Prologue

This is the story of something that happened long ago in the northern recesses of Ambera.

Or maybe it wasn't so long ago; it's hard to tell. But sometime during the decades-long wait for the Call, as the Resistance bided its time and cowered for survival beneath the Master's influence, continuing to chip away at its impenetrable power wherever possible, something strange happened near the icy borders of Zerferia. Though it is unlikely anyone remembers it exactly as it happened– for you see, it is a tragic story, something many wish to forget, and it is a story which only exists in the record books of the resistance, as the Master's empire would claim it never happened – it is a story that deserves to be told.

Zerferia, the heartless and barren land of cold, existed beyond the northernmost borders of Ambera. While it was home to some ice-dwelling Pokémon for a mile or two, the icy plains beyond were not hospitable enough to sustain life, even for the most rugged of Pokémon species. It was an arctic land of eternal storms and savage, unyielding winds, a place where night lasted for months rather than hours, a place home to only rocks and snow. The Pokémon of Ambera, even the northern cities used to the year-round chilly weather and bitter winters, never dared to venture there.

But one fateful night, for three Pokémon, there was a fate far worse than braving the frozen plains of Zerferia.

As a winter storm blew in from the north, three Pokémon fled through the rocky wastelands, keeping themselves to the shadows. Having left the border of Ambera far behind, the Watchers were not a threat… but the savage ghosts were the least of their worries. Under a moonless sky, and through a raging blizzard, they pushed forward, only one thing on their minds:

"We're going to die…"

The Glaceon struggled to keep his balance as the wind whipped down through the crevice in which they traveled. He put every ounce of his strength into keeping up with the Weavile which he followed… and in preserving the willpower to keep going.

"Cyro. We're going to die!!"

The Glaceon glanced back, as if to watch his own words get blown away in the wind. He caught sight of the poor, numb little Mudkip who hopped through the snow behind him. Ice had long since started to form on his fins, and he was shuddering uncontrollably…

He took a quick, fearful glimpse to the shadows behind.

"Cyro!"

"Shut it!" The Weavile grunted, not looking back. "We're not going to die. Not if I can help it."

"Cyro, we can't do this," the Glaceon said again. "Do you realize where we are? Where we're going?? We can't survive in Zerferia!"

"You're an Ice-type. You'll be fine."

"Cyro, I'm losing strength. I can't stay like this for long," the Glaceon called back. "Besides, Saph is about to pass out."

"Dy… We don't have time to complain! Just… keep…"

"Cyro, no! We… we can't! We can't go on!"

The Weavile stopped in her tracks. With a distraught sigh, she cast a glance back at her two teammates. While she felt fine enough to keep going, the adrenaline of raw fear still pulsing through her, she saw that neither the Mudkip nor the Glaceon that followed her were nearly as strong. While it pained her to take the risk of stopping, she saw that the Glaceon was right: they were insane. They couldn't survive a trek through the uncharted arctic lands. Not as the conditions were now.

She, too, turned to glance at the dark passageways that lay behind them. She hoped to Arceus that they'd lost or at least delayed their followers.

"Follow me," she grunted loudly, her voice barely overcoming the whistling wind.

--

Soon, the three found themselves huddled close together under the shelter of an overhanging rock. They were safe from the wind, but finding mercy from the subzero temperatures was impossible…

Cyro, the Weavile, stood over her two companions and watched as they slumped to the ground in exhaustion. Genuine worry glimmered in her eyes, her breath catching with uncertainty as she eyed the harsh environment outside.

Dy, the Glaceon, allowed a shudder to overtake his body. His form wavered, his skin melting from the ice-blue color of the snow Pokémon into a purple, amorphous mass. Once his form become unrecognizable, it started to take shape again, growing and expanding into the form of a furred canine. Without a reference to guide him, the Ditto struggled to remember the fire-type's shape, picturing it in his mind's eye with all his heart… as a result, he succeeded in taking the form of a Growlithe, albeit a slightly misshapen one. But once he felt the fire burning inside of him, he knew it was all that mattered.

"S-s-so cold…" Saph, the Mudkip, whimpered weakly as he pressed himself against the Growlithe's furry belly.

Dy curled tight around his unfortunate friend, whose body was still in a continual spasm. He breathed over him, hoping to comfort the sore, frostbitten spots on his body…

"I should start a fire," Dy decided. "We could probably…"

"Don't," Cyro warned quickly. "No fire. No light. Not even a hint. We'd give away our position."

"How did this happen…?" Saph whispered. "Why did this happen…? So fast…?"

There was a wordless moment, the first, perhaps, when the three had gotten the chance to realize what had just taken place. It had all happened so fast… so brutally, blindingly fast…

They'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing more, nothing less. It was after hours at the Snowcrest town library. Cyro's passion, which she shared with her three-Pokémon team, involved an obsession with humans and their artifacts. Every day, she made a point of researching these old, mysterious, and sometimes magical objects, and the Mystery Dungeons they could be lost within… and as her team used their knowledge and skill to serve the Emerald Division, she chased these relics out of her undying respect for the human race, as well as for her mother, who had fallen to the Master's soldiers because of her life's work and study of humans…

One moment, Cyro and her team had been pouring over a map, doing their usual research before their next mission…

The next moment, they overheard something they were not supposed to hear…

And, just like that, they were fugitives. They knew too much. At all costs, the Master needed them dead. Before they could blink, one of the Master's best assassins was on their tail...

