "Well…"

"Aye?"

"Maylene's gone now, as is Roark," he said. Then, lowering his voice, he added, "And Byron. Sinnoh needs new legionaries and…"

He waited for her to finish it for him, and when she didn't, he smiled sheepishly.

"I want to prove to her that I'd be a pretty fine legionary myself."

Nova snorted. "You won eight legionary crystals, Barry. You don't need to prove anything."

"But she's never seen me! I don't want her blessings until she's seen me, ya know? I want it to feel… real."

"So, you're going to fight Queen Cynthia because—"

"We're going to fight Queen Cynthia."

"We?" Nova repeated, choking. "Why me?"

Barry shook his head, exasperated, reaching for her voice to clasp onto her hands. "We've done everything together, Nova. Eterna… Veilstone… Canalave… Bloody hell, we were there together in Sunnyshore, too! It wouldn't be the same without you."

"Barry…"

"Come on, Nova. You know ye want to. Don't pretend you don't love it. Love this."

His hands left hers, instead gestured around them, where they could both hear the ringing of the crowd. Could feel the electricity and anticipation crackling in the air. Could feel the beady eyes of admirers on them as the whispers of their names started to grow into a crescendo.

And she knew he was right – part of her did love it. The way they chanted her name. The way they watched her, as if she was more than just a girl from Twinleaf.

A fighter. A gladiator.

An inspiration.

"So…" she finally said. "Barry the legionary, aye? Spending too much time with Wake, I take?"

"Nay. I don't really wanna be like Wake."

"Nay?"

Barry reached up and ruffled his own hair. "I wanna be like Fantina."

"You want to wear a bloody dress while you fight?"

"I'd look bloody fantastic in it and you know it."

That made Nova laugh, despite the sharp clenching in her stomach.

"Nay, I just do't wanna be some legionary that sits and watches the fighting happen," Barry explained. "I want to do the fighting. I want to be in the battle and spar the gladiators myself."

"And is Joy happy with that?"

"…Nay." Barry sighed. "We keep fighting about it. She wants me to live safely or whatever and stay with her in a small house near Floaroma. But I wanna…"

Nova arched her brow. "You want to fight."

"I don't want to do nothing and grow old and feel like I've wasted all these years."

His friend smiled softly at that.

That was her friend, even from when they were kids. Not wanting to be accompanied everywhere, just wanting to explore on his own, as long as she left twigs in the ground for him to trace his way back home. That was her Barry – always itching to go as far as he could go, only coming back because he wasn't entirely stupid.

"And you and Riley?" he asked.

Nova shrugged. "I dunno. We haven't spoken about it."

He offered her a grin.

"Isn't it crazy how far we've come?" he pointed out. "Remember when you used to talk rat about him all the time because he was a hard arse when you couldn't hold a sword?"

"I used to talk rat about him because he arrested me!"

He chuckled. "We've come so far. We're not even on the same bloody island as Twinleaf! Isn't that bloody insane?"

It was pretty bloody insane. So much had happened in the past few months – so much. She had gone inside the castle of Sinnoh – the freaking castle – all the way from Twinleaf, on the day Volkner had hardly spared her a glance when he had stepped on her cake. She had met her grandfather, crawled her way to freaking Snowpoint for a damned crystal, had found the woman who had pushed her mother down the stairs.

And she had a freaking Darkrai in her shadow, just where her own boots touched the ground.

"…it's rude to stare…"

Nova smiled suddenly, glancing back up at her friend and reaching for his hand.

"It's been the best few months of my entire life," she told him.

He closed his eyes and squeezed her hand.

"Mine too."

Trumpets sounded, the people roaring in response. The stone on the mountain itself was trembling as knights finished setting up the arena, as Lucian called out and introduced the defenders. Volkner and Flint both rode out from the rising portcullis at the end of the arena, astride a chariot embossed by snarling Rapidash, their helms gleaming in the sunlight as they raised their hands to the cheering crowd.

So many familiar faces. Sir Riley. Joy. The legionaries.

Nova, herself, was breathless as she heard Lucian say her own name. The heat. The clamour. The pulsing rhythm of the crowd's chants swept right to her, over and over, as they screamed her name.

