This story was co-developed by Titan127 and beta read by ShonnaRose and JhinoftheOpera.
[10-4] Tomorrow Is Carved in Stone
Without sunlight to guide him, the days melted, further cementing Saber in a timeless reality.
He paced between the walls to process the information. Like a computer, he was algorithmically considering every possibility, drawing from every dictionary to compare options. No match. No match. No match. Fifty-percent match. The shadow of the cave gripping at the edges of his periphery, his view of the symbols in front of him occasionally blurred into nothing.
Shuffling through what information his mother had recorded, scattered phrases and words, as well as what he'd been able to extrapolate, he continued to chip away at the stone in search of precious ore inside.
"If one were to assume this meant 'power', what would that reveal?" He stepped and overstepped on the hard ground, trying to relate the meaning to the space of the ruin. It certainly wasn't a domicile, unless it previously contained wooden furnishings that were claimed by the passage of time, but even if that were true, it was far too large. It was more likely a place of worship, or a classroom, or some other community gathering. He examined some photographs of other monuments around the Region, and even some from Hoenn. "'Power' wouldn't fit in numerous other passages that also frequently used the character for 'kin', unless they worshipped family members as gods. Maybe it was hypothetical, referring to the power of communal living?"
Stuck on this conundrum, he paced, and paced, and paced. He circled his own track like a stock car or a perfectly reared Rapidash, hoping each loop would push him closer to an abstract end.
He slept when it suited him, though he couldn't say that was a frequent occurrence. Once he woke, the shroud of waking no different than the blackness of sleep, he continued the lines of thought that crept into his dreams, all the while inhaling the stale dust of the ruins. Occasionally, he'd find new artifacts delivered to him in the morning, which was the most he expected. What he didn't anticipate were freshly cooked meals, a blanket, and a pillow, courtesies from his great-grandmother that he wasn't sure how to repay.
"This one. This one. It's absolutely everywhere, even in the notebook message." Saber held the flashlight close to the page, trying to decipher the curves and marks of the two subsequent characters. "It seems to be frequently paired with this modifier, and also a modifier for 'god'. It doesn't seem to have a structural purpose to denote new sentences like the character for 'end'."
Whatever the character's purpose, he could propose a few hypotheses for how frequent it was, and how often it appeared in everyday life for this culture—not just in specific writing about home, but in graffiti and engravings on personal jewelry. The latter had been delivered to him by the Institute, and only narrowed his possible suspicions.
It must have been an item of personal worth, because it often appeared near 'person'. Maybe entertainment devices, like toys or dolls, or writing utensils? These people did seem meticulous in writing down their livelihoods, so that was a possibility, but there's no simple reason a utensil might have a frequent modifier. It was something far more valuable to human life, something that was always by the side of people, no matter when and where.
What if the character meant "Pokémon"?
It would be some equivalent, maybe even something as simple as "creature" or "monster". His mind raced, now blazing laps in seconds rather than minutes. If it was Pokémon, the appearance in the home and in casual settings made sense. Knowing that they formed their language after the physical appearance of the Unown, they had to have lived in close harmony with Pokémon just as modern society did.
If this meant Pokémon, then its association with "God" would corroborate Dr. Cassius's selfish inquiry. This was a monument depicting Legendary Pokémon, as gods as the present assumed them. But then, there was a missing link between "God" and "Pokémon". Were these Pokémon not gods, equal in their servitude to the people of the time? And furthermore, they may have had a different perception of "God" as an ethereal entity, rather than a physically present being like the modern-day theology of Arceus and other figures, because "God" could appear separately from "Pokémon" and modify other phrases as well.
Saber came to the conclusion that the missing phrase was "Avatar". If there was a separate "God", but Legendary Pokémon such as the Lake Spirits were still regarded in its stead, then they must be some embodiment of greater celestial power in this theology.
Symbols flipped in his mind, metamorphosing from secret to familiar in his mind. They were part of his mental language, just as much as Unovan, Johtoan, and Sinnohan were. When he wasn't mulling over his research, he was thinking about Dr. Cassius. The man obviously wanted whatever his mother knew about the Timespace Orbs and the local myths of Sinnoh, since that was his line of work. But to go to such lengths, it seemed certifiably insane.
