We begin our tale with our hero
A noble prince, proud and tall
Within whose chest, a blazing heart
A scalding inferno so bright
Burning for honor, and beauty, and truth
And all of those things
For which a good prince should fight.
But above all else, justice…
For he knew, at his core
That a world without recompense
Or retribution for harm
A world mistaking wrong for right
Was a world where honor could never dwell
Where truth becomes silenced
Spoken softly in the shadows, but never heard
And beauty, defiled
Banished from the eye
Repulsed, abandoned, and forgotten
Forsaken among the shadows of the night.
A godless, heartless world, a mockery…
A world he would resist until his dying breath
Fighting with every ounce of his might.
And every dawn, as the sun would ascend
As he rose, anew, to keep watch over his kingdom
He saw this world
As he gazed upon his precious land.
Nothing else, it seemed, would meet his eye
Not the mighty castle in which he dwelled
Nor the fertile prairies, the ancient forests
Nor the towering mountains so high
Nor the birds of the air, the beasts of the earth
Not even the glorious rays of sunlight
Painting the sapphire sky…
Nothing, he saw… but this dawning darkness
This snarling beast… prowling…
This tragedy… looming…
Just over the horizon
Gathering strength for the assault it has planned
Laying in wait just behind the sunrise
Hiding… just beyond his sight.
Its reign of shadow soon at hand…
Verse 2
I would never hesitate to admit that I am a very romantic soul; I do not always see things the way they truly are, but rather the way I wish they might be.
In my eyes, the dawn of a new day is never just a moment, but a blank page, a new chapter for us to compose in the cycle of life. Pokémon are never just Pokémon, rather, each individual is an embodiment of virtue and of spirit, each representing ideas, possibilities, heroes of the grand tale of history. Pain and suffering cannot remain pain and suffering for long, until they become meaningful tests of character, a testament to determination, a temporary obstacle to a glorious reward. A golden lens filters my vision; everything must have meaning. Like a well-woven story, everything must fit together perfectly to represent the bigger picture.
It is my own choice to wear this lens at all; if I desired, I could always remove it and view the world from the eyes of a realist. Tell me, though, what good would that do? Enough realists already walk this land to last from now until doomsday, and they're doing their job just fine on their own. Instead, I take up the mantle of the bard, my heart beating with the exaggeration of every emotion, my mind cluttered with the memory of every insignificant detail that catches my attention, my imagination constantly creating things that do not exist, drawing parallels between things that would otherwise have no business being related. Indeed, I see things the way I wish they were, starting with my own self, and in doing so, I have changed myself into who I am. I have chosen this path.
Now, you might be asking, "Legend, isn't it difficult to let your head drift among the clouds, always finding the false hard to discern from the real?" And to that, I would stand tall and proud and laugh heartily to your face. No! It is not I who finds it difficult to discern the real from the false, it is you! For you and I both carry the same kinds of feelings, the only difference being that you let them move you and animate you without giving a second thought to their existence, whereas I know each one by heart and all the different ways to cause them. When you mourn, when you cry, or when you rage, or when you stare blankly at the wall, I understand you, even though you see nothing in your heart but an incomprehensible whirlpool of rapid forces dragging you under. I know what the voice in your head tells you. No, I do not regret my choice; I command this power over you, and I am quite proud of having captured it. I will explain why.
By birthright, many Pokémon species must suffer a difficult childhood. The hatchling Psyduck must learn to live with the reality of pain, as it suffers a headache constantly boring through the side of its skull and learns there is no way to stop it. The Cubone must learn to live with the reality of death, and shame, driven by instinct to hide his face within the skull of another creature. And then, there is the meek little baby Vulpix, said to be the tamest of all fire Pokémon, who must learn the reality of loneliness and disconnection. It wanders across the land, feelings and instincts raging deep within its heart, all conflicting with one another—feelings of angst, and anger, and fear, and uncertainty, all at once… The Vulpix, born to be tame, does not understand what they are, or what they mean about the world, or which one to act upon. Though the Vulpix might find friends, it is alone absolutely, a stuttering fool unable to communicate what it means, or how it feels, unable to understand the slightest thing about the heart which burns inside of it.
In time, most Vulpix learn to adapt. However, there was one who discovered the power of the spoken word, the only power he could ever want.
With words, I could make others listen to me. I could command them, and they would obey. I could communicate the things I saw and heard, and with a bit more practice, the things I thought and felt. I could change the way others felt. I could manipulate them. I could help them. I could rally them. I could teach them. I could steal their undivided attention, make them take me seriously. It only took a couple of words, and I could move the souls of others, a power any Vulpix would attribute to a god. It is said by some that Pokémon are granted a wish when they evolve. If that is true, my wish took hold of me once I had transformed, granting me mastery over these words I loved so. From that moment, I knew I would use my power for all it was worth, never again to be unheard.
I see things the way I wish to see them, but that is what I need. In doing so, I am able to tell others what they wish to hear. I choose not to be a realist, but something like a pessimist and an optimist at the same time. An artist. Any realist would call me a fool, but they rely on the services I provide. Without my stories, my legends, my teachings, they would be lost, like the baby Vulpix, unable to decipher what their heart tells them. I speak my words to bring order where there is chaos.
The reason I'm telling you all of this is so, perhaps, you may come to understand the role I played in leading to what eventually happened. By the end, we had all played a role. All of us had used our respective talents to bring about that dark day. We were all responsible. But my role came rather quickly compared to the others… it was I who saw things from behind my golden lens, and spurred the beginning of Team Flamewheel's actions.
