Chapter 9: Behind Frenemy Lines


Mojave paced the floor, his mind going through the same questions on loop. Where am I? What's happening? Where's Typhon? To say that he was having a bad morning - if it even was morning - was an understatement.

He had woken from a dreamless sleep to find himself in a room he had never been in before, his most recent memory was of getting ambushed by a squad of soldiers whose leader he had mauled just days before, and to top it all off, his client for the day was the most powerful Pokémon he had ever met. Oh, and he had also taken a shining to him.

How did everything get to this point? Less than a week ago he was living as uneventful a life as he could, and now here he was in the thick of it.

He took a deep breath and stopped moving. Steeling himself, he let it out. Whatever happened, he could get through it. Aurelian's admiration seemed to be genuine, which was reassuring. Sure, there were plenty of reasons to be absolutely terrified of the sandshrew that outnumbered the good by far, but it was a start.

Could Aurelian really be trusted? If he liked Mojave so much, what was with the sleep seeds? The event replayed in his mind, of his body suddenly succumbing to the worst drowsiness he had felt in years. Those things were expensive, and surely would have been better spent on the war. What did he do to deserve that? Maybe they didn't trust him. What if this was all a trap?

What if the Legion wanted revenge on Team Dune for nearly killing Domino, and lured them out to kill them as a show of power? Show the desert that no Pokémon was safe from retribution, not even protectors. That was certainly in line with everything he had heard about them.

But then, why treat him so well once they had him? Mojave surveyed the room again. It was easily the most lavish place he had ever slept in, and certainly beat the storage closet under the stairs back at base - not that there was anything to be ashamed of by sleeping in the closet; it was the only room on the ground floor with a door, and was surprisingly cozy.

At the very least, Mojave wasn't in a cell for the moment, which was something to savor. And with the way the room was set up, that wouldn't be hard. A massive bed – an actual bed, with a mattress and blankets and all – was in the center against the back wall. Tapestries depicting images of the western sandy deserts covered the walls. Empty bookshelves sat beneath them, covered in what must have been centuries' worth of dust. Covering the floor was a fine rug that felt oddly nice to rub his feet on.

Mojave shook his head. It didn't make sense. None of it made any sense. He was just a regular trapinch, one of countless in the Attaman Desert. Sure, he had never met any of them before, but there probably wasn't much differentiating him from all the others. Why did Aurelian want him? What made him worth all this? Where even was all this? Mojave had to stop himself before he began pacing again. As it stood, there was nothing he could do.

He slumped against the side of the bed, defeated. Good going, Mojave. What is this, the second time you've lost Team Dune? You could hardly hack it as a regular team member, what made you think you could be a leader?

He stopped himself. The few days he had known Typhon were the best days of his career so far, even with everything that had happened to them. That alone made taking responsibility over the gible worth it.

There was something about him, a sense of camaraderie that Mojave had never felt before, not even with the old Team Dune. There was just… a sense of completion that having Typhon around gave him. Like they weren't just teammates, they were… partners, if that made any sense.

Where is he? Mojave thought again. Is he in another room? Did they consider him to be too much of a burden to take back? There's no way they'd do that, it'd be ridiculous to let someone like him go.

At the very least, Typhon was not taking this sitting down, wherever he was. Mojave's thoughts went back to the mesa at the end of Groudon's Gift, and how angry Typhon was when they learned he had nothing left to him. If that's how he reacted to having nothing, Mojave shuddered to imagine what he was like when he had everything new taken away.

A commotion rumbled outside. Mojave instinctively turned to the wall, where two massive wooden doors made the only way in or out. He had considered opening them and taking a look around earlier, but was discouraged. The first reason was that he didn't have the strength to make the doors budge. The second reason was that he didn't have the courage to do it either.

From the other side, a familiar voice spoke. "Howdy fellas, you mind if I come in?" Mojave had a slight suspicion that he knew who it was, but the absurdity of it was enough to convince him otherwise.

"I- Well- Uh- No," someone else responded. Mojave breathed a sigh of relief that they weren't trying to talk to him, no matter how much that seemed unlikely. "You know how Aurelian gets about this sort of thing."

