This story was co-developed by Titan127 and beta read by ShonnaRose and JhinoftheOpera.
Disclaimer: Pokémon is a registered property of Nintendo, the Pokémon Company, and GameFreak. This work respectfully uses the world and characters of the Pokémon series, with no intent of harm on the original creators. Please support the official releases of the Pokémon franchise.
Chapter 5: Stand, Walk, Run (12,906 words)
𒅆𒊒𒍪𒅆,
In my reflection, I came to realize that those who broke away walked a true path. One becomes content, when comforted by safety and order, to submit to the will of above. Even as that order begins to dissolve, its phantoms remain in one's mind as the world is torn asunder around them.
As I wandered, I've learned much about the world and its inhabitants. I've come to wish I could have learned more about those dissidents as well. Had I done so, and had I ventured beyond the tower of pride I had attached myself to, perhaps it could have been averted. I urge you to walk from your comfort and discover the true world.
𒁾,
𒍪𒅆
A cadaver slept in Kris's bed.
Its arm hung limp over the precipice. A chill grasped the body and crushed its muscles, starting at the toes and fingers and climbing the veins like a virus venturing from its transmission wound. It had seeped through the window glass, permeated about the floor, and slithered up the thick, wooden bed frame until it located its host.
The room slept in cardboard boxes. The walls, though garnished with decorative molding from its ages as a castle, were barren, and the bookshelves framing both the headboard and foot of the canopy bed were empty. Dust veiled the wood's deep color.
The body peeled itself mechanically from the stone bedding. She dangled her legs off the bed, hands on her knees and her weak breaths crystalized in the air. She was moving, but she wasn't living.
She stumbled from the bed on stiff legs and approached the tall, arched window. The white light streaming in revealed the swarms of dust winding about the room. The wall clock—one of few things she already fished from the boxes—was broken. The hour hand ticked in vain, never advancing despite each step it took, so the only real time it told was that it was fourteen minutes of something.
A city hid behind the fogged glass and within a pale tundra. She could only make out a few towers within the expanse. An even deeper chill seized her, and she pulled the curtains closed to guard what warmth remained.
A real cadaver might have decomposed in the time it took to clothe herself. Rather than turning on the lights, she fumbled around the room and the assorted baggage until her entire body was draped in something or other. Then she slipped out the door into the commons of the suite.
It was too bright. She waved a few lamps off on the way to the couch. There wasn't much of a reason to sit there, as there wasn't anything important on schedule. The day was free. Leaning back against the hard leather cushions, she found the remote and clicked on the display. To see what the world was thinking, she told herself.
The first image she saw was herself, looking very much more alive.
"Welcome back to A Trainer's Day! Today's special focuses on two Trainers who captured the attention and emotions of many, the children of the late Cynthia and Lance Masuta," said a well-dressed and well-endowed woman into a microphone. She sat with one leg over the other and her hands gently in her lap. "According to your knowledge, Roxi, this is the longest stretch of time Christine Masuta hasn't made a public appearance. Is that right?"
Saber took her place on the screen behind them. The other head, a similarly bourgeois woman, said, "That's right, Kinsey. Not at college, or at the League buildings, or in any competitions. However, her brother has stepped up, and recently appeared in a Sinnoh League Audience to the amazement of its participants."
"It's most likely she's taking time for herself, right?" asked Kinsey.
"Most likely. We believe it's best to let her have space. I completely understand, after all that's happened. Though, her fans out there have sent in tons of support to our show and are wondering when she'll be able to—" The woman was cut off by something offscreen. She coughed and collected. "A-anyway, we're wishing her the best. The world can certainly wait for its biggest stars."
Kinsey seemed to get fired up as the graphics of the show shifted. The banners became jagged, primary colors, announcing hot news. "Let's follow up on the Sebastian Masuta story. It seems like Saber is back in the saddle for the time being. Roxi, what do you expect of—"
Kris pressed hard on the channel button, and once the screen flashed, she slipped off the back panel, dumped the batteries on the floor, and cast it aside. She laid her head on the couch, cushioned by her arms, and lifted her feet off the cold floor again.
The cadaver closed its eyes, wondering why it woke in the first place.
"—incident was stopped by a foreigner from Johto, reportedly on his way to the Pokémon League. He gave these comments after touching down in Hearthome City."
Her eyes struggled to keep out the light, but the voice on the TV drew her back from the dead. Kris raised her neck slightly, seeing the image at an imperfect angle that was worse than the actual cinematography. The viewport was buried behind dozens of other reporters clamoring for attention as the person spoke.
A head of blond hair jutted from within the crowd, and green flashed between the wall of shoulders. And that voice.
Kris raised herself up, supported on her straining elbow. Her bangs fell around her eyes.
She asked herself, "Ciel?"
As he approached the Sinnoh League, it shrank. He almost felt like he would never reach it, like it was retreating over the horizon each meter closer he moved. His boot eventually found the first stair of the massive forecourt, yet the building at the top seemed the same size it had been when he first witnessed it from the city below the waterfall. He could still hear the crashing flow behind him.
Snow tumbled down the steps as he ascended to the gates of a sad heaven. After seeing Lance's majesty in person, rising like an ancient monolith over the tiny planet, he expected League branches to be grander monuments. Was the Sinnoh League really so… dispiriting?
"I w-wanna," started Laina, heaving, "I wanna stop."
He was halfway up the covered staircase when she said this. Accepting without another thought, he kicked some snow to the side and planted himself down, not even caring how icy and wet it felt under him. He rested his head in his hands.
His sister didn't even bother clearing a spot and slammed her rear down in the snow. "I usually gotta pout more before you do things."
"I'm tense and I need to relax, I think." He cupped a heavy, clouded breath in his palms. "I don't even know what happened yesterday."
"You, umm, stopped a bad guy," she said.
"But I barely know why I did it. I barely even remember doing it, it was just so… I don't know." His heart was racing, and hadn't stopped since the flight, not helped by the call he made home to attempt to explain himself. His mother had not taken it well. Laina stirred snow into the air by kicking her feet back and forth off the steps. "You're surprisingly okay with this. Aren't you scared?"
"Nuh-uh. I'm not scared at all," she said, refusing to meet his eye.
Ciel's lips curled, then he pulled a notebook from his bag. He twirled a pencil between his fingers only to fail to match the graceful movement with his actual handwriting. Smudged scrapings explored the page from their gate at the top right corner. For some reason, he felt like writing in Johtoan. He hadn't done so in a while, and he could feel the unsteadiness in his rusted hand, but eventually his strokes blanketed the page. He held it up to his sister.
"Can you read what this says?" he asked.
She narrowed her eyes at it and tried to repeat it in the same language. "'I'—no, 'we… found the'… I guess that'd be 'Pokémon League'. And then, 'plan to… talk at, no, about…' what's this one?"
"It's 'Gym Challenge'," he said.
"What writing is that?"
"Different script. It's a loan word."
"Agh! This is so hard. This language sucks," she said, clenching her fist. Despite her words, she snatched the notebook from him to focus on it more intensely. She whispered it to herself, confident to conquer the task laid out for her. "'Snow'… something something 'together on' and then, oh! That's the date. 'Sunday, September 11th.' Then… 'Laina is a… dumb…'"
Her eyes snapped to him. Before he could bust out in laughter, the notebook soared and printed its shape on his cheek, then found a home in a mound of snow. Ciel chuckled as he rubbed his face.
"Definitely worth it," he said. Her face was turned red to match her already rosy nose and ears. It was like that Unovan Pokémon. What was it? Throh?
Her teeth, despite her efforts, shined through the furious mask. He flashed his own, infectious enough to mold her rosy cheeks into a full-blown smile. Goodness, he loved to see her smile.
It wasn't just anybody's smile he wanted to clad with the iron of his fame—well, it was anyone he cared about. But there was one shining face that was permanently drawn on his hippocampus, and each time he saw it in reality, it etched itself deeper.