And, so, on the morning Lucario had dispatched us to the Destiny Abyss…
I sat through the remaining three-and-a-half hours of the meeting, fervently praying to Deoxys so he might slam a meteor into the side of Rayquaza's Clutch to end the processions early. I could not have cared less, at that point, about the other teams. I did not want to hear how much money we lost in a failed construction effort, or how badly Team Beacon's severed trade route hurt us. I did not want to hear about the new Monferno joining Team Vicegrip down at District Three… that team could never tell when to stop expanding… and I certainly had no care of hearing what kind of items Lucario wanted us to donate this month. I hoped Prince was not relying on me to memorize any of Lucario's words which did not pertain to our mission… I was long gone from that meeting before it even ended, my glee-filled heart already deep within the new mystery dungeon, exploring its dark and dangerous depths.
When it was finally over, we fled Rayquaza's Clutch so quickly we probably matched the speed of our frantic sprint that morning. Our spirits were soaring just then. Prince looked relieved, Canniah was ecstatic, and even Vallon showed a satisfied smile. I wondered if I had ever seen the team in a happier state since the day we returned from the barricade to report our victory. Now, it was a cause for celebration—for we, Team Flamewheel, had just been assigned a nine-star mission, instructed by Lucario to begin our efforts at the first possible opportunity. We needed to prepare!
The mountainous thunderclouds overhead had made progress since the dawn. They had shifted, securing their absolute dominion over our land and sealing out the sunlight from one horizon to the other. Having settled in place, they began producing the first flurries of a horrible winter storm. Tiny specks of white filled the sky, swirling and dancing like airborne ashes, as we hurried back to District Eight… But, for what was perhaps the first time while dwelling in Lucario's domain and enduring the coldhearted forces of nature, I did not feel them. For the first time, those painful temperatures of the Outskirts, those freezing, stabbing winds… They meant nothing to me. No… for, you see, if my spirit had died with all the victims at the Frozen Spring, it was now resurrected, like a shining phoenix from the ashes. With the wings of Moltres at my feet, and Ho-Oh's breath in my throat, I welcomed the cold which challenged me, and I challenged it back. I scoffed at it. I dared it to do better. It made me feel alive.
Oh… if only you knew what it is to be a Pokémon of fire, you who cling to all your dead, passive elements… you who have your bodies lined with chunks of cold steel, or imbued with flora, growing and sprouting so sluggishly as you lie like a Snorlax beneath the afternoon sun… You who find solace beneath the vacant, unfeeling depths of the ocean or beneath the dark dirt underfoot, or you who weather no discomfort in the barren plains of the arctic… Though you find happiness and power amidst your element, only you, who share the glowing Ember, understand the element which dances, flows, and pulses… the element which lives. And when that fire flares, you understand what it is like to feel moved, aroused, to feel as though every flame in the world were one of the same entity, and you were its hatchling child unleashed upon the land to carry out its will…
It is said in some legends that, at the dawn of existence as Mew gave birth to the creatures who would fill the far corners of the earth, she bestowed upon each group a purpose, a role to play in the grand scheme of creation. And so, there came about the mighty pillars of strength, the protectors; and after them, the winged ones who soared through the air and saw everything from above, the sentries; and then there were those who lived for centuries and passed down their wisdom to the new generations, the teachers; and then, the creatures who would tend to the land and cultivate the flowers, trees, and plants, the gardeners… One by one, she set down these creatures in their proper places, giving them everything they would need to fulfill their duties…
But then, once all the creatures had taken their places among the world, there also came another group, a group with a very different nature. They were built to be untamable. Wild. Powerful. Unstoppable. They were the destroyers. Their purpose was to snarl in the face of order, gnash their teeth, and tear down everything the world would build. These were the Pokémon of Flame. These were the creatures that started wildfires which spread for miles, destroying cities, wrecking homes, dissolving the most mighty and ancient of woodlands until all that remained were heaps of soulless, black ash. These were the creatures whose hearts were so filled with pride that they would stop at nothing to slaughter and subdue all which offended them. Each as an embodiment of chaos and devastation, they were tasked with the purpose of razing the past to make room for the future; to allow the cycle of life to begin anew by demolishing the old; and to challenge, to hone all those who would call themselves strong. And so, to fulfill their task of cleansing the earth, each was given a share of the sacred Ember, the eternal, undying flame, to dwell in their hearts and to animate them, and to let it spread wherever it may catch.
Mespirit imbued this desire into the deepest instincts of the fire Pokémon, this irrefutable drive to find those things in the world which we despise, which harm our pride, which get in our way… and shower them with flames, and watch them burn… And, although the terrible fire dragons, the behemoths, the flame-spewers of old which dominated the land and wrought fear into the hearts of every living creature are gone, extinct, and forgotten, their bones buried miles beneath the earth's crust, remaining only as petrified fossils never again to see the light of day… Their legacy remains, for the sacred Ember, the desire of the ravagers and the destroyers, still burns at the heart of every fire Pokémon, giving our lives purpose, giving us strength in difficulty, and bringing light where there would be darkness.
Unless you share the Ember, you would not understand how I felt that morning as I embarked upon our new task. My heart burned with that untamable vigor. I was ready and willing to do anything. To endure anything. To plunge myself into that bottomless abyss. To seek and burn down all those who would ever attempt to harm an innocent Pokémon. If the Master would happen to capture me that day, if he had tortured me with freezing cold water or with his tricks of the mind, he would not have gotten even a flinch from me. No… that morning, I was immortal.