"Aww, please? I'll be out faster than a Quick Attack, I promise!"

The second voice hesitated. "Alright, fine. You're not the worst Pokémon to bend the rules for. But you owe me, okay? Same way as always."

A third voice piped up. "Hey! I'm here too, you know!" she said, offended. "It's my skin too if we get in trouble!"

"Don't you worry," the familiar voice said. "I'd have to be colder than an avalugg to leave you out like that." Something thudded against the door and Mojave stepped back. "Still, wouldn't hurt to have the strength of one."

A sigh came from the other voices, to which the visitor laughed mareepishly. Panicking at the sudden prospect of being discovered, Mojave hid behind the bed, positioning it between him and the doorway.

He knew that hiding like this was silly. They already knew he was here. Who stuffs a prisoner in such a fancy room and forgets where they left him? Still, Mojave was on alert. It was all a trick, it had to be. Something to get him to lower his guard before they sucker punched him. Sucker punched him with what exactly, he didn't know, but it was coming.

Regardless of what Aurelian felt, Mojave had one of their highest-ranked commanders on the ropes and stopped them from capturing an extremely valuable target. Those weren't things most Pokémon would let slide, especially not the Legion. Honestly, whatever Aurelian saw in him, Mojave didn't think it was there.

Cowering behind the bed, one of his eyes just barely poking out, Mojave watched as the door slowly creaked open. A maractus was standing in its wake, bandages wrapped all around his torso and one around his head, covering his left eye. A strap of some kind crossed from his shoulder down to the other side, suggesting he had a bag with him.

It was York, the same maractus Team Dune had met a few days ago, now in recovery from his injuries. Mojave had no idea what to think. What's he doing here? I thought he said he was a pacifist, what's he doing with the Legion?

Whatever the case was, this was bad. Sure, Mojave helped him out in the mystery dungeon, but all the goodwill between them was surely ruined when Mojave helped stop the Legion. How could he show his face to him? Just say "Oh yeah, sorry about beating up your boss the other day. You know how it is, right?"

York first looked to the bed, then scanned the rest of the room, confused. "Well that's odder than a baby vileplume. Mojave, where are you? You sleep for three days straight and vanish on the fourth? You fall off the bed or something?"

Wait, what? Asleep for three days? That had to be wrong. And, York didn't seem to be too upset. In fact, he seemed to be genuinely concerned. Just this once, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to face him.

Gathering his courage, Mojave stepped out to reveal himself. "No, no. I'm- I'm here." He paused, unsure of what to say. "Um, good morning? Err, afternoon?" If he really was asleep that long, it probably wasn't morning anymore.

To his surprise – and much to his relief – York just laughed. "Nope, it's morning, don't you worry. Speaking of-" he reached into his bag and pulled out something wrapped in paper. "I brought breakfast!" He had a beaming smile on his face, the happiest one Mojave had seen in a long time. "I know your head must be going a mile a minute, but I was hoping that we could share and catch up with each other. Sound like a plan?"

At the sound of breakfast, Mojave could feel his stomach rumble. As dicey as it felt, it was important for him to eat something. Protectors who neglected their stomachs didn't end up protecting very long.

It was worth the risk. Sure, York was probably hiding his resentment towards him, but if he was offering to share that meant there was a slightly smaller chance that there wasn't something weird in the food. And besides, if Mojave was going to be a prisoner, it was probably for the best that he get along with his captors.

"Y-yeah, sure," he stammered. "Food wouldn't hurt. What'd you bring?"

"Well, why don't you see for yourself?" That was a bit ominous, but there wasn't much Mojave could do about that. York passed him the package, which he gingerly accepted, half cautious of what it might be, and half worried it would break apart in his grasp.

He pulled back the paper to reveal… a donut. Huh. Not what he expected his first meal in prison to be, and it wasn't exactly what came to mind when he thought of military food, but hey, when was the last time he saw one of these?

He turned to York, who had pulled a donut out for himself and was looking at him expectantly. "Well, try it! Tell me what you think. It'll be so good to have someone else try my cooking. Nice as everyone on base is, they've never been much for critique." He sounded unexpectedly sad to say that.