Hers was the smile he protected when they were young and haunted by a glass monster.
Hers was the smile that kept him hiking throughout Johto even after nearly drowning in his own failures.
Hers was the smile that drove his passion—and his rage—in even the most dire of circumstance.
He wished, however, that he didn't need to face that circumstance so often. When that man in Canalave had drawn a knife, it wasn't the first time he felt his life, or his sister's, in true danger.
Something cold found itself against his neck. His arm fell limply to his side as he realized what was happening. He began breathing faster. His vision blurred.
"That's right. Put your little toy away, you don't need to use it," called a sickly, feminine voice.
A horrible woman had appeared and held him prisoner to his own fear somewhere in the backstreets of Goldenrod. She said it was because he spoke to Cynthia about a trip he and some friends took to the Ruins of Alph, which was a dream he barely recalled. There had been someone deep in the Ruins, in a place he wasn't even sure was real, and that encounter left him with a target on his back. She had been working with the Rockets, so she said, but they hadn't found a trace of her once their organization was dismantled.
"We'll be keeping an eye on you, your parents, and even that adorable little sister of yours, just to make sure you stay in line."
Sister. The one word made his vision flash red.
Every time he thought about that day, his hand went unconsciously to his throat to dig at the mark she'd left with her blade. The memory would slip away over time, only to straighten his neck hairs every few weeks when it suddenly returned to torment him. He couldn't forget the threat against his sister, not when the woman had shown herself a second time and reinforced that she was, and maybe still is, watching.
The past few days, the memory refused to fade. It was fresh, it was ripe to swallow, and he didn't have the strength of mind to refuse even as his body fought crises in the present.
He just wanted it to vanish.
But if he forgot, she'd be in danger too.
"Hey, what's the matter?" Laina asked. Her face was right in front of him now, having crossed the distance amidst his thoughts. "If you're still down like you were in Canalave, no sir! Get a move on!"
She dragged herself to her feet and leapt up the stairs. The size of the staircase forced her to bound with her combined strength just to reach each next step. Ciel wrote a few more notes for later and then stashed the journal so he could follow her. He carved through the snow, passing her easily with his longer legs, which only spurred her into a competitive fury as they raced to the front doors of the Sinnoh League.
"We're gonna need to find whatever executive official manages the Gym Challenge," he said as he ascended higher and higher.
His sister, dedicated to racing him to apotheosis, broke into a full sprint. A snowstorm kicked up in her wake, leaving him coughing within a white cloud. When it cleared, his sister was standing at the massive wooden door that separated them from the government of the Sinnoh Region.
"No." Laina's hand was flat against the door.
"What do you mean 'no'?" he asked, trying to swallow the snow melting in his throat.
"We'll talk to the big man," she said. "The President. The Vice-guy!"
"The Viceroy," said Ciel.
"I know what I mean!"
Ciel felt a serenity overtake him. She was fired up, which, ironically, let him ground himself—or at least anchored him like a kite threatening to float away. "I'm sure you do."
"You took an opportunity with those reporters. So I'm gonna take this opportunity and see just what those big League guys are up to if I'm gonna take their jobs one day!"
Ciel met her at the door, contained within a tall, stone portico. He craned his neck up to follow the wood up to where it met the ceiling. He'd think it was imposing if a twelve-year-old hadn't stormed the gates like one-girl-army. He, too, placed his hand on the door. He chose to believe its cold wasn't creeping up his arm. They were the ones bringing warmth to a cold monument.
Together, they pushed. The Sinnoh League swallowed them whole.
Poke.
Prod.
Pinch.
"Please stop touching me," said Ciel.
An armed guard denied his request. Ciel noted that his uniform resembled the ones worn by two agents who helped storm the Rocket complex in Mahogany, denoting them as International Police. The hands roaming Ciel's body tensed different muscles in different places, and the fibers didn't relax fast enough between each contact. Soon his everything was on high alert.
Next came a baton, waved in the perimeter around him. Then twice. Then a third time, because they weren't satisfied after he removed his Poké Balls and his belt and his jacket. Other agents swarmed like Beedrill over honey to gut the discarded items.
A hand wandered a little too low for his comfort. Ciel grabbed—squeezed—the man's wrist. "Please stop touching me."
The officer tore his hand away and massaged his arm where it was crushed, all while brandishing a piercing expression. He only held it a few seconds, before he called to his comrades, "This one's clear to go."
He passed through the reinforced checkpoint and examined the main hall of the Sinnoh League building. A black path coursing with green lights extended all the way to the opposite side of the atrium, disappearing into a dark tunnel. Gray tiling blanketed the floor, and azure panels raised countless stories into a circular tower, eventually meeting at the apex of a hollow dome. Ciel stared at the inverse peak.
"That hurt! You're being too rough," cried Laina.
His neck snapped back to the guard, who seemed keen on giving similar treatment. He tried to fight his way back through the agents, only for his sister to rapidly shake her head at him. He said, "She's twelve. You don't need to check her."
"We check absolutely everyone. I'm sure you can understand why we need to do this," said the agent.
He gritted his teeth and looked to her, who seemed to be handling it with far more grace than he did. And he did understand, but it didn't make it any easier.
"It's fine. I hate it, but whatever." Laina puffed her cheeks and consented—as much as she could—to the rough searching. Fortunately, the man gave her an easier time than him, and quickly ushered her through after only a single pat down. She collected her belongings and joined him past the checkpoint.
She drew in a long breath, her red bangs rustling around her eyes. Her eyes shot open, and she threw a powerful pointed finger at one of the agents. He didn't react until Laina stormed up to him, planted her forward foot, and held it like a knife beneath his chin. The man cranked his neck left, then right, then tipped his own finger towards his chest in question.
"You!" Her shout coated him in spit. "Take us to the Vice-Guy!"
Flinching, he wiped his face and grumbled to her, "Request denied. One must have an appointment to speak to the Viceroy."
"So take us to where we would go if we had one."
"Request denied," he said again, with a little more hesitation than before. He tapped the International Police badge on his chest. "I am not an escort."
"Then be one!" said Laina.
The agent looked past her, only to receive a shrug from Ciel. He didn't have the steel to resist her when she got in the moods nor the means to offer it to anyone else, and he was willing to let her loose when it wasn't something as trivial as cookies. He eyed the officer pair with a smirk. It was easier to bend than to break, and he was certain she wouldn't stop until he broke.
The man huffed, clicked his heels together, and fired an affirmative gaze at Ciel. "I can take you to the Council Suite, but they'll probably turn you away."
Ciel tried his best not to smirk at him. "Good enough for me."
He ordered some of his colleagues to watch the checkpoint and then rushed past the siblings, leaving them with the challenge of keeping up with him. That was fair. Ciel wasn't asking for attention, just directions.
They chased the man up the grand staircase of the building, which split around the central tunnel that he assumed led to the Champion and Elite Four's chambers according to what he knew about the Indigo League. After the steps rejoined, they curved into a spiral drilling upwards through the building. Ciel and Laina pierced the heart of the Pokémon League, marveling at the elegant decorations that sprouted from the walls once they escaped the techno-futuristic lobby.
Though he looked over his shoulder a few times to confirm their presence, the International Police agent kept silent as they climbed higher and higher. Ciel became increasingly aware of the elevator accesses each successive level. He wondered if the agent took the stairs specifically to spite them.
Their feet met blue on the topmost floor, where an azure carpet ran the upper hall of the castle. Ciel veered closer to the meters-high windows as they headed towards the far end of the hall. The city was on full display beneath the falls, which drained into a pool where downtown skyscrapers drank.
When his head snapped back forward, the agent was facing them, standing at attention at the end of the hall. He saluted them, though his grimace made clear that it was only a pleasantry. Another agent, the standing guard of the door, mirrored his gesture with more confusion than solidarity.