And my Canniah… her Ember burned brightly, too. I could see it glimmering behind her eyes. The heaviness of heart, the confusion I had seen in her that morning, that sadness that never had a place in her soul to begin with… it was gone. I watched as she pranced alongside her Prince, her fur billowing in the building winds… happy for him. Happy that his desires had come true, that he had reconciled for our grave mistakes. Happy that Lucario trusted him. I watched her as she beamed with life and hope, just as a child of the Ember should… and so, I, too, felt happy for her.
But my Prince… where was his fire?
I balked in mid-stride when I found that he suddenly did not share my joy, my newfound determination. His smile was bright after Lucario had addressed him, his triumphant spirit blazing for the world to see… but now, moments later, it had vanished, making me wonder for a moment if the morning's event had been something I had hallucinated for myself to cope with the unthinkable consequences I had feared all along.
But why? Out of the four of us, his happiness should have been the most absolute. This was to be our defining moment! This was what he had wanted all along! So… why had his flame faltered?
I beheld him, my Prince, the one I thought I knew. I remember that moment when I glanced at him, glimpsing his downcast, spiritless eyes… And, for what seemed like the second time in my service to him, it was as if I knew nothing about him.
My mind sprang back to a certain day, now seeming like centuries in the past, a moment I did not want to remember… It was the day my Prince stood before me in our team's beloved hall and announced his intention to disband from the golden division. So sudden, so jarring, it was, like the death of a loved one. It was a secret he had kept all to himself, afraid that it would be affected by the words and opinions of others. So resolute, he was, that he fled before anyone could argue…
Though I spent hours mulling over that day, analyzing the memory, trying to interpret it… It still confused me to the core. The point came, about a month's time later when we had already settled into our new home, when I simply gave up. I resolved to myself, should the thought arise again, that I would push it aside and accept the truth that it had happened, and that the past was unchangeable … pretending that it meant nothing of an unseen turmoil in my Prince's heart… I had since learned to cope with it, to set aside my confusion, my worry for my Prince. I had forgiven him for this one and only act which my ego would only label as a mistake. Someday, I told myself, it would begin to make sense. Someday I would see the justification as clear as the sun in the sky.
But the sun did not shine that morning. The clouds were seamless, casting the Outskirts into some facsimile of the night. And my Prince was troubled in a way that I did not understand.
Perhaps he couldn't yet find the means to forgive himself, I imagined. Perhaps the deaths still weigh on him. Perhaps he needs to realize that he is responsible for saving the lives of twenty-nine Pokémon who would have otherwise been slaughtered, and that the Master's sins were not his own.
Perhaps the cold was bothering him, I told myself as I gazed toward his weary form, and the scowl upon his face which he tried to hide. Perhaps he wished to return to the warmth of our shelter. Perhaps he was hungry, having skipped his breakfast as penance, and had his mind set upon the greenhouse. Perhaps he simply desired sleep.
The next thing I felt was something like an arrow to the heart, a pang far too powerful to forget… for I realized the truth.
His resolve was faltering. My Prince… he doubted himself.
I had no need to think twice about it; I knew it to be true. The mistakes we had made at the Spring betrayed our troubles. He questioned whether we still worked effectively as a team. He wondered if his worst nightmare had come true, that he and his team had been weaklings all along, weaklings made to look like heroes standing next to the legendary warriors of the golden division. Weaklings that ran off into the cold to prove their strength, only to die by their own incompetence. These questions circled in his head, and I knew he had not an answer for any of them.
I could just hear the tiny voice rising from the far corner of his mind, stabbing his soul as it spoke: Perhaps we are not up to this task, it said to him. Perhaps… Lucario is wrong to trust us.
When this epiphany struck me, my flame faltered. A shiver of cold wracked my side, the harsh breeze whipping past me and breaking through my defenses for just a moment.
I felt burdened. My vigorous gallop slowed to a stop, and I watched, blankly, as Canniah, Vallon, and my Prince passed me by. I would catch up with them. I would meet them at the district. But right then, I needed a moment of quiet reflection. My mind needed to find meaning in this, and I had to think about it … that is, after my mind would decide to start up again. But at that point, I simply watched, stunned, as my team fled. I wondered vaguely if any of them would notice I was gone.
Canniah noticed.
She eyed me as I stayed behind, standing frozen in my confusion. She said something to the other two, who continued on their way while she remained.
She approached me, my gentle Canniah. Her nature drove her to come to me, to comfort me in my trouble. She would have done the same for my Prince, or for Vallon, or for whichever companion of hers had hesitated or fallen behind. Now, she came for me. Concern glinted in her eye, questioning me without saying a word. I replied with a gaze of my own, a gaze which broke as she ducked her head to stride against a sudden burst of wind.
Then, she stood there before me, lending me company as I stood beneath that brewing storm, waiting for me to speak to her. She was always a very quiet soul, listening more than speaking, but her presence was often the only thing I needed to find comfort. I watched her, touched by the visage of her motionless figure before my eyes as she stood proud and strong against the vicious wind. I watched as the snowflakes drifted into her, melting upon contact with her rippling orange coat and her immaculate white mane…
"Have we hurt him?" I muttered under my breath, letting the wind carry my words to her ears. "You and I, what we said to him this morning… did it bring him hurt?"