Cautiously, Mojave brought it to his mouth. He wanted to take just a small nibble, but the sheer size of his head in comparison made that tricky. He ended up chomping off half of it at once.

Its flavor was immediately overwhelming, easily being the best thing he had tasted in forever. Really, he didn't have the words to describe it. "Wow… this is… really good." He stopped talking to focus on chewing. Forgetting his manners for a brief moment, he scarfed down the rest.

York frowned. "Well, at least you got that. Anything else you can say?"

"Umm, it's… extremely good?" Mojave tried, mouth still partially full. "I'm sorry, really, but, wow…" Mojave regained his composure and swallowed. "You said this was your own cooking? Where in the world did you learn to make anything like this?"

"Well," York sighed, "can't say you didn't try." He slumped down against the side of the bed and motioned for Mojave to join him.

"Now, I don't mean to brag," York began, "but you could say my family's got a knack for this sort of thing. Back home in Farpoint, our little shop's pretty well known for making the best food around."

"Oh, really? You work – uh, worked – at a, um, bakery?"

York laughed. "I don't know if that's the right word, but yup! And I'm next up to run it, once Auntie retires." His head lowered and a glum look crossed his face. "Once I get back, I reckon then it'll be my turn. Just gotta hang on a little bit more."

"Huh. I'm… glad to hear that. I hope that all goes well for you."

"Why, thank you! That day's been a long time coming, let me tell you. Not a day goes by that I don't think about what homecoming's gonna be like." A wistful smile graced his face.

"Really?"

"Well, of course I do!" York replied, full of cheer. "That store's more than just a business to me, it's my home! As far back as anyone in the family can remember, we've always been tied to that place. It's everything to me. They're everything to me."

Mojave mentally braced himself. This brought a question to his mind that he didn't have any right to ask, but had every need to. If he couldn't ask it to himself, he'd have to try it on someone else. "Really? But if what's back home matters so much to you… why'd you leave it behind? You know, become a soldier and get all the way out here?"

York's mood instantly took a hit, all energy and life from him vanishing. Mojave could hardly even tell if he was breathing. Mojave immediately began to panic, his regret for asking only increased the longer York stayed silent.

Eventually, finally, the maractus spoke. "Well, I didn't leave them behind totally… and… it's not like we had much choice…" His voice was soft and struggled to come out.

"I'm- I'm sorry!" Mojave immediately replied. "I don't know what I was thinking. I shouldn't have asked anything like that, I'm sorry." He was probably the biggest idiot in the entire desert.

"Let's talk about something else." He raced to find a replacement topic. "Uh, I heard that Aurelian thinks things will be over soon. You think that's true?"

To his relief, York seemed to have improved, even if only by a little. "Yeah, the base has been… quieter… It's kind of nice that Domino's moved out east…" Though he seemed to be better, Mojave could still tell that he was focused on something. "As for an end to things… I don't know…"

He slowly turned to Mojave, looking him right in the eyes. They were wide, open, and stared right through him. Mojave couldn't find it in himself to meet him.

Then, as sudden as a blast seed going off, York's mood turned around. His odd frown and melancholy demeanor instantly changed back to the wide smile he had before, and his eyes lit up with unmatched passion.

"Oh! I've got just the thing to show you!" he practically shouted, seeming to forget all his cares.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Carefully yet quickly, he unfolded it and presented one of its sides to Mojave. On it, he could see what looked like a child's rendition of a… cacturne… and next to them was what had to be a cacnea.

"You like it?" York asked with infectious enthusiasm. Mojave wasn't sure what brought it on, but was just glad it was there . "My daughter drew this for me! Isn't she just the sweetest?"

His daughter? That was an interesting development. It at least explained why he was so eager to show it off. Mojave couldn't imagine a soldier putting up with this. "Um, yeah! It's… certainly something. How- how old is she?"

"A year!" York said, not missing a beat. "My wife says she's just the sweetest little rosebud who ever bloomed." He sighed. "What I wouldn't give to finally meet her…"

"Wait, what?"