"Here. The Viceroy's suite." The agent dropped his salute to hold his hand to the door. It was outlined by a golden frame, a knocker hanging off-center in the shape of a Luxray's head. "The next time you ask me for something, I'll arrest you for assaulting an agent of the International Police."
Ciel tried not to meet his eye. "Uhh… that would be a note for later."
Laina raced up to the door and knocked rapidly, just as she'd done to annoy him on the way to Sinnoh. The agent left his stationed compatriot and retreated down the hall. After a short lapse of silence, a voice inside said "come in".
The siblings slipped inside, letting the door slam heavy behind them. It was a semi-octagonal reception room, draped windows wall faces that alternated with hallways leading elsewhere. The wallpaper frayed at the edges, revealing the stone beneath, and the roof was low enough to tickle Ciel's scalp through his hairs. A receptionist commanded a desk in the middle and looked up to greet them.
She had been locked in parley with a wheelchair-bound man across the desk, which was low enough to accommodate him. He was a graying fellow whose wrinkles nearly swallowed his mouth and eyes.
"Do you have an appointment?" asked the receptionist, who turned to a computer and worked magic on the keyboard. "I'll need your Trainer Card or other League-issued identification and I'll need to take a photograph of you for logging purposes."
"I actually, uhh," he said, shirking backwards. His back touched the door. "I don't have an appointment, I was looking to see if you would be willing to, or I mean, if you allow… walk-ins?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Who let you in here?"
"We need to talk to the Vice-Guy." Laina tried to fight back the authority, though she probably knew she was nothing but a pretender in this castle.
"Guard! Please take them out of here!" she shouted.
"Hold a moment," said the wheelchair-bound man. He rolled himself forward with surprisingly powerful arms that his suit jacket strained to contain. Those hidden eyes appraised him.
"I can go, if you don't allow, umm—"
"Ciel Fauder." When the man said his name, he didn't register it for a few seconds. The ridges in the carved door dug into him. The man sensed his confusion, and asked, "Am I mistaken?'
"N-no. I'm just not used to being recognized, I guess. How do you know me?"
"I watch the news, boy," he said. He slapped the back of his hand against Ciel's chest, causing him to flinch. It wasn't supposed to hurt, probably. "Are you going to continue to be humble or are you going to own up to yourself?"
"Oh!" Ciel stiffened and tried to hold his strongest expression. He made his statement, so this man was right. The worst thing he could do was neglect the newborn image he'd committed to nurturing. "I want to be famous, sir, just like I said. My name is Ciel Fauder, and I'd like to talk to the Viceroy."
"Permission granted."
Ciel held in an unsteady breath. The man's legs drew his attention—his pants ceased where iron prosthetics began, and Ciel couldn't help but imagine that the sleek metal wasn't as powerful as the man's hidden figure. One was thicker where it attached at the knee, while the other was a thin piece that began at his mid-thigh. When he realized he was staring too long, he snapped back to meet the man face-to-face.
"You're," said Ciel, "you're the Viceroy?"
"Cool legs!" said Laina. He would have scolded her if she didn't sound so… genuinely impressed. When she dove closer to get a better look, unaware of the social codes she may be violating, he jerked her back with his hand on her collar.
"Sorry, sir," he said, unsure who he was apologizing for.
"You can call me Viceroy or Mr. Nølsikker." He spun himself around and pushed past the desk. "As I said, you're free to speak. My office is this way."
"But sir," called the receptionist, "your appointment is at the turn of the hour."
"And I'm confident whatever business this boy has can be solved before then. Now come along," he said.
Ciel nodded, tried his best to avoid the receptionist shooting daggers at him as they passed. The Viceroy led them through a short, narrow hallway that bulged again into a circular niche with antique furniture. Decades had carved nicks into the room, and Ciel was certain he'd catch a splinter if he so much as ran his hand over the desk where the Viceroy parked his wheelchair.
The man locked his hands and planted them on the desk despite the danger. In his position, he was framed by the golden drapes of the window behind him.
Laina took a seat first. Ciel was almost relieved, because by failing to wait for a suggestion from the Viceroy, he had no expectation to do the same. The man gave them no pause to settle in before he drilled into them.
"As she said, I'm on a tight schedule, Ciel."
"Well, I, umm—" Ciel's mind battled his racing heart and it's inability to keep him together. He'd talked to Lance Masuta. This shouldn't be intimidating.
"Do you control the Gym Challenge, mister Vice-Guy?" his sister asked.
His eyebrow peaked at her phrasing, but he seemed to allow it after appraising her. She was just a kid, after all. "I hold authority over general operations of the entire Sinnoh League network. Specifics are delegated to my middle managers."
"Then you were the guy that stopped it?"
"I did, yes." He had never stopped watching Ciel even after Laina began. He hoped the man couldn't see the sweat on his cheek, or the flaring of his nostrils.
"And nobody can change it but you?"
"Oberon Terminus certainly could, if he chose," said the Viceroy. He properly directed his voice to Ciel this time. Impressed, he was no longer. "What exactly do you wish to ask me?"
Ciel balled his fists in his lap and summoned his courage. That's what a celebrity needed, to be brave in face of all crowds, all cameras, and all detractors. He said, "Mr. Viceroy, I'd like you to reopen the Gym Challenge, sir. If it's possible. If it's—" He slammed his mouth shut to cage his tongue.
"It's possible," said the Viceroy. "But I refuse."
Ciel felt his stomach ache where he'd been struck the day before. Somehow, it felt like more of a gut punch than the physical one he'd sustained on the plane. Despite everything it took to get to the Pokémon League, his fear was realized.
No. It was his duty to conquer that fear, not before he hadn't exercised other options and before he hadn't tapped into the mighty strength he knew was his. That interview gave him the opportunity to taste it. Own up to himself. The Viceroy said it himself.
He stood from his chair. "Sir, I stopped a plane crash on my way from Jubilife, and I travelled all the way from Johto before then. I'm not leaving here until I convince you, or at least until you tell me how I can help."
"I can appreciate your drive and your image. It's exactly what we cultivate when we train and seek Champions," said the Viceroy. "But your wishes do not, and cannot, override our efforts to keep the Sinnoh Region stable."
"First of all, why? What do you gain by closing the Gym Challenge?"
"That's a foolish question. You've encountered exactly why."
Ciel blinked. "The, uhh, the plane?"
"That man is in custody of the International Police. I assume they believed he was connected to the Masutas' murderer," he said, and a shiver seized Ciel at the casual mention, "yet he's done nothing but ramble about how he's free to do whatever he wishes and that no one will stop him. He's no one special."
"And there are riots happening in the cities." Ciel sensed what the man was thinking, having seen it himself. The Viceroy frowned.
The incident in Canalave was just one of a possible many. The people were driven into a frenzy simply by such an unsettling disappearance of their Champion, and the promise that they would be without a successor for an indefinite period of time. It was insane, but… he didn't misunderstand.
There was a hollowness inside. Maybe it was dealing with Raven's sickness, but he hadn't felt exactly like himself since the news dropped. If Laina hadn't metaphorically slapped sense into him, he might have still been moping in Canalave.
The Viceroy leveled at him. "We're preparing full examinations of our Region's strongest Trainers, but knowing what unrest is occurring, all of our Gym Leaders—and many of our other League Trainers—have been called into action alongside law enforcement to keep the peace. Until it's maintained, we can't occupy them with trivial Gym Battles."
Ciel felt the situation slipping, his goal receding further and further into the mist. The man's reasoning was solid, and Ciel had seen too much already to imagine it getting worse. He scratched at the scar on his neck.
He let out his breath and searched for another question. While he was here, he'd get as much information as he could. "Why didn't you have a candidate ready like the Indigo Plateau?"
"Because we—" The man stopped short. Ciel searched the air for the words he didn't say. "Because we didn't. We had no one on record to accept the title."
