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Then, Girdle of the Sword and Shield

Ishmael awoke within the fog of the Girdle of the Sword and Shield. Webs of cunning spells were in the dark waters, and the nets of deception and mystical betrayal had cast the boat asunder. Rescue perhaps would never come. Only a rumor of the Galarians that dwelt in the lands encircled by the Girdle had reached the lore of Alola, and the nature of the folk of Galar was shrouded in mystery.

A single Logarthrim remained alive, and he was bound to the mast with strong bonds. The twenty Alolans on the boat had given the slaver much abuse, yet the foul mouth of the Southman still spewed curses until Ishmael stuffed it with a cloth rag. But although they were free once more, the Alolans did not know how to man the ship, and did not know where they were within the Girdle.

Out of the frying pan into the fire! What would have been a more valorous fate, Ishmael thought. To die in combat against the Logarian menace, or to dwindle away from thirst and hunger, far away from home or any fair land?

"Izindi un bâtan tindolo 'nBak du-phursâ do bawîba Lôkhî, azagarra!" the Logarian slurred. "You and your damned kin will perish in the Girdle, scum!"

A general consensus had been reached among the Alolans that they would cast the Logarian over the ship to drown. They seized the Southman and held him over the lapping waves of darkness, but they halted from releasing his writhing form to a doomed fate.

A dull shape came slowly and ponderously from the miry gloom, and Ishmael saw that it was a fair galleon. It was greater than the slaver-craft, and far more beautiful. A panoply of sails wreathed its polished deck, and its boxed sides were of polished gold and dark wood. A crew of sailors in strange livery and Pokemon of strange shapes manned the sea-palace, and it drew nearer every passing moment.

The men aboard the strange ship yelled in a foreign tongue, and ropes were thrown over the railings to the slaver-craft. They tightened about the guard-fence on the Logarian vessel as if a spell was upon them, and the Men of the sea-palace began to disembark to greet the Alolans.

Neither the Forest-men nor the Sea-men could understand the languages of the other. They spoke a strange and alien speech, not of any kind that Ishmael had heard. It seemed that one Sea-man could understand the tongue of Alola, but he could not speak it. A piece of parchment was ushered from the store-houses of the sea-palace, and the speech of Alola was transcribed upon it so that the Forest-men could understand what the Sea-men said.

"Hƿæt!" the Sea-captain said aloud. "Pe Gar-Dena peod-cyinga, ellen fremedon. Pe monegum mǣġþum, moedosetla oftleah egsode eorlas. Syoon aerest paero. He faets frofre gebad, oopaet polcunum gomban glynden, Bera-mun. Paet paes gud cyning?"

Upon the parchment, a scribe wrote; "Hail! We are Gar-Darians of the Blessed Land, fair and free. We come with good tidings, for the Cruel Men have fallen for ever, and their armies are no more. Glory be to the Sword and Shield. Now we come upon you and your kin, cast asunder in the gloomy sea, Alolans. What doth thou wish for?"

"We would wish for safe passing to your Blessed Land, where we would live in peace," Ishmael said. "Our hearts grieve for the downfallen Alola, but our homes are burnt and withered. You, o Galarians, are our deliverers, and for every life that you have saved we shall repay our debt fivefold."

The Galarians conversed among themselves and then came to a decision. "You may come to Gar-Dena. For although your skin is dark, we see the light of Arceus in your eyes. The Logarian will face judgment according to our reckoning, for we are not ruled over by a king or lord, but by two elohim, who according to the mode of your speech are called Zacian and Zamazenta. His fate will not be a pleasant one."

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Now, Galar

Beyond the wall of sleep, Marvin dreamed of seven companions crossing over ash-deserts and cold mountains to a triumphant end. He could not see the faces of the heroes, but it was as though they gazed back at his lucid eyes.

Then, the chrysalis of slumber unraveled. Marvin with his waking eyes beheld a sky of white stars, and set within it, a strange creature.

His pupils expanded, and he screamed. A disproportionate beast of such behemothic monstrosity stood before him, so shocking that perhaps it could have killed with the mere sight of it. In that instant, no description in the tongues of Men, Pokemon, or Demons could give justice to that loathsome, unholy, non-human, extra-normal horror and hatefulness which could break even the strongest of dispositions.

