Come one, come all, come gather 'round
Come, sit before the fire.
Come, lend me your attention,
A moment of your day.

All are welcome here tonight
Before my dancing firelight
So let none be cast away.

May every ear and every heart
Of young and old, and passerby
Be opened wide to heed my call
And hear my words resound.

For tonight, I share a tale.
A tale of woes, and joys, and strength
Of reckless hearts and shining souls
Of those who fought the bitter winds
Who overturned the fates themselves
With courageous might profound.

So listen, children, if you may
Prepare your hearts and minds
And for tonight, forget yourselves,
Cast aside your shame, your burdens
Your troubles which abound…

And as you hear my words tonight,
Cherish them, and hold them dear,
Pass them on to all who hear,
Never to be forgotten,
And in the flowing stream of time,
Never to be drowned.

And as you watch my dancing flame,
Let it burn into your eyes
and remain there, frozen, on your mind
A fire which never dies.

Verse 1

My name is Legend. I am a Ninetales.

You might find my name to be somewhat of a conceited thing to call oneself, and I would agree with you, but I was not given the name by choice. A name is something which other people wish to call you, regardless of your approval. It is like the young human who obtains his Chimchar from his elder and bestows upon it the name "Killer"; though the Chimchar may disapprove, the human will never call it by a different name, and so it has no place to argue. Likewise, there came a day when the name "Legend" was chosen for me, so I accepted it, and it grew to be my identity.

My true name, given to me by my father at my hatching, is "Lykaios", an ancient human word meaning "like a wolf". It's a fine name, if I may say so, though a bit awkward to pronounce. But it was not meant to last.

You see, since the day I uttered my first word, I developed a fascination and eventually an infatuation with the spoken language. I enjoyed playing with words, arranging them in powerful patterns, watching as they could move the spirits of all who heard me. As an ember brightly burned at my core, I found I could share it with others, setting their own hearts on fire with the words I'd speak. So dearly I treasured this ability, this talent of primal communication I had, that I nurtured and cultivated it as if it were my child… and so, I became known as a storyteller, a bard whom crowds of Pokémon would flock to, opening their minds so I could fill them with memories, legends, stories, both true and fictitious, or whatever strings of meaning and rhythm I could concoct for them. Living most of my life as a Vulpix under the service of the golden resistance division, I spent many nights entertaining my teammates with my stories, and many more nights sifting through my imagination and recollections of the day's events, trying to inspire myself to an even greater tale I could tell, just for the sake of amusing all my friends just one more time.

But as I matured, I started to question myself. I asked my heart, "Is it right to fill another Pokémon's ears with things that are essentially lies? Is it right to cause their heart to pound and their blood to boil over made-up stories, when I could instead be cultivating passions in them that would help drive them forward in life?"

It was a lengthy, convoluted debate which raged inside of me for months, but when it settled down, I somehow found myself less interested in childish fairy tales and more concerned with things like Ambera's history, legends of the resistance, acts of Arceus and his servants, and true stories of the real world which I lived in, a real world which my friends and I would rise every day to challenge and to change. I became known among my acquaintances as a living incarnation of the history books, a chronicler of Ambera's myths and legends. Thus, I became known as "Legend".

But the legends I memorized and recounted did not just affect those who listened to me speak; they first affected me. The more I read of the wars and movements which created the great land of Ambera, of the great dragons and how they moved about the land to shape it, and of the Master who wanted to tear everything down and rebuild it in his own wretched image… the greater my fire burned, and the harder I forced myself. I became a formidable opponent in battle, and a promising child of the resistance.

So, when Prince came to the golden division and looked among the trainees for a recruit, he chose me.

Many things have happened since the day I became a member of Team Flamewheel. Many things have changed.

I sat atop a grassy floor, periodically gnawing on an Aguav berry I had picked from a nearby bush, trying to enjoy the humid interior of the greenhouse while I could. Far above my head and beyond the glassy dome ceiling, the darkened morning sky reflected back to me like a flawless black pearl. It was easy to see that storms were brewing. Snowy thunderclouds were herding in from Zerferia up north, eclipsing the whole of Fort Emerald from everything but the tiniest glow of sunlight.

It wasn't the first time I found myself wondering, yet hardly caring, how I had ended up in the snowbound fortress that housed the Emerald Division.

It was Prince's decision. After many successful years beneath the golden plateau of Ambera's midlands, Prince had something of a change of heart, and he brought us all here. Though he never made his reasons clear, I followed him out of the loyalty and respect he had earned from me, and so did the other five. Together, we pledged ourselves anew to Lucario and Rayquaza's Clutch, and resumed our efforts against the Master's empire, as if to pretend that nothing had happened.