November! November! November!

She and Barry burst forth on their chariot, his Rapidash and her Luxray's hooves thundering on the packed dirt. Her best friend was giving the crowd a winning smile, blowing kisses which some women even reached out to catch.

"Ten laps!" Lucian was saying. "You must race twenty laps, but you must collect the wreaths on the ground. These will give you a point each, and whoever makes it to the end with more points will win."

So simple. A race, but collecting simple wreaths made of bent silver and burning red flowers along them. That was all.

No tricks. No assassinations.

Nova and Barry's hands were joined, held aloft. Rhys let out a bolt of electricity into the ground, an explosion of sparks making the audience yell.

Rhythmic chanting filled the stands as the opponents took their positions.

"Keep breathing," Nova whispered to her friend.

Then, a trumpet's call. The crack of reins. The percussion of feet on the ground. Nova gritted her teeth as her chariot roared around the track, the air slapping her face, Rhys gaining speed while scarlet flames painted the sands.

Lucian was back in the crowd with a spyglass, watching. And as Rhys sent a hurl of electricity to the side, sending Flint's Rapidash flinching back for just a second, Nova managed to reach down and snatch up the wreaths closer to the royal's chariot.

"We're in the lead," she told Barry, already panting, already feeling a strain in her arms.

Then, she heard the crowd roar. And she knew there was trouble.

As she turned, she saw them – shafts of fire whistling through the air and towards her.

"They're attacking us—"

Barry cut her off. "Novemba, do that shield thingy!"

"What fucking shield—"

But Barry hadn't been talking to her – he'd been talking to his Rapidash. And, within a snap of a second, the Rapidash stopped running, halting their chariot, but throwing up a glimmering white wall around them. The flames bounced straight off, spinning down the magical wall, before bouncing back towards Volkner and Flint.

One of the flames caught on Flint's pants. He patted it out within seconds, but it was enough to set a frown on his face, to make the crowd thrill.

Eight laps to go.

Four wreaths were randomly flung onto the track, the silver gleaming in the dust. Nova leaned out of the chariot, Barry barking orders for Rhys and Novemba to hurl something – anything – at their opponents as she scooped up a wreath.

Then, all four of them were thundering down the track, Flint's Rapidash's flames cutting through the air.

Six laps to go.

More wreaths fell. Trumpets rang. The flames flying thick and fast, Nova cursing as Rhys was grazed by a few embers by his foot which Barry's Rapidash hadn't managed to deflect in time. But Rhys was quick, too; he hurled a bolt at Volkner's Rapidash, sinking electricity right down to its bones.

The Rapidash staggered, and the chariot skidded for a second. Flint's own Rapidash was already dragging them forwards, sending a flamethrower into Rhys as they turned the corner. It struck his shoulder, the fur burning thickly, and as Nova moved to whip it out with a towel, she saw Flint and Volkner rebalance their chariot and scoop up three more wreaths. Putting them in the lead.

"Fuck," Nova hissed. Barry knew what that meant, and he shook his head, frowning.

Four laps to go.

More wreaths were showered onto the track – almost a dozen. Rhys was like a possessed being, firing bolt after bolt beside them, making Flint and Volkner steer their chariot through the vicious tangles of electricity.

In his haste to dodge the hail of sparks, Flint's Rapidash fell off-balance, skidding to its knees, and with a stunning flamethrower, Novemba the Rapidash swished flames cleanly towards the royal's chariot.

It forced Volkner and Flint to yell out, their Rapidash stopping to raise a shield. In that moment, Nova scooped up another few wreaths, tossing them onto Barry's lap as he raised his fist in triumph. She'd managed to snatch up four more – putting them just in first place.

"Two laps remain!" came Lucian's voice.

Smoke from the flames drifted over the track, the sands red from the heat. Barry called out at the Rapidash, ignoring the whips, sending them into a burst of speed. But Volkner and Flint were already closing in from behind, the crowd howling.

