This story was co-developed by Titan127 and beta read by ShonnaRose.
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 1: The Great Crossroads (9,078 words)
In audience of the vibrating phone on the nightstand, Lance said, "The world's in peril again."
Cynthia was deep within the grasp of the warm covers. Mostly nude, hairs descending around her face, and with her arm nestled around him, she mumbled, "Did you tell it to fuck off?"
"It's the big man himself."
"Terminus?" she asked. They couldn't ignore the CEO of the Pokémon League. Even if he offered no punishment, the principle squeezed her heart enough to pop. She turned over on her back and gazed upward, arm hanging from the bed. A deathly chill numbed her palm without his warmth against her.
A few centimeters in front of her face, the universe faded. They floated their bed through the sea of night, relying on each other not to lose their way. It was hours before any rays would grace them, not that they didn't have blackout curtains and tinted windows in their vacation home. It was just them. Them and the rotating guard permanently stationed outside.
"Can it wait until morning?" she asked.
"Says the event already started," he said after checking his phone. She cursed the few moments of piercing light. "It's that thing with Orre and Unova. The, um… the thing. That one."
"Right." She paused. "That thing. Where's Alder?"
They lapsed into an extended silence, and she hoped her husband had slipped away into the abyss. She could have drifted off herself and played stupid. Terminus would buy that, wouldn't he? But Lance decided, regrettably, to stay alive. "Something about hip surgery."
"Geezer," she said.
"Stone's coming too."
"That's good. I haven't talked to him since the World Trial." She turned back towards her husband and slipped her arm around his back. Returning the gesture, he pulled her close, sharing the warmth of their bodies. Her fingers appraised his firm muscles. She inhaled the familiar aroma of him, of them. She said, "Let's sleep a little while longer. We'll go when the guards come to get us."
"Yeah," he said. He held her tight, suffocating her, refusing to let her go. She couldn't name any better feeling.
They had their mission.
The League's dispatch briefed them on their early-morning drive to the airport. They were en route to Magnadia, a city on the border of Unova and Orre, for a week-long peace summit between the two Regions. It was supposed to coincide with the ten-year anniversary of Orre's integration into the Pokémon League, the first time the two stood on equal ground. Cynthia and Lance were to fill in for the now-hospitalized Alder and use their presence to foster cooperation.
The messenger prattled on despite their exhaustion. Well, her exhaustion. Lance had an uncanny, perpetual vitality that made her occasionally consider learning the occult to steal. The security detail led them out of the car, onto the private airstrip, and up the stairs to a waiting plane.
She stopped short to view the city. Its rainbow architecture wasn't visible before the sun rose. The barest hints of early morning hung behind the skyline, a gentle reminder of the limited time she could spend with her family. Most of her business on the Grand Axis was just that. The rare, carefree days she, her husband, and her kids could spend together never lasted. Of course, now that both her children were boarding in university, their family had become much smaller.
A guard at her rear ushered Cynthia onto the plane. The official League transport was layered in black marble paneling, a few rebellious white details standing out—seats, window frames, lights—within the monochrome palette. She collapsed into a luxurious seat and spread her belongings across the table.
Her husband boarded moments later, followed by League officials as they continued their chat. He nodded at her as he passed, confirming that he'd deal with the remaining briefing. On assignments like this, only he was ever awake enough to do so. They entered the conference room near the back of the plane, allowing her the private courtesy of resting her head on the table. They took air shortly after.
The plane was a high-technology marvel; at its top speed, it shortened the eight hour flight to six, which may have still been enough time to doze off, but she knew she needed to mentally prepare for the upcoming day. She slipped her laptop from her messenger bag and set it up at the table, the artificial light reflecting off her face.
Her files came onscreen. An Oral History of Johtoan Myth, her favorite trashy textbook, and The False Cornerstones of Johtoan History: An Exploration Into Folk Legend, a relatively recent essay that fought for its publishing rights, appeared in digital format. The former was a general guide to mythological bullshit and the latter was, hopefully, her key to separating fact from speculative fiction.
She pulled up more essays online and fumbled through a dozen paywall logins to find what she needed. Articles, papers, folk songs, ancient artwork, centuries-old engravings, anything she could find on the Unown language. Once she was satisfied, she opened her notebook to where she last left off: The Ruins of Alph.
They had long puzzled her, as had the Pokémon within. The structures were assumed to be three millennia old, but even at that age, it seemed biologically impossible for the Unown's body shape to still so closely represent the markings inside—they would have developed new features, if not by selective forces then by chance mutation alone. With that in mind, there was no telling how long the structure, or the Unown, had remained unburdened by passage of time.
She jotted down a few lines in an online document and rambled additional, less scholarly points in her notebook. Cynthia felt herself drawn from sleep already, her blood pumping into overdrive at the thought of a new discovery. She added coffee—one sugar from black—to the mixture, served fresh by a steward.
What truly interested her about the Ruins of Alph, however, wasn't the paradox of its own existence. It was who might else be interested in its secrets.
She retrieved a log on her computer, listing every party, organization, and individual who had accessed the site in the past half-decade. The information was a favor from an old friend in the Johto Heritage Foundation, and if anyone asked, she'd certainly not know what they were talking about.
The Ruins were open to the public four days a week, and the remaining three were regularly reserved by educational institutions. A rotating guard was on duty at all times. Aside from administrative closings, this pattern was undisturbed for years. Except, there was one week the previous April where the Ruins of Alph were not only closed to the public for bookkeeping purposes, but where an entire day was mysteriously unstaffed. It was the first time the site was unmanned in over sixty years.
