Lance told me today.
Arceus, when I last saw Dad, I thought it was going to be just like every other time he left. He was heading to Coumarine to meet someone from Unova, and they arrived safely in Kanto a week ago.
I had just assumed he was late, that he would be coming back soon enough. He was supposed to have returned to Kalos via Flying-Pokémon yesterday, and the damned military was looking for him with their high-tech radars.
That right there should have told me he had died.
The Kalos military never steps into Kanto affairs unless Diantha finds it neccesary. And I'll admit it: finding the Hoenn Champion is fairly high on anyone's priority chart, but now that those bloody reporters are here, I can't seem to shake the fact that Diantha is pulling some sort of publicity stunt.
Alarm all of Kalos and awaken the dormant military, for Steven Stone is missing! Once we find the man, I'll throw a big banquet and everyone's invited, courtesy of Champion Diantha!
I can't find Ash at the moment, he's doing some training in the Main Complex. The bloke had the nerve to waddle all the way to the far side of Main when he knew what Lance was about to tell me! Arceus, men are so hard to understand.
After a solid hour of wandering through dimly-lit tunnels no wider than a Flabébé, I stumble across something. Not really letters in English, but they look almost Pokémon imitating the alphabet. Unown, aren't they? If I squint hard, I can make out the words.
Solid love is worse than liquid hatred.
My head instinctively jerks back and hits the other wall. What the Hell is that supposed to mean? Just about a yard in front of me, I see another sentence. Except it's not really a sentence, more like a fragment.
Blood of your mother.
I can't stop my jaw from going slack. I never really knew my mother, I always lived with Grandma in Lumiose City. Dad was just a myth back then, like the myth of Diancie.
Soul of your father.
Dad wasn't religious, he believed it hindered his skills. According to him, nobody had a soul, only everlasting willpower.
Will of the people.
These words are a lot harder to read, it seems like someone's been here before me and rubbed their hand all over the writing. I reach out to touch the dark lettering and feel wetness. I look back down at my fingers. Blood, and no mistake. But whose blood?
I whip my head back around and edge a bit closer to the previous words on the wall.
Blood of your mother.
It's still readable, but fainter somehow, as if when I turned away, I took away some of the letter's life.
I hear something in the darkness, beyond the green, dusty light. A hollow thunk against concrete. A footstep. Then another.
I am paralyzed in terror, listening to the clip-clop of the feet. It seems like there's more than one person. With a small gasp, I remember the Fire Stone I have in my bag. I dig through my bag, every grunt of frustration I make echoing throughout the underground tunnels. Finally I find the rock and grasp it tightly, willing for it to respond to the heat of my palms. And it does, but I don't need its light to see two eyes, one glowing red and the other a blinding white.
"Who are you?" I scream. I am answered by silence.
Despite the shadow being so close that I can feel its pressure, I cannot see anything. The small lights set up every few feet prove useless as I feel something- a huge hand- grab my midsection and lift me into the air. I have never felt like this before: terror so sheer it renders me unable to move, heart beating so fast I swear it might burst. And, worst of all, my screams.
Never had I felt something like that, where I couldn't do anything, just let my body be thrown about and let screams of agony tear out of my throat. And when the screaming stopped it was replaced by whimpering, small noises not quite sobs. The monster made no noise, just smiled jovially as if nothing was wrong.
It felt like Hell, an eternity of Hell. And for a second, it was Hell. The now slippery concrete morphed into a smoldering lava pit and the walls became embellished with spikes and moved slowly inward, as if taunting me. The thing remained the same- a shadow the size of a Weezing with an arm the size of a Gyarados.
For some reason, when the flashlights shone in on me, I didn't feel shame. I felt relief sweep over me in a wave and I collasped. I was lying facedown in a pool of my own blood.
I wonder if this is how Dad died.
I wake to Ash staring grimly at a spot between my eyebrows.
"How's your head?" he asks gently.
"Fine."
"And your legs? The mark is going to leave a scar."
"I'm feeling a bit sore." Arceus, I am sore.
He gets up and turns toward the door, but his feet still point at me.
"Don't you have stuff to do?"
He eyes me rather harshly. "Not tonight, no."
"Well then," I suggest. "Stay here overnight, Sir." I put false emphasis on the last word.
"Don't mock me. I am your superior. Don't forget your place." Ash pauses and looks away for a second.
"Arceus, what happened to you?"
Nonchalant grunt, stoic shrug.
He eases himself down into a chair, and we both relish the silence.
Well, this took a long time to crank out, but it's here! Sorta shippy stuff between Ash and Astrid, tried to keep that a very real possibility. This chapter wasn't QUITE as long as it was supposed to be, I just find it really hard to write from Astrid's POV.
Thanks for reading, if you even read this far, and hope all you Americans had a good Fourth of July! Review, too, it helps!