Nova felt Rhys taking aim, saw Flint's Rapidash do the same. The crowd was on their feet, as both Nova and Flint screamed out, but with astonishing speed, Barry seized onto the reins and locked it tightly in his hands. His Rapidash instantly understood, steering the chariot sideways, a burning flamethrower going wide and missing Nova by the hair.

All three bolts that Rhys flung were clipped by Volkner's Rapidash's shield, stopping it from thudding into his chest.

And yet, the crowd still bellowed, drunk on the fire and electricity and screaming. Nova scooped up another wreath, hissing as Flint and Volkner managed to grab onto several more, Novemba and Rhys both drenched in sweat.

She didn't know who was in the lead anymore.

Fuck.

"Final lap!"

The entire arena was on its feet, the noise crawling over Nova's skin and down her spine. Barry was muttering beneath his breath, urging their Pokémon onwards. Desperation on their faces. Sweat on their skin. The smell of something in the air – achingly familiar, but nothing she could put her hands on.

Watching the crowd for a second, Nova almost felt sick – the euphoria, the red glaze in their eyes. Four people were out there on the sands, hopes and dreams and fears between them, but they wanted to see blood.

Volkner and Flint were taking the lead, closing on the finish line. The crowd, all mouths and shapeless howls. Rounding to the final straight, Flint reached down to scoop up another wreath. Nova and Barry flew around the corner behind, running so hard their chariot went up on one wheel.

Rhys fired through the dust and smoke and flame – a miracle shot, slipping past the Rapidash's protect and striking one of them directly. The sparks lingered there, spreading across its body, and Nova almost whooped in excitement.

Paralysed.

With Volkner's Rapidash still running but Flint's Rapidash stunned, their chariot slewed sideways, colliding into the walls, toppling over as the wood smashed like glass. One wheel snapped loose from the ruin and bounced down the track, and Rhys kicked it aside. Triumphant.

No one really saw what happened next – no one but Nova.

They had won, really. Flint and Volkner's chariot was smashed, their wreaths poured out onto the sands, one of their Rapidash paralysed in place.

All Nova and Barry had to do was reach the finish line.

But she saw it; Flint lying on the sands, choking, whispered something to his Rapidash.

"Burn their wheels," he whispered. "Burn it. Our favourite trick: Flare Blitz."

Barry hadn't heard it – Nova wouldn't have heard it herself, had she not read the royal's lips. So she was the only one who saw the fire coming, who hauled on the reins and tried to steer Rhys and Novemba to the left, but their momentum was too much.

The little ball of fire sheared through Novemba's leg, the Rapidash screaming as she toppled. The chariot's crossbeam struck the sand, and as Nova gasped—

It hadn't been a regular flamethrower like before, because whatever this was, it sent the whole chariot in an explosion of burning fire as she and Barry were flung into the air, tossed like rag dolls.

Burning pain. All over. Her skin hot, like someone had been breathing hot lava onto it, her armour sharply digging into her skin and flickering with embers.

It hurt. Her skin felt so raw. Her breaths felt so shallow. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see, sand in her eyes as she landed shoulder first onto the ground.

She nearly screamed from the pain – like a flash burn to her shoulder, like someone had grabbed hold of it and twisted it. Like her whole arm was ignited.

But Barry was less lucky than her.

And as she rubbed the sand from her eyes, her Luxray racing to her side, she didn't see it. But everyone else did.

Barry and his Rapidash, who had been directly hit by the Flare Blitz, in the air. Landing headfirst into the wall.

The wet crackle of shattering bone.

The boy tumbled down, lying in a tangled heap just beneath where Lucian sat.

"Oh, Arceus…" the royal muttered.

The crowd was stunned – both teams had crashed before the finish line. Barry and his Rapidash lay motionless in the wreckage by the wall, the Pokémon's back twisted at a ghastly angle, her partner motionless beside her.

And November…

"She lives!" someone was calling out.

Indeed, as Rhys softly nudged her, she squinted through the sand. Then, slowly, she stirred, pushing herself onto her knees and slinging off her plumed helm. Her hair swept down to her waist, and she coughed and choked and sobbed back on the pain in her shoulder.

Then, she swayed to her feet.