York stumbled over himself before responding, but at least this time he didn't totally shut down. "Her egg was just about to hatch when we got told one of us had to enlist. For her sake, we figured it was for the best if it was me." Despite what he said, Mojave did not think that this was the best-case scenario for anybody involved. "But," he said with a twinkle of hope, "I knew I wouldn't really be leaving them. They're waiting for me, I just gotta wait until I can make my way back. You know what I mean, right?"

"…Maybe?" Mojave was careful to either choose his words deliberately, or just not say anything at all.

"It's like I said earlier," York said with a smile. "My family's everything to me, and I know they feel the same way. Just knowing that I've got folks waiting for me is enough to keep me going. You get it?"

Mojave took a moment to reply. "I get it. Truth be told, I'm a long way from home, too. My family wasn't happy to hear I was coming out here, but I had to go, you know? My duties as a protector came first." Even now, Mojave still doubted that.

He looked to York, who nodded sympathetically. He continued. "I know that they never really wanted me to become a protector in the first place, but I also know that they're still there for me anyways." Or were there for me, all things considered. Mojave did not want to think about the very real possibility that everyone he knew thought he was dead.

"That's a good way of looking at it," York said quietly. His face was warm and comforting. "If you ever want to talk more, don't be afraid to-"

The doors swung open in an instant, startling them both. They turned to see Sandshrew Aurelian and two soldiers behind him at attention. He had changed out his brown cloak from before with a purple one that also covered his entire body, save for the head. His silver mask sat on his face just like it did before, giving him the same ghoulish appearance.

"Good morning! Oh, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" His voice was pleasant enough, but still petrified Mojave. There had to be something more to his words, a sarcastic twist that he didn't pick up on, or something else just as sinister.

York managed to speak first. "Oh! No, sir! I'll just go ahead and find somewhere else to be." He did a little bow and hastily hopped out of the room, his injuries not slowing him.

"Interesting," Aurelian mused to himself. He clapped his paws and spoke again. "I shall have to speak to him later. It's not often he's in such a chatty mood."

Mojave panicked again. "Oh! Please don't do that! He didn't do anything wrong, I swear!"

"Pardon? I just want to talk to him," he said flatly. "York always has the most unique perspectives on issues."

Mojave felt slightly embarrassed, but didn't show it. He had to act brave now, rock-solid like his old leader, Rhyperior. That was a Pokémon that never buckled under anything, just the kind of trait that Mojave desperately wished he had now.

"Oh," he said. "I guess he would, wouldn't he? Because he's… you know, him." Mojave grimaced internally. Time to ask another question. "Speaking of, what's he still doing here? Isn't he a poor soldier?" He felt bad for gossiping about someone who considered him a friend, but that couldn't be helped, not now. He'd apologize to York later when the chance came up.

Aurelian just laughed. "Oh, that has quite the story behind it." He clapped his paws and the guards behind him marched away. "Tell me, have you heard of Broken Hill?"

Mojave shook his head.

"Well," he began, "it's where one of our most important battles took place, a little over a year ago. Ask around or have York tell you the story later. Just know that victory would have been much more costly without that maractus. He's a bit of a hero around here, he raises morale." He nudged Mojave. "Now, come with me. We have much to discuss." He turned towards the door, his mask catching the light.

The sandshrew led him through the base, providing Mojave with a decent look around. They walked through hallways made from a similar orange sandstone to the bedroom, with a high ceiling supported by rounded pillars that rose far above them.

The walls were covered in oil paintings depicting all kinds of landscapes, not just scenes of the desert. Desert canyons were next to forested mountains, which themselves were opposite the frozen oceans at the bottom of the world.

A sense of ancient grandeur flowed through halls, like history itself lived and died in them. The only way Mojave could describe the place was that it was a castle, more or less. His grandfather had told him plenty stories about them from all over the continent, and this place seemed to fit the bill. What am I doing in a place like this?

He attempted to bring up the question, but the chance never came. Every time he got close, something would arise to shatter his courage. A group of soldiers saluting as they passed, or Aurelian suddenly mentioning bits of trivia about the art. Really, Mojave would have spooked himself out if he sneezed.

Soon enough, they reached what Aurelian said was his office, which gave Mojave a truly terrifying thought. Oh, my gods, this is it, isn't it? Up until now, things hadn't really clicked for Mojave. But now? The true gravity of his situation came crashing down on him.