"Okay," said Ciel. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he needed to keep pushing. "How?"
"I don't owe you an explanation."
"You don't. But I do know that the Pokémon League doesn't like bad publicity, and that it would have some kind of plan for this," he said.
The Viceroy seemed to consider an explanation, his face rippling. Ultimately, however, he said nothing, even though the twitch in his eye and the quiver of his lip said that he wanted to say something. He looked back up at Ciel. Waiting.
"Fine. Then why is it taking so long?" asked Ciel.
"Do you have a habit of running out of questions?" replied the Viceroy.
"No, sir," said Ciel. "I don't believe so."
He paused. "How many Trainers do you think are fit to be Champion?"
Laina found a path to butt into the conversation and said, "I mean, our parents are Gym Leaders, and they probably could—"
"None of them."
Ciel stared blankly at him, and Laina was left squabbling by his interruption. He didn't mean that. There's no way he could.
"The type of people we seek, like that of Dr. Masuta, or Dr. Stone, or now Mrs. Morgana, are so astronomically rare that it may as well be negligible. There is a stark difference between a strong Trainer and a paragon for an entire nation, and I don't even believe Mrs. Morgana qualifies, but the decisions of the Indigo League are ultimately not mine to make. I will not offer Sinnoh an imperfect Champion."
"So what if your candidate isn't perfect?" Ciel's arms tensed at his sides, their signals exaggerating his words. "People need someone to look up to."
"No!" shouted the Viceroy. His visceral tone was the first time since maybe the back alleys of Goldenrod that truly, utterly scared Ciel. It sent him to his chair, locked and awaiting the voltage.
The Viceroy stood in his place, perhaps unsettled by being beneath a child for so long. He was massive, almost two meters, and his rippling muscles defined themselves when his sleeves descended naturally. He swiped a cane hanging beneath the desk and approached the window to view something beyond. The snow's albedo reflected so much light towards the room that he became nothing but a smudge of black in front of the white pane.
"I fought in the Coalition War," he said. When Ciel searched with his eyes for confirmation, for medals or souvenirs, he found nothing. "I don't valorize it, not like that Gym Leader fool in Kanto. It was manic kings and deluded emperors that signed us away. We knew it was wrong, but we trusted our so-called 'leaders'. Then in combat, my Pokémon trusted me to command them, as I trusted my captain to command me."
The Viceroy gripped his cane hard enough that Ciel saw it bend between his hand and its contact on the floor. "We had an opportunity to retreat from an engagement we couldn't win, and when he didn't take it, I trusted that to mean he had a plan. I only understood after I was buried in dirt and blood that he marched us to our deaths and used us as a shield for his own cowardly escape."
When he finally turned back towards the siblings, Ciel was glad he couldn't see his face. Even as a featureless smear, the wrath on the Viceroy's face kept him shackled as he waited for execution.
"Had I been responsible for myself, I would have been safe. I knew the right decision. He did too," he said, then decided suddenly to return to his wheelchair. When he stepped from the light, his face was expressionless. "The only thing worse than not being led is being led by a failure. I refuse to give Sinnoh a failure."
His words hung in his office, as gruesome as the day he had described. And Ciel knew he had nothing left, nor any reason to stay here. The Viceroy was wrong. Nothing good could come from shouldering scared people with more uncertainty. But Ciel didn't have the tactics, nor the right, to argue with a man so skilled on this battlefield.
A shuffling alerted him to the receptionist standing at the opening behind him. However long she was standing there, the contempt she held before had evaporated, and now she was too timid to speak. "S-sir, we have, umm..."
"It seems my next appointments have arrived." The Viceroy's cane returned to its rightful place. He said, "I believe I'm done here."
Ciel, silently, stood, and granted the slightest bow his Johtoan etiquette would allow. He grabbed Laina by the hand and raced past the woman in the hall. As he reached for the door in the reception chamber, it flung open on its own, revealing three figures—two vest-clad agents and a wild-haired man in a trench coat. Ciel skipped past but heard the muffled commotion after the door slammed closed.
"You don't have appointments either, do you?" asked the Viceroy
"No, sir! No, in fact, I'm a detective of the International Police, and we have suspicion that you might provide useful information in the pursuit of justice. We would, therefore, like to ask you a few questions."
The Viceroy tried to object, but it quickly quieted, leaving Ciel on the silent upper floor of the Sinnoh League. He gazed into the blue of the carpet and squeezed Laina's hand. However, she tugged on his sleeve and pointed.
Her line painted across the blue, to the worn but expensive looking sneakers, to the running shorts, to the loose shirt hanging on the girl in the center of the empty hallway. An armored International Police agent stood silent behind her. Ciel's eyes met hers.
She raised a weak hand and said, "Are you… ready for that rematch yet?"
"What are you even doing here?" she asked. She spoke in whispers, as if her voice was chained down.
Ciel immediately didn't belong. A couple things stuck out to him. One, he was inside someone's house. Breaching the private, intimate space of someone else was a lot harder than everyone else made it seem. The last time he did so, it wasn't really his choice—he woke up halfway to pneumonia in Cianwood. Two, he wasn't rich. The fine marble countertops, the treated leather couch that felt nearly alive beneath his fingers, and the calculated minimalism of the architecture were all… impossible to him.
People actually lived like this. No wallpaper left from grandparents after they moved to their condo in the upside of Goldenrod. No suspicious dark spots that no spray cleaner in the world could pick up.
"I'm not really sure," he said, peeling his eyes from the mesmerizingly clean walls. "Well, I was here to talk to the Viceroy, and I did, so now I'm just here."
"The Viceroy? Geez, even I don't do that often."
"Thanks for coming to find me, I guess," he said, still marveling at everything around the room. Laina had also taken to examining the suite and occupied herself by wiping dust off the entertainment center and windowsills only to sneeze when it blew in her face.
"Just wanted to get out of my room for a bit, I guess," she said.
"So you brought me back… to your room."
She turned to him with a displeased look, but after talking with the Viceroy, it meant almost nothing. There was no power behind hers. "I didn't exactly have a plan, okay? You were here, so I thought I might accommodate you."
"What do we do now?" he asked.
"I just said no plan."
The conversation paused, and Laina was too occupied exploring the room and getting her hands everywhere they shouldn't be. Without anything filling the space between them, Ciel stepped forward.
At the same time, Kris stepped back. "Hey…"
He closed the gap. She tensed. His arms entrapped her and held her there, her face in his collarbone. Her chest flattened as a breath escaped her and pulled them closer together. The world already felt like it was slowing down, but as they stood there, it came to a complete, tranquil halt.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
When she didn't answer, he wasn't surprised. It was a stupid question to ask. So instead he just hugged her a little tighter and waited for her to inevitably ask him to stop. When he felt her reciprocate, and her hands joined together at his back, he rejoiced a bit in his head that he did something, anything, to help.
He stayed in place until, eventually, Kris stepped away of her own accord. She decided to make acquaintance with his shoes since she evidently still couldn't find her vocal chords.
She looked strange. He couldn't place it at first, having only technically seen her twice before, but he was drawn to her forearms. He could have sworn she was much more toned when he last saw her, but her skin hugged her bones just as her shirt hung loose everywhere but her shoulders.
"You looking for something?" she asked.
Concern overwrote what might otherwise have been embarrassment. "How should I ask this?" he said. "When was the last time you ate?"
She drew in a breath, then paused. Her eyes searched the room, mirroring her brain searching for information in its archives. Eventually, she shook her head and said, "It's not like I'm keeping count. I think I had an energy bar."
"Today?" he asked.
"No, it was, um," she tried, spinning the answer in her head, "I was flying to the Grand Axis and had it on the flight because I was up so late. That was the day before..."