The crowd roared. She was fifty metres from the finish line – all she needed to do was walk across, and she would have her victory. She was already limping towards it, holding her ribs and hobbling, stumbling, the crowd screaming.

November! November! November!

Nova spat blood onto the sand, face twisted, eyes locked on the line until—

Until she caught sight of her best friend.

Everyone held their breath as Nova stopped. The entire arena fell still.

Confusion flitted across Nova's face. And then, she was stumbling and limping again, gasping in pain, this time moving towards Barry. He lay facedown, and she fell to her knees beside him, rolling him over gently.

"Barry?" she asked, her voice trembling.

She saw the blood on his lips. His eyes open, his fingers twitching. Nova reached out with bloody hands to shake him.

"Barry?"

Keep breathing…

She leaned close, pressing her ear to his lips. Listening closely. Her heart pounding as she felt the faintest of breaths.

"Barry?" she cried, shaking him. "Barry!"

"Nova…"

Flint and Volkner were rising from their chariot, but even they remained still as the unseeing boy opened his mouth.

"It fucking hurts…" he mumbled.

Nova felt her heart soar as she heard him speak.

But the bleeding—

His breaths—

His weak pulse—

No, no, no…

And she knew it just as well as he did.

"I'll miss you," he was mumbling, his voice a rasp. "I…"

"You're not going anywhere." Tears in her eyes. Her throat aching. "We're finishing this race."

"November…"

"We're fucking finishing this fucking race, okay?"

She gathered him up in her arms, the tears slipping down her cheeks. Burning. Her heart aching. Rhys as still as a statue as he stared at the dead Rapidash beside them.

Then, the gladiator was on her feet, dragging him.

Pain everywhere. In her heart. Her shoulder. Her head.

Clawing through her. Slashing at her bones. Tearing at her muscles.

Pain.

So much of it.

And with Rhys behind her, letting her lean on him, they hauled Barry to the end.

Thirty metres.

Agonising pain. Her breaths more and more choked. Her heart more and more sore.

Twenty.

Flint was trying to stagger towards the finish line – perhaps to beat them. But Volkner held him by the arms, ignoring the royal as he kicked and fought back.

"Go," Volkner was mouthing to Nova. "Go."

Ten metres.

And yet, all of it would be for nothing.

No glory. No coin. No Cynthia.

Nothing.

Five.

A chill creeping into her heart as she heard someone in the crowd wail and howl Barry's name. Joy's voice, she thought. And she hated it. Because it made it real.

It made it—

One metre.

One boy with hopes and fears and dreams.

Now, nothing but a corpse in her arm.

"Victory to the challengers, November and…"

Even Lucian didn't finish his sentence. And as Nova took a deep breath, clenched her jaw, fought back the pain, she lowered her best friend onto the sand.

He was panting now. Tears in his own eyes.

"I knew it'd hurt," he told her, his voice such a silent whisper that she had to lean in. "But not this much…"

Her tears were falling on his face. Barry already looked like a ghost – his stare bloodshot and empty, his arms wrapped around himself.

But Nova said nothing to him. She had her hands clasped tightly together, reaching out through her mind, her heart, her everything to Dialga, hoping he could hear her as she closed her eyes.

Stop.

The crowd still crying out. Screaming for their lost gladiator.

Stop!

Barry's blood still pouring thickly on her hands.

Stop it! Stop time! Stop, stop—

But time wasn't stopping.

But Barry's heart was.

So she opened her eyes. Choked.

"Barry…"

"I love you, November," he was rasping. "Thank you for all this. For giving me all of this."

She shook her head.

Wished she could take it all back. Wished she could have somehow dragged him back to Twinleaf. Away from the gladiator business. Where they could have grown up, grown old, laughed and danced and—

"Prin stays with you," he choked out. "I don't mind what Hera or Socks does, but Prin stays with you. She'll need you."

Already thinking about his Pokémon. About losing them.

Even Rhys was kneeling down, and for a horrid moment, as Nova listened past the sobbing mob, she heard him – that low, strangled keen. His own whispered cry.