He was about to talk with the most powerful Pokémon he'd ever met.

Holding his breath, Mojave followed him in.

For a Pokémon of such high status, Aurelian's room was almost nothing like what Mojave was expecting. For the most part, it was just… empty. The room was quite large, wider than it was long, and the back wall was one giant window that provided a good look at the desert beyond. Below that sat a low sandstone slab covered with papers and books. A red statuette of a Pokémon covered in spikes with a wide tail and big claws rested with them.

The most interesting part of the whole room were the glass display cases that sat in even intervals, as if Mojave had walked into a museum instead of someone's workplace. While Aurelian went to sit behind his desk, Mojave trailed behind to see the displays.

In the first one was… a spear? A long pole with a pointed metal bit at the end, right? And in the next case was the spear's inverse, a short stick with a longer and dangerously sharp metal part- a sword, if Mojave remembered right.

A pit forming in his stomach, Mojave stepped back and checked another case. These can't be real, he prayed to himself. But in every one he looked in, there were more weapons. There were even some mounted to the walls, like this weird branch that curved back on itself and had a string threaded through it.

Mojave's head started to spin. Weapons were Nomad tools, weren't they? What was Aurelian doing with them? Civilized Pokémon didn't use weapons, at least not in the way the Nomads did. There was a difference between natural abilities and tools made only to kill. Even if civilized Pokémon were still prone to fighting, outright murder was at least frowned upon in most societies.

Aurelian must have seen the worried look on Mojave's face. "I take it you've seen my collection?" he mused. "Don't worry, they're just showpieces. Trophies, really. The personal effects of the more vicious Nomads we've defeated. They'll never harm another Pokémon again."

"That's not very helpful," Mojave murmured. It was the fact that Aurelian chose to surround himself with murder tools that was the unsettling part.

"I understand. I'm no stranger to the devastation these things have wrought." He shook his head, his mask concealing his emotions. "I take no pride in the death caused by war with civilized Pokémon. But for the Nomads, I make an exception. If I have my way, these examples will be the last of their kind in the entire Attaman."

That piqued Mojave's interest, as morbid as the thought was. "What do you mean?" There were some implications to that statement he didn't like. As brutal as they were, the Nomads were still Pokémon, right? Right?

Aurelian waved him off. "We can discuss that later. That work is not suitable for lone Pokémon." Once again, not a very comforting statement.

"Then, what do you want with me now?" Mojave asked, nerves almost getting the better of him. "I can't imagine it's for anything good."

Aurelian stepped back. Obscured as his face was, it wasn't hard to tell that he was shocked. "Excuse me? Whatever could have given you that idea?"

"Well… it's just…" Mojave was at a loss for words. How could he speak his feelings without setting him off? Sure he seemed nice enough, but once again, it had to be an act. "You know… with the kidnapping, and the soldiers, and the military base… it's hard to see it any other way."

Aurelian didn't respond right away. Instead, he seemed to be lost in thought. Mojave felt him stare into his soul while they waited, stretching the minute into forever.

He clapped his paws. "Well, on to business. Tha-"

Mojave cut him off. "Wait!" Scrambling to find some way to stall the conversation, he asked the first thing that came to mind. "Shouldn't Typhon be here for this?" he hurriedly asked. "He's the other half of Team Dune! He should be here too if we're going to talk about something so serious!" Mojave knew it wouldn't be much of a distraction, but that wasn't the only reason he was asking.

Aurelian sighed. "Yes, he's fine." Was that annoyance in his voice? "I had my agents deliver him to your home in Korb Town. I personally wrote him a message confirming your safety as well, so don't worry about that."

"Wait, what?" Did he seriously just say that? "You… know where we live?"

"Yes," he responded, nonchalantly. "Tall building by the eastern edge of town, Association insignia painted on the door in yellow?"

"Um- yeah, that's- that's it." On the one hand, it was unfathomably frightening that Aurelian knew so much about his base, but on the other hand, it was good to know that Typhon was somewhere he was familiar with. Mojave wasn't sure if either one outweighed the other.

"Excellent. That settles the matter, then?"