"He's been hurting for a long time now, Legend," she told me. "It's not anything we said. He's confused. He's been this way for a while."
"For how long?" I muttered back, now staring past her and watching as the flame atop my Prince's crown became a tiny ember on the horizon.
"Since we came here," she replied softly. "It's so cold here…"
My gaze returned to her. I could see, now, that she had begun to tremble in discomfort. Her flame had faltered, just as mine had.
"What can we do?" I beseeched of her. "You saw how he held himself. He was disillusioned, even after Lucario gave no second thought to the Frozen Spring. He's not happy with this new assignment. He fears we might be an incompetent force after all. He … he has no right to think such things! His wisdom… his skills are remarkable. He belongs as our leader. If he cannot hold himself as our leader… this team will not function! Even now, your Ember and mine have both faltered only because of him. We will fail before we begin!"
"We failed already," Canniah said. "We failed when we came here. That's when Team Flamewheel died. And… his spirit died. I've been trying to help him. You're right. He's a perfect leader. But he feels like he isn't in control of this team. Or of himself, even. Legend… he still has no idea why we're really here."
I bared my teeth, growling bitterly as cold began to numb the feeling in my legs.
"This morning, he spoke of..."
"No, not even that," she interrupted. "He might like to think that he brought us here for training. It's a good explanation he likes to use. It makes a lot of sense. He uses it for comfort."
"But it has brought him no comfort," I replied. "If what you say is true… Oh, Canniah… he told me, all those months ago, that there was no reason, only the decision… I thought by now he would have found the reason…"
Canniah shook her head sadly. Steam drifted from her nostrils, growing darker and thicker by the minute as the temperature steeply dropped.
"So it is… just as I stand here in the cold, not knowing why I stand here in the cold… I only obey the order of my gut, which tells me I need to stand here in the cold for a moment," I rambled with some measure of profoundness. "While I could return to the shelter and sit beside a fire, and my mind would be ever the more clearer for it, I choose… to keep standing here, not knowing why… And so it is with him."
I tried to freeze my heart in that disposition and study it while it lingered, hoping it would grant me insight into whatever he felt. But the wind increased, disturbing my concentration, and the cold was steadily increasing, marking its intention to become as unbearable as Zerferia itself. I could tell that Canniah was growing anxious to take me back. I sighed, and a thick stream of smoke emptied from my snout.
"What do we do?" I asked again to the one who was closer to my Prince than I was, the one he had entrusted with his heart and all his inner feelings. "What now?"
"I… don't know," she replied. The same reply I had given her just hours earlier to the same question. And I knew that it was the simple, unbent truth. And now that I understood the greater issue at hand, the answer felt heavier this time.
Still I stood, my paws cemented in place. I could not accept that we were doomed to failure from the start. I looked at the problems from different perspectives, trying different patterns of thought, testing different emotions and philosophies against it, hoping that I could find some sort of answer… hoping I could find the meaning…
As another shiver overtook my body, a thought flickered to life in my mind.
"He does not have a reason for dwelling here in the cold," I spoke to her in words that flowed powerfully from my tongue. "So, we must give him one. Destiny Abyss… There is no task we are better suited for than a dungeon crawl, whether it'd be seven floors or seventy. We are equipped. We are skilled. He has no right to fear this! Canniah… let us make this mission the reason he came!"
A sad kind of smile came to life upon her face. I understood what it meant: I amused her. She wanted to tell me, Legend, it's not that simple, but she could not bring herself to say it. So, she smiled at me, admiring my silly, romantic burst of optimism.
"But at the core, isn't it that simple?" I insisted. "If… His decision to come here was a very simple one. No elaborate web of motives, no regrets, nothing! We simply came. And if I know anything about the hearts of Pokémon, the solution is just as simple. Team Flamewheel needs to conquer this project. And by that, I mean the real team, the one which served among the ranks of the golden division, not the seven sad Pokémon who've been trying to masquerade as them for the past two seasons. By the gods, Canniah, if we could return him to the way he was before all this happened… He is the flare in all of our lives! If he could be healed… We could be great once again."
"I've tried to help him," she insisted a second time. "But he never changes. I think the only one who can heal him is himself."
"No! You're wrong!" I barked at her, giddy in my conviction. "No, you are only one, Canniah. And it will take more than one to help him. It will take six! If he has felt alone in his uncertainty, come, let us show him that he is not alone. He has six servants, each with incredible talent, ready to support him where he would fall. Together, we'll keep the civilians out of Snowcrest with such a mighty barricade, not even the birds shall be able to pass!"
I watched as her smile changed, regaining a subtle glimmer of the joy she'd shown just moments before. She still found me crazy for thinking along my own lines, but now, she wanted to believe me.
"Just imagine, if we were to fall," I further told her. "Where would that place us?"
"It might destroy this team," Canniah responded, her smile gone at the thought. "We would have so many more deaths on our shoulders… Prince wouldn't ever live it down. And Lucario might actually banish us this time. I think… Prince might lose all trust in the team after all. He might disband us. I really don't want to think about what would happen."
"Then don't," I returned powerfully. "Let us succeed, and let nothing stand in our way!"