But as much as we tried to pretend, dwelling in the chilly abodes of Fort Emerald was not the same. Things had changed.

For one, Prince acted differently ever since the exodus, something which ultimately affected our team chemistry; Team Flamewheel did not think and move as we once did. His confidence had gradually become something like pretend confidence, his instincts faltering like a flame in the wind. While we never once questioned our loyalty to our friend and leader, and never would, our concern for him and for the integrity of the team itself was undeniable…

"What now?" a voice asked weakly from nearby.

Canniah, the Arcanine, sat beside me. A meaty leg of some unidentified Pokémon lay at her forepaws, though, like me, her heart was not into her breakfast. Her gaze downcast, she watched the motionless blades of turquoise grass, every breath a deep sigh…

Oh, Canniah, what a sweet and pure-hearted soul she was; it pained me to see her so heartbroken. Through the worst of times, she was the one I would turn to for optimism. And not just the bubbly, excitable kind of optimism, but the true, heartfelt kind – the kind which assures one to the deepest extent that, as long as there is life, there is a reason to live. Truly, words begin to escape me when speaking of her; she was not fierce, nor stubborn, nor quick to anger – but gentle, so very gentle, graceful, perceiving the world with wisdom beyond her years, and acting like a mother, or perhaps a sister, to every Pokémon blessed with her company. Even just a glance into her eyes would remind me of the boundless beauty of life, and challenge me never to dwell on my shame or my shortcomings…

I would taste a lie to say my heart did not burn with feelings for her. How could it not? It was her nature, her graceful, enduring nature which held me captive, leading me to admire and cherish every aspect of her. So vulnerable a nature it was, though nothing could ever hurt her; she walked through the world like a baby Eevee who wanders into a serpent's den, and through it all she remained untouched, as though the will of Arceus imbued in the fabric of life itself could not bear to see her harmed. To my eyes, every tuft of orange fur across her form brimmed and danced as radiant tongues of flame, betraying the beauteous, ethereal glory of her inner ember…

Now, you might be asking, "Legend, the renowned bard and poet you are, surely you of all Pokémon could have found a way to express yourself to her?" And yes, I would say to you, of course I could have. I knew since the moment I met Canniah that it was fully within my abilities to prance about her feet and spew love ballads until she would madly fall for me. But was it my place to do so? Alas, absolutely not. She belonged to Prince, and he to her; she had been his student since the days she was a Growlithe, training with him and bonding her heart to his. They had pledged themselves to one another, though not out in the open… so, who would I be to hurt her, cast her mind into confusion, as well as to essentially stab my respected leader and deep friend in the back? Because I loved her, I had to refuse her. It was an easy decision, not a particularly painful one; she was my teammate, and so I enjoyed spending every waking day of my life at her side. I was perfectly content with that.

But even my beautiful Canniah could not bear the weight of recent events. She trembled, staring distantly at whatever thoughts danced before her eyes… when she glanced at me, I returned her gaze, letting her know that I fully shared her anguish…

The greatest change we faced since our move, the most difficult to deal with, was our team's reputation – or lack thereof. We had won the hearts of the golden division and greatly enjoyed the attention and support we received, especially from our partners of Team Whitegold, and Team Remorse… but in Rayquaza's Clutch, our respect remained unearned. Lucario and many of the division's best did not trust in our capabilities, so they treated us like hatchling children...

…And it didn't help that when we finally won a respectable mission for our team, we failed it.

Frozen Spring had been taken. One hundred eighty-seven innocent Pokémon were dead, crushed beneath the Master's fist.

It was such a simple defeat. Our plan relied on secrecy, yet one messenger, one little mole, had slipped past us… Such an obvious mistake in hindsight, and it was not the fault of any one of us, but all of us… we all assumed when we should not have, trusted things we should have feared…

As far as losses have gone in the war against the Master, this one was small; the Master was a heartless creature committed to the continuing genocide of all Ambera's habitants, and so it was not unusual for him to slaughter entire cities at once in his quest for whatever he happened to fancy at the time… but knowing these deaths could have been avoided... postponed… that these deaths were the result of our failure… it made them grave. My heart ached for the lost, my soul profusely apologizing to theirs should they happen to hear me…

"I don't know," I whispered in reply. It was the simple, unbent truth, and it was all I could think of to say.

