Chapter Six: To Each Their Own Battle

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end of the line was a young boy's, clear as the sound of a ringing bell. Lyra pressed her Pokegear tighter against her ear in surprise, her shoes scuffling against the dirt, and squinted into the darkening sky. Clouds gathered in fuzzy, softening streaks, like bunches of lavender Mareep wool, against the backdrop of orange. Who could be calling her at this time of day?

"Hey, Lyra!"

Lyra started. So it wasn't a wrong number, after all. "Who is this?" she asked, running through a mental list of people she knew. A boy, a young boy…

For a moment, she pictured Ethan, with his laughing eyes and the swoop of dark hair that fell over his forehead and his backwards hat, and her breath caught in her throat.

Had he found her number somehow? She chewed on her lip, picturing the last time she had seen him—the most familiar of images: Ethan waving cheerily form underneath a canopy of branches, Marill bouncing next to him, his hair awash with afternoon sunlight—and frowned. For two people who had known each other and practically lived in each other's backyards since they were toddlers, their goodbye had been oddly abrupt. Something, whatever it was, had nipped at the back of her heels at the edge of the woods, had made her turn and run away from him. Lyra scrunched up her face in confusion. It had been dumb of her. How could she have left without getting Ethan's number? Maybe it had been the thought of her adventure, her need to leave New Bark Town before she could remember what it was that she would miss, that had driven her away. That must have been it.

Still, she wished she had stayed. The thought of having no way to reach Ethan and tell him everything that had happened on her very first day as a trainer sent a funny ache to her stomach.

A boisterous laugh from the other end of the line interrupted her train of thought.

"This is Youngster Joey!" the boy exclaimed, chasing all images of Ethan and half-formed ideas of what she would say to him from her mind. A strange emptiness settled in in their wake. "How are you doing?"

Youngster Joey? Lyra frowned and chewed on her lip, trying to place the name. And then she remembered, from the trainers she had battled that day: a boy with blue basketball shorts and a backward baseball cap. The hat had reminded her of Ethan's, actually.

"Oh, hi!" she said breathlessly. "Right, Joey. Of course. Um, it's nice to hear from you. I'm…I'm good, I guess."

She winced at the way her voice fell flat against the speaker of the Pokegear, but really, what were you supposed to say to someone you had only met once through a battle? She hadn't even known that trainers were supposed to give each other their numbers after they battled, though Joey had been the only one who asked. Was there some kind of trainer protocol for these things that she had never heard of? A momentary fit of panic seized her as she pictured a trainer's manual, packed full of rules and guidelines for socially acceptable behavior that she had failed to learn, locked away in one of the drawers Professor Elm's lab. He must have forgotten to give it to her, and now she must be miles behind the other trainers.

As Lyra forced herself to take a deep breath, Joey's voice broke through her panicked haze.

"Cool! Look, you remember my Rattata, right?"

Rattata. Lyra calmed down, letting out her breath in relief. Good. She pictured the Pokemon: purple fur, fangs, hissing and spitting, its tail curled behind its body, a Pokemon she had seen and fought countless times in the grass that day. So maybe Joey just wanted to talk about his Pokemon.

"Yes?"

She could practically hear Joey swell up with pride on the other end. "Awesome!" His voice dropped, taking on a note of secrecy. "You know…I don't know if you could tell, but there's something special about my Rattata."

"Oh, really?" Was this something else she should know about Pokemon, or trainers?

"Yeah! He's really cool! It's like my Rattata is in the top percentage of Rattatas, you know?"

Top percentage?

"Uh, yeah," she stammered quickly. She had no idea what he was talking about. "He was a cool Pokemon, I remember. That's…that's cool!"

"Yeah! He's a terrific battler!" Joey barely paused to breathe in between his sentences, and she was glad he didn't pause long enough to catch her quiet, awkward responses. "Speaking of, that was a cool battle we had, Lyra. We should battle again sometime! I bet you Rattata and I will win next time, though!"

Lyra nodded, even though Joey couldn't see her. "Sure, battling again would be cool! I don't know when we could, but if you—"

Click.

"Hello? Joey?"

There was no answer. Lyra yanked the Pokegear away from her ear and held it in front of her face, frowning.