When she didn't continue, he cursed himself in his head. He offered to hug her again and she turned away. But beyond that, he counted the days back in his head, and it didn't compute. Well, it did, but it was beyond reason. That happened almost two weeks ago. She had to be misremembering.
Laina, after rubbing her chin while staring at the blinded windows, tugged hard on the cord and filled the suite with natural light. The sunburst made Kris jump, almost out of her shoes.
"Your sis?" she asked.
"Laina. I've been dragged around all day, to be honest," he said. She reminded him too much of Gold sometimes. "Actually, she was at the Showdown where we met, but I don't think you saw her."
"She doesn't look like you." Out of the corner of his eye, Kris adjusted her hair quickly and precisely. When a strand fell over her face, she pinched it with stiff fingers and draped it carefully perpendicular to her hairline. Her hand immediately dropped to her waist when he turned his head to her.
"My grandmother had the red hair. And she's basically my mother but younger and without any impulse control," he said.
"Wait, no, don't go in there!" shouted Kris.
Laina threw open a door on the wall. Kris leapt after her with wide eyes, failing to stop her before she waddled inside. She faltered, horrified, in the entrance, and Ciel had no choice but to feed his curiosity and stand over her shoulder.
The room looked like it hadn't been touched in years, like a bedroom for a kid that went away to college or on a Gym Challenge. He coughed from the dust stirred by Laina's intrusion. And goodness it was cold. He guessed the outer walls of the castle weren't that insulated.
Kris shivered and refused to meet his eye. Despite the size, the opulence of the veiled bed, and the massive arched window, the illusion of grandeur was shattered by the broken bedroom. He didn't know exactly how long she'd been here, but if it was long enough to gather dust, it was long enough.
Laina dove into a box and then surfaced with an expensive-looking lamp, which she planted firmly on the empty dresser. Then, she retrieved a handful of smaller items and spilled them on the floor to rifle through them.
The room's owner made a cursory attempt to stop her. She said, "You should leave."
"Ciel. Ciel. Ciel," said Laina, who looked up after emptying the box. "This room sucks. Let's fix it."
He put his leg forward, but it hung in midair. It wasn't his place to butt in, even if he told himself he'd be there for her when he got the chance. He asked Kris, "Any objections?"
She flattened herself against the door jamb and said, "...do what you want."
And so, they did. Ciel threw three Poké Balls in the air, the cluttered space coming alive in the resulting flash. Arden politely snuffed his flames when his consciousness surfaced and he realized his fragile surroundings, while Hector assaulted all of them with a bellowing roar. He searched the room for his opponent, ready to fight, and Ciel could only laugh and try to explain to the agitated Rhydon that this was a more delicate task.
Last was Raven. He had a suspicion that the chill in the room might do her some good. Absol were typically found on mountains and in alpine caves, so it was a comfort closer to her natural habitat. When she emerged from stasis, she was still wrought with tremors, so he carried her to Kris's bed and laid her limbs in what he could only assume was a comfortable manner. She rested her chin on one paw and kept one eye open to observe.
Meanwhile, Hector began to examine one of the boxes, unable to work out its purpose. He sandwiched one between his massive, triple-clawed arms and growled at it under his breath.
"Can you just move all the boxes into a neat stack on one side of the room?" he asked, picking up one of his own. "They're pretty heavy, which is why you're best suited. We'll go through them one-by-one."
Hector focused solely on the one in his arms. Then, as if the neurotransmitters finally found home after being stalled at the synapse, he lifted it above his head, trudged over to the edge of the room, and slammed it down roughly. His tail whipped on the floor with a massive thud. He was pleased.
Ciel winced at the delivery but found some solace that "fragile" was nowhere on the box. He said, "Try to be careful."
Opening another package himself, Ciel quickly got to work. An assortment of clouded trophies sat inside, which he gently arranged on the massive dresser by the wall. When he couldn't even squint to find his reflection, he took the bottom of his shirt and tried to buff the wear out of each award. Goldenrod Showdown 2010 Runner-Up. Unova PWT 2011 Masters Champion. There was even an ornate badge case inside with three challenge symbols: Johto, Kanto, Sinnoh. He stared at the latter a little too long before shutting the case and placing it, carefully, at the center of the dresser.
As he moved to another box, he noticed a pair of footsteps mirroring his own. Kris loomed behind him, saying nothing. Her left foot matched his left, her right matched his right.
"Looking for something?" he asked.
"That one." She pointed to one of the trophies, or tried. Her finger fell vaguely between two of them. "Put it, umm…"
"Put it where?"
After a second, her arm dropped and so did her head. "I think I'll just let you do it."
Ever slowly, the bedroom wore its best. Trinkets and souvenirs cluttered the tabletops, and knowledge sprouted in the bookshelves—Ciel debated asking to borrow a few things from her, but he eventually chose to note some titles for later and return to work.
Laina and Arden folded all the clothing they could find into the dresser and dumped the rest down a laundry chute at the corner of the room. A peppery lemon tickled his nose, and he saw Arden carrying an armful of glass candles. He laid a single lit scent on the nightstand for Raven before, with Laina's help, arranging them in a cupboard. Kris decided to stop shadowing him and instead cleared a spot on the bed next to the Absol, where she watched their work without further intrusion.
His sister called him over soon after she emptied the entire contents of a box. She said, "Hey, you're tall. Can we hang posters?"
After a quick appraisal of the walls—the stone exterior of the castle was a no-go, but its two adjacent walls seemed soft enough for pins—they fell into their motions. Laina rolled out each one and pierced the corners, then handed the pinned poster for him to hang. One after another, they brought civilization to the uninhabited expanse of white.
Ciel and his sister snickered at one full-body pin-up of Wallace Mikuri, who was a Gym Leader and Contest Coordinator in Hoenn. But here, he was a fine human specimen modeling for Kalos Monthly in a crop top that tried ever so desperately to reach his midriff and a pair of stylish white slacks. He glanced at Kris, who laid back on the bed and absentmindedly stroked Raven's fur.
The subsequent poster was a second spread from the same issue. Phoebe Fuyou's outfit spared even less for the imagination, a tropical two-piece dress with a top that hugged her chest a few sizes too tight. Her expression was scandalous at best. Ciel glanced at Kris again, then at his sister. They nodded in agreement.
Once the lower sections of the walls were covered with posters, Ciel realized he'd need a boost to reach the empty space above to fit the remaining stock. One thing led to another and he soon came to regret the lack of friction between his shoes and the smooth plates on Hector's shoulders. The Rhydon rumbled beneath him, barely feeling his weight and making only a passive attempt to hold his legs in place with his claws as he maneuvered the poster into place. The assembly line between Laina, Hector, and Ciel got each new design where it needed to go.
"W-whoa, keep it steady!" he called down, receiving only a grunt in reply.
He got both bottom pins in, and now he just needed to secure the top two. He leaned forward. Just as his thumbs pushed in the top pins, his left foot slipped from Hector's shoulder and the floor rushed up to meet him. Embarrassed as he was to admit it, he screamed.
Massive arms caught him bridal-style, and as he slowly opened his eyes to see Hector's horned visage peering over him. His tongue scraped across Ciel's face and forced a laugh from his gut.
"Okay, yeah, maybe that was a bad idea. But hey, we did it." He wiped his face and lathered the saliva on Hector's chest plate in retaliation.
Still in his Pokémon's arms, he and Laina marveled at the wall they painted and further at the rest of the room. Only a few boxes remained of smaller trinkets, but all of the large decorations, clothes, and other essentials were rescued from their hibernation. Color took over where once there were none, elaborate designs of wildlife and landscapes and cities and inhumanly attractive people covered the dresser wall, and an ornamental rug in the center tied the room together. It wasn't perfect, but it was livable.
Ciel held up a high five. Laina leapt as high as her short legs could manage and met his palm with equal measure.