A way across the room sat another of our teammates: Vallon, the hard-headed Rhydon, slowly choking down his morning diet of berries and rocks. Here was a Pokémon I knew since childhood, though not pleasantly; during our training at the golden division, we were bitter enemies. Though we both served on different teams and did not meet on a regular basis, he as a trainee on Team Avalanche and I on Team Carrier, it was as the meeting of a Zangoose and Seviper every time we crossed paths. Something about my attitude or perhaps my very existence deeply offended him, and so, at each sight of my face he would attempt to forcefully bury it into the nearest wall. In retaliation, I strung together insults that would have brought Arceus to his knees! I'm not convinced he understood many of them, but it made him burst with fury, and to me, it was the sign of my victory over him. Oh, what a horrible enmity it was, and all over nothing! Nothing but pride.

I prefer not to tell how I reacted when I learned Vallon was to be a long-term partner. Apparently, his strength had stood out to Prince just as mine did, and we were both picked… Suffice to say that I destroyed some things, and that a psychic was called to disable my voice for a time…

But, against all odds, that day marked the end of our hatred for one another. Ever since, a peculiar kinship formed between the two of us. While it seemed there was still every reason for our natures to clash, as he was quick to anger and I harbored the particular type of pride known for setting it off, we found that we complemented one another at the strangest of times, and we grew to appreciate the company of the other as one of the most pleasant aspects of life on our team. Our incompatibility became something like a friendly rivalry, and we used it to amuse and better ourselves.

Vallon acted as the designated muscle of the team, his brute strength dwarfing any of ours. Since our team favored the element of fire, Prince selected him to lend support wherever fire would not be enough. And a good choice, he was. Vallon is always happily obliged to tear something down, whether it be a solid stone wall or an enemy Pokémon. He holds back his strength during our team's training sessions, but I still often find him undefeatable; his armor will not break, and he can counter most every battle technique I am capable of… that, and he has mastered the art of snagging me by a tail and tripping me up… as if I had any power to keep them all out of the way in the first place…

They say that a Ninetales has the power to curse anyone who touches their tails, and to that, I say I wish I knew how. There must be some truth to it, since the claim is prominently asserted in many legends and history books; I figure I must have a few more centuries to live before I begin to acquire whatever supernatural powers they speak of…

Perhaps, if the Master is someday defeated, living that long will be a possibility.

For all our painstaking effort, it was a goal Team Flamewheel was unable to further. No, instead, the Master had advanced on us, pushing that goal farther from our reach…

What is it about failure which drags the heart into despair, and binds it so that it may not escape? Tell a story, and failure is often a joyous thing… a strengthening experience, a reason to bound back into the challenge with a blazing spirit, for revenge, or for honor, or for justice… and even those failures which can only be called tragedies are often just another kind of victory… a point proven, a lesson learned, a word of wisdom to the future generations…

In the real world, it is not so. There is no justification to be found in failure. A failure cannot be spun, twisted into something positive, even by the most masterful wordsmith… It remains, like a monolith strapped to the back, clear as day for all to see… there is no way to release it, so it stays with you, for the whole span of your life… forgotten, maybe… diminishing in comparison to other issues, maybe still… but it remains. And it hurts. And it will always hurt, bearing down upon your shoulders, the greatest pain in knowing that the failure was yours, and not another soul placed it upon you. You chose it.

Indeed, it was a dark day for our team that morning. I sat, wondering if Lucario would find it in his heart to expel us from the division we had joined just eight months ago. Wondering, but not caring, where we would go. In resistance work, it was not an issue to give "chances"; second chances were always implied. Rayquaza's Clutch was like a family of brothers and sisters, and it was not usual to banish a brother from the family he belongs to, even after making a mistake. But, by the same token, we needed to be a reliable team. We needed to do the work which was cut out for us. If Lucario deemed that we were too incompetent to live up to his high standards…

I didn't know, but I knew with a mellow sense of dread that I soon would. All of us would.

"He's late," Vallon noted, nervously pawing at the ground and combing the grass with his dulled white claws. "On a morning like this, he's late…"

"I don't blame him," I muttered, not caring if the sound of my voice reached his ears. "It takes an extra effort to rise to such a harsh reality… And where you and I rise with the burden of one, he rises with seven… and a thousand more atop that…"

"We'll all have more than a thousand problems if we're late," Vallon grumbled forcefully.

"We won't be late," Canniah spoke plainly. "He'll come."