Trainers…they were strange people. She had learned that much throughout that afternoon. A lot of them stayed in one spot along the road and seemed to take some sort of sick pleasure in scaring whoever walked by with an obnoxiously loud challenge and a frenzied flail of their arms in their direction—and then, when they had the passerby's attention, they would fling their Poke Balls forward with what Lyra thought was way more flourish than the action required. Youngster Joey had been the first one she had come across, and he had nearly given her a heart attack when he jumped out at her from behind a tree.

Even more shockingly, in the wake of Lyra's yelp, Cyndaquil had screeched, flames bursting into life on her back with a noise Lyra hadn't even known her species could make. She had sprung into action, spitting and hissing like an angry Persian. Joey had apologized profusely (though it was probably more out of fear of being burnt to a crisp than any real regret), but the damage had already been done. Lyra's heart was still racing, and she had been too panicky over the ambush to even feel nervous about her first trainer battle as she yelled out commands. It had ended up helping them in the end. With a bristling, spooked fire type against his Rattata, no matter how top-percentage, or whatever Joey had called it, it was, they had easily won with Cyndaquil's over-enthusiastic Tackles and the venomous Leers she shot in its direction. Lyra had walked away from the battle dazed, a fistful of bills clutched in her hand and Youngster Joey's phone number, which he had somehow forced upon her, listed in her Pokegear, not sure what had just happened.

Still, somehow, she had managed to win every single trainer battle she had come across that day, against the many preteen boys who camped along Route 30, boys who either wore basketball shorts and a baseball cap or sported some sort of straw hat. Those in the latter category also carried nets with them and, she noticed, battled with bug Pokemon about whose strength they felt a strange amount of pride (and defensiveness, when that pride was challenged. Which was usually when they lost.). It was strange to imagine herself as one of them, as a trainer.

Does that mean I'm strange, too? she wondered wryly.

Still, trainer battles were infinitely more interesting than beating up the timid, lower-leveled wild Sentrets and Rattatas who jumped out at her in the tall grass, Pokemon that Lyra was sure would much rather have been napping or enjoying a lazy afternoon snack of Berries than being forced to take Tackles until they collapsed. Lyra felt sorry for them. Her feet had tingled with excitement the first time she stepped into the tall grass on Route 29 (Well, not the first time: Kris had dared her and Ethan to go in once, before, when they were eight, but Kris's mom had caught them before they had run into any wild Pokemon. Even though they had gotten in trouble, Lyra was secretly grateful for that, even though Kris, and maybe even Ethan, would never let her hear the end of it if she ever admitted it.). She had jumped a few feet in the air when a Pidgey flapped its way out of a nearby bush, before remembering what she was there for and sending Cyndaquil forward with a shout.

Lyra hadn't been sure if her Pokemon would obey, but the fire mouse was surprisingly eager to battle, leaping forward with a smoky hiss. Ethan had been right; Cyndaquil was tough, and more than eager to prove her own strength. After only a few Tackles, the Pidgey had fallen into the grass, unconscious, one wing battered and bent at an odd angle. Feeling sorry for it, Lyra had plucked one of the Berries her mother had made her bring out of her bag and set it awkwardly next to the Pidgey's head. Maybe it would find it after waking up.

After that battle, Lyra had felt bad about disturbing the Pokemon in their natural environment, even though she knew that they liked to battle and that they had to battle to get stronger. That was how Pokemon were. She had learned in school that Pokemon's brains developed some kind of chemical that made them depressed if they didn't battle for a long time, read it straight out of a textbook citing Professor Birch of Hoenn. Yes, she knew all of that, but she still couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt whenever she saw a spasm of pain shake a Pidgey's wings, a Sentret wince with its large eyes and waver on the end of its tail, or a Rattata clench its fangs together in pain. She could already imagine Kris tsk-tsking at her, shaking her head, her pigtails bouncing, with a knowing grin.

"Lyra, you're so silly. You can't win with that attitude! Pokemon aren't going to get stronger on their own, you know! You have to make them work for it! Be a go-getter!"

Maybe it was true. Maybe Lyra just wasn't carved out to be a Pokemon trainer. Maybe that was why Kris had been chosen, and she hadn't. It made perfect sense.