Someone had disrupted the scheduling for their own ends and took to snooping inside. She was only made aware by an oblivious teenager who'd wandered on site with his friends the same day. Normally she'd write the unknown perpetrator off as just that—teenage antics. But if the JHF, one of the most well-revered organizations in Johto, had been hacked without their knowledge, there had to be something there that would attract a powerful individual or group with the means to do so. There had to be.
She slammed shut her laptop when the conference room door opened. Scrambling, she shoved as much of her material back into her bag as she could. A few papers remained obscured beneath her laptop.
Lance strode towards her, already wearing his cloak and armored elements. No matter how tacky she thought it was, she could never convince him to abandon the traditional regalia of his home. He closed in, casting his ominous shadow, his regal form engulfing her entire line of sight. He pecked her on the forehead. "How are you feeling?"
"Aside from wanting to stab my one working ovary, I'm just trying to stay awake," she said, immediately reeling into a yawn. It was sent back whence it came with the burn of more coffee down her throat. "Will you give me the rundown?"
"According to the official report, the summit was delayed from earlier this year due to Orran protests. The Unovan government refused to go forward until it felt safe, so the event missed the tenth anniversary. It tells us what to expect out of both sides." He took a seat opposite her and found resistance from the breadth of his outfit. The cloak snagged on the chair, and his pauldrons barely fit within its form-fitting shape, causing him to curse under his breath. "We're taking Alder's duties. Keep them from killing each other."
"So, boring conferences? Joy," she said.
"And battles. I'm on deck for the first big event."
"Won't Orre be outraged that Unova's Champion himself isn't answering their demands?"
"Possibly," Lance answered, "but the League isn't hearing complaints. Our job is going to be harder than his and we must accept it."
He explained their mission further. It wasn't just a political conference, though that was its major goal. The public was free to attend the various panels, events, and parties thrown in celebration of ten years of "cooperation" between the two Regions. They were even hosting some exhibition Pokémon battles to hype up the crowd in support of the summit. Though the convention center had opened the previous day, it was mostly for walk-in admissions, testing event spaces, and other preparatory purposes. Today would be the opening ceremony.
Lance lifted the window shield to witness the dawn sky. High in the clouds, they could see a rising sun earlier than those on the ground.
She and her husband weren't just any Champions, which is why only they were qualified to substitute for the Unovan mission. They were global icons. Through years of public service their role had expanded beyond their Regions, and now they were responsible for holding the planet on their shoulders. Ironic, as neither of them had ever claimed the formal title of World Champion. Terminus thought it was better that way.
"When did we last visit Magnadia?" she asked, eyes fixed to the rhythmic gray haze that separated their craft from the ocean. The storm was slowly being left behind.
"Last?"
"You know, the last time we…" Her trailing off earned a sideways glance from him. "Wow! I guess we haven't. There aren't many major cities we can say that about."
"It hasn't been 'major' until the last couple years. The League seemed happy when it was just a buffer town, but it's become more and more attractive in the past decade. It appeals to hobbies. Like gambling. And drinking."
"Hobbies," she echoed.
"We've had those days."
Her eyes glanced to him a moment before returning to the window. She nursed her coffee. "That we have."
A voice came over the speaker and announced that they had reached cruising altitude. The droning voice was almost a comfort—she could recite the memorized update, clearing all passengers to remove their seatbelts and move freely about the cabin. She and her husband leveled accusatory stares at each other.
"Yes, you can take off your seatbelt now. It's safe," he said, with raised eyebrows and a devious grin.
"As if you've ever worn one in your life. We wouldn't want it to get in the way of your cape."
"It's a cloak," he insisted.
"Sure it is, honey. I'll just be over here in regular, fashionable clothes. It helps me appeal everyone who isn't a deranged billionaire." She motioned to her outfit, currently just a long-sleeved shirt and highwaters. "Anything else I should know about the trip?"
"Wear a vest," he said.
"I brought a coat. I think it's a complete image already."
He suddenly shifted his demeanor, that playfulness having evaporated. He said, "Different kind of vest."
She nodded solemnly. They weren't going to take any risks, especially because their presence had made the summit substantially more high-profile. Security would be tighter. Precautions would be stricter. But no matter what, they were going to create peace.
Cynthia moved to collect her belongings, as she still needed to fix herself up in the bathroom. She'd barely had time to put herself together before they shipped out aside from a quick shower and exchanging a tampon. Her hair was a mess. Greasy, ends split, and probably full of bed lint. And she wanted to douse herself in foundation, or she'd lose the ongoing war with the wrinkles in her cheeks.
When she picked up her laptop, a paper slipped from underneath and gently floated to the floor of the plane. Lance reached out, grabbed the edge in his fingers, and brought it back to the table. She froze. Words caught in her throat as he scanned the paper, more out of habit than an intentional invasion of privacy.
He stood and dumped the paper on the table. "We talked about this."
It was a simple sketch page, where she'd drawn the various Unown symbols and racked up endless, rambling notes about their significance. She also recorded the few passages that she and colleagues had fully translated.
The Ruins of Alph had eluded her for years and not because she lacked the ability. She was one of the most distinguished minds in her field, and where she fell short, she had friends and colleagues that could pick up her slack. No, the opponent to her research stood right in front of her.
He said, "You're breaking a promise."
"I'm doing what needs to be done. You know that something's wrong and you're comfortable sitting on it."
"I'm not 'sitting' on anything. I've been in dialogues with my clan for almost a year to locate the perpetrator. I know more than anyone how important this is." He crossed his arms behind his back, his form completely obscured beneath the cloak. Rarely did he take this authority with her, and she despised it. She wasn't his underling.
"It's obviously not important enough to tell me," she said. "We're a team. You've been ignoring that."
"You hate the idea that I know more than you."