So they fled. They fled until they grew weary, then they fled some more, until they left Ambera far behind and found themselves lost in the dark, inhospitable reaches of Zerferia…

"We accepted this life," Cyro muttered, keeping a wary eye to the blizzard outside. "When we joined the resistance, we accepted that the Master would kill us the first chance he got. I could have started a simple exploration team. But no. I so hated the Master for what he did, I chose to start a resistance team… And now that we know the whole Emerald Division is in danger…"

"Cy, we're the ones in danger right now," Dy halfway laughed. "They're after us. They're going to do everything in their power to kill us before we so much as have the chance to warn the Division."

"Not if I can help it," Cyro said again, clenching her fist. "If we go deep enough, they'll think Zerferia did the job for them. Then maybe we could come back—"

"No," Dy said sadly. "No, they won't. They saw you. They know what kind of Pokémon you are. They know you can survive out here for a long time. They're going to hunt you down until they have your head on a stake. Cyro… this is it. Our time… it's up."

Cyro bit her tongue, knowing he was right. She knew it looked hopeless. No… not just looked… was hopeless. She said nothing in reply, only staring out into the wintery oblivion as she felt a weakening throb fill the pit of her stomach. Any future she thought she had was gone, about to be crushed to shards by the Master, just like it had been with her mother. The last moments of her life were to be spent cowering in the corner of an unfamiliar land, waiting for death to overtake her.

This can't happen, she said to herself, knowing full well that she had no control over things. There must be something we can do. Something!

"C-Cyro," the Growlithe said, stuttering. Cyro blinked in response—the stutter had not been from cold, but from some sort of fear or uncertainty. "Cyro, I guess… I should tell you something… Y'know, now that we're… we're going to die…"

Cyro said nothing; she only stood over her companions and awaited Dy's words, not knowing, and perhaps not caring, what they could be…

"I was never… well, that much into archeology," the Growlithe admitted, looking ashamed. "Actually, I kinda think it's boring."

"Really," Cyro said simply. "After all this time, you're telling me this? And if that's the case, why did you want to join my t—"

Cyro's breath caught; the expression on Dy's face told her everything she needed to know. He stared at her with deep, sad eyes, eyes that longed for what might have been, if only things had happened differently…

And Cyro returned his gaze. Without a word having been said, it made sense to her. For once, she understood why Dy had devoted himself to her team…

"Dy," Cyro uttered, mouth agape.

A voice unexpectedly tore through the silence of the moment.

"Go," it commanded.

The little Mudkip turned to him, wearing an angry, determined face.

"Go," he said again. "Leave me behind. Leave me here to die. You two can make it if you go on."

"Saph, never!" Dy growled, appalled at the suggestion. "We'll carry you if we have to. I would never leave you behind!"

"No, you have to," Saph growled back. "I'm the one keeping you down. Forget about me and go on ahead. The base needs to know what you know. They need you alive. If I can, I'd help stall them when they get here… But the longer you try to keep me from freezing stiff, the closer they'll—"

"Quiet!" Cyro suddenly hissed, terror in her eyes. "I hear something!"

The three stared out into the howling darkness, breaths held. They knew exactly what was upon them, and they knew not to question Cyro's senses. They were about to be overtaken.

"We have to go," Cyro said desperately, leaping to Dy's side and scooping Saph into her arms.

"N—no, you can't—" Saph started.

"You want to die tonight?" Cyro said to him. "Fine. But not here. Dy, get ready. If you're rested, we can throw them off for a little while longer if we move fast enough. It can't be easy for anyone to travel in this weather."

The Ditto didn't even have to be told. In only a moment, his Growlithe form was gone, replaced with the form of a Weavile. The next thing Cyro saw when she turned back was a taller, masculine reflection of herself. It was a form she'd seen Dy take many times in the past, and was the form he seemed to spend most of his time in. Again, she realized that she never thought much of his preference in transformations, and that if she had, she might have understood sooner that he'd had feelings for her. But now, after it was far too late to dwell on such things, she only returned a look of speechlessness.

"I'm ready," Dy said in his deep, raspy Weavile voice, nodding to her. "Lead the way."

With that, they left the cave behind and pressed onward through the rocky, snow-covered crevice. Without the slightest thought of where they would end up or how far behind their pursuers were, their blind flight continued into the night.

"Do you think they actually sent Sicarius after us?" Dy spoke after a while of silence.

"They did," Cyro affirmed. "I know they did. That's the first thing they said."

"With any luck, maybe Adiel's coming after us, too," Saph groaned, now resting in the arms of Dy, his best friend.