Still, when she let it sink in that she had won every single battle, trainer or wild, that day, a glowing feeling swelled inside her and spread throughout her limbs, followed by a muted whisper of I can do this. Was that unusual? she would wonder. Did most people win? If she could just continue this streak for the rest of the journey… But then the thought would cut itself short when she pictured what Kris would say to her if she knew that Lyra had set out on a Pokemon journey, a big grin across her face, and then the feeling would evaporate instantly in the wake of her friend's imaginary words:

"Gosh, Ly-Ly, what's the big deal? Of course you won. Battling the trainers around Route 30 is like taking scales from a Magikarp, you should know that. They're the definition of novice." A laugh, like a shared joke, except it was one that Kris only shared with herself. "You want to know why they stay here, anyway? It's because they can't get anywhere else!" And here Kris would wink, of course, to show that she was only teasing. "Good job, though, Lyra, every trainer's got to start somewhere."

At least I'm starting, Lyra reminded herself firmly. Even if she was only on the second route. It didn't matter that she wasn't that far ahead, or that most of the trainers she met along the roads looked a few years younger than her. She knew she could blend in with the rest of them them without a problem; people, especially Kris, were always telling her how she could pass for a ten-year-old. But still, she didn't want to imagine how Kris would react if she knew that her old friend had become a Pokemon trainer. She would congratulate her and find it adorable; it would make her smile.

But it didn't matter that Kris was already on her way to challenging the Elite Four, Lyra reminded herself. She wasn't planning to aim that far, anyway…was she?

"One step at a time," she whispered out loud, and Cyndaquil twisted over her shoulder and shot her trainer an odd look.

"Quil?"

"Nothing," Lyra muttered quickly. Great. She had forgotten that she couldn't act like an idiot all the time now, now that she had someone always following her around; a living shadow. It would take some getting used to that.

But then she noticed that Cyndaquil wasn't staring at her; her nose was pointed curiously up toward her hand. Lyra followed her gaze and saw her Pokegear, still clutched in her fingers, glittering in the last rays of the fading sunlight.

Lyra paused, surprised. "Oh, this?" she asked, flicking her wrist so that the sunlight played across the machine's silver surface. Cyndaquil's nose followed the motion, and she nodded eagerly, the flashing light catching her eye.

"Cyndaquil queel?"

As questions went, that was a pretty easy one to decipher. "This is called a Pokegear," Lyra explained. She stopped walking and bent down so that she could hold the Pokegear close to Cyndaquil's face.

Cyndaquil leaned forward, eyes scrunched up with curiosity, and sniffed at the screen. Her eyes narrowed, and she backed up, eyeing the machinery with no small degree of suspicion.

"Queeeel." Cyndaquil shook her head slowly, still examining the Pokegear with distrustful eyes. "Quil quil."

"Oh…yeah, it's strange, I guess. Like most human things," Lyra laughed. She beckoned at her Pokemon, then, on second thought, scooted closer herself to where Cyndaquil was sitting in the grass alongside the road. Once she was close enough, she snapped open the Pokegear so that both of them could see the screen. "But see, this is a really useful thing to have, especially for trainers. It lets you make calls to people—like I just did—and there's also a map on here that shows us where we are." Did Pokemon even know what calling or a telephone was? It would probably be best to explain, she decided. "Calling is like…being able to talk to someone else without being face-to-face with them. You can hear their voice without having to see them."

"Queeeeeel." Cyndaquil nodded as she let out a low whistle, looking impressed; Lyra allowed herself to relish the moment's worth of pride that sparked in her stomach. It was the first real sign of being impressed that her Pokemon had shown since—since they had met, really. Ethan had certainly been right about her Pokemon's pride.

"Yeah, and see—" She pressed the Map button on the screen with her finger, determined to milk as much out of the moment as she could, and a colorful spread of Johto unfolded before their eyes. "Look at this."

"Quil!" Cyndaquil's eyes widened, or at least widened as much as they could for a Pokemon whose eyes wouldn't fully open until she evolved. "Quil quil!"

"I know, it's cool, isn't it?" Lyra agreed, smiling. Who knew that all impressing a jaded Pokemon took was the simplest of human technology? She made a mental note to use this same technique the next time she had to entertain a bored Pokemon. "It's a map of Johto. Er, you know, the country we live in. Look, this is where we are." She pointed to Route 30 on the map, where a small cartoon head figure indicated their position along the path. They were near the end of the route, Lyra noticed with something that felt like relief, close to a red square that marked the next town over. Lyra scrolled over to it, and the heading "Cherrygrove City" appeared in small text underneath the square. "Hey, look, we're almost at Cherrygrove City. I think we'll stop there for the night."