"He'd better," Vallon replied, half-whispering, his voice betraying worry. "I hope he—"

As if on cue, the resounding smack of metal against wood tore through the greenhouse—the entryway had been slammed open. The three of us held our tongues and turned to behold the imposing form of a tall Infernape filling the portal. It stood there for a few passing moments, silent, its outstretched arm pinning the wooden door against the archway. It glared at us, but peacefully, its face distraught with fifty different kinds of inner pain…

Prince Calamar Morfeaux Distragnatia, or simply "Prince" as we called him, was the white-hot steel which fused our team together, his fiery spirit the pilot-light which gave life and direction to our efforts.

As I understand his past, his grandfather was the favored Pokémon of a human who ruled a small but significant country across the sea. Through his bond with the king, the Infernape learned the art of politics and leadership, until the human bestowed onto him command of all the country's Pokémon. So, just as his master was the king of humans, he was the king of Pokémon. In times of need, he led them in protection of the humans, and in times of peace, he managed their service to the king. The little country, whatever it was named, thrived well under this joint rule.

Should Prince have stayed with his father and country, it would have been his birthright to assume his family's role… But for some reason or another, Prince found himself on the continent of Ambera, where he wandered the land until he settled in a town called Aronwood. There, he acted as a martial arts instructor for a time, training his students in the arts of self-mastery and helped them to unlock the full potential of their fire and combat skills… until one day he intercepted a team from the golden division on a covert mission, and learned of the resistance…

My grasp on Prince's history is fuzzy at best, so it isn't a story I tell with confidence. Prince has told me no more than what I have just told you. I suspect he might be ashamed of his past. I also suspect his memory might have failed him, leading him to fill the gaps with his imagination. Whatever the case, it would be my last intention to pressure him into revealing things against his will, for my respect for him is boundless, my service to him unquestioning. He has shown me a god's kindness, all while challenging and honing me, and made me ten times the Pokémon I would have been without him. If I were to die for him, it would still fail to repay half of my debt to such a magnificent leader and companion.

But… that morning, as habit commanded me to greet my leader and bid him a good morning, I bit down on my tongue. A reverent silence was most appropriate, I felt, though it was soon shattered anyway.

"You're here," Vallon grunted. "Thought you'd run us late."

Prince said nothing in reply. A bit slouched, he stepped into the room and approached the nearest fruit-bearing tree, stumbling now and then onto his hands. He paused for a few moments at the trunk of a Wepear Tree, fixating upon a hanging branch lined with berries. The fire adorning his crown burned dimly.

"What happened?" Prince muttered, practically to himself, refusing to lend his gaze to anyone but the tree.

Taking the question as rhetorical, I reflected upon the events leading up to our failure, preparing for a difficult lecture.

"Well?" Prince rasped, much louder than before. "What happened?!"

"You know as well as the rest of us what happened," Vallon shouted back, climbing to his hind feet. "What, should we just repeat it over again? Do you want Legend to sing it to you? Ah, why not? Legend, weave us all a tale of the great Infernape and his team who let a hundred Pokémon die just because he didn't know how to set up a border patrol! Maybe you could even give it a happy ending!"

A sudden crack filled the air as Prince swung his fist and pummeled the nearest berry with all his might, not even blinking at the fountain of Wepear juice which erupted before his face. He turned, rage brimming from his eyes, and sent Vallon a deathful glare. After a few seconds of quiet, the glare fell to me.

"That isn't what I mean," Prince spoke, his voice absolutely serious and concerned, as he stepped over the shattered berry and came to join us. "That's the question Lucario will ask, and yes, it will take Legend's tongue to give him an answer. But… what happened to this team? Look back a few years, and remember… we were perfect. Where has our strength gone? I understand what happened at the spring. I believe we all do. But I can't bring myself to understand why. What… what could have led us to make those mistakes? What about the barricade? Tell me, what changed since then?"

Vallon nodded, but said nothing.

The mentioning of "the barricade" always brought a flurry of warm thoughts to mind, even on such a cold morning as that one. It was our team's most glorious victory back when we served under the golden division. So many elements came together, and so perfectly, as if Mew herself guided our actions… Ah, I would need four nights to give true justice to that epic tale…

It was our best day, and the brightest we've ever shined. It was not luck; every little detail had been orchestrated by us, every skill of ours utilized, drawing out the façade as long as it needed to go… and without so much as a casualty on our side, or any little hiccup…

"Legend!" Prince barked, breaking from the comforting memory. "On the night of the barricade, we thought to keep a watch to the southwest. Do you remember?"