"Um, a little bit," Mojave said. He hesitantly added, "…why'd you let go of him? Didn't you say you wanted him too?"

Aurelian clapped his paws. "Oh, that is an excellent question." He sounded sincerely proud, for some reason. "You're right; had everything gone to plan, he would be with us right now. But since his determination otherwise was so strong, I thought it would be best to return him to Korb Town. That way, I could negotiate with Team Dune and he could still work. I must admit, your Association provides – for the moment – an irreplaceable service, but we'll get to that another day." A moment of silence passed between them. "Does that help?" he finally said.

Mojave nodded his head, and a weight lifted off his back. As unsettling as the answers were, that was still one question dealt with.

Aurelian cleared his throat. "Then, as I was trying to say before; despite my best efforts, you have not been very receptive to me, if I must be honest."

Well, if Mojave was going to be honest, an ambush and kidnapping weren't very good ways to introduce yourself. That, and Mojave already had a poor opinion of him beforehand, to put it gently.

Mojave had heard the news and experienced parts of it firsthand. One by one, cities across the desert would go quiet, like they never even existed. Then, a few weeks later, masses of refugees would show up at the gates, telling stories of merciless soldiers demanding nothing less than total subjugation.

At the center of all those stories was Alexander, whose name alone made Mojave tremble. They said he was a brutally effective leader that commanded his armies from the front, personally joining the infantry when he got the chance. He was cold and merciless and would do whatever necessary to get his way.

Now here was Aurelian, the Pokémon telling Alexander just exactly what his way was. If he was the Pokémon responsible for even a quarter of the nightmares the refugees had spoken of, Mojave didn't know how he'd ever get out of this mess.

How was he supposed to work with him? What kind of boss was he? The soldiers they passed seemed to be absolutely devoted to him. Could a single misstep or carelessly worded criticism mean harsh retribution? Mojave had always been a careful Pokémon, but this sandshrew could be the end for him.

Aurelian's head tilted and one of his eyes narrowed, prompting Mojave to realize that he'd been standing there motionless, lost in terrified thought.

"Uh- y-yeah, I uh, I guess… I guess you're not entirely… entirely wrong there," he stammered. How fitting would that be, punished because he thought too hard about what might lead to him getting punished? "It's just… you know, hard to process some of the things I've heard about, um, everything."

"That is an understandable position to have." Aurelian nodded solemnly. "We discussed this overlooking Nillsville, or at least started to, didn't we?"

Mojave slowly nodded his head, unable to keep the images of the burning city out of his mind.

"I know that Alexander sends stark messages, but they are necessary. Could you imagine the carnage if every city in his path had to meet the same fate? My goal is to unite the desert, not to destroy it. I loathe the fighting and destruction I've brought about, truly." If Aurelian was feeling anything, his mask hid it. "But the fact is, such brutal methods are necessary. For every city that meets a violent end, countless others go quietly."

"I don't understand," Mojave summoned the courage to say. "If you don't want to fight, then why do you? Just… tell Alexander to stop, and… work the rest out peacefully." Mojave knew that he had no place to be making this kind of suggestion, but it was still better than letting Pokémon die, wasn't it?

Aurelian placed a paw on his mask and slowly shook his head. What was he feeling? Disappointment? Did Mojave's ignorance go further than he thought? In the end, Aurelian just sighed. "Am I really one of few who understand this?" he whispered to himself.

Clearing his throat, he spoke louder. "The unification of the Attaman Desert is an all-or-nothing matter, Mojave. Of the countless Pokémon before me who have tried, coming from both east and west, none of them have managed to take the entire desert. Who do you think built this castle, and for what?" He didn't give any time to answer.

"Simply put, taking every settlement, from the most remote village to Korb Town itself, is nonnegotiable. Stopping to waste time and chase fantasies will get us nowhere. If that means there must be incidents like Broken Hill and Nillsville, then that's a price I'm willing to pay." For the severity of what he said, Aurelian didn't seem to be too bothered by it. "It's a price the rest of the desert will be glad it paid, even if it doesn't realize that in our time."

Mojave protested immediately. "Aurelian! Pokémon are dying! Whatever any of it means to you, is it really worth it?"