"Maybe I do. Or maybe I just want to know what's so important about your cult and those ruins so that I can help you protect them!" Her sudden anger uprooted his calm demeanor, but his face quickly returned to a stone glare. She kept up her assault. Her accent, normally held back after years of global travel, started to overpower her words. "This is what I do, Lance. In my field, we share why ancient artifacts are precious, and then we commit all our resources to their safety. If the Ruins of Alph are so important, you should let people know. You should let me know."
"No, I shouldn't."
"And why shouldn't you?" She slammed her hands on the table, hard enough to make him flinch.
"I just—" Her husband paused, an argument building, before he suddenly came to a decision. He let out a breath, and she watched him visibly deflate. The argument was over. "It's not about protecting the ruins. It's about protecting you. I've said before that this is dangerous, and for so many more people than you realize. I'm sorry I can't say more."
He left her to her devices and turned on his heel towards the cabins. Though he didn't press further, his judgement was clear, and Cynthia could do nothing but grit her teeth and silently pack up the remaining materials into her bag.
The further an incredible truth lied, the stronger its pull. As Champion of Sinnoh, and as a scientific and academic expert, Cynthia would forever pursue it. She knew some who strayed from the truth. She'd even met one who wished to recreate it. The longer they, and the world, bathed their wounds with lies, the longer it would take them to heal.
A sea of reporters flashed their cameras as they descended from the plane, barely held back by confused event security. Cynthia narrowed her eyes at the line of reporters scrambling for their next big headline. This was a private terminal. How had they gotten permission?
She didn't need to answer that. It's not like they ever asked.
Cynthia's partner towered over her left shoulder, having just been released from her travel capsule. The Garchomp flexed her spines and razor-edged claws in warning. She shielded her Trainer with a fin and Cynthia eyed the crowd warily over the forelimb.
"Stand down, Kiki. I'll be fine," she said.
The rumble in her Pokémon's chest transferred to the ground below. Kiki backed off slowly and awaited the arrival of her teammates. The crew unloading the plane retrieved the rest of their capsules from the hold—Poké Balls were deactivated before flight to prevent any unnecessary mishaps and reloaded upon return to the disembarking passenger. A worker approached her with a tablet.
"Okay, just making sure I've got the right ones here. First is Spiritomb, named, err, 'Jeeb-ah-koo-ray?'" She raised an eye at the name and looked to her for confirmation.
"Jibakurei. I call him Jeb," Cynthia said, earning a nod in return.
"Nebros?"
"Boss. Roserade."
The worker did everything in her power to suppress the giggle in her throat. She reddened while reading out the remaining names. "Toyotama the Milotic, Glaukopis the Togekiss, and… oh boy. I'm not even gonna try that last one."
"Princess, Opie, and Rick. Orichalkos." She took the capsules off her hands as she finished reactivating them. "Thank you."
The woman stepped away and Cynthia released the remainder of her team. Rick, her Lucario, stood proud on his powerful hind legs, his fur far bushier than the average member of his species. In his arms he held an eerie carved stone. Jeb had been consciously active shortly before boarding the plane, but in the face of the crowd, he'd tucked himself away and only offered an agitated shake every few seconds.
Taking up more space than her peers, Princess cooed softly in wait. The Miltoic tested the damp morning air with her antennae and fanned herself—and the Roserade lounging on her head crest—using her tail, as the summer heat was building. Boss swatted away one of the antennae with his orange bouquet and the Milotic hissed at the minor transfer of toxin. Her final Pokémon, Opie, showed off his beautiful coat to the cameras, occasionally switching poses to give the media a better look.
Lance had his duo of young Dragonite and their emerald-scaled leader at the ready. However, his remaining three Pokemon were tucked away for space, as his combined team was far larger than her own. Together they were an impressive, dangerous, intimidating sight, some of the planet's most distinguished and powerful Pokémon at their backs.
The line was broken. The poor security was tramped when a single reporter rudely pushed forward, prompting every other to charge into battle. Cynthia's Pokémon readied for a fight; Kiki brandished her claws, Princess coiled her tail, Rick dropped to a combat stance.
The reporters encircled her husband. Even in the presence of three Dragonite, they pushed microphones to his face and fired their questions like an artillery barrage. Meanwhile, Cynthia stood with crossed arms, as not a single one was presented to her.
"Agh!" Her husband was mauled by the overwhelming crowd. He yelped, "Why do they only ever do this to me?"
"They know better," she said. She stepped past, coat flaring behind her and her Pokémon in tow.
According to her Pokétch, it was 8:15, only three hours later than their departure due to the timezone change. She shot back, "We only have a short walk to the convention center, and we need to be there before nine."
"H-help…" His voice faded as the paparazzi strangled his life from him.
With a dismissive glance, Cynthia strode across the airfield with her Pokémon. A path had been cleared in advance. Beyond the gate of the airfield, guards lined the route to the convention center, staring down the crowd across steel barriers. Her heels clicked across the red carpet, laid across the blocks towards the convention center, all in service of the greatest Champions the world had ever known. She kept up a smile, held out a wave, and embraced the deafening cheers.
Magnadia had earned its title as The Great Crossroads by being the worst piece of real estate on the continent. No one with half a brain would willingly live so far from necessary resources. It wasn't near any water sources, requiring regular shipments from a Unovan reservoir. It had no energy, necessitating a monstrous power grid from every available source that, if it encountered an unnatural surge, could turn the entire city dark for days. No matter its shortcomings, it quickly became a waystation for travel between the two Regions, plus Fiore to the south. If you wanted to transport cargo through the Orran desert, you had to stop here.
She stepped warily underneath scaffolding that barely held an incomplete building together. All around the downtown area, other buildings were in similar condition. The city was a popup town of the modern era. Entrepreneurs erected monuments to steal their place in history, dotting the skyline with hollow shells.