He was starting to agree with Professor Carolina. The backup of the Sinnoh League, the unrest, it had somehow spiraled out of control and left everyone in disarray. It couldn't have all been some elaborate scheme, could it? If so, what was the end purpose?
It was overwhelming beyond compare. There were so many pieces of this elaborate puzzle, all in unexpected shapes that never quite fit together well. Dr. Cassius. The theft of the Adamant Orb. The mysterious individual Ciel Fauder had seen inside the Ruins of Alph. The connection between his father, the ruins, and the Unown. Somewhere, hidden beneath it, there had to be some epicenter.
The insignia on his mother's pendant remained a mystery—it was visible at the Snowpoint Temple, according to some other sources she'd found, and a few other places across the world, but he still had no justification on its connection to Unown aside from the knowledge that his father's people had carved it. He visualized the curved sigil in his mind, its simplistic design reminiscent of the more abstract Unown symbols. Was it just some derivative, abstracted with time?
Throughout his timeless exile in the Celestic Ruins, he'd managed to decode a sizable fraction of the language. He'd etched himself a guide to each mark, suggesting possible meanings, listing frequent pairs and use cases, and paraphrasing his mother's previous findings. He was still ages from fluent, and though he could parse over his mother's message again and pick out a few more key phrases, he still could only grasp for her meaning. Saber wouldn't let that chain of doubt prevent him from stepping forward.
It was… immensely puzzling to him. He wondered how long he'd toiled in Celestic Ruins, slaving away at the carvings inside. After being so light-footed trying to avoid the International Police, he had almost found the slightest hint of peace. It was as if he'd become a normal graduate student again, free to expend all he had on his research projects, forgetting to eat and rest because the deadline was approaching, and the thesis was only half-finished.
He heard movement at the entrance of the cave, excited for more materials to compare and decode. But no one entered, leaving a harrowing silence in his ears. Cautiously, he made his way towards the light at the gate to the ruins, his footsteps echoing back at him.
Brightness overtook him. His retinas nearly caught aflame after adjusting so permanently to the dim glow of his flashlight, and he held a hand to his forehead to shield himself from the power of the sun. It was a beautiful day, one of the first completely clear skies, but he couldn't particularly enjoy it after a Sludge Bomb narrowly missed his head and splattered toxins in the snow.
In less than an instant he was in battle. "Command: Air Slash!"
Yanmega emerged simultaneously from her capsule and made blades from the motion of her wings. They split the courtyard's air in two and clipped the wing of the Dustox hovering meters away. It replied in kind with a cloud of poisonous spores, forcing Saber to leap clear and space his breaths.
His Pokémon was somewhere across the laced fog. Unlike avian Pokémon, she didn't have the force or wingspan needed to clear the air. However, all of his other Pokémon that could were too destructive to use nearby a historic site. The shielded murals were precious.
Saber offered a suggestion rather than a command. "Command: Whirlwind!"
While his Yanmega took action, he tried to suppress his frantic anxieties. Dustox were native to a select few parts of Sinnoh, notably Eterna Forest and Lily of the Valley Island. Had the International Police caught up with him? He stayed in Celestic too long, so absorbed in his research that he put himself at risk.
The Whirlwind carried the cloud into the sky, where it was torn apart by roaming winds. With a clear path to the hovering opponent, Saber took a learning opportunity. Bug-types were now understood to be weak against Sound-type moves, so he ordered Sonic Boom.
The order never managed to transform from a thought to an order. A cold, steel gun barrel pressed to his temple.
Saber listened to the low sway of the trees and his own quiet breathing, if only to prevent the pounding of his heart from overtaking his senses.
"Hello, Mr. Redwood," said Saber.
The gun's owner spoke in a calm, almost bored voice. "Hello, Mr. Masuta. I think you've let your guard down."
"How did you find me?"
"You fought a Nuzleaf in Solaceon. It left a Leech Seed underneath the scales of your Gligar, and I've been following the trail of energy it left behind."