Aurelian clapped his paws. "You know, I don't think I've told you what unification means to me," he said, changing his tone completely, like he was just now starting the conversation. "That would help both of us along, wouldn't it?" He expectantly looked at Mojave.

The trapinch gulped and nodded his head.

"Well, it means peace." Aurelian turned around to look out the window, gazing over the desert. "It means security. It means a chance for the Attaman Desert to get back on its feet. Pokémon from all over the continent – perhaps from all over the world – once spoke of its greatness. But what do we have now? Squabbling cities and barbarians roaming the sands that kill you the moment they hear you speak."

He turned to stare at Mojave, meeting him dead in the eye. "If you think Alexander is bad - if you think Nillsville was bad," he started to get louder, almost nearing a shout, "you clearly haven't seen what the Nomads are truly capable of!" His mask briefly sparkled where it met the bottom of his eye.

"So please," he said, calming down, "work with me. With the strength of Pokémon like you, we'll make great changes, I know it."

Mojave didn't know how to respond. For what it was worth, he did have a point. The Nomads were all over the Lambent Region, not just in the Attaman Desert, but they weren't nearly as much of a threat out there as they were in here.

And, wasn't it just time for someone to finally step up and take control? Eventually, someone would have to come along and unite the desert, wouldn't they? Things couldn't really stay like this forever. If that was the case, then it made sense to back the Pokémon who looked like he had a chance, didn't it?

But still, Aurelian was asking a lot, and Mojave wasn't the kind of Pokémon to get involved with something so big and important. He was just trying to be a regular protector, with nothing too special about him. There were other Pokémon more qualified and more willing for a job as prestigious as being… what even was the job, anyway? Aurelian's personal enforcers? Whatever it was, it wasn't a role that Mojave thought suited him.

He turned his gaze away from Aurelian and looked past him, towards the window. He could see that the wide open sky was now filled with sand clouds. A sandstorm had blown in. "I… I need some time to think about it," he finally said, not taking his eyes off the sky.

"Listen to me, Mojave," Aurelian said calmly. For a split second, he almost sounded friendly. "I have big plans, but if I want to make them work, I need you."

Mojave took a step back. "I- I'm flattered, really, but that's a bit much, don't you think?" He had to consider his words carefully. "I'm one trapinch out of countless out there. Don't you think one of them would be better for this?"

Aurelian chuckled and nodded his head. "Humble, too." That isn't at all what I was going for! Mojave screamed to himself. "But, no." There was an unnerving finality to his words. "There's something special about you that I can't quite put my paw on. Whatever it is, I've made up my mind. I want you."

A chill went through Mojave. The last time someone told him that, in a situation quite like this, it ended with him taking an extended stay in the desert. In fact, his stay still hadn't ended.

"Well, I will leave you to your thoughts," Aurelian said. "Let's find York, shall we? You've built up some rapport with him, he'd be excellent to give you a proper tour of the castle. If you're going to stay here for the time being, you'll be needing that."

"Um, maybe some other time?" Mojave replied. He pointed towards the window, where sand scratched against it and the wind howled from outside. "It looks pretty bad out there. Maybe we should settle in for-"

An ominous rumble, like the most potent blast seed ever grown had gone off, shook the castle violently. Weapons rattled in their displays and Aurelian's things clattered to the floor. The red statuette fell over the edge and shattered.

Another explosion followed, then another, and another, each one just as loud as the last. If anything, they became increasingly more intense. The sounds of Pokémon screaming and shouting rang out.

In an instant, the doors to the office were flung wide and two bronzong barreled through. "Sir!" one of them shouted in a reverberated voice, "It's the Resistance, they're here! We're under attack!"


Author's Note: Heyo! This one took longer to write than I would've liked, but that's just how it is sometimes. Life's been getting pretty heavy as of late, but that hopefully won't get in my way too much. I don't have much else to say, just wanted to put something to show that I'm not dead and do care for this story. I suppose it also wouldn't hurt to mention that if you decide to leave a review, please include a favorite Pokémon of yours that doesn't get the love you know they deserve. I'd love to attach them to some characters I have in mind that have no species yet! Just do include a real review. Until next time, cheers!