She was silent for a moment, considering my words. She bowed her head, her gaze falling to the ground. I knew which images flashed before her eyes, the very images I told her to force away. Our promotion among the Emerald Division as a reliable team had been a cause for celebration, overshadowing our failure and easing the guilt of seeing a hundred lives fall from our grasp, but the thought of defeat was something neither of us wanted to consider, something which would render all of our joys up until this point utterly meaningless. I knew she imagined Prince, the one whom her heart pined for, sinking to the lowest pit of despair. I knew she imagined Lucario becoming disgusted with us, having let him down twice in a row, and discharging us as deadweight.
"You're right," she finally said, pawing at the dirt. "We really need to win this time."
"Then what are we waiting for, I wonder?" I growled. "Let us go, and win!"
As I returned to my home base striding alongside Canniah, I could no longer feel the cold tingle of the snow collecting across my golden coat, or the brush of the icy air. My spirit had regained its liveliness. My fire was strengthening again, endowing me with a spiritual shield which kept out every sort of discomfort or displeasure, rendering them meaningless. I resolved never to let it drown again, knowing, in the upcoming trials, that I would need the greatest strength of my Ember to survive…
…And so would my Prince. But, if his own Ember did not blaze, it would need to be cross-lit by those that did.
The stage was set for my contribution to the story.
District Eight
Though our three remaining team members had yet to return from damage control, the four of us wasted not a minute in preparing for the westward excursion.
Our den at District Eight was a quaint little series of chambers, built only to give us a place to plan, store our valuables, and sleep comfortably without the wind or the Watchers disturbing us. It was a simple building made of stone and cement, perfect to hold a measure of warmth but not easily burned down if Prince or I were to accidentally sneeze. But it was not a place to live; like any honest resistance team, we lived on the field of duty. It offered us no luxury aside from a fireplace. At one point, on a particularly bad day, Kabir even ransacked the place and pawned all the previous owners' furniture which reminded him of the golden division in any way, which ultimately amounted to everything but one wooden table and the wall-mounted shelves in the closet. I suppose it was healthy to a degree that I never mourned the loss of the place when I was not there.
So, we gathered in our pithy little den, lit the fireplace, and huddled around the table to commence with our planning, and Prince unrolled and pinned down the Map of Jirachi to the surface. I did my best to glaze over the slew of pinholes, etches, and red markings which marred the parchment, especially those most recent ones pertaining to the Frozen Spring effort. It was still our very first copy of the map, the one we had received from Alakazam upon attaining a high enough rank to merit a full map of Ambera rather than just the Plateau and surrounding areas. Looking to the south, it became a sort of time capsule to all of our old missions—even the location of the barricade just west of the Master's Domain could still be seen circled with heavy markings of red ink. We used the thing mercilessly, and it displayed its age; it looked ugly, and could have fallen to shreds if grabbed in the wrong way. I wondered, each time I had to look at it, if purchasing a new map would be worth anything for our collective enthusiasm—but knowing that a copy ran for about the raw price of a Reviver Seed, I found the justification to be unlikely. We would probably continue to use this one until it became an incomprehensible mess.
"Destiny Abyss," Prince muttered, gathering his thoughts and tracing his forefinger around the eastern coast of Ambera. "From what Lucario understands, it's somewhere past here, north of Snowcrest. I suppose we won't know for sure where it is until we make our way to Snowcrest and hear what the crowds are saying. Aside from that, we don't have a hint as to what kind of dungeon it is, or what kind of challenges lay inside. We don't know what Pokémon live there, or what shape the anomaly has taken, or how deep it runs into the earth. All we know… is that it lies something like ten miles past the border. In Zerferia, that's enough distance to waste half of our supplies by the time we even arrive, and that's not even counting the trek to the border."
"Kabir won't like this," Vallon spoke. "When he comes back and sees we've started on another venture so fast after the Spring, he'll be furious. He'll want a few weeks to sit around and feel sorry for himself first."
"Kabir will have to deal with it," Prince said to him, quickly disregarding his inane comment. "Now… since we don't know what we're up against, this will pose a few difficult questions. We have to form the most generalized and all-encompassing dungeon strategy we can manage. Legend, how many Reviver Seeds do we have?
"Still twenty-one," I reported from memory. The number had not changed since our last dungeon exploration, two months before we were assigned to the Frozen Spring. It had been twenty, but we found another one with a stroke of luck at bottom floor of Netherworld Forest.
"A good number… for a sixty-floor dungeon," Prince considered. "If it goes any farther than that, mistakes will be costly. Our strategy needs to be good. I wonder, which items do we absolutely need?"
"Aside from every last Reviver Seed? Our X-ray goggles, for sure," I offered. "At least two cleansing orbs, in case one of them decides not to work like at Linden. A sack of gravelrocks would be ideal. Vallon could carry them."
"I think we still have some golden apples," Canniah noted. "Now's the time to use them."
"You know, Tangrind would be the one to ask," Vallon blurted again, raising his voice. "He'd know exactly which items to put in the bag."
"Tangrind is not here at the moment, if you are so blind not to have noticed," Prince returned.
"Then why are we even having this meeting?" Vallon shot. "What makes you think everything will be just fine if they aren't involved?"
"Because, we don't have time," Prince growled, gripping the side of the table in frustration. "As we speak, exploration teams are crawling Zerferia in droves and trapping themselves in that dungeon…"
"Oh, yes, and at the Spring, I thought you were keeping an eye to the north," Vallon roared. "Do you like your failures in communication? This mission is going to involve all of us. All. Of us. So what if a few dozen stupid exploration teams get themselves killed in the meantime. They deserve it. It's not going to be worth us failing yet another mission because you can't keep the team all clued in."