As the thing ran after the fleeing Marvin in hot pursuit, his terror lessened. It was a head resembling a grotesquely inflated Poke Ball atop a feminine body, with a leering face that was the brainchild of some sick madman. It bolted about, and then lifted the spherical mask off the head of its bearer.

It was a girl, although she shared little genetic characteristics with the other boy. Aside from the uniform Galarian staple of dark hair and fair skin, her demeanor was eccentric and filled to the bursting with youthful energy. In the name of Arceus! Is everyone in Galar mentally ill?

"Ha!" the girl said aloud. "Did I scare you? Well?! Well?! Were you surprised or not?! It's the head of a Ball Guy! You know, the Galarian Gym Mascot? Well?!"

A wooden effigy bearing the likeness of a Corviknight struck the back of the girl's head. "Daro! Casey Shield, I would believe that your mannerisms would be more restrained in this regard! Can you not see that this boy has had a terrible scare? Perhaps you would like to take a tumble off a cliff and see that awful head when you awoke from a dead faint?"

A pair of dark glasses rimmed two creased green eyes, set in a leathery face shrouded by years of sun-bleached wrinkles. The head was topped by a bun of hair stained cream white, with a lavender band across its breadth. A stately laboratory coat concealed the rest of the old woman's body, and Marvin realized that her voice contained tones particular to a true native Galarian, as if Neo-Kantoian was not her native language. Perhaps she was one of the Galarians that had dwelt in the land before the Rorians came over the sea fifty-two years ago...

"Young man, I must know your name."

"Marvin, ma'am."

"Good day. We were just about to make camp when you fell hollering over the cwm.* We are wondering what caused you to take such a leap..."

"I know!" Casey yelled. "You were testing you courage! Or a bully dared you to jump! Or a scary Pokémon was chasing you around! Or someone pushed you! Or you weren't paying attention! Or-"

"Daro, Casey!" Magnolia protested. There it was again! The Hisuian word for stop! Who uses Hisuian anymore?

"None of those," Marvin said. "I saw a Pangoro the size of a water tower! Then it vanished, and I went over to where it was to take a look. I fell over the cliff, I was careless."

"..."

"This is your fault, Casey Shield."

Casey crossed her hands in a display of apology. "My bad, Marv!

Don't call me Marv. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that I was testing out my Dynamax Simulator because people hardly come here to I thought it be fine to give it a go, I made the Dynamax Simulator myself, it's a hologram, a stereoscopic image made using the Tercano Principle! Pretty amazing, right?! I made it look like a huge Pokemon for some reason, but actually-"

"Shield!" Magnolia exclaimed. "Hush! My boy, it is time for you to express your thanks to the person who saved you. Please, follow me into the Magnolia."

Marvin entered the trailer, and Casey warned him to keep his voice down, because "Henry" was hard at work inside his cabin. Marvin furtively stepped into the Armory, minding the volume of his footsteps. Perhaps the girl should be quieter...

"Henry, it's me!" Casey yelled. "Marvin wanted to thank you and Sirfetch'd for saving them from dying in a fall!"

Hunched like a gothic statue over a carving block, Henry Sword lay in a trance as he cleaned, whetted, and polished Sirfetch'd's leek spear. He gave the two new arrivals no mind, engrossed as he was in almost pious devotion to his craft. A plastiglass tray of precision-tools composed of tactite lay next to the young weaponsmith, along with two other Pokemon of a nature that Marvin did not know. Is this really the same guy who saved me?

Casey stepped a bit closer, waving in a gambit to gain Henry's attention. Quicker than an arrow striking flesh, Henry brought the spear to an advanced prana-bindu guard, ready to impale his perceived foe on the sharpened tip.

He saw Casey and dropped his stern posture. "Ah! I did not notice that you arrived, along with Marvin. I do concentrate too hard, or one could consider that a strength of my devotion to the ancient Guild of Weaponsmiths. Marvin, have you recovered? Are you enjoying your accommodations?"

"I'm alright. What are you doing?"

"Fixing Sirfetch'd's leek spear. You have a Unovan look about you, so perhaps the knowledge of my noble craft has not yet reached your fledgling ears! For I am a Gear Craftsman of an old order of great renown, and none surpass my craft from the southern tundra to the Encircling Seas!"

"Gear?" What does he mean?

"Farfetch'd's spear, Marowak's bone, Samurott's blades, Delphox's mystic branch, Gurdurr's steel beam! All Gear-or at least that is the name I have given these natural attachments to a Pokémon's being. Gear is what I call the tools Pokemon use in their daily lives, and for battle. But they do suffer wear and ruin, like all material things. My sworn duty is to keep them in impeccable condition. Grooky, come here."