On the bed, Kris sat with her feet up and her knees at her cheeks, occasionally flicking out an arm to stroke Raven's fur. He wasn't sure if she or the Pokémon had moved closer to the other, but Raven's convulsions seemed to have vanished.
Ciel threw back his arms over his head in a massive stretch, once again eyeing Kris's skeletal figure. "What do you say we go find something for everyone to eat?"
"Yeah, I'm starving!" said Laina.
Hector and Arden also joined their celebratory group, having worked up an appetite after a couple hours of work. Ciel offered a hand to Kris.
After a few seconds, she took it. "Sure," she said. "I could go for a bite."
Towers of paper were erected around him. As the library grew more cluttered, so too did Saber's mind with a maelstrom of questions.
Question one: What exactly was the Dragon Clan that took its home in the mountains of Johto? His father, despite being a respected theological figure, rarely discussed his culture with his children. Saber had overheard rare, whispered discussions between his parents on the matter, but it was always the same critical question: his mother sought more information. He found himself aligning with her more than ever.
Question two: What is the origin of the Unown language? It was reasonable to say it was intertwined with the Blackthorn Dragon Clan, as the Johto Heritage Foundation that protected the Ruins of Alph was established and maintained by some of its followers. But how then, of course, was it scattered across the world within countless other monuments, and why?
Question two-and-a-half: Was that strange symbol on her wedding pendant related to any of her findings? Judging by its appearance in some of the final pages, it must have, but he'd exhausted any and all resources with other examples. All he could surmise was that it was some type of ancient iconography, perhaps shared between numerous cultures.
Question three: Why was his mother so interested in either? The dusted pages of her notebook were barren of anything that might lead him to an answer, and he refused to believe someone like her would fail to arrive at some kind of hypothesis. All the pieces were assembled—or rather, piled together haphazardly—but he came to the sordid conclusion that the truth he needed could only be found in his mother's vanished mind.
As much as he wanted to inquire more on these points, he knew deep down that he couldn't. These questions weren't the start of his research—they were all of it.
Saber began to understand that, despite his general academic training and tutelage under his mother, he was missing something much more essential. Lost with his mother was pure subject experience that could lead her to the subtle truths and the hidden lines. No matter how many questions he asked, no matter how much he wrote, he could never seem to inch any further than the conclusions Dr. Masuta had already reached.
Saber simply wasn't the person to delve into this. It wasn't his study, but he supposed, of course, that she knew that.
His hands adorned with cuts, he flipped through the notebook yet again, leading him, inevitably, to its last marked page. He couldn't read it, but Saber knew by the jagged strokes and the ink splotches that it was written in haste. It was potentially the most important clue she had left him.
Hundreds of lines of Unown script were squeezed onto the canvas in the last moments his mother had used this notebook. The messy linework was a job of purpose, because she needed someone to see this.
Saber closed the book when he heard footsteps beyond his castle of readings. He grabbed a few of them to clear his vision. "Oh, Dr. Cassius, do you have anything else for—"
Between the balistraria he'd created, he was surprised to see a pair of lavender specs.
"Ah, perhaps I am not who you were expecting, but I do have gifts," he said, holding up a few books in his arms. His monochrome outfit consisted of a crimson overcoat above layers of similar hues. "I'd have visited earlier, but the International Police badgered me with interrogations today."
When Dr. Furutre set them on the table, Saber gave them a cursory glance. One was already in his growing collection, and he'd read every relevant section about the Unown language in its pages. Another was new to him, The Extinction of Sinnohan Indigenous Languages, but perhaps not all that helpful given how Unown was the only known member of its family. The rest weren't particularly noteworthy. The one at the very top, proudly stamped as a Valley Post bestseller, had an oil painting cover of a man lost in a crypt with a Magcargo lighting his way. Fiction.
"You've been toiling here for three days. A break might be in order," said Dr. Furutre.
"Thank you for the offer, but no," Saber replied. "I'm perfectly at one-hundred percent capacity! There's important business that comes first."
"Have you considered consulting with authorities?"
Saber locked eyes with Redwood, who had so far stood silently behind the man after leading him inside. The agent simply shrugged and left the two to their business.
"I spoke with that International Police detective, the weird fellow. According to him, there's a zero percent chance I'll be allowed access to proper investigation materials." Saber previously attempted to convince Redwood to be his proverbial foot-in-the-door, but as he came to learn, the detective wing of the International Police was cleanly isolated from its law enforcement. Few favors, to Redwood's knowledge, could cross that gap.
"And what have you found here?" the man asked.
Saber let his eyes roam the archives, following the winding paths he'd walked over days of research. "Not enough."
"Then perhaps your work here is finished."
"Finished?" Saber asked, incredulously. "You're joking. I won't sit around and let whoever took them from me—from us—escape justice."
Dr. Furutre stared down at him from atop those tinted glasses, unfazed by what he said. "I know what you wish, but even you believe you can't find what you're looking for here."
Perhaps it was the overwhelming smell of paper that concealed it, or maybe the creeping exhaustion squeezing his neck, but Saber only then became aware of the static that prodded for information in his skull. Not soon after, it slipped away. His reflection stared back within the man's glasses.
"What do you suggest I do?" Saber pushed the notebook as far out of his reach as he could.
"I want you to do what is best for you," he said. "That's my job."
"I didn't ask for an evaluation. My sister needs assistance far more than I do."
The curve of his lips was one of satisfaction despite the rejection. He collected the one repeat textbook, tucked it into his coat, and turned on his heel. "I already offered what you might need. It's in your hands to determine if you truly need it."
As he vanished into the shelves, Saber clutched the pulp fiction in his hand. With his eyes on the departing psychologist, he barely noticed it had crumpled in his grasp and showered the floor with scraps. He wondered what his mother would think. She'd chastise him for being such an amateur, and suggest he add a shelves' worth more to the pile.
Redwood remained in place, not yet returned to his post at the door of the library. He brushed some hairs from his eyes only for them to fall immediately back into place. "With all due respect sir, I believe he had a point. You could use a break."
"I don't need a break."
"But do you want one?"
Saber spilled the remaining paper scraps when his hand relaxed, dropping the carved husk of the book onto the hardwood. He rested his forearms on his thighs. "I don't know. It's possible. Do you know what he meant?"
"About what's best for you?" he asked, then continued when he nodded. "I suppose what you desire is more answers, so you'd go where you can find them."
Where he could find them, which certainly wasn't here. He spied the torn, reprinted painting in tatters, and the brave adventurer inviting the reader beyond the bounds of their world. Perhaps he was descending into one of numerous monuments in the world that contained Unown script.
He looked up at Redwood. "Okay. Let's go for a break."
Kris held herself tight, as if afraid she would spill her insides if she let go. There were eyes cutting into her, and though she could usually take them in stride, for some reason she felt defenseless. She was glad Ciel stood in front of her in line.
The Sinnoh League employee cafeteria was all that remained of a throne room. It just so happened that it was directly adjacent to the ancestor structure's royal kitchen, proving that the core of any kingdom, regardless of their style of government or their language or their values, was their stomachs. The castle's lineage haunted the kitchen like a spirit, its wisps smelling of everything between fermented Sharpedo to potato dumplings, demanding that the people of the Sinnoh League never forgot who they were.
It was mostly barren, hours after the dinner rush, so they only waited a short moment in the line before they were served. Ciel held up a torn scrap of paper to a baffled chef.
"Jeg er forvirret," he mumbled, then shouted something back to his other colleagues cooking.
"Oh. Right," said Ciel.
"What's the deal? I thought everyone knew Unovan." His sister hopped on her feet, probably annoyed that this setback would keep her from her own meal.
Though she yearned to simply keep her head down, her mouth shut, and her hands ready for whatever plate the kitchen gave her, Kris sighed and stepped up to the counter. The chef returned the receipt to her and she scoured the list. Ten pounds of damp moss, three pounds of Foongus flesh, two whole headless Nincada, a pound and a half of red meat, and a catalog of various vitamin supplements. She relayed the instructions and handed Ciel his list back. "He can speak Unovan well enough, but he probably can't read it. Sinnoh isn't so tied to the International League, so a lot of folks are like that."