"And make sure you kick Cynthia's arse extra bloody hard," he continued. "For both of us…"

"I'm not… Not without you…"

Barry held out his hand. Waiting for her to squeeze it. "Shame, then. You and Riley would make a mighty fine…"

He coughed, blood spewing out of his mouth. Onto his armour. The colour draining from his skin.

Then, a weak smile on his face.

"The scarf is pink, isn't it?"

His words caught Nova off-guard. She reached for his hand, squeezed them tight. "Aye."

"Seems right."

He then pulled away and reached for his neck, lifting his head ever so slightly to unfurl it from beneath his armour. Then, the boy was raising his hands, feeling for Nova's own neck.

With two weak, trembling motions of his hands, he had managed to slip it around her neck.

"You know, a very wise woman once told me something about the colour pink," he whispered.

His voice the softest it had ever been. His breaths becoming his last.

"Aye?" Nova managed to say. Biting back the crack in her voice. The pain, the pain, the aching pain.

"She said that it looks like hope."

His hand found hers again. Brought it to his lips as he said his final words.

"And feels like a kiss."

Then, the unseeing boy closed his unseeing eyes for the final time.

For years - for centuries, even - the people of Sinnoh wouldn't remember the blood on the boy's face or the twisted shape of his Rapidash.

They wouldn't remember the way Sir Riley trembled to his feet, his whole body shaking, as he clutched onto the railing at the sight of his dead gladiator. They wouldn't remember the way Joy sank to her knees and sobbed. They wouldn't even remember the way Volkner slowly moved over to November and touched her shoulder gently.

But they would remember the girl from Twinleaf's cry.

It was pain in the air. A wail of terror and hurt, so raw and desperate. Cutting through all of their hearts as she held onto him and just kept crying out. Her face red and wet and bloody. Her voice scratched and thin.

They would remember the way she stayed there for minutes. Almost an hour. Holding him as her voice ripped through the air.

They would remember the way she finally stood and glanced around, eyes burning, face puffy.

The way she moved around the arena, choking between her sobs, before screaming out to all of them.

"What was his name?"

Silence. A few muffled sobs from the girl herself. Then, with her voice raw and pained and heavy with her own cries, she called out again.

"What was his name?"

Then the chanting began.

"Barry! Barry! Barry!"

The clapping hands.

"Barry! Barry! Barry!"

The stomping feet.

"Barry! Barry! Barry!"

The voices slicing through the air.

"Barry! Barry! Barry!"

And as it happened, as Nova screamed his name with them, she didn't see her Pokémon dart into the arena. Didn't see them hold each other, bound by Leila's vines. She didn't see Rhys finally break away, moving over to a wreath of burning red flowers and nudging it slowly to the boy's body.

Then, Tric was doing the same, as was Tatiana and Leila and Owl and Bailey. Dragging all the wreaths, dozens and dozens of them, and taking them to the boy. Surrounding him in steel rings and beautiful, soft flowers.

The people eventually stopped, but the girl didn't. She kept moving around the arena, blood dribbling down her injured arm, crying his name. Sobbing between each one.

Until, finally, she turned around and saw it. The blanket of flowers, draped over her best friend. Not just some corpse on sand.

But a picture of a fallen warrior.

Nova finally went silent, inching over to her Pokémon. To her friend.

She knelt down to his face. Placed a gentle hand on his cheek.

Even in his death, he was smiling. Like he knew she was there, bellowing his name out to anyone who would listen.

And though she was surrounded by the people she had once hated, the people who had wanted to see the blood and death that hung in the air, the very people she had once promised herself would never see her break-

Looks like hope.

Nova lay down beside her friend.

And feels like a kiss.

And let herself break.

A quick shout-out to my dear friend, TML, who somehow had the heart and mind and time to read this whole thing in... two days. I thought he was insane. I love him.

And... please don't kill me? If you want to cry with me, I listened to the song, "Carry You" by Ruelle and Fleurie while writing and thinking about this.

In all honesty, I tried so much to avoid this moment. I tried to think of other ways to structure the story. But, at the end of it all, I had to go with what felt like the right thing to do. Don't kill me?