There is something I failed to mention about Vallon.
Aside from being our team's personal demolition force, Vallon had a secondary duty to Team Flamewheel. This duty involved persistently thinking of ways to ridicule, hurt, and insult Prince however he might. Even at the most inappropriate of times, it was his designated job to find the single most impolite, insensitive phrase and spew it into Prince's face without hesitation.
Yes, I am serious. But don't look at me; he was only following orders.
I imagine that seeing Scythe's relationship with his brash and egotistical Houndoom partner Daemon gave Prince the idea in the first place, and so he was inspired to designate one of his own teammates a devil's advocate. To be honest, it's difficult not to be impressed with the way Daemon plays his role to Team Remorse; whenever Scythe makes a stupid or ignorant decision (and, yes, he has been known to make them quite a lot), Daemon notices instantly and scorns him for it. Their natures are such polar opposites of one another that they complement one another so well, while at the same time making it strikingly hard to believe they can spend more than one day on the same team. Scythe's sense of humility is near bottomless, while Daemon's is so shallow that I would believe the story if someone told me a psychic once opened his mind and removed every last shred of compassion.
And Vallon… well, while not a perfect counter to Prince, I suppose he was the closest thing we had, though it meant the attitude Prince wanted from him had to be forced to a degree. I suppose it was his rough nature which nominated him for the role, and I can't argue with that; he was quite skilled at making himself a bully and speaking condescendingly to the weaker Pokémon. Oddly, I always considered Vallon to be my opposite, rather than Prince's. Come to think of it, I always considered myself more appropriate for the position: when it came to reducing another Pokémon to a whimpering fool using only a couple of words, there were none who could match me. But perhaps Prince's decision was most wise. After all, the virtue of respect burned brighter with me than Vallon; when it came to the most crucial moments, I suppose I might have hesitated to stab his heart with a good insult, whereas the guilt always ricocheted from Vallon's heart of stone. And ultimately, as the months passed and Vallon gained practice in becoming a whiny, insubordinate, selfish brat in the presence of Prince, it did become a crucial service to the team, with some moments I would classify as pure genius on his part. Sometimes his defiance would save all of our tails.
Prince fell silent. Breaking eye contact with Vallon, he found a point upon the map and stared at it for a moment, mulling…
"You're right," he finally mumbled, almost talking to himself. "We've been here for a couple days already. Kabir and the others will not have had a chance to rest after shuffling the survivors everywhere. Maybe we can't rely on them. … Excuse me for a moment. My mind is not clear. I need breakfast…"
At that, our team leader turned and abandoned us, slamming the door on his way out. Off to the greenhouse, no doubt.
We shared a stunned silence for a moment, Canniah sending a questioning glance to Vallon.
"Excuse me," Vallon said to the both of us, "but… what just happened?"
"He's hungry, apparently," I offered. "Hunger pangs may soothe the mind when you're mourning, but aren't quite as useful when you need to focus on a task…"
"Ly, did you even hear what he said?" he shot at me, floored that I hadn't noticed a certain pattern of words that, in retrospect, should have jumped out at me like steel spike from the sand. "We can't rely on them? When's the last time you heard that come out of his mouth, in any context? Huh? That's something you would never hear from him! What next, is he going to stop relying on you? Or me? Look, I was just trying to tell him, y'know, maybe we should factor them into our plans just a little bit, since they're not here… Jeeze, what did I say that chased him away?"
"It's not anything we said," I muttered absently, repeating Canniah's words.
As we stood there for a moment around that trashed old map, the broken, floundering resistance team we were… As we wondered what we would say to Prince when he returned, what we could say…
Though my eyes were closed, I watched as Ho-Oh streaked across the winter sky, its wings beating to the rhythm of my heart. I felt as a tiny flame, previously smoldering, flickered to life, a pinprick of light in the shadows of the clouds.
And that, I realized, was the moment of truth.
It wasn't going to happen on the field of battle, or when the team gathered together… No, it had happened much sooner than I was expecting. It was happening right then, right there.
My next words, I realized, would change the future.
I could see the timeline splitting in two before my very eyes, one branch leading to a glorious victory, and the other leading to a fate of tears and damnation for us all. I could resurrect Team Flamewheel to their full glory, their former strength and valor… or I could drive the final nail into the coffin. Either way, it would only take a couple of words from my tongue.
I chose those words carefully. I knew what I had to do.
"Vallon," I barked, breaking triumphantly from my profound daze. "His spirit is dead. It means nothing to him that Lucario acquitted us. As of now, he's still standing at the northern border of the Frozen Spring, frozen in defeat as the Combusken flees to safety. Deep down, he probably wanted Lucario to banish us… it would have given him closure, at least, knowing that coming here was all just a big mistake in the first place. But now, he remains, standing in the snow, wondering if this team is capable of anything anymore. And the fact of the matter? We aren't."
"Harsh words, Ly," Vallon said to me. "You really believe that?"
"He's not the same warrior he used to be," I continued. "You see that, don't you?"
"Well, yeah, of course," he said. "None of us really are the same as we used to be back at the old base. That's just how life is, now."
"Vallon."
"Ly?"
"He needs to become who he used to be. We all need to be who we used to be. The only other option is failure."
My Rhydon companion stared blankly at me, not quite getting the message, or perhaps just not digesting it.
"Do you remember that argument you had with him at Linden Peak?"