"Perfectly," I responded. "If we hadn't, the Empoleon faction would have taken us by surprise. We crushed them as soon as we knew what they were planning."

"And yet, at the Spring, it never crossed our minds to keep a watch to the north," Prince blared at me, stomping his foot on the ground and shaking his fist at the air. "Why? Why?? What changed? If we were the same team we were twelve years ago, we would have countered the traitor. We would have kept a wary eye to the most unlikely direction. But we didn't. Why?? I want to know, Why?? What changed??"

It was Canniah who dared to say what I could not.

"This isn't the Gold Division anymore, Prince," She uttered sternly. "Maybe it's time you told us why you brought us here?"

"That shouldn't have anything to do with it," Prince grumbled, averting his gaze.

"Yet, it might," I offered. "Here, our flames are stifled by the cold. Even you cannot deny it, my Prince. I've seen it in your eyes since the first day we arrived here. Rayquaza's Clutch has taken its toll on your skill, your confidence. And, in case I forgot to admit it, mine as well. Each morning, I clench my teeth and fight on, but I cannot deny my own nature."

I nodded to Vallon and Canniah, hoping they would help support my claim.

"You forget that we didn't make the barricade work all by ourselves," Canniah said. "Scythe's team was there. They were the whole reason for the barricade. And Aether's team, and Condor's team... they were all there with us, even if they were all busy with their own jobs. They gave us support."

"Indeed, we left much behind when we came here," I told my Prince, "perhaps some things which defined us."

I held my breath, bearing the ensuing silence as I awaited Prince's response to my pointed suggestions. His gaze returned to me, locking with my eyes, while he weighed and considered my words.

"You want to know why we came here?" Prince finally pronounced for the three of us to hear. "That conviction you present, Legend, is the same one I wanted to disprove. We need to be here, in every sense of the word need. Alakazam doesn't need our help. He has Aether, Scythe, and the rest. They are more than enough to accomplish any task he needs. And I began to realize that they have weakened us. Their support made us less capable a team, made us dependant on things we should be able to make do without. I brought you here… so that I could see with my own eyes how great we were, and how great we could become. We belong here."

"Is that what this is? Suffering for the sake of suffering?" Vallon roared, though not violently. "You wanted to train us? See how much we could take? Well, congratulations, you found your answer. If suffering is what you wanted, that's what you got. Now you get to stand before Lucario and explain to him why you let hundreds of Pokémon die, and feel every last shred of shame as he judges you!"

"Not suffering for its own sake, no!" Prince insisted, fists clenched. "No, try to see it the way I see it: the taste of cold reality, without the distraction of unnecessary comfort or bloated pride. But… if… what you say is true, Legend, Canniah… if it was really the Gold Division which made us great in the first place, and we really are this weak… by the gods, I didn't want it to be true, but perhaps it is… we deserve this reputation. And we deserved this defeat. And we deserve every… last… shred of shame we have now."

We paused for a couple moments to swallow Prince's words. As I heard this explanation, I found they were not too far from my natural assumptions in the first place: that there was something in the difficulty, the challenge of it all, that he desired. Prince treated the move as a training experience, albeit an ambitious one, but he figured we were up to the task.

Though, I determined, this couldn't be all of it. Why, I wondered, had he refused to discuss this topic until now? And what of the sudden nature of our departure? Though he had revealed his reasons, respectable as they were, for our relocation to Fort Emerald, I could tell he still hid something… for, you see, even reasons often have reasons.

"Well, come on," Prince beckoned with a nod. "I won't delay this any more. Let's face this meeting, and see if there is even a tomorrow to look forward to… or if we must find one for ourselves."

"You didn't eat anything," Canniah pointed out in concern. "Will you be alright?"

"I'll fast for now," Prince grumbled, eyeing the destroyed berry as he began to pace back to the entryway.

Disregarding our unfinished food, we fell in line and accompanied our leader out into the blistering winds of northern Ambera, staying as strong as we could against our miserable anticipation of what was about to come.

Emerald Outskirts

It was always a long and chilly walk from District Eight's greenhouse to Rayquaza's Clutch. Though it was a walk we made once a week with few exceptions, it never seemed to grow any shorter. Fort Emerald's population was rather small, quite shy of being a metropolis—even smaller was the count of Pokémon who actually lived within the fortress walls, but rather relied on it for weekly supplies of necessities. Most of the resistance teams lived upon the Emerald Outskirts, which spanned a very great mass of land; roads were lengthy, neighborhood districts were far between, and there was rarely an obscured view of the horizon across the empty fields, save for the jagged mountain range to the northeast. Much of the population which called Fort Emerald home lay among the plains beyond the tall steel walls of the obsolete military fortress which bore the name. It was a security measure, I suppose; the Emerald Division, which composed the entirety of the city's population, drew less suspicion from the Master by spreading out.