She'd read about the city and seen news of its growth, but she hadn't expected its piecemeal reality. Workers dangled overhead in suspension gear. The full crews worked fast and repositioned quickly, each component drilled, welded, and hammered one step closer to perfection. However, almost all of them could spare a break to cheer when they realized who walked underneath.
The citizens couldn't get enough. She'd never before visited this wild west and yet they treated her like royalty. The crowd rose and fell with her passage, leaving dejected fans behind and warming those ahead with anticipation.
A message stood out from the crowd. One young woman held up her black sign with
"11/11" scratched in white. Cynthia stopped a moment, eyes lingering on the sign, before a guard signaled her to keep moving
The convention center grew from the dirt. Compared to the Grand Arena that held the World Trial, it was a mockery of an event space. Its panels snapped at odd angles and terminated at random, as if the architect sought modern abstraction yet found utter chaos. Much of the building was layered with twenty-five-meter glass windows, a few shattered, taped with fabric, and awaiting replacement.
"Look who decided to show her face." The smug voice drew her forward, even amongst the exploding audience.
Standing at the main door to the convention center was her peer, her equal, and her friend. Steven Stone flashed a cocky smile. He was done up in a fine suit, his steel-blue hair a little more combed than usual. He threw out his arms and pulled her into a hug.
"Keeping well?" she asked, tuning out the legions of people around them.
"As I can be," he said, "though I've been distracted by some new research. The board's incensed that I'm missing meetings."
"New research? We're two of a kind."
Behind him, two large men in nondescript gear stood with their arms crossed. Rather than being provided by the Pokémon League, Stone's security was from his very own Devon Corporation. A regular partner but not quite subsidiary to the League, Devon had a lot of autonomy even in official events like this, so long as it maintained stable production of goods and didn't get on the League's bad side. Stone probably trusted his own men more than those provided at random, and she trusted his judgement as an employer.
"We're hugging too long. People might start to talk," he said, though he didn't seem keen on letting go.
"I'm married, Stone. And I have fifteen years on you."
"You can never be too certain."
They separated and waved at the rally, prompting another round of cheers and jeers. Stone ordered his security to prepare to move out. They'd be their shield as they navigated the roaming public. Her husband and his Dragonite finally caught up, having shaken the paparazzi sometime ahead of the convention center, and he nodded to the Hoenn Champion.
"It's a pleasure, Mr. Stone," he said.
The events of a month ago were no doubt fresh in their mind. A one-sided battle this past World Trial, locking him out of the finals yet again. Even a year later, the wound still stung. When Lance offered a shake, Stone kept his to himself and said, "Mr. Stone was my father."
Cynthia shot a disdainful look at her husband. They weren't given time to dwell, as their security swung open the doors to the center and the three Champions were brought forward into the grand atrium.
The morning sunlight rocketed down the high walls and cast alight the endless tiled floor. Flowing oceans of visitors dashed across her vision to the nearest attraction. The wafting scents of pop-up food vendors, blending the fiery cuisine of the Orran deserts with the hearty cooking of the Unovan heartlands, pulled in every visitor. Not one went without a full basket as they explored the convention center. The tang of alcohol on the collective breath danced with the appetizing fumes. Two stages had been erected for live music, drowning the party goers in their cacophony.
She, Lance, and Stone quickly became the newest source of fascination, as the interior crowd was overcome with a wave of gasps. Cynthia heard a speaker boom overhead. "Ladies and gentlemen, we humbly welcome... our Champions!"
Cynthia had the world's attention. She aimed a fist to the sky. Her Pokémon followed the gesture, each throwing up something, be it paw, bouquet, wing, tail, or claw, to challenge the heavens. Lance and Stone struck their own poses. Together, they incited an explosion. The center was rocked with the excitement of their arrival until her eardrums bled. Cell phones, X-Transceivers, and other personal cameras flashed as convention goers rushed for pictures, held back only by the men in black and the army of Pokémon at their back.
And then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. The public dispersed, leaving Stone's security in breathless heaps but otherwise in good shape. Cynthia was shocked. Unlike reporters with employment on the line, random masses were never this easy.
Looking around, she realized why they didn't hold the attendees' focus. They had anything and everything to keep themselves occupied. Games for children. More immoral games for adults. Merchandise stands beckoned over families with the promise that every other vendor was a swindler and only they had genuine wares. Kiosk for event tickets spawned lines to the walls of the building, no doubt due to the massive banner hanging atop.
"Dynamax?" Cynthia asked. "I thought the briefing mentioned standard singles."
Lance stepped past them, staring at the decorations. Posters aside the banner illustrated the giant-sized phenomenon and stated that the first Dynamax battle began at 9:00 sharp. "It did. What is this about?"
"The League called in some representatives from Galar to give the summit extra kick, as it were. This center was only completed in the past year or so, so it's probably the first on the continent that's outfitted for DMS." Stone urged them along as he explained, his guards parting the crowd to allow them to pass. Most gave them a wide berth at the sight of the Pokémon anyway, especially due to Kiki's protective waving of her claws. He continued, "Mr. Masuta's on for 0900."
Cynthia examined the crowd again as they moved. The more she focused, the more details sprung up. A Unovan family kicked a dropped basket of food rather than help the Orran woman clean up her mess. The long lines had imperceptibly longer spaces between those of different nationality, which is why they pushed the limits of the convention center's available space. The two live bands were of opposing descent, and when one screamed, the other screamed louder. Some "11/11" signs were hidden amongst the populous, and she witnessed a guard accost an Orran to put his away. Buried under the air of festivity was decades of unfortunate history.