The man soon reappeared and offered her something to interpret. She said, "They don't have Foongus, but they can substitute some other fungals."
"That's fine. Hector's not that picky," he said.
Once the more audacious orders were behind them, Kris took a tray and accepted the night's meal, Ciel and his sister copying her gesture without much thought. They claimed a table with only their personal meals as the Pokémon-specific orders would take some time to be retrieved from backroom stores. Her assigned guard stood motionless at the edge of the table, always watching in the corner of her eye.
"Are you not getting any for your Pokémon?" Ciel asked as he retrieved his capsules and summoned his Typhlosion and Rhydon. The Absol he partnered with was still in her bed upstairs.
Kris stirred a current into her soup, but the clink of the spoon against the porcelain bowl made her wince, so she dropped the utensil into the broth; only the tip remained above the floating cabbage and Chople berries. "I haven't… really spent time with my Pokémon in a bit. I'm supposed to be looking after my Mom's too, since I got along with them okay. But I haven't."
"That's fine. Most of my Pokémon don't hate stasis, so I'm sure it'll be fine for a while," he said. After a curious inspection, he unceremoniously dumped a skewered mixture of food down his throat. It explored both his cheeks, and his eyebrows raised in alternation while he judged its performance.
He offered her a few questions, which she tried her best to answer, truly. It just felt too difficult to get the words past her tongue, even for more innocent inquiries, but she told of the conditions of her stay at the Sinnoh League and pointed to the agent standing guard.
"So where are we going now?" asked Ciel's sister.
"Good question," he said. "I guess I don't have much of a destination in mind now that the Gyms aren't operational."
"Floaroma!" she exclaimed, bouncing in her seat enough to spill soup from Kris's bowl. "You heard that plane guy talk about it. Let's go and see it, it's gotta be super pretty."
"Oh yeah? And why should we?'
"Because it would make me happy."
Ciel shrugged and took another bite. "As good an idea as any, I guess."
The spoonful Kris held finally whispered for her attention. It'd been in her hand long enough to lose most of its warmth, but she downed it anyway. It was… good. Too good. The greatest thing she'd ever tasted, and she shoveled helpings down her throat before she realized the young girl's gaze was walking all over her. She slammed the spoon down, dabbed her mouth with a handkerchief, and straightened her shoulders.
Eventually, the chef returned with the Pokémon orders and personally presented them to Ciel's active Pokémon. They destroyed their meals, which were evidently served to specification. Then she noticed Ciel staring through her.
"You know, I've read somewhere that smiling can make you happier," he said.
His words changed the bite of crisp bread she took. She'd been ready to salivate over its sharp vegetable tones, but it was flavorless by the time it touched her tongue.
Did she feel unhappy? Kris couldn't fully comprehend what exactly was occurring in her mind, like she was simply a spectator unable to cross the energy barrier and reach the battlefield. Before she could really ponder what was happening, she hung her head, deflated once again.
"You just kind of," he hesitated, maybe because her face had remained frozen through his words. Was he expecting more from her? "You just smile, I guess. And it tricks your brain into thinking things are better. Um, Sorry. I figured out it wasn't a good thing to say in the middle of saying it. I'll just eat my food."
Thunderous footsteps chopped the ambiance in two. Kris didn't look up, but she could surmise who approached them, and he seemed to accelerate as he closed in.
"Oh my— Kris!"
She went limp as he dragged her from her seat, and for the second time today she was involuntarily pulled into an embrace. His was tight enough to force her lungs closed, but after the initial shock, she did find comfort in the pressure. He certainly wasn't conservative with his strength.
"You're out of your room. Are you doing fine? Have you kept on with your classwork? Oh, this is wonderful! Have you considered talking to Dr. Furutre yet?"
He seemed to have noticed she wasn't answering him and ceased asking them, content to enjoy the moment in peace. When he released her, his face was uncharacteristically soft, hiding the questions he still wanted to ask. However, it quickly crunched into a suspicious gaze. He stepped past her and his two massive arms descended on Ciel's shoulders.
"You. Leave my sister alone. She needs space to herself so she can recover!" he said.
Ciel mustered up a rational response. Swiping his tray, he shot to his feet. "Uhh, yeah, now that I think about it, you're probably right."
"Wait…" Saber moved both hands symmetrically, sliding up Ciel's neck and then holding his cheeks in his palms. He squinted. Then he cheered. "You! You were the person on the plane!"
"I'd prefer we not talk about that," said Ciel through squished cheeks.
"Yes. Yes! I appreciate your willingness to take command and ensure the safety of those around you, for those are fine traits of any Trainer!" he exclaimed, offering a hand.
As Ciel timidly returned the gesture, Saber immediately dropped to a seat beside her and dragged the boy down with him. Then he stood again, as if to order a meal, only to sit back down and shift in his seat. He made fierce eye contact with Ciel.
"So, you're aware of the Ruins of Alph," said Saber.
Something flashed on Ciel's face, and he turned to his sister. "Hey, want to see if you can ask the chef for something sweet? A cookie or something. What's Sinnohan for 'cookie?'"
"Kjeks," offered Saber.
With this task and valuable information in mind, Ciel's sister nodded profusely before speeding off from the table. She fell in line behind a few taller employees, and Ciel turned back to the group.
He scratched his neck. This was the information that earned him two scars, one on his skin and another he couldn't see. That woman, was she listening? Were the Rockets she was working with still somehow involved? He didn't know, and so he remained as vague as possible with his answer.
"Yeah, I know about it," he whispered. "I went there once, maybe about a year-and-a-half ago at this point, and we got into some places we shouldn't have been. I talked to both of your, um, your parents about it."
"I see, I see. So you were the one my mother had written about. I've been researching about those and many other sites she outlined in her notes."
"What's so special about it? I know they were trying to ward away interested parties."
"The Unown Language," Saber said. "I'm going to fully translate it."
"Cynthia—Dr. Masuta—told me she already did. Or mostly."
"Judging by her notes, most of what she knew she kept only in her memory, because she only left behind some basic guidelines. I have to pick up where she left off."
Kris stared at her vague reflection in the drop of soup in her spoon. She managed one word. "Why?"
Saber, of course, took this question as a challenge. A determined crook in his face, he called over to his assigned security, who withdrew a dusted book from the pouch at his side and placed it on the table. Their mother's notebook. He leaned inward on the table, prompting Ciel to do so as well, more out of courtesy than confidentiality. Kris remained motionless.
When he flipped the book open, he let the pages fly from his fingertips until, naturally, it came to a stop at one page near the end. Every square centimeter of the once-bare canvas was covered in inked characters. A sprawling message, entirely in the text of the Unown.
"Our mother…" Saber paused himself, and took in a deep, shaking breath. Each time he said that word, he seemed to be more unsettled. "Our mother knew that she was going to die."
Kris's body lost itself. Every signal in her skin and muscles and arteries begged to shut off, to prevent any further input, but she was left painfully aware as he continued to speak. This was a mistake. She just wanted to return to the suite, seal the door behind her, and be swallowed by her bed.
"She updated her will that same night, and she left me this. I can't do the detective work needed. I can't even elaborate on her archaeological research in a knowledgeable way and find out what exactly my parents knew that painted targets on their backs, but my mother knew that. She gave me something she knew I could defeat."
Saber placed his massive hand on the center of the miniature mural, feeling the ink flow within the ridges of his fingerprints.
"I had this dream, once," he said. "I wanted to write my doctoral dissertation on the Unown Language, the greatest mystery yet unsolved by linguistic scholars. My mother was by my side all the way until she suddenly told me I couldn't anymore, and I didn't know why. Now, it's my choice to make. The one thing I always wanted to do is the only way I can find the truth, and I think my mother wanted me to find it."