As we hiked down the cold dirt pathway, I eyed the sky. Even in the dim light of the emerging sun, I saw how the clouds moved quickly, pushed by a forceful wind. It would easily rain, snow, hail, or some combination of the three before the day was done. The trip home wasn't something I looked forward to.

Like every morning, I found myself desiring a higher rank among the Division for nothing more than permission to live within the actual fortress and forgo the long commute, especially after how the golden division had spoiled us rotten with a spacious upstairs room. Though it was a longer walk downstairs to the base's facilities, coming and going from missions was an instant gratification, as we dwelled at the same level as the doorways and never needed to fight our way through the morning crowds which flooded the lower halls and staircases. I sighed at the memory, watching as a plume of mist jutted from my nostrils...

The roads were empty. Not another Pokémon, save for the perpetual sentry birds which circled far overhead or the wild Swinub that scurried away when we drew near, accompanied us on our hike. It was for the very same reason that the greenhouse and the whole of District Eight, our miniscule neighborhood, was practically unoccupied… we were late. Late to the weekly meeting. Well, that is to say, we were not yet missing any of it, but the road downtown was several miles; we would not have the luxury of walking the whole way. For a few precious minutes, we took it slow and let our breakfast settle.

The landscape of northern Ambera was ravaged and barren, save for a few robust species of trees and grass that could somehow thrive in the cold, cracked dirt and the chilly temperatures. I always found a strange, haunting beauty in the scenery as I walked through it, as if I were viewing it through a picture frame at an art museum, the painter having masterfully captured the desolate soul of the setting with only a few shades of grayish-white and brown. It glowed in the morning sun, the ground ebbing so subtly as it spanned out to the horizon line, like a receding ocean's tide frozen in time. Gorgeous, my heart wanted to call it, though I was never sure why. Perhaps only because it was my homeland. Perhaps also because it had a story to tell.

As the legends have told, the land we treaded upon was once a mighty forest of pinewood, immeasurable in its length, home to countless Pokémon. But long before I was born, long before the Watchers existed, long, long before even the Master rose to power, a war broke out across the land. It is said that some Pokémon of great power had succeeded in capturing the legendary Rayquaza, binding it and holding it within the deepest bowels of steel prison walls. Of course, in the face of such an incredible power, civilization became anarchy as Pokémon fought amongst themselves to take the god and its power for their own… and in the merciless fury of the war, the forest was burned to the ground, the roots forever destroyed by the Pokémon which swam through the earth below. Over the years, the ashes hardened and became a new land, the land on which we lived. Rayquaza's prison was preserved as a stronghold city, continually rebuilt whenever it would crumble, living on to protect its residents through the years in many more times of war. Such is the history of Fort Emerald.

Glancing at the sky a second time, I knew in my heart that the landscape would soon suffocate under a thick blanket of snow and ice. The trees would all die, their life force cowering at their core for the length of the bitter season. The grass would wilt, leaving only the buried roots and seeds to carry on their lineage. The wilds would crawl into their burrows and sleep the months away. It would be the first storm of the winter, as well as my first winter living by Fort Emerald. I hoped my strength would not fail me in the coming months.

In a few minutes, what seemed like far too soon, Prince's voice rang in my ears.

"Enough," he told the three of us. "Our speed has failed us in the past. Our speed failed us when we couldn't catch the traitor as it ran. No more. Starting today, our speed will be honed. Now, run, until your legs burn."

We sprinted on all fours the whole way to the city. We saw no other soul on the road until we crossed through District Two, which sat a mere two miles from the fortress. I was panting like a dog by that time, feeling drained of all the energy I'd just spent the night recuperating. And we'd just about made up for our lost time, as we met some of our companions on the road into town, but still we ran. Prince so hated our weakness that he would stop at nothing to fix it.

At last, with a searing feeling in my chest, I glimpsed at the great black wall which marked the finish line of our run – the fortress.