No matter how confidently she carried herself, the unspoken tension held in her mind, and for one reason alone. Orran citizens didn't own Pokémon. Their Region was a battle-scarred desert, even more scarce in fauna than the neighboring Fiore, which is why a team such as hers was a captivating sight.
Orre couldn't rely on Pokémon Rangers for public safety. It didn't have the resources to import creatures for every citizen in need. Its citizens were alone to solve their problems, and as a result, one of its laws, retained from its time as an independent nation, was unique among the Regions.
It was legal for Orran citizens to own firearms.
They weren't authorized at the summit, obviously, and the legions of security were there to enforce it. They stood at every door and patted down attendees at every checkpoint. Every procedure was in place to prevent a dangerous item slipping through the cracks, but with some of the world's most important people present, she couldn't put herself at ease. Cynthia felt the weight of the heavy synthetic fiber hidden beneath her shirt.
Stone led them down a flight of stairs, where the light faded into a dim artificial glow. The network of technical staff raced through them. Compared to the public's unrestrained chaos, the coordinated movement of the convention staff was even more strangling—Stone's guards had to deflect the single-minded employees beelining towards their destinations, too deep in their own head to realize who they were in the presence of. The confined space prompted her to retrieve five of her Poké Balls. Her team seemed saddened, but she assured them that the next time they emerged from stasis, they'd be having fun. Only Kiki, her partner, remained active. They arrived at a nexus of multiple paths.
"Incoming!" A youthful voice echoed through the halls, punctuated by a bellow. Cynthia felt the wind pick up. The employees screamed in terror. Down one hall of the underbelly, a flaming meteor headed their way.
It was a Charizard, wings tucked, rocketing forward at blinding speeds. The various technicians scrambled to clear the hall or ducked underneath the trail of fire birthed from the creature's snout. The entire hall came alight as it sprinkled embers in its wake. Stone shouted, "Everybody out of the way!"
He and his security sprinted as far away as possible, but Cynthia and Lance held their ground. It was closing in. Seventy-five meters. Fifty. Twenty-five. Fifteen. Ten.
Suddenly, the Charizard dissipated. Its body was overtaken by neon and its form evaporated mid-air, sent as data to its storage capsule in the blink of an eye. However, the Trainer aboard retained the momentum of flight. Cynthia stepped back when his target became clear, and she watched as Lance planted his feet, held out his palms, and grinned.
The flying Trainer collided with her husband at one-hundred kilometers an hour. The impact was transferred into her husband's muscular frame, and with nowhere else to go, it fired downwards through his feet. The floor cracked. His ankles sunk into the splintered concrete, and the force of the outward motion would have swept her off her feet if Kiki hadn't supported her with an outstretched arm. She thanked her partner and brushed herself off.
Cynthia finally got a good look at the young man. His purple hair was tucked behind a cap, he rocked shorts and tights, and he had fashioned a cape out of what she assumed was a fleece blanket. It was hideous.
The young man shouted, "Hiya, Uncle!"
"Leon!" Lance was more alight than she'd seen in a long time. He hoisted the younger Trainer—dislodging his feet from the cracked ground—and spun him in wide circles before setting him gently on his feet. The two sized each other up with crossed arms.
"Who is this?" Cynthia asked as she stepped over the debris. She was shaken but more than a little intrigued. "I don't think I'm familiar."
"Hadn't you met? No wait, you've never gone to Galar with me."
"Too warm," she said.
"Everywhere is too warm for you." He slid his arm around the boy's shoulder and pulled him into a sideways embrace. "This is Dandelion Tarak. I met him when I trained in Hammerlocke for my first few World Trials."
She knew of him but hadn't ever seen him in person. He was the Champion of Galar, appointed just last year. He was some twenty years their junior, so he would have been extremely young when her husband started his World Trial bids.
The Galarian Champion approached her, chipper as can be, and put out a gloved hand. She examined his outfit yet again—it was plastered with advertisements and sponsorships. He said, "Jolly to meet you, Auntie Cynthia."
"Auntie?" Her eyes flicked to her husband. He shrugged.
"My mate Raihan's dad is basically my dad too. And Raihan's dad is some relative of Lance, so if we're being true, he's my uncle," explained the kid. He wiggled his fingers and she shook the hand after a few more seconds of hesitation. He said, "Call me Leon."
"Erm, it's a pleasure, Leon."
"Sure is!" His sudden burst had her taken aback. "Uncle, you wouldn't believe the stuff we have cooking for this event. It's gonna be a Champion time."
He reminded her of Saber, her own son. He carried that same boundless enthusiasm and similarly made a huge impact in conversation. It made sense, she supposed, as her husband had raised both.
Just when things had finally settled, thunderous footsteps echoed down the hall that Leon had launched himself down. Another young Galarian man, this one done up in slacks, a vest, and thin glasses, walked straight to Leon and pointed an accusatory finger. He carried a large scheduling book under his opposite arm.
"This is unacceptable. This wasn't in the memo. You're going to jeopardize this whole summit because you're a total bellend." He sounded more like a middle-aged parent than the young man he was, and all it did was make Leon smile wider. "Don't give me that grin. Stick. To. The. Script."
'Don't be a spoilsport, man. It's my uncle. He's the coolest," Leon said with his palms resting on the back of his head.
"And you are the Champion of Galar with an image on the you keep doing this the Pokémon League is going to reprimand us both!"
Leon turned back to them amidst the verbal barrage, which only made the attacker fume. He placed his hands on his hips and spoke over the harsh words. "So yeah, anyway, this is Geralt. He's my agent. The Galar League has this whole protocol for my public appearances, and I never get to decide anything. I feel like I'm in a boy band."