A Pokémon that looked like a stunted ape, verdant green like the dark forests of Northern Roria, held out a dark twig for Henry to take. "This is Grooky, the Chimp Pokémon. The stick it holds is a piece of gear, as well as all other equipment that Pokemon are wont to use." Applying a shigawire brush to the twig, Henry made a smattering of dark particles, sent fluttering toward the ground. "If I continue this treatment, the stick gets harder and stronger."

Seeing an opportunity to change Marvin's focus, Casey yanked him away from Henry (who took no visible offense) and brought him to a white-paneled room, full of next-gen crysplaz screens and illuminated servers connected to high-efficiency solar panels on the Magnolia's roof. "Come on, Marvin! Come check out my Dynamax Simulator! I'll hook you up to the VR deck so we don't cause another scare to anyone else outside..."

"Wait!" Marvin protested. "What is the Dynamax Simulator? How do I know that I want to enter it? I just moved to this region, I hardly know anything!"

"Try to keep up, Marv!" Casey yelled, hefting a modular VR headset on Marvin's head. "Alright, this is the VR deck! Do you have epilepsy or any neurological disorders? No? Good! I'll get you jacked into the sim, you'll understand everything!"

The micropixels in the VR world loaded, coming into clear and clearer focus, like an oncoming storm sending the first few drops of pixilated rain to the ground. In the virtual world devoid of all unnecessary characteristics, a behemoth Pangoro reared into the white sky. It was the same that Marvin had seen a bit earlier, and with a heady sigh, he removed the goggles, bringing his vision back to the detailed curves of realspace.

"How did you like your experience?" Henry nonchalantly said. "You may fight with Grooky, or perhaps with Sirfetch'd. Do you not have a Pokemon?"

"Slow down! Slow down!" Marvin squeaked. "I barely know either of you! I hardly can remember your names! Do my mother and father know where I am?"

"Oh!" Magnolia said. "I will notify your parents of your whereabouts as quickly as I can. This young man is Henry Sword. You may call him Henry, or whatever you like. This lass is Casey Shield. I suppose you could call her Shield, but it is perfectly fine to address her on a first-name basis. Now, I am Professor Magnolia of Galar, and we do not need to be on a first-name basis, young Marvin. Also, there is something that you must know. Casey Shield and Henry Sword..."

"...are Pokedex Holders."

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Now, near Galarian airspace.

Bronze watched with shrouded eyes as an elderly man clicked on a wirefilm projector, revealing a slide covered in colorful dots. The map was of Galar, and the pockmarks were settlements, cities, towns, and most importantly, Dynamax Pokemon Dens and Power Spots. Concentric black circles surrounded each speck on the map, showing the relative distribution of the GPTN: the Galar Particle Tachyonic Net.

"Alright, sir," Sycamore said. "This is how the Galar Particles are spread over Galar, or about ways. We have a basic idea of what they look like, but it is clear that they are geriatric and irreplicable, nothing our particle colliders have synthesized can compare to them. But here is the correlation you asked R&D to find..."

Sycamore changed the holographic slide, and several white lines extending from each Galar Particle energy pointed to dates on a bar timeline. The majority of the gossamer-thin lines connected at a point on the graph roughly three thousand years in the past.

"Now, what you are looking at is a slide that shows, based on the approximate half-life of the Galar Particles, the date on which the largest clusters of these particles formed. It seemed to have occurred suddenly about three millennia ago, manifesting from a central energy pulse which we have deemed the Ozymandias Entity, or BIO-42."

He means to force his own presumptions on me. "How can we be so sure that the source was organic?"

"The particles are actually of biological origin, a sort of flesh-energy. We are suspecting an unknown Pokemon of sorts as the causal factor for the first appearance of the Galar Particles, and the Dynamax phenomenon, if statistics in modern times are anything to go by, would have been far more potent in ancient times. This may be the Galarian legend of the Darkest Day manifesting itself in scientific terms. We have proved the mythical by reasonable deduction."

Bronze wondered in his floater chair, looking outside to the Southern Galarian Mountains, hills lying mangy with melting snow which reflected wet blueness from the sky, illuminated by the sun hanging at the planetary meridian. "What do we not know is the nature of this ancient entity, what befell it, and how I should address Rose's concerns about a future energy crisis. That is why I called you here, is it not, Sycamore my old friend?"