Rayquaza's Clutch

Fort Emerald was such a lonely place, or at least that's the way it felt in comparison to our old home at the golden division. Alakazam and Metagross had followers in the thousands. Lucario? Only about five hundred, last time we conducted a census. Of course, there were few truly up to the challenge of resistance work in the first place. Lucario made quite sure that every Pokémon under his command, and especially every team leader, was tough, rugged, and capable enough to fight the tireless campaign against the vile one. There were no "training teams" among our ranks—as Lucario had once said, any children fit to work for him could just as well be trained on the field of battle.

The Emerald Division was divided into districts, one to ten, which were scattered about the plains around the fortress. Two to five teams dwelled in each district. The true base of operations, however, was the fortress itself, which we would constantly visit to stock supplies, access resources, and to attend the weekly meeting in which Lucario would address every team and review the status of our circumstances as a single resistance division. These meetings were held in a large, steel-reinforced city hall at the very center of the fortress—a place we called Rayquaza's Clutch.

Rayquaza's Clutch was the true core of the Emerald Division. It was named so for having been the very prison which Rayquaza was held captive so many centuries ago. In honor of this memory, a giant, life-size stone statue of the sky dragon was carved and erected before the front main door of the complex, glowing green gemstones imbued in place of eyes. It was a sight which I marveled at each time I entered the place (even though I would admit the Palkia statue in the golden division's meeting hall was slightly more awe-inspiring).

Rayquaza's Clutch was also the dwelling place of Lucario and his Team Regret, the resistance team with the profound distinction of being the first ever formed. It was Lucario who carried the torch of his great-grandfather, who, as legends go, grew so angry at the Master's existence for stifling his freedom that he retreated to Zerferia for nine days. On the tenth, he began his trek home, bringing with him a fierce decision: that if he could not live life to its fullest with the Master in the way, he would do Pokémon everywhere a favor and plot to remove him from the picture. As he stepped back across the border into Ambera, he uttered the fateful words: "I'm going to regret this…" And thus, the resistance was born.

Laugh if you wish, but there aren't many who can laugh at how sturdy the resistance has become since then. Pokémon hated the Master since the beginning and wished for him to fall off his throne, a throne not made of respect, but purely of power and influence. But they could do nothing, for they were not unified. Any guerilla efforts were stifled by the Master's unbeatable legions of followers. It was Lucario's ancestor who united the resistance, harnessing a scattered dream and working it into a strong reality. Though Lucario no longer headed the whole resistance – there was none who did, as the resistance had split into three parts – he was the leader of the division he felt was the most efficient and reliable, and it was up to his followers to live according to his high standards.

One of the requirements of the Emerald Division was for each team leader, and ideally every single member of every team as well, to attend the weekly meetings. Needless to say, disregarding the meetings except under the most extreme of circumstances, or barging in just one minute after it had begun, did not bode well for a team's reputation.

We had successfully taken our places in the courtyard with time to spare, though we all looked as if a legion of Blastoise had chased us down the road. Several members of Lucario's team eyed us strangely.

The courtyard of Rayquaza's Clutch was anything but noteworthy. It was a square, open-roofed garden at the middle of the prison house, bearing simple grass, with some overhanging shelters lining the edges. In stormy times, we would power a machine that produced a force-field above the garden, protecting it from precipitation. Many of us jokingly called it the air-lock, in honor of Rayquaza, as it kept out the unpleasant weather.

"Thus begins the six hundred fifteenth week of the fourth dynasty of the great resistance," Lucario announced at the center of the courtyard, nearly all twenty-eight teams of the division present and paying attention. "Forty-three days remain until the Call should arrive, so keep your hearts open and attentive… no matter how small or quiet the Call, I would hate to see it go unanswered. Now, I have some important matters to touch upon this morning. Due to recent events, it has come to my attention that a paradigm shift may be in order. As you know, we have laid low, playing the patience card with the one we despise, refraining from placing our full deck on the table. This may need to change. At present, there are several reasons to suggest the Master may begin momentum in our jurisdiction during the following winter months."

Not a murmur filled the room. No one dared to interrupt. We all listened intensely, concerned and fearful… me, in anticipation of his public acknowledgement of our failure, which would undoubtedly cost us something, if not our whole position in the division…

Certain thoughts cycled through my head. Deep inside, I didn't want to leave. I wanted to make Prince happy. I wanted to make Lucario happy. If the Master was about to pick up momentum in our area, I wanted to be there when it happened, ready to shine like the sun and to fight alongside all my brothers. I didn't want to think about leaving the shelter and support of the division to become an independent team…

So I waited. I waited for the ridicule, knowing that I would deserve every word of it. I had not the courage to glance into the eyes of my teammates, knowing that they felt the same...