"—and you've probably already cost the city one-hundred thousand Pokédollars in damage. Not to mention, you weren't authorized to use your Pokémon in public yet. It could cause a disturbance!" Geralt continued his beratement without so much as taking a breath. His face was already red with fury, but Cynthia assumed the lack of oxygen was deepening the color.
The solution Leon offered didn't help him breathe, but it did shut him up. The Champion grabbed Geralt by the hand, pulled him close, and sealed his lips with his own. Immediately, the agent's fury evaporated, melting into the kiss, as if all past transgressions were momentarily void. Cynthia couldn't help but chuckle.
When Leon pulled away, shit-eating grin plastered on his smug face, Geralt said with dusted cheeks, "This doesn't change anything. We have to be on our best behavior."
"The battle's on shortly. Do you need me somewhere specific to prepare the Dynamax equipment?" asked Lance.
"Man, you guys are all business," said Leon, who pulled on Lance's arm to get him to follow, leading him towards one of the many intersecting hallways. "We have to get you to the stadium control room. Sorry to pull him away, Auntie!"
"You're going the wrong way," said Geralt.
"That I am." Leon spun one-eighty on his heels and dragged his adopted uncle past the group. Lance shot her a knowing glance but allowed the younger Champion to lead him along.
"Still wrong." Geralt tapped his foot and checked his watch.
After another turn, Leon finally chose the right hallway, and he, his agent, and Lance disappeared to parts unknown. Cynthia shouted for them to stay safe, and her husband pointed a backwards thumb towards the three lumbering beasts on his tail. He made a fair point.
In her periphery, she noticed Stone collecting himself alongside his guards, who reunited with them in the center of the floor. His formerly combed hair was a complete disaster after throwing himself to the concrete.
"Hm. That was certainly fun," he said.
"If Lance is on duty for the first event battle, what have we left to do?" she asked.
She noticed a short moment of relief at the first part of her statement before he jumped off her second. Due to the hasty replacement, they didn't have as clear responsibilities as similar events, so they were working off word of mouth. "I was informed that we're meeting the Orran mission ahead of official proceedings. To break the ice, perhaps."
"Then, onward!" she said. She checked the fasteners on her coat and adjusted the bulletproof armor beneath. "It's time we made our first impression."
The upper floors of the center were reserved for the political facets of the summit. She and Stone were drawn into a gorgeous meeting room. A u-shaped conference table sat in the center, surrounded by various seating sections for press and honored guests. She placed a hand on one of the chairs. From material feel alone, she knew it was worth several hundred thousand.
Light filtered in from a glass wall. She stepped up and stared outside, where she realized they were situated at the upper edge of the convention center's open stadium. It looked like a typical sports arena, but with mechanical spires of unknown purpose around its perimeter. Layered sections crawled up the walls to cram as many people as possible into the limited space. Top to bottom, every seat was filled. It was a familiar, though always nerve wracking, sight.
A purposeful cough drew her eye, and she was reminded of why she came. Both diplomatic missions sat in wait around the conference table. The Unovan viceroy, four members of his council, the mayors of Opelucid and Castelia, and a few additional diplomats made up her adopted cause. She nodded to Drayden—her only acquaintance among them—and the grizzled man returned the gesture. Opposite them were a legion of men and women she didn't recognize. None sported formal wear, and if it wasn't a sign of protest, it told of Orre's philosophy. The task was addressing grievances from the Orran people, so they had sent their finest citizens instead of top-down bureaucrats.
She only recognized a single person: Professor Krane, a shaggy-looking bio-technology laureate. She'd met him briefly at an academic honors convention, where he was presented a high award for his research into a mysterious disease afflicting trained Pokémon. Their eyes met, but he quickly decided the table was more interesting.
The rest were new faces. One stood from the table and approached her. He was a spitting image of the Orran population. Sun-bleached hair, sharp eyes, tawny skin. He was set apart, however, by a strange white streak outlining his nose and cheekbones.
"So, you're Mrs. Masuta," the man said. "I can't believe the League thinks throwing more pets in the ring is going to butter us up."
"It's Dr. Masuta, please," said Cynthia.
She let his annoyed gaze size her up, judging her level of threat. Some struck nerve urged her to be hostile, if only to teach this child who exactly he was dealing with, but she decompressed when she saw the viceroy looking her way. Unova's finest were trusting her with their Region.
She offered a hand to shake. He took it and squeezed. Hard.
"I think I would've preferred the old man. He had more gut than you," he said. The Orran camp behind her, though party to his introduction, didn't act. They silently condoned the caustic treatment, even Krane, whose head hadn't moved since she met his eye. Sitting at opposite sides of the table, the two groups couldn't have been further apart.
Cynthia was fired up. It wasn't often that someone had the gall to approach her this way. It wasn't awestricken fear, nor was it rabid appreciation. This was a rare challenge. As Champion, she felt obligated to take it on. "You haven't introduced yourself."
"Wes." One word, dripping with dismissiveness.
"Just Wes?" she asked.
He brushed her off and took Stone's hand in a similar manner. The younger Champion stayed calm and greeted him with a smile. Wes said, "You're the corporate shill."
"Steven Stone, CEO of Devon. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He seemed content to leave out that he, too, had a doctorate. The heavy metal rings on Stone's index and ring fingers must have been uncomfortable, as Wes dropped the handshake quickly. The Hoenn Champion shot her knowing look. He said, "I've heard whispers of you."
"I didn't think you cared."
He countered the man quickly. "You've become a local hero around Orre for fighting organized crime, especially by using their Pokémon-stealing technology against them. You'd be Champion material once your League solidifies the position."
Judging by the others among the Orran mission, Wes was already the closest they had to a Champion, a figurehead to represent his people. He was their equal, and no matter her opinion of him, Cynthia was bound by the League to entertain his vision of peace.
