Catching Stardust: Ch. I

Who'll Stop the Rain


Mustard is an old, old man. Not that it's a secret; he has been old for a very, very long time. Today, however, he can feel his age more than ever before.

He's standing on the beach, his grizzled hands clasped behind his back. He peers out at the ocean with squinted eyes, admiring the curvature of the earth. Dark, angry storm clouds are rolling in, turning the azure waters into a sea of ink. Mustard frowns at the timing, as he is expecting guests in the morning.

"You've got no notion of hospitality, do ya, old timer?" Mustard chuckles, letting his voice be carried by the sandy breeze.

The slowpoke at his feet looks up at him and makes a curious sound. Mustard chuckles some more. "There's a storm a-comin'." Mustard muses to his little friend, slowly bending down and muttering 'Oh, oh!'. He pats slowpoke on the head. Slowpoke closes its eyes contently at the affection.

Mustard raises back up just as slowly. He looks back out at the storm clouds. "Yer' really coming, aren't you?" He sounds as tired as he feels. The last time a storm of such magnitude shook Mustard's bones was ten years ago.

"You got a plan?" Mustard asks. The wind stops. Slowpoke looks up at its master. "Slooow?" It inquires.

There is a soft, regal growl from behind them. It does not sound entirely like that of an animal. It sounds ancient and powerful, like a thousand clanging swords. Another follows it. Deeper and hollower, like fists beating against an army of shields.

Mustard closes his eyes and sighs. It was true, then. He had hoped he was wrong.

He turns around and meets two sets of piercing, yellow eyes.

Slowpoke turns with him, but when he spots the two strange creatures, he cries out, "Slooow! Sloowpoke!" and runs away in a flash of sand.

Zacian and Zamazenta have not come to the Isle of Armor for a little over 20 years. The last time was to honor a lost friend whom Mustard loved dearly at one of her ancient, ancestral towers.

The two wolves are regal, beautiful creatures. It takes Mustard's breath away, and he fights the urge to bow to them.

Zamazenta is large and strong, a shock of scarlet against the green and earth-hued nature of the world around him. Zacian is less abrasive against the scenery surrounding her; softer with her powder blue fur and salmon braid. She is meant to move, strike, and run. Zamazenta is meant to stand his ground and take the force of a thousand strikes before ever growing weary.

"I imagine you two are here on business, aye?" Mustard says to them, his face twisted into a lopsided smirk. "Never any fun when you two show your faces, no offense."

The wolves do not react to his banter.

"It is time." Zamazenta's voice is like a rumble of thunder.

"Our enemies are in motion. We must be ready." Zacian's voice is like a howl of wind soaring down the side of a mountain.

Mustard suddenly feels inexplicably human, in a way he never has before.

"Yes, well, you see," Mustard says. "I am but an old man. I am not the youth I once was. Besides, the little devil doesn't like me much, neither. Quite ungrateful if ya' think about it, considerin' I raised 'em."

"You must." Zamazenta rumbles. It sounds both like a command and a plea.

"I cannot." Mustard says firmly, bowing his head to show a modicum of respect as he defies the two great beasts.

"Who else, if not you?" Zacian inquires.

Mustard looks ahead, between them and somewhere far off as he contemplates. "Who was it before?" His eyes trail up to the great Tower of Darkness that looks down upon the island like a sentry. An old, familiar ache stirs in Mustard's chest.

"A priestess," Zamazenta says, his thundering voice sounding far off as he, too, mourns an old friend lost to mortality hundreds and hundreds of years ago.

"An exorcist." Zacian whispers, her voice carrying the same weight of grief. Her eyes then follow Mustard's to where their friend sleeps in her final resting place. "For Kaito, the daughter of a king."

Mustard whistles. "The daughter of a king, you say? Well, his daughter certainly downgraded when she partnered up with little ole me."

"She had not the options of her father," Zamazenta says, walking with great, thundering steps to stand beside the man and gaze up at the tower. "-and she, in turn, made you a king, did she not?"

Mustard scoffs. "I was no such thing. I was just an arrogant buffoon with a lot of power and a lot of money."

"There is a difference?" Zacian says. Mustard swears she is telling a joke.

"It doesn't matter." Mustard sighs, tearing his gaze away from his old friend's grave. "She is dead and I am old. I cannot help you."

Zacian sighs a long, ancient sigh, like a powerful canyon wind dancing through a thousand wind chimes. "Yet her son lives."

Mustard guffaws and throws his hand up, making a dismissive slapping motion. "He is just a child, and stubborn to boot. Believe me, I have tried to train him, but he's run off. Won't accept me. If the world is in his hands, well, best to go ahead and make 'yer peace with the powers that be."

Zamazenta releases a rumbling, contemplative breath. "If not you, then who?"

It is not a question for Mustard to answer, but a dilemma the wolf is warring against.

"We have not much time. If it is not you, then we must find out who, quickly." Zacian sounds panicked, her lovely voice rising to a blustering crescendo.

"We cannot find them, only he can." Zamazenta despairs.

It chills Mustard down to the bone to witness such powerful, immortal beings experience genuine fear. Was the world truly coming to an end?

However, before he can despair, Mustard is overcome with a sudden sense of clarity.

He remembers Leon, standing atop Rose Tower and facing down the mighty Eternatus without fear. He was valiant and lovely, a vision of fury and power. Zacian and Zamazenta came and delivered the final blows when Leon finally reached his end, but without the former Champion's help in wearing down Eternatus, the two wolves would have certainly been overwhelmed.

Just a few weeks ago, Leon had called the old man to cash in on a few favors, the timing eerily perfect.

"Perhaps there has already been a Hero, and you simply were not looking." Mustard muses. The wolves narrow their eyes at him.

"What are you saying?" Zamazenta growls. Not maliciously, but in a way that is almost like a song.

"The former Champion, Leon Kingsley. He is the one who fought beside you against Eternatus, is he not?"

Zacian hums fondly at the memory of Leon. "A very brave and honorable human, but alas, not our Hero. Otherwise, he would have met Kazane's son long ago."

"And where there is one Hero, there is always the other three. He was alone." Zamazenta adds.

"Luckily, I was not thinking it to be Leon, though he would be a marvelous choice." Mustard smiles a secret smile and turns back to the ocean. The storm clouds are gone.

"They say that when the sun sets on a parent, it rises for their child."

"Whatever do you mean?" Zamazenta rumbles.

Mustard brings his hands from his back and to his face and strokes his beard thoughtfully.

"The daughter of a king, you said?" He recalls their previous conversation.

"I, well, yes. But she is dead." Zacian's reverberating voice crackles like lightning as she stumbles on her words, quite perplexed by the old man.

Mustard doesn't respond and just clasps his hands behind his back once more and smiles a large, crooked, toothy smile. He ponders his future students and their immaculate timing.

Perhaps all was not lost.


Author's Cameo.

the story cover is from an artist called crimson-chains on tumblr ! they have some really beautiful artwork. Go check them out! Assuming this story doesn't end up forever unseen, but just in case!

Also, this story is entirely self-indulgent. I couldn't find any Piers x OC fanfics to read, so I made one myself. I've been chasing the high I got since gen 5 with N and Piers somehow scratches that itch. Something about fictional men with tormented bad-boy vibes makes me swoon.

Also, I missed the high-stake race against the clock that came with evil antagonists, so without too many spoilers, there's that to look forward to ;)