Cherrygrove City lay west of New Bark Town, an entire afternoon's walk away, as Lyra had discovered. According to the map, both of them bordered on the southern coast of Johto. Lyra stared at the network of red squares spread over the green hills and brown landscape on the map, some tiny, some that dwarfed the tiny ones in large rectangles, winding past rivers and miniature icons of forests and mountains, and a bizarre, dizzying sense of vertigo swooped over her head. For a moment, she felt as if the world was opening above her in a giant net that stretched up to the sky, wrapping around her and parachuting her along with its ascent. New Bark Town was so tiny. Lyra had never even realized the magnitude—or lack thereof—of its tininess until now. It was the smallest square on the map, tucked in the southeast corner of the region.

Her head spun. To think that she had lived all fourteen years of her life there, except for vacations and the occasional day trip to Goldenrod. To think that she had never truly known the world outside the woodsy walls of New Bark Town. To think that her own mother had expected her never to leave.

And what about Ethan? Would he be stuck there forever, too, in that claustrophobic corner of the world?

"Queel?" Cyndaquil peeped softly, leaning forward as Lyra snapped the cover of the Pokegear shut and stood up. This time, she didn't even take a moment to savor the first time her Pokemon had shown her what seemed like concern, softening through the gentle furrows of her eyes. She pushed the Pokegear into her bag and started walking along the path, not really caring where she was going, her legs moving as quickly as they could. Cyndaquil scampered alongside her feet, trying to keep up.

"We're getting out of here, Cyndaquil," she said tersely.

"Quil? Cyndaquil! Queeeeeeeeel!" Cyndaquil cried as she struggled to catch up with her trainer, panting.

Lyra heard her, but she could barely bring herself to slow down even for her Pokemon, her feet windmilling against the ground as if of their own accord. Why had it taken her so long to leave? If she had known that Professor Elm would have given her a Pokemon to take care of, she would have asked years ago. The thought of being stuck in the same place forever, of never seeing the world outside her hometown, suddenly felt like a trap, reaching forward with gnarled teeth to hold her back; she lunged forward, swallowing rapid gulps of air, of freedom. That fate had almost befallen her, but no, she had escaped. She pictured the map again in her mind's eye, saw the lattice of roads unrolled across greenery, and her legs tingled as she felt in her muscles all of the roads her feet would walk: an ache of relief.

"Queeeel!" Cyndaquil called out again. This time, a note of desperation rang out in her squeal, and Lyra stopped at the sound. She heard skittering footsteps as Cyndaquil caught up to her, blowing small clouds of smoke against the pavement as she panted. The fire Pokemon nearly ran into Lyra's heels, and she stared up at her trainer, indignation burning in her eyes.

"Quil quil Cyndaquil quil Cynda!" she scolded, her hackles rising. The tiniest flicker of a flame erupted from one of the spots on her back. "Cyndaquil!"

Lyra sighed and dropped onto the grass beside the route, the reckless energy evaporating from her heels. Guilt set in in its place. She was a trainer now, and that had been majorly irresponsible of her. She had just left her Pokemon behind with no explanation. She crumpled forward, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"I'm sorry, Cyndaquil," she murmured into her sleeve. "I really shouldn't have run off like that. I'm really sorry; that was stupid of me."

A sweet, perfumed scent suddenly caught her attention, and Lyra lifted her head, scanning the road. To her surprise, the route seemed to have changed around her as she ran. Where there had once been acres of forest that lined the road, she now saw a neat white picket fence bordering the edges of the path. On the other side, orange and pink flowers swayed gently in the breeze. Lyra sniffed again, and the aroma strengthened. Against her will, her shoulders relaxed as it settled over her head, heady and calming. So that explained the scent.

This must be Cherrygrove City, she realized. So they had made it.

She glanced back at Cyndaquil to tell her they had arrived, but she was almost afraid to look. The fire mouse clearly hadn't liked her very much in the first place—what would she think of her trainer now? Was it possible for Pokemon to desert their trainers if they really hated them? Had she already failed at training? Lyra gripped the tops of her shoes, fingering the worn red fabric as she turned to her Pokemon.