He backed away, slightly, and frowned between them both. "I'm not one of the League's pawns. Keep that in mind."
"Of course, sir," said Stone.
The honorific drove the boy even further off his fragile rail. He shoved his way over to his seat and slumped down, turning to face the window. He looked at the wall clock. The hour hand clicked into place.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it has been ten years. We come together today, as we have for the past decade, to set apart differences," began a thundering voice through the window glass. The other representatives in the room rose from their seats and shuffled to the balcony through a sliding door
Cynthia stepped out to the fence. The sun was riding higher and bringing with it the heavy atmosphere of late summer. Stone stepped up next to her and rested his forearms over the edge, a smile on his face. He nudged her elbow with his.
"We stand here in memory of past tragedy, and in pursuit of justice that is not yet fulfilled." The voice continued from on high, and Cynthia narrowed her eyes to the speaker standing hundreds of meters below on the astroturf. She was a young Orran woman, her reddish hair tied up into a long ponytail. Shortly after her speech began, her face was broadcast on the multitude of giant screens outlining the stadium. "I ask you to join me for a few moments of silence. For those lost fifty years ago. For a people struggling to rebuild. For a culture forever changed."
Her words entranced the audience, and on her cue, the stadium was still. It was clear which side the words held for. The woman, though vaguely, spoke of November 11th. Cynthia herself put her head down in mourning for the people of Orre, who had faced hardship after hardship since the Coalition War. There were no whispers or jeers in the stands. The only voice was behind her.
"She's naive. Words alone won't change anything," whispered Wes from inside, still stuck to his chair. He wouldn't be party to the ceremony.
The woman raised her head after the extended calm and held the microphone to her cheerful face. "But we aren't here only to mourn. This event is a celebration of our progress. We will be optimistic for our future, and have fun in the present, because joy is our final goal. We open today with a high energy event, a wonderful contribution from the Galarian Pokémon League."
At the end of her speech, the stadium floor hissed. Flows of smoke seeped from the ground and engulfed the woman in a cloud of white. Cynthia tensed in anticipation. The unknown structures pulsed with light beneath their surface. The voice of the crowd rose higher and higher.
When the smoke cleared, the summit officially commenced.
Except for the light seeping from beneath them and the giant neon countdown, the control room was pitch black. Humming machines lined the walls and floor, only a few grated walkways available to stand on. Lance adjusted his ear mic while urging his partner Dragonite, Uesugi, not to dislodge the receiver. He kept his eyes on the digits. Eighty seconds.
His partner groaned under the weight of the equipment. The heavy exoskeleton added 75 kilograms, and it was clear even his muscled frame strained under the weight. Every part of his body, from head to limbs to wings, was engulfed under wires, sensors, and hard metal. A "DMS" label was etched in white on various pieces, elaborated as "Dynamic Maximization System" in smaller font underneath. Opposite on the same platform, Leon's Charizard wore its own personal death trap.
"Sorry if it's nettling, dear." An old Galarian woman, Magnolia, pulled hard on her wrench to tighten one final joint, causing the Dragonite to roar. Despite the nature of the work, she sported no more than a sundress and a jeweled necklace. After adjusting controls on a nearby panel, she said, "All the components are in place. My apologies for riding up to the deadline, but only some of the pieces I had reserved for Mr. Adeku's Druddigon were usable. Adjusting my components for different body shapes takes time."
"You all finished over there, Bev?" called Leon. "It's forty-five to launch."
"Don't be snappy with me, mister. I can read," she said with her wrench aimed threateningly in Leon's direction. "And you, Mr. Masuta. Are you prepared?"
"Affirmative," he said. A novice to this technology, he couldn't hide that the mechanical monstrosity unnerved him. However, his partner was a sturdy creature and Lance was determined to give the audience an event they deserved. They'd feel the true power of Indigo's Champion even bound by the limitations of this invention.
"Get into position," ordered Magnolia. She stepped into a reinforced box and punched a few more controls.
Lance and Leon stepped away from the central platform, footsteps echoing on the metal, and stood on their personal pedestals. A siren blared, red lights flashed, and caged walls raised on four sides around the Pokémon. The countdown hit fifteen.
"See you topside, Uncle! They're gonna love this." Leon's voice bounced around the control room.
At ten, the pedestal lurched. The hydraulics shoved Lance toward the heavens and left his Pokémon behind. The doors above creaked open, bombarding him with the energy from the stands. He rose into a field of smoke, and when the foothold clicked into place, it was suddenly whisked away. The crowd erupted in cheers when he and Leon were revealed on opposite sides of the battlefield.
"For our opening event, we present the newest phenomenon in battling entertainment! This. Is. Dynamax!" A male announcer bellowed from above. "In the red corner, it's the kid hero! He may be the youngest champion, but he's got more heart than all his peers combined. It's Leon Tarak!"
Leon planted his legs, turned his head down, and thrust a hand up with his thumb, index, and middle fingers extended. Lance remembered the day Leon wandered onto his training field, not even five years old, and threw up the same sign. He claimed he would one day be Champion, just like his uncle. That pose fulfilled the promise of his younger self.
The Indigo Champion felt his chest swell with pride. Years of example, then loose tutoring, then head-to-head battling had pushed the young man to his current position. Beyond battling, Leon had proven himself as a model citizen and figurehead for his people, and Lance couldn't take that credit. This was their first fight not as mentor and trainee, but as Champion and Champion.
"And in the blue corner, we welcome our superpowered strongman, our princely powerhouse, our living legend," the voice dragged out the last pause, "Lance Masuta!"
His eardrums bled from the fanfare. In the eyes of the world, he and his wife were gods. A smile crept onto his face. Leon had pushed and shoved his way to a Champion position, and it was an incredible accomplishment, but he wouldn't let the boy build an ego. It was time to draw the line between Galar and the Indigo Plateau.