Sycamore stared through rheumy eyes, and realized that so much of Bronze's plan depended on him, one old man. He had first met Bronze when he was but fourteen, and now they were old men. Perhaps Sycamore had a few more years left in him. He hardly ate anymore, living mostly on water and supplements. And the Chairmen expected much of him, too much.

A sealdoor opened in Bronze's shuttle. Captain Rellus entered, along with a tall dark-haired beauty, splendid in her dress of white Beartic fur and machine slippers. Gold buttons glittered at her ears. She did not carry herself with an aristocrat's hauteur, but something in the absorbed smoothness of her features betrayed her true age of sixty. Good Arceus! She looked only in her early thirties, Moon. Her Hisuian bloodline had given Moon life and youth beyond all other races of Men or Pokemon.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself, Rellus?" Moon asked. "Perhaps you and Bronze wish to draw me into a fool's fight in Galar. Rose's request is madness. We are dealing with a potential doomsday scenario on our hands."

"My love, Rose may be beyond reason." Bronze replied. "He bandies platitudes of 'energy independence and a new 'golden age of Galar.' I cannot tell you why he does not understand the simple fact that the energy crisis is one thousand years in the future. One thousand years! The Last Battle and the New Creation could come about before then."

Sycamore smelled another kind of peril, but with his crutch of weariness, he could not discern it from Bronze's words. He opened his eyes and closed them, a curiously reptilian gesture. "Rose! A swollen fish in a man's body! We do not know what Rose is planning, but perhaps we have the power to learn of it. We could send him before a Truthsayer convention. Or interrogate him with a Beheeyem. Macro Cosmos controls ninty percent of Galar's energy supply, the Great Rorian Convention has tolerated him long enough."

Rellus shifted his gaze from Bronze to the outside porthole. The elegant vessel, its weapons lying concealed within two dorsal hatches, was beginning to land at the glittering airport of Wyndon City. "Presumably we could have our Psychic-bindus learn of what Rose plans, as his veiled words and frenzied speeches have revealed he holds strange designs for Galar. The phenomenon of Dynamaxing is poorly understood even by its users, and Rose will attempt to exploit this intellectual disparity in whatever way he may."

"You speak of psychic interrogation, not physical," Moon noted. "This is unfeasible. Rose is trained in the field of mental resistance, he has placed barriers in his mind that we cannot penetrate. If we take him publicly, the cries of adulation from his supporters will drown out our reasoning. They will litigate against the League of Roria. We will be delayed, and Macro Cosmos will know that we have knowledge of which hand holds the knife. We must wait."

Plans within plans within plans, Bronze reflected, his bold features converging into a mirthless smile. Will I ever have rest?

Looking at Moon, he remembered the sizable dowry he had received from House Berlitz upon wedding her. Some of that sum had gone into the personal aircraft, but only a fraction. The rest he had invested, and now the Pokemon Association, through Bronze, controlled one-ninth of Macro Cosmos's stock holdings in the Great Convention. Still, he loved her, and yet they had no children.

Sycamore shut the wirefilm slides down as the aircraft landed and came to a controlled calmness as it ceased to levitate. "Everywhere we turn in Galar, Rose's power will confront us. Perhaps there is a way to probe his weaknesses, a part of our conspiracy that we have yet overlooked."

"Pokedex Holders," Bronze exclaimed, rising from his floater chair to depart the shuttle. "Our plan requires more co-conspirators, more mechanations, more leverage against Rose. He must reveal what he intends to do with Galar. Let us not assume that children could never be of use to the Association. I once was. A Galarian League Victory in the name of myself and the Association by a Pokedex Holder could create a deadly political noose for Rose if he does not comply with one of our Manifestos. Magnolia is allied with us."

Moon let the blatant emphasis sink in. "Our own plots are transient in the face of the Dark Powers that you fear, Bronze. My heart is heavy, and my reasoning is clouded with a strange dread. That basic fear brought this meeting together. We must see the dangerous limitations of our own personal shield of the Association and the Rorian League, for we cannot chance upon what we do not understand."

How devious our enemies are we cannot guess, Bronze thought as he walked into the misty sunlight. Once this is done, we will either posses political control over Galar...or nothing but ashes.

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*Cwm: a Galarian word for a deep, steep-walled valley.