"Yeah," he replied, almost chuckling at the memory. "I'd never forget that one. I nearly tore his head off…"
"You need to surpass that."
"What?" he yelped, blinking in apprehension. "You mean… now? Right now?"
"Yes!" I cried in eagerness. "Right now! Go! Follow him out that door! Track him to the greenhouse if you must. Do not be merciful in your words. Burn him! As deeply as you can!"
"Why not you?" he pleaded. "You'd be better at getting him to see what you mean…"
"Because it's your duty to him, not mine," I sneered. "Besides, you've grown soft over these months. If you were half as harsh with him as you were at the golden division, he might have never grown weak in the first place. Now, we are going to become the team we used to be, and it's all going to start with you, right here, right now. Go!!"
I watched as Vallon's claws curled and became fists. I watched as he rested a blank stare upon the map, his eyes soon narrowing upon the colorful scribbles and X-marks surrounding all the places we had failed since dwelling in District Eight. Here was another reason the map was difficult on the eyes, time after time: there were no such markings down south, where things always seemed to go according to plan. It was a reminder that there was a time when we were spoiled rotten with our victories.
"Please, go," Canniah spoke, the sudden sound of her voice surprising me. "This is what he always wanted you to do."
It was odd to hear her advocate Vallon's role. She had always despised the idea from the beginning. Now, I knew that my words had moved her.
"Give me a minute," Vallon returned, a delayed response. "If you want me to go and ruffle him up that bad… I need to think of what to say. It's not such an easy thing to pull out of nowhere."
He was quiet for a minute. When that minute ended, his stance shifted, yet he remained fixated upon the map, still quiet. When I began to worry that Prince would return from the greenhouse, and the moment would be lost, I gave him a few suggestions to fuel his thoughts.
Finally, huffing like a brute, he marched out the door. I followed. This was something I would not miss for the world.
---
We found the greenhouse empty when we arrived, save for the Infernape who swung through the branches of the Shuca tree at the opposite end, deciding which of the dangling fruits were fit to eat. While we were not the only residents of District Eight, we had managed to return long before any of our neighbors.
I felt relieved that Vallon and Prince would have privacy at this particular moment.
I held my breath as he crossed the grassland, not looking back. He stood and waited at the base of the tree.
"Vallon," Prince called, noticing him and swinging down from the tree to land before him. "What is the matter?"
Vallon stood before Prince, facing him down, saying nothing. I tensed every muscle in my form as the moment of silence lingered.
Until…
POW!
Adrenaline filled my bloodstream. Vallon had punched our team leader square in the face!
Prince stumbled backward in shock, smacking his head against the tree trunk. He rested there for a moment, unable to comprehend this betrayal. It was a brutal move from the fist of an exceptionally strong Pokémon, one which Prince never had time to prepare for. Blood emptied quickly from the dent in his muzzle.
"You accepted a mission you had no intention of even trying to complete," Vallon roared with all the anger he could muster. "WHY?! What are you trying to prove, you flea-ridden human-raised rat?! Was it so hard to tell Lucario you were giving up?! You knew from the start we weren't going to win! What are you?! Is it some kind of a fantasy of yours to drive this team into the ground and bury us alive?"
Vallon paused, traditionally to let Prince defend himself. This time, Prince said nothing. Blood trickled down his face, and he made no move to wipe it off. He only sat, sprawled against that tree trunk, his chest stiffly rising and falling…
"Frozen Spring was your fault!" Vallon continued, his voice becoming gravelly and bestial. "We lost because of you. Don't try to pin it on any of us! It was your doing! It was your fault! Terriak Cave was your fault! Stone Edge City was your fault! You're the one who brought us here to this godforsaken place. What do you expect? You gave up, that's what happened. You just gave up. You gave up on everybody. You gave up on Alakazam. And Scythe! And Aether! You gave up on Lucario! And now you finally gave up on us. I see now, it was just a matter of time from the beginning. You don't care. You're not a leader anymore."
Having said this, Vallon lunged forward to seize Prince by the shoulders. But Prince forced his arms against him and resisted, using him for support to stand up. He stood before the crazed Rhydon, standing to his full height, his glowering eyes locked upon him.
"You are the most pathetic leader I have ever seen of a full-scale resistance team," Vallon persisted. "And to think I trusted you… To think I followed all your orders, and in the end, I wasn't important to you—"
"Vallon," Prince interrupted in the darkest voice I have ever heard come from him, "that is enough."
"Oh, no it isn't," Vallon laughed. "This isn't over until you account for yourself, oh dear team leader. Because I am sick! And tired! Of sitting around feeling sorry for myself when something slips through the cracks and we end up losing again. I'm sick of losing! We aren't supposed to lose! Don't you get it?! Losing is for Team Stripes and Team PokéPals and all those teams full of children. But no, we came here, and suddenly, losing is okay for Team Flamewheel. Account for that, dear Prince."
Prince did not respond. His scowl became grave, just as grave as Vallon's.
"You're going to make up for your mistakes now," Vallon hissed. "And do you know how? I'll tell you how. We all promised to back you up wherever you'd decide to go. And I intend on keeping the promise. That's why you're going to relieve me from it. You're going to disband this team. Right now. You're going to admit this was all a stupid joke, and you're going to let us all go, so we can go back to the Gold Division where we belong."
"I have no intention of disbanding this team," Prince replied softly, sternly.
SMACK!