To Lyra's surprise, Cyndaquil wasn't hissing or glaring at her or getting ready to fire an Ember in her direction. Instead, she stared at her trainer with crinkles in the corners of her eyes, and then she craned her neck forward and tentatively nudged Lyra's leg with her nose.

"Quil?" she murmured.

Lyra blinked, completely caught off-guard.

"Are you—are you asking if I'm okay?" she asked, incredulous.

Cyndaquil flinched for a moment, as if the question hurt her pride (it probably did, Lyra realized too late), but then she tensed her shoulders and shook herself off, seeming to muster all of her strength.

She nodded firmly. "Quil."

Lyra fumbled with words for a second as her tongue refused to obey her. A feeling of warmth swelled up inside her, fighting the cooling breeze. Her Pokemon cared. She actually cared about her.

"W-wow, thanks, Cyndaquil," she stammered, a smile spreading across her face. "That really means a lot to me."

Cyndaquil let out a snort and flicked her nose to the side as if to say, Yeah, okay, I get it. Now answer my question.

Lyra sucked in her breath, but she couldn't keep the smile from widening across her face, even if she probably looked like a slobbering fool right now. "I mean, just—thanks, Cyndaquil. I…I'm okay now, I think."

"Quil," Cyndaquil said again, more forcefully. "Cyndaquil?"

Lyra paused, trying to decipher the question. "Y-you mean, what's wrong?" she asked after a moment.

Cyndaquil nodded. "Quil."

Lyra hesitated, realizing that she actually had no idea how to answer that question. How much did Cyndaquil actually want to hear about what was bothering her? She knew from experience that answers to "Are you okay? What's wrong?" ranged from a quick "Yes" or "No" to hour-long stories complete with tears and heartfelt confessions. She wasn't sure where along the spectrum her answer fell, though she was pretty sure it wasn't near the latter. How could she put what she had just felt, that claustrophobia, that unbearable energy surging through her veins, into words?

She took a breath. She could at least try to start from the beginning.

"You know the town we both came from, right? New Bark Town." A curt nod. "Okay. Well—"

It suddenly occurred to her that the Pokemon who trainers traveled with probably had little to no idea what they were actually going to be doing on their journeys. Yes, battling, obviously, but did trainers explain to them at the beginning of each journey about the Gym system and the Championship and cities and regions and everything? Lyra coughed, clearing her throat, overwhelmed.

"Do you know what the Gym circuit is?"

Cyndaquil cocked her head to the side, confused. Great. That would be a no.

"Okay, well, basically, trainers and their Pokemon go around different towns in a region—that would be Johto for us—battling these people called Gym leaders in every town. Gym leaders are like…they're basically the strongest trainer in the town. Trainers who travel there go into the Gym and challenge them, and if they win, they win a badge. You need eight badges to compete in the Pokemon League, which is where you battle the best trainers in the entire region, four of them, called the Elite Four, and then the Champion, the strongest trainer in the entire region. And if you win, you become Champion."

Lyra took a deep breath, short on air after her speech. But it had clearly been worth it; Cyndaquil was staring up at her with eyes as wide as she could open them.

"Cynda?" she murmured in an awed voice.

"What's that?"

"Cynda…Cyndaquil?" Lyra watched as Cyndaquil lifted a paw and pointed at herself and then Lyra, and then reached up toward the sky. "Cynda. Cyndaquil?"

"You and me," Lyra translated slowly. "You and me…up…you and me…up high…you and me…er…winning?"

"Quil!" An excited nod.

"Could you and I and win?"

"Quil quil!"

Lyra bit her lip and turned away. Could they? It felt a little ridiculous for her to aim that high and believe that was possible, and it felt more than a little presumptuous to tell her Pokemon that they could do it. And also…Kris…

"See, I don't know," she said. She felt a pang of guilt when Cyndaquil's face fell and quickly added, "Not that we couldn't, of course. It's just that…no trainer can ever say if they can make that far, you know? We've only just started, and we would have to travel across the entire region." She frowned, running the list of Johto Gym towns through her head. Violet, Azalea, Goldenrod, Ecruteak, Cianwood, Olivine, Mahogany, Blackthorn… That was a long way across Johto. The thought made her shiver. "And see, we're sort of behind. I mean, my friend Kris—you didn't get to meet her, because she left for her journey two years ago—she's already gotten all of her badges, and she started battling the Elite Four already. She beat two of them. But then she lost."