"First, I would like to follow upon our progressions last week," Lucario continued, pacing across the grass-covered ground as he spoke. "Though Team Beacon's effort at the Palace last month was successful, it has recently been nullified by the work of outside operatives whom we believe to be working for the enemies. I regret to announce that they have severed the trade route we have worked so hard to solidify. There is no reason—none—that the Master would target the Palace unless he is executing plans to increase his watch in this area. It brings us worry."

My fear and concern, so very slightly, started to become true insecurity. The trade route from Snowcrest to the Stone Palace was forged to supply us with more funds, to very subtly route merchandise to Fort Emerald before the Master had a chance to ration them to himself. In theory, the effort had a very small failure chance. That having fallen… was not a good sign.

"Additionally, it is with a heavy heart I inform you of Team Flamewheel's tragic loss of the Frozen Spring. What was planned to be an out-of-the-way safe haven for our desperate refugees at the border has been destroyed after a five-week campaign… and now, it remains yet another infested stronghold… and it raises the same issue. Why would the Master target the Frozen Spring in the first place? We expected some trouble, but the sheer force by which the Master retaliated strongly suggests that there is something hidden from us, something we can't yet see… "

I blinked. That was it? I expected him to discuss our failure, but not as a passing comment. Perhaps, I wondered, I had tripped over my own pride once more, dwelling too far on the failure rather than the bigger picture…

"Which brings me to my main point," Lucario declared very loudly, turning to glare straight at us. Though I figured it was done rhetorically, I had to resist the strong urge to wince, and I quickly corrected my posture. "Before we commence with the rest of the status reports and proceedings, a matter of urgency has arisen. According to our sources at Snowcrest, a new Mystery Dungeon has been unearthed… some ten miles past the border to Zerferia. I heard the report days ago, but thought it insignificant. I was wrong."

Lucario turned to address the entire congregation, but then locked his gaze with Prince once more. I held my breath. It was unmistakable. He was going to address us directly…

"There is an issue. Word has spread about this Mystery Dungeon, now known as Destiny Abyss among exploration teams. They say that a crystal lies at the very bottom floor, a crystal with the power to grant a Pokémon's deepest dreams. Now, crowds of explorers are flocking to Snowcrest, setting off for their grand excursions into Zerferia to attempt this new dungeon… And in the process, setting their lives on the line… In fact… I have reason to believe a couple of our very own teams, including Team Shardrune and Team Sustenance, have succumbed to this rumor. Since the discovery of the dungeon, both teams have failed to show at my congregation. Upon further searching, both seem to have disappeared without a trace."

Needless to say, this sparked some murmuring throughout the room. I personally didn't know what to say or to think at that point; a new Mystery Dungeon, and in Zerferia, was the last thing anyone expected to find!

"Therefore, I am assigning a mission. Prince, of Team Flamewheel… tell me, where are your other three members?"

"On a DC mission, presently, Your Honor" Prince replied humbly. "They are due back in four days."

"Good," Lucario responded. "Prince, although I am heartbroken at your recent misfortune, I must plead to you not to lose heart. I have need of your particular skills. If you would accept the assignment, I would like for you to deploy yourselves against this issue with as much haste as you can manage. Find this dungeon which the rumors speak of, rescue those unfortunate souls who have fallen for the temptation, and if you have any members left to spare, help us quell the gathering at Snowcrest. These poor Pokémon may be after a treasure, but they are throwing themselves straight into the Master's line of sight, and they risk much more than they realize. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Prince responded.

"Therefore, will you take this as your responsibility?" Lucario asked.

"Without hesitation, Your Honor," Prince answered proudly.

I blinked once again, wondering how we had gained Lucario's trust by way of our failure, and how we had dodged the consequences of that failure in the first place. It came like a thief in the night, stealing away our shame and misery before we knew they were gone...

…Somehow, at the most unlikely of times, we had finally been promoted.

And so, that's how the whole situation started. So simple, it seemed at first. Dungeon explorations had been our specialty for some time, and we hadn't yet found one we couldn't tackle with some effort… After all, we weren't weak! We were Team Flamewheel! We had constructed The Barricade, we had defeated the Ghosts of Linden Peak, and countless other victories. With a reborn excitement, I smiled, ready for whatever the world, and the Master, would attempt to throw at us this time. We wouldn't back down! We wouldn't lose!

Oh, but how something so simple can spiral out of control so fast… indeed, Prince's words of acceptance were fateful words… Not just for us, but for everyone…

Something told me I would soon have a new story to tell.