Was that even possible? Saber cursed himself for not checking, despite knowing he couldn't have come to that conclusion even if he did.
They stood, motionless, amidst the site's crumbling ruins. Their Pokémon stalled as well, awaiting further orders but knowing that the battle couldn't continue. A single drop on Saber's forehead rolled down his cheek. Next to the Poké Ball on Redwood's belt, his communicator buzzed with an oncoming message.
"Redwood, report. Any sign of the target?" called a gruff, Sinnohan voice.
Saber's eyes flicked to the device, and then to Redwood's face, failing to understand his intent behind the forest of his bangs. He didn't respond to the device immediately, keeping both hands steady on his gun.
Though he was an important individual, Saber knew without a doubt that the International Police would prefer to capture him full of holes rather than let him run free. After all, he hadn't committed a victimless crime—by betraying the Pokémon League's explicit orders of protection, he'd left a damaged ego in his wake, and that would most certainly not do.
If he attempted to dodge, he'd undoubtedly take a shot, maybe two. Training Dragonite and Salamence had left him with worse injuries that vanished without consequence, so he wasn't concerned with his long term health. But he had to escape now, and he couldn't do that while impaired. The agent on the other end of the line repeated their question.
"Do you intend to answer that?" whispered Saber.
Mr. Redwood shifted his right hand from beneath his gun and unclipped the communicator from his holder. The barrel never wavering, he held it to his lips and pressed the push-to-talk button with his thumb. He waited a few seconds.
"Redwood, report." The receiver was audibly impatient.
Redwood spoke, voice unsteady. "Greetings, commander. Nothing to report. I'll continue to survey the town perimeter."
"Understood. Report back to the rendezvous at 1600."
The line went silent, and the device was returned to his waist. Slowly, he lowered the gun from Saber's temple, leaving it unholstered and alarmingly present.
"May I ask why?" Saber still refused to move, unsure what that decision meant.
"Forgive my bluntness, but do you believe you've been avoiding us entirely on your own, sir?" he shot back.
Of course he did. He had a team of absurdly powerful and well-trained Pokémon to protect him, and he'd been tracking the manhunt on the radio using his Pokétch, meaning he was beyond equipped for the task. Anywhere the International Police was, he was always one step ahead.
But the people he was one step ahead of were also the most skilled officers of law enforcement on the planet. There were far more of them than there were of him, and he could only command half of his available Pokémon with limited effectiveness. Saber was a proud man, dedicated to his own success, but viewing it from a logical perspective as he was trained to… there was a greater percent chance of failure than success.
"Why did you join the team searching for me?" asked Saber. "You must gain something from it."
"I told our Commander that I understood you personally, and it would make me a key asset in determining your movements. I also informed them you would be researching historic monuments your mother had visited."
"That is not a reason," said Saber.
The man blinked at his response for just a moment before locking his handgun in his holster, just in time for the drop hanging on Saber's chin to fall. Saber savored his next breath, unaware that he had been skipping them. Silently, he returned his Yanmega to stasis, and the Dustox vanished the same way.
"My first mission was to keep tabs on you, sir. No matter what," said Redwood, clipping a Poke Ball back onto his belt. "And, umm… you've made that less simple than it could be."
Saber narrowed his eyes, and for the first time since he felt that cold steel on his skull, he saw Mr. Redwood shrink away. The man—hardly one, Saber would be surprised if he was even twenty—fought for an answer. He whispered something under his breath, not loud enough for Saber to hear.
"Is that really it? Just because you were told—"
"Do I need a reason?" Mr. Redwood blew Saber back with the force of his shout. His tongue ran on overdrive, spilling syllables like a grand waterfall. "I was told to follow what I believed was right. If Lance Masuta believed in a dream from the bottom of his heart, no matter how many people told him it was wrong, he would still do anything to make it real. Isn't that the right thing to do?"
Saber knew that the man's final question was aimed at someone else, seeing Redwood's hands trembling at his sides. His entire livelihood was placed on the line when he made a stupid decision that could lose him everything. Just, Saber supposed, like another stubborn person he knew.
He turned his back to the agent and let him sort out himself. "I don't want your help. I can easily knock you out and escape here and you know that."