"I wouldn't put it past them," Cyro muttered. "The Master doesn't play games—"

She paused in dismay, suddenly taking notice of her new surroundings. Scaling stairsteps and crossing rockslides, they'd managed to follow the gorge as far as possible—but now, it came to an abrupt stop. The trio found themselves before a giant cliff-face as the two sides of the crevice converged on one another, blocking any further progress.

"What now?" Dy wondered.

"Now," Cyro said, "We climb."

Carefully clutching Saph with one arm, and digging his sharp claws and talons into the rough rocks, Dy carefully followed Cyro up the cliff and to the top. When they both reached the summit, they were met something they were not hoping to find: a flat, snow-covered plain. An endless, featureless plain. The blanket of snow and ice glowed in what little light shone down from the cloudy heavens…

There were no hiding places. The shadows which the broken earth had offered extended no further.

"Go," Cyro commanded, taking the lead once more.

"We'll get lost," Dy said. "There's no way to tell which way's which. And there's nowhere to hide. They'll find us—"

"Go!" Cyro said again, putting all of her heart into the word. "It doesn't matter now. Just run. And keep running. And don't stop until everything you have is gone! It's all that matters. Run!"

So they ran. They darted across the flatlands, fighting shifting winds, tiring muscles, and worst of all, the utter loss of the sense of direction. It seemed that as they ran, they made no progress, as the ground underneath simply reeled by, unchanged…

And that is how they would have met their end that night, had it not been for a surprising twist of fate.

When Cyro set foot into yet another indistinguishable patch of land, a powerful roar echoed through the air, greater than the sound of the wind. Too late, she realized the ground was caving in beneath her, and the sound was that of an icy avalanche of rocks crumbling down into some unseen pit…

With a cry of panic, she flailed, reaching for something to hold as she lost her balance and felt herself swallowed by the collapsing ground… only to feel a strong claw clasp her arm and support her. Dy hadn't wasted a moment in acting. He quickly pulled her back and sent both of them careening away, before the snow under his own feet had a chance to slide out from under him…

The next thing anyone knew, Cyro and Dy stood at the edge of a black, bottomless pit. Cyro leaned against Dy's shoulder for a moment, panting, then turned her attention to the spectacle before them…

Saph, who'd long since leapt out of the way to safety, stood at their feet and gawked.

"What was that?!" he cried. "What just happened? What is that??"

"A fissure" Dy said, staring down into the bottomless oblivion. "Must've been an earthquake recently. But apparently it wasn't enough for the ice to collapse until now…"

"No, no," Cyro muttered. "It can't be. Not a fissure. An… entrance."

Her heart skipped a beat. Then another. Could it really be true?

She fell to her hands and knees, peering over the edge. There was no bottom in sight. And the broken oval-like shape of the opening suggested that the passage had formed from completely… supernatural… means.

Yes, she recognized the formation. It was Team Shardrune's life work, after all, to familiarize themselves with the phenomena known as Mystery Dungeons, and they were specialists in exploring and scouring them for the valuable relics they held. But the Mystery Dungeons of Zerferia were uncharted, unexplored, and unconfirmed… rumors, they had been, for not one had ever been found. Until now.

She felt an odd tingle fill her fingertips as they clutched the edge of solid ground. It was a feeling she knew well. The very fabric of space was distorted; it was the familiar characteristic of Mystery Dungeons. And this one… felt more powerful than any she'd ever experienced.

"A dungeon!" she proclaimed. "Dy. Saph. We're saved. We can hide in here. We could escape from them. We… we could live."

"We might not make it," Saph muttered. "We have no supplies. And we have no idea what kind of dungeon this is. It could be two hundred floors long. And no one's ever gone in there before. There'd be no leftover supplies for us to find…"

But the three of them knew that none of that even mattered. This was their chance, their only chance, against all odds, to survive.

"Get in," Cyro ordered, more desperately this time. "I think they're coming. I think… I think I can smell them from upwind…"

Wasting no time, they plunged themselves in, not having the slightest idea what they were in for… or what they were about to start.

A few hundred yards away, a pack of black-furred canines halted in their tracks at the command of their leader. The seven Mightyena stood and stared at attention. They'd been tracking the scent of the runaways, and witnessed with their eyes how they'd vanished beneath the surface of the ice.

The leader, also canine-like, stood on two legs. Frustration beamed from his eyes. He reached out with his mind to search for the auras of the fugitives… but found nothing.

"Enough," he finally growled to his pack. "They've escaped. We must go back."

"Adiel won't accept that for an answer," a Mightyena told him. "You would fail him?"

"Quiet," the dark-furred Lucario spat. "This is not over. Oh, no, no. This is only the beginning…"

ScytheRider presents...

Emerald Chronicles: A Frozen Flame

A Silver Resistance story


Cyro the Weavile, Dy the Ditto, and Saph the Mudkip of Team Shardrune were created by Fanatic Drone N.

Sicarius K. Riuyoh the Lucario was created by Sicarius Riuyoh.