I winced horribly as I witnessed a second fully-powered punch connect with my Prince's face. I do not understand why he didn't dodge. He stumbled back but did not fall, returning his burning gaze into the Rhydon's eyes, his face even more broken than before. It was difficult to see his face covered in broken bruises as it was.
"But you will," Vallon challenged. "Look at yourself, you weak little maggot, your face covered in your own blood. You aren't even standing up to me. What kind of a leader are you now? I bet you couldn't even kill a baby Swinub now. Prince… face it. It's over. We had something going back at the old base, but it's gone. Wave your hand at me and end this farce."
Prince scratched at his face, clearing his eyes from the stream of blood which had trickled down and obscured his vision. He then straightened up once again in the face of the Rhydon, and gave a reply.
"I'm not going to fight you, because I respect you as a Pokémon, as well as a teammate," he said. "That… and the fact that many of the words you say are true. When Legend said that my flame had faltered, he was right. He might have also been right in saying that I have displaced us from what has made us strong. But… No, I will not disband this team. You are wrong in accusing me of having given up. You are always free to leave me, but at the cost of the promise you made me. I won't relieve you of that."
"I see," Vallon said, nodding. "Well, in that case, if you won't back down, you have only one other option. You are going to lead us. And you are no leader if you cannot lead us to victory."
"You seem convinced I don't plan on it," Prince replied. "We will win."
"Lies, and empty words!" Vallon shouted. "You stand here and say you will lead us. I want you to lead us! Things are going to be just the way they were when we started out, and you are going to win. At. All. Costs. Nothing is going to slip through our claws this time, Prince. We've waited too long to rise to the challenge."
And then, I saw the change. It was subtle, a slight shift in the posture, a bow of the head, these tiny little details one would need to be watching for to notice. It was not a drastic change, but it was just a glimmer, a beginning of something.
It was something I recognized, something which I missed. Nostalgia flared within me; Prince began picturing himself in a long-past day, as we stood, surrounded by roaring torches, golden furniture, beauteous red carpets underfoot…
It worked. Though it burned tiny to start out with, we had lit his Ember.
"Fine," he said, speaking authoritatively to Vallon, "If that is what you wish… We will take this mission… as seriously as you wish to take it."
"Good," I shouted from across the room, soon closing the distance. "You can start with this issue: you're worried we might not be strong enough at the moment, what with all the cold and all. Fine. But let us do what we always did in the golden division when our number was a problem…"
"What he said," Vallon echoed. "Good idea. Nothing wrong with hiring some help, especially if we need it. Won't prove anything if we fail again…"
Prince looked thoughtful. "You're right," he admitted. "We should. That is an outstanding idea. Fine, then. Let's get some other teams on board. Team Beacon recently had their trade route broken, they'd be free, and they know their way around Snowcrest… Legend, would you talk them into it the next chance you get?"
"Absolutely," I responded, my pride quickly swelling. "They'll be perfect for helping with the townside front when we depart for the dungeon."
"There's someone else we could try," Canniah offered, approaching her Prince. "At the meeting this morning, Naxi was there. He just arrived. And he hasn't taken a task yet…"
…
And so, this is the part I played in the story. This is the part I must account for. I have nothing else to blame it upon but my own talent. I learned the truth from Canniah, and in response, I turned Vallon into my pawn and attacked my Prince while he was weakened.
It was a proud moment for me, seeing a little bit of the old Prince I devoted myself to having come back to life. It was a proud moment for the four of us. It was the beginning. The dawn of a new day.
I would never hesitate to admit that I am a very romantic soul; I do not always see things the way they truly are, but rather the way I wish they might be. Every thought, every feeling, everything that does not make sense must be given meaning, or else I am unnerved. Every moment, every little detail must hold significance. Every heart must be given a purpose.
After all, how else could I claim to see legendary birds from behind closed eyes, or see forks in the timeline itself, while still calling myself sane? It is my nature. It is the perspective on life I have chosen to uphold. It is my chosen role.
But romanticism is not without its flaws. And, if that day was any proof, neither am I.
I saw that fork in the timeline so vividly. I leapt at it. I took hold of it. I made it my own. Of course, a realist would tell you, correctly, that there is a fork in the timeline at every waking moment, and that I simply saw something which I wanted to see, something which I had made up for myself, something which didn't really exist in the first place.
And if it were true after all, if I really had been enlightened at that moment, able to see through the eyes of Dialga the future that lay ahead of me… If I really had been presented with those two paths…
…then I had seized the wrong one.
Author's Note:
With how long it took me to churn this out, you could have probably guessed ahead of time who I went with as the narrator.
I would like to express my most sincere gratitude to Diego Zeyon for his assistance, both intended and unintended, with this chapter. Not only did he help me see that the chapter needed work, but he was also completely responsible for inspiring the entire beginning section which got added in the second revision. All of our chatter about Vulpix gave me a lot of ideas. Thank you!
Also, I should mention that he's actually writing a Silver Resistance fanfic at the moment, which I am bursting with eagerness to see finished. I'll gladly point to it when it's done.
Finally, I should mention something… you might be asking "hey, what's with the poem this time? It has nothing to do with the story! In the poem, the hero is burning with justice, but in the story, Prince doesn't seem to know what he's motivated by!" If you're wondering this, then maybe you're starting to catch on. :)
I'll try to rapid-fire the rest of this verse out through the next few weeks. Hopefully I'll get some parts done before Explorers of Sky arrives… which will hopefully just give me more inspiration, rather than suck up all my time.