"I know I can't beat you. And I won't turn you in, even if you say no. But please," the agent's voice wavered, "don't make this harder than it has to be."
Mr. Redwood looked just like a lost child wearing a uniform a few sizes too large. Saber didn't respond directly, but he couldn't shake the sentiment that there was no one he'd rather have found him. "You hold a very honorable record of being the worst police officer I've ever met."
"Even the IP has low-achievers," Mr. Redwood said, beaming at his tacit permission. He reached into another pouch on his belt and presented something on his open palm.
Inside a glass jar in a shallow pool of water was a small green flower on a twirling stalk. Through just a few small holes in the jar's lid, an earthen aroma danced around him, suggesting that the flower hadn't been picked for long. He drank it in alongside the crisp autumn air.
"I'm unsure why this warrants a gift," he said.
"Err, it's not my gift sir," said Mr. Redwood, who then muttered something nearly inaudible about wishing he had brought one of his own. Saber took the jar and examined the flower closely, seeing the hundreds of curled petals that made up its bloom. "It was addressed to you, so the couriers offered it to us for whenever we found you. Err, there's no return address, though."
Saber stared at the innocent little flower, a monument to spring despite Sinnoh's perpetual blankets of snow. It must have traveled a long way from somewhere, trapped in this little makeshift home, yet it survived the journey all the same. He considered a list of senders, from battle sponsors to family friends, but he personally wished the answer was Kris, if only to know that she forgave his insolence.
With care to stand it up so water wouldn't leak out the porous lid, he nestled it into his bag, draping the flap gently over top. It would waste time to mull over it. When he looked up at Mr. Redwood, he had already stepped aside.
"My squad is already all over town, so you shouldn't stay much longer. They'll triangulate your location eventually," he said.
"I need to make it to the center of town before I leave on Route 210."
"What for?" Mr. Redwood asked, shaping his eyebrows with confusion, to which Saber didn't get the opportunity to respond. He changed his own mind and nodded quickly. "No, do whatever you need. I'll be right behind you."
Saber barely even knew what to say to this blind faith. Perhaps Mr. Redwood was relying on him for some kind of tomorrow, and in which case, it was his duty to at least recognize it. He was there to make sure the sun rose for everyone.
For that, he offered a hand. Mr. Redwood shook it quickly and quietly, without much emotion, but the gesture lingered for a few seconds until Saber took the initiative to separate. "Thank you, Mr. Redwood."
"At this point, just Connie is okay."
"I said thank you, Mr. Redwood."
With a sigh, the man reached for his communicator again and shouted into it, a far better actor than he seemed to acknowledge. He bolted in the direction of his message, his belt and vest rustling with each step. "Report! Target fleeing towards the west side of the valley. Requesting backup from all nearby units."
Saber was left alone to glance at the ASPI building one more time, before kicking off in the other direction. He had recorded the engravings of the ruins and stored all the relics delivered to him by the Professor, so he had all the supplies to continue his trek. There was just one last thing he needed, and he prayed for just enough time to say his final goodbye.
Saber emerged from the treeline on the opening path of Route 210, crushing a bedding of fallen leaves and sleet beneath him. All was quiet on the road to Mt. Coronet.
It was heavier than he expected. The metal weighed down his shoulders, as did the multi-layered cloth descending from them. His father's cape fell around him, and despite the subconscious alarm of the International Police, he spared just a moment to admire its sturdy, flexible, familiar material.
Perhaps it was his duty to look for tomorrow. But, for a few precious seconds, he looked back. After all, he couldn't be certain where he was headed until he reminded himself who was still standing behind him.
He whistled. From somewhere in the trees, an orange beast took flight, and tore him from mortal ground to take to the skies. His moment was over. Tomorrow was coming.
Out of all the published volumes so far, this one probably looks the most different from its initial draft. No scenes were outright changed or cut, but there were tons of small details, subplots, and emotional beats that weren't in the first draft that sprinkled in later as I worked ahead of my buffer. I really enjoy the final product.
Come back next time for Volume 11, Part 1: From Out of Nowhere. See you someday.