Cyndaquil slumped back down at the word lost. Still, the look in her eyes urged Lyra to keep talking. So she did.

"I mean, the thing is…" Lyra swallowed. "The thing is that everyone in our town thinks she can win. Including me. Forget thinks—we know she can win. She's always been brilliant and driven and awesome like that since we were little." Great, now she was depressing herself. And as always, what made her more depressed was the fact that she was depressed at all—she would have thought that she could have accepted it by now and not still have been so selfish, dreaming up impossible dreams on her own. "She's going to be like that kid—he's a legend in the trainer world—his name is Red. He's from Kanto, the next region over from here, but he was amazing like that, too. He beat the entire Kanto League at age ten, and he even defeated Team Rocket—this criminal organization that stole Pokemon from everyone and hijacked an entire company—along the way, too. A prodigy."

Cyndaquil had risen on her haunches again, the awed, starstruck look back on her face as she leaned against Lyra's leg. She absentmindedly reached up to stroke the Pokemon's head—surprised when Cyndaquil sank down and let her—but a pang of disappointment pierced her stomach. That was just what she needed, wasn't it: for her Pokemon to feel that way about Kris? As if not enough people already worshipped her.

Lyra sighed, angry at herself for letting all of this get to her. It was the same cycle every time: envy, followed by guilt. She hated feeling jealous, and she hated the fact that there were such snarky, petty words to describe the feeling: Jealousy. Envy. Like they didn't encompass her lifelong dreams. Like this was some kind of stupid school drama.

"So, since everyone in New Bark Town knows she's going to win and bring the honor of the Championship to our town…why even bother picking another trainer from the same place?" Lyra continued, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. It was no use getting worked up about facts, she told herself—facts were facts, and there was no changing them. "So my mom always kind of figured I would stay back and spend my entire life there, in New Bark Town. Like Ethan does. He helps out Professor Elm around the lab, and he's pretty sure he's going to end up being a Pokemon researcher. But I…" She paused and braced herself before plunging ahead. "Well, the thing is, I've always wanted to travel, too, Cyndaquil. With a Pokemon. I just…never thought I'd have the chance."

Silence hung over them like a mural. Lyra looked down, her fingers still absentmindedly stroking Cyndaquil's fur. The dark green looked almost black in the descending night. It was strange, she thought, how the first person other than Ethan she had told this to was a Pokemon who hadn't liked her very much at all. But now Cyndaquil was staring up at her with shining eyes, squinting at her as if she was studying her trainer in a new light. Was this what it took to earn her respect, Lyra wondered—the fact that she was fighting a battle, too?

"So what do you think, Cyndaquil," she asked, sucking in her breath, "can we do this? Do you want to aim for the Championship? Because, I mean, you're the one who's battling. Just say the word and we don't have to."

Cyndaquil didn't even pause. Lyra nearly jumped as her paws slammed against her leg when she jumped up, a wisp of flame flaring from her back.

"Quil!" she exclaimed, throwing her snout in the air and shooting Lyra a disdainful look over her shoulder as if offended at the very question. "Cyndaquil quil!"

Lyra laughed as Cyndaquil leaped out into the road and started running forward, as if she already wanted to start. A Hoothoot let out a quiet cry from behind a bush, and Cyndaquil swatted at it with her paw, sending it shrieking and flapping into the dusk air, its round body barely visible against the violet sky.

Hoothoot. Lyra frowned, bells ringing in her head. Didn't those only come out after a certain time of the night? Was it already that late? She pulled her Pokegear from her bag and flicked it open. Eight p.m. More than late enough to start heading to the Pokemon Center in Cherrygrove City to find a place to sleep for the night before all of the rooms were taken. It was only thanks to the long, light days of springtime that it hadn't grown completely dark yet. Lyra pocketed her Pokegear and stood up, dusting off her overalls and picking stray pieces of grass from her stockings, and followed after her Pokemon.

Despite all of her pride, her fierceness, her refusal to turn her nose down in front of anyone, Cyndaquil believed in her. So why couldn't she start believing in herself? What was stopping her?