He slammed the book closed and shot to his feet. He nodded to Ciel, then to Kris, then to his assigned guard, then to—as Kris could only assume—himself. He bowed deeply, stopping his head centimeters from the table. "Sorry to interrupt your meal. I best be going now."
Saber dragged her into another hug, this one much quicker and gentler, and probably wished her well, but she wasn't quite listening. His guard merely shook his head, offered them a sympathetic look, and glued himself to his charge as he stormed away.
She noticed Ciel had finished his meal by then, and when his sister returned, confused at the scene she had no doubt witnessed from the line, the girl took little time in having her share as well. The offering in front of her, however, sat untouched aside from a handful of halfhearted spoonfuls. She asked her agent to carry it to the suite and gathered her things, while Ciel recalled his Pokémon.
"You can crash in the Champions' Suite for the night," she said, ignoring the resulting ire from the agent, but he didn't follow through with his half-hearted threat.
"Thanks. We'll be out of your way by morning," Ciel replied.
"Floaroma!" shouted his sister.
Her stomach ached on the way back through the castle, and she realized that Ciel was right. She hadn't really been thinking about herself much at all, her mind wandering to places she couldn't hope to protect it from. But the thought of doing more for herself only exhausted her.
Rest called to her again. Maybe her room would feel a little more like home now.
Ciel nearly toppled from the couch when the door crashed open. Tapping his palm on his temple to hopefully pour the sleep out his ear, he became painfully aware of the holstered gun swaying in front of him.
An international police agent frantically turned over everything in the living room, barely regarding him, before he disappeared into one of the adjacent rooms in the suite. Kris stumbled out of her own room, but when he asked, she had nothing else to offer. From the window, Ciel could see yesterday's snow had been rent from the castle grounds, not by a plow but by hundreds of frantic trails of footsteps.
After a quick dressing, he stumbled into the hallway, surprised to see Kris had put herself together some in her own curiosity. The scrambling ranks of the International Police crawled across the entire building, and when they reached the grand hall, Ciel couldn't help but marvel at the manpower searching the building. Maybe the walls were hollow and that's where they'd been keeping so many.
The only familiar head, that bushy-green hair, loitered in the center of the room with an index finger on his brow and a thumb against his chin.
"What's up?" asked Kris. She struggled to peel her eyelids open after each blink. "It's way too early."
"Sebastian is missing," he said.
This woke her up, or at least gave her a little perk. "What? He's been in the library, right?"
"He instructed me to get him something to eat. No other agents were available, and I believed I could leave him to his devices." He brushed the hair from his eyes, gripping his skull in frustration. "I broke explicit orders!"
Another man in dusted boots swirled like an overboard sailor in the whirlpool of guards, and he was attempting to make his way over to them. He was completely unfamiliar to Ciel, but the fact that Kris's eyes flicked up when he approached implied she knew him. The man tilted his head at Ciel, first over his left shoulder then his right.
"Huh. I don't understand you," he said to Ciel. Understand? But the man quickly grabbed his hand in a shake. "Albert Cassius, Ph.D of Archeology of Sinnohan Origin Myth."
The title seemed more well-practiced than the rest of his speech, and Ciel remembered what Kris said about older and younger speakers. After looking between them a few times, Dr. Cassius finally settled on Kris, whom Ciel suspected was his original target.
"Your brother has communication with me. He has, uhh, I'm not sure a word…" The man leaned in close enough so the nearby guard couldn't hear his whisper. Then the man's mouth doubled in speed when it switched to foreign syllables, which Kris seemed vaguely inclined to follow.
The doctor handed her an unmarked black box somewhere in his speech and gave her a short moment to admire it. It made her lose attention completely. "This is…"
"He spoke to give it to you. It's more important to you," said Dr. Cassius.
After regarding it a little more, it dropped to Kris's side, hanging from the tips of her fingers to keep it as far as possible from wherever it was meant to go. A gift of some kind. A memento.
Dr. Cassius shuffled away as quickly as he came, taking advantage to slip back into the maelstrom before Saber's personal guard could ask what he'd been doing.
"Well, Saber could still be here," said Ciel, no longer distracted by the man. "We should go look for him."
But when he turned to Kris, he couldn't see anything written across her. No motivation, no reason. He was completely puzzled, overshadowing any urgency in the matter. She excused herself back to the Champions' suite and seeing as the entire International Police seemed to be on the case, he elected to follow.
He tried to work up the courage to ask her what she was thinking. Instead, he just decided it was for the best that he and his sister get a move on. They were done here anyway.
It didn't take very long for him to gather his things, since he hadn't truly unpacked anyway. In fact, it took much longer to tear Laina from her spot on the couch, because she wouldn't stop crying that it was too cold to get up and that it was much warmer under her borrowed blanket.
Kris and her own agent escorted them to the gate of the castle. The latter seemed to walk a little too close to the former, but he could understand, even if he didn't fully agree with the twenty-four-seven security.
"You're really not worried about him?" Ciel asked her under his breath, unsure if it was even fine to talk about.
Her face never wavered as she stared into the distance. "He's taking matters into his own hands. I… kind of wish I could be like him right now."
"He seems to be taking things well, all things considered."
"No, he's not," she said. "He's just better at hiding it."
They stepped out into the frigid morning. Ciel welcomed it—the air tasted cleaner than it did trapped within the Sinnoh League's walls. Kris held her hands and feet together.
"I guess this is goodbye, for now," he said. "I hope you know I will be ready for that rematch someday."
"What will you do?" she asked.
"Not take a plane, first of all."
She didn't laugh. He didn't expect her to, but he couldn't help but try.
"I won't stop training," he continued. Ciel looked out over the blanketed city. He took a deep, purifying breath. His sister took her place at his side, holding his hand in both of her own to preserve a little bit of warmth. "I have to be ready for when the Gyms reopen, so I can get my second Challenge Sigil and become as famous as I need to be."
She asked, "Do you want to be Champion?"
"Not my first choice," he said. "But if people need it where I'm going, I can be their own little Champion."
He and his sister descended from the paradise that failed to be. It had all been such a waste, yet for some reason, he was almost glad to have risked so much to come here. Now all he could do was keep going and wait to seize the opportunity he'd been searching for.
The next trail led to Floaroma. It wasn't the one he was looking for, but if he didn't start to walk, he'd just be frozen still.
Hello again! Took a bit of a hiatus to finish up some things (really the first time I've had to do a full "hiatus" aside from my breaks between stories), but I should be back for the foreseeable future. That said, I think I'll refrain from giving predicted release dates from now on because I actively failed to meet that date for all four previous chapters, and I'd much rather just give progress updates on my profile. I yearn for the days when I was writing Anew that I got some 50% to 75% of the chapters up on time.
Anyway, this chapter was an exciting little thing for me. We get to see more of Kris and how she's handling her grief, as well as Ciel and Saber's attempts to make change and how they're all interacting and clashing as they move forward, hence the title Stand (Kris), Ciel (Walk), Saber (Run).
I'll point out that I have a new beta reader as of this chapter's publication, JhinoftheOpera, who's written a CynthiaxRed romantic drama called Earth and Sky over on Archive of Our Own. It's an interesting ongoing story that brings together a lot of parts of the games universe and also looks at champion figures and how they're perceived by the masses. I'm especially interested in seeing how characters positions weigh on them, since that's a lot of what I'm writing in this story as well.
Thanks for reading and come back next time for Chapter 6: Hell of My Own. See you someday!
Reading: Various fanfiction (doing a lot of beta trades recently)
Watching: Choujuu Sentai Liveman, Code Geass, FLCL
Playing: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney — Justice For All, 999: Nine Hours, Nine Persons, Nine Doors, Monster Hunter Rise, The Legend of Zelda: Spirit Tracks