The arena screens flashed their faces in a "versus" graphic. The spires built into the high walls shined bright enough to blind. The massive space behind both Trainers came to life.
Using the data from the exoskeletons, the trillion-Pokedollar Dynamax system created giants. They appeared from nothing, fading into existence as the projectors laid scales on thin air. The form of his Dragonite, and of Leon's Charizard, rose past even the highest seats. The hologram even reproduced his partner's rare emerald scales—they were perfect replicas, and they towered like skyscrapers above the stadium.
The announcer let the moment linger. The sight of the massive Pokémon alone spurred the crowd into a frenzy.
The voice boomed his final line, "Dynamax Battle... begin!"
"Thunder Punch!" Lance gave the order through his microphone, received by his partner below.
The titanic duplicate reeled back and let fly its fist, mirroring Uesugi's true action beneath the surface. It soared overhead and collided with the opponent's cheek. The resulting explosion showered the audience in sparks. The Dynamax system not only cast the battle as a hologram but also augmented it with visual effects. The weight of the gear had a practical purpose as well; it slowed their Pokémon's movements to realistically simulate creatures of such mass. As far as the audience was concerned, real giants had come to play.
"Use Flamethrower!" ordered Leon. His giant, undeterred by the punch, opened its mouth and released a stream of flame. The entire stadium was engulfed in red. The only thing the Dynamax system missed was the heat, but judging by the screams of the crowd, it was hardly a footnote.
Lance had to respect the limits of the gear. Neither Pokémon could fly, nor could they perform complex movement befitting of Champion-level battles. Their intention was to amaze, first and foremost. "Use Dragon Tail!"
He could feel his partner straining in the gear below. The Dragonite twisted on his feet and dragged his weighted tail around himself to slap the opposing Charizard. On the surface, it translated as a grand impact, the holograms rippling with the imagined shockwave.
He was forced to pause before he could give his next order. Neither Pokémon had moved and were stuck in the position of impact, eyes locked. Lance switched his microphone to its second mode, separating his voice from the crowd. He said, "I need an update. What's going on down there?"
"Technical difficulties." Magnolia's voice came through the crackling line. "My effect systems are still working, but your Pokémon's gear shorted and isn't updating the main image. I'm ordering them to cover."
All around them, vents hidden beneath the turf erupted with smoke and filled his eyes with white. The crowd likely couldn't see the battlefield beneath the cover. On cue, the voice came over the stadium speakers. "And the battle is suddenly engulfed in smoke. Did Leon's Charizard use Smokescreen?"
Lance rolled his eyes and waited for the area to clear. It was a piss-poor excuse, but for the sake of the illusion, it was probably the best they were afforded. That cursed technology wasn't reliable at all. He should have ripped it off himself and shown the crowd what a real Pokémon Battle was like.
Magnolia sounded in his ear again. "You're go to resume. I fixed the problem by hitting it really hard. Go!"
The smoke was quickly vented by fans around the base of the arena, whose hums were barely audible among the voices of the audience. Lance flipped his microphone back to its public mode. When the giants reappeared among a cleared battlefield, they were visibly panting. Neither Pokémon would last. It was a short, explosive, beautiful brawl, and the downtime within the gear no doubt left them drained.
Leon hesitated a few moments, receiving his own orders. Their eyes locked. He smiled. "Overheat!"
"Thunder Wave!" Lance countered, throwing out his hand with the command.
His partner focused electric energy across his body. Above ground, imagined lightning rained across the battlefield. The Dragonite let fly the spark. The hologram Charizard faltered as it stored energy, joints paralyzed. It unleashed its fire.
The inferno engulfed the stands, causing yet more screams. Due to the paralysis, the discharge wasn't at its full power, and Dragonite pushed through the flames to take one gigantic step forward. This was their opening. This was their climax. This was their battle.
Lance threw out his arm and gave the command. His voice was guttural. He screamed their finishing move. "Hyper Beam!"
Hologram Dragonite's body shined bright enough to blind. His gaping maw focused all his power, the system's audio amplifying the charge. The sound ceased. It fired. Charizard was engulfed in pure, concentrated power.
The audience gasped and awaited the result. The lingering light of Hyper Beam slowly faded. The Fire-type Pokémon slumped forward and slowly fell. The hologram slammed to the ground while the real creature below collapsed—the replica faded from being, leaving its Trainer alone on the battlefield.
Lance switched his mic off the arena again to hide his next order from the crowd. "Roar."
His giant unleashed his fury. The crowd matched it with a roar of her own, and together they announced the victory.
The speaker boomed. "The winner is Lance Masuta!"
Welcome to Magnadia! I've been ecstatic about starting this story. My goal was to bring together the series' biggest icons and give them the theatrics they deserve, while also taking a closer look at what it means to be Champion. There's a lot in store for Cynthia, Lance, Steven, and Leon.
I guess I should clarify that most characters here are tweaked somewhat from their canon counterparts due to this being an alternate continuity. Lance and Cynthia are aged up somewhat, so I wanted to see what kind of people they became after years of being global icons. I'm not entirely sure how I did, but I thought it was the right move for this specific story.
Notably, this is the second in a series of stories, but this is entirely standalone. The previous story was OC focused but Cynthia and Lance had roles as supporting characters. Eagle-eyed readers will notice that this first chapter was published on the second anniversary of that series (July 27th).
A big thanks to my beta reader, ShonnaRose, who gave feedback while I've been writing this the past month and a half. This story was really propped up by her efforts.
Next week is Chapter 2: Envoy from the West. I hope you enjoy the show, and I'll see you someday!