"Cyndaquil!" she called, smiling as she followed after the small figure in the distance. "Come back!"

As she saw Cyndaquil double back toward her, she nearly stumbled on something that felt like a small, strangely soft rock on the ground, and without warning, a sharp cough rang out uncomfortably close to her face.

Lyra raised her head to see a pair of flinty gray eyes glaring back at her, a sharp, pale-skinned nose almost jammed against hers, more than a few feet too close for comfort.

Lyra leaped back, startled, and nearly landed on Cyndaquil, who had reached her foot. The fire mouse let out a squeal of protest, and Lyra looked up, utterly disoriented. Her hat had flopped askew over her eyes during the confusion, and as she pushed it back into place, she blinked and squinted at the person she had crashed into.

She hadn't heard any footsteps, but a tall, skinny boy was standing in front of her, his feet planted firmly in the ground as if he had been there all along. His spidery limbs were pressed inside a navy blazer, and unkempt strands of red hair streaked around his shoulders. The boy's face twisted in a scowl, and by the well-worn lines it carved into his face, Lyra couldn't tell if it was the usual expression he wore or if he was just annoyed that the two of them had nearly collided with each other.

She stared back at him, curiosity stirring inside her like a whisper. His face looked strangely familiar, even though she was pretty sure she had never seen him before. Why had he walked up so close to her, though? Was he some kind of overly pushy trainer who really wanted a battle with her? She doubted that "getting in the other trainer's face" would have made it inside the trainer's manual for proper social behavior if there was such a thing.

But to her surprise, it was the boy who looked offended.

"What the—" he snapped in a gruff voice.

"Sorry," Lyra apologized quickly. You were the one who snuck up on me, though, she added silently, indignantly. "My bad."

The boy only returned her apology with another glare, and Lyra shrank back from the silver fire in his eyes. What had she done to make him so angry?

But then she saw his gaze focus on the ground near her foot—no, not the ground, Cyndaquil, she realized, following the direction of his gaze—and in the reflection of the dim evening light, a peculiar light seemed to ignite in his eyes. It was a dancing flame, red and consuming with its tendrils, separate from the glare that filled the gray of his eyes: more focused, wilder, a blaze of anger and determination.

What was so fascinating about her Pokemon? she wondered apprehensively, backing away from his gaze. Yes, not that many trainers walked with their Pokemon outside of their Poke Balls, but still, it didn't seem to merit the strange gleam in his eye as he scrutinized the fire mouse.

To her credit, Cyndaquil only stared back at him with distaste, her eyes narrowed, her nose high in the air.

Lyra glanced back at his face just in time to see his lip curl in a sneer.

"You got a Pokemon at the lab," he scoffed finally, the flame in his eyes disappearing as he looked away from Cyndaquil and crossed his spindly arms over his chest. "That Pokemon's too good for a wimp like you, though."

Lyra blinked at his remark, not sure she had heard right. Was this a normal thing for trainers to do, to march up and blatantly insult each other? Surely he couldn't be this rude, could he?

"I—I'm sorry?" she stammered.

The boy snorted and flicked his hand aside, as if deeming her question too stupid to answer. Lyra followed the motion of his thin, elegant fingers with her eyes. They reminded her of pale Ariados legs.

"Well, I too have a good Pokemon. I'll show you what I mean!" he shouted, and before she could react, he swung his arm back and flung a gleaming Poke Ball forward.

Author's Note:

Again, I wrote a few drafts of this chapter (though not nearly as many as the last one) before finally finding one that I was happy with. It's odd how that happens, isn't it, how on one of the drafts inspiration just comes and you think to yourself "This is it," while the other ones feel all awkward?

Anyway, thanks again for reading (and hopefully reviewing, too! you know you want to *wink* because the wink smiley just does not work at the end of a parentheses...)! Yay for the Silver entrance! This chapter was originally supposed to include the entire Silver battle, but then the conversation with Cyndaquil got drawn out and it felt right to end the chapter there. So, Silver battle coming up in the next chapter, plus the return of Ethan! Yay! :D

The good thing is that I already have a lot of that chapter written, since I was planning to include it originally, so another update should be coming in soon. Feedback is always lurved. :) Until next time!

EDIT: I changed the chapter title.