This chapter and the following would like to acknowledge Dbztron2's birthday. Happy belated birthday Dbz! :)

Parfum Palace

"A luxurious palace constructed 300 years ago by a king who wished to display his power to all."

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The wind rolled through the grass like waves as he aimlessly followed the dirt road. The insides of the Palace hadn't interested him, so he took the Palace's back door to arrive here in the ridiculous hedge mazes. Why someone would spend fortunes on trimming mere bushes, was beyond him.

If he had a fortune, he would spend it on the next top-notch technology out there to research the nature of pokemon.

But—eh—that was just him. And the king of this palace was the king. If the king liked wasting his money, then fine.

Though he did admire the king's degree of wealth. That guy must've worked hard to get where he was.

He continued to walk until he arrived in front of a statue of a poke ball, examining it from afar.

It didn't take long for his interest to diminish. He's seen poke balls plenty of times. There were far greater balls in this world.

He left the poke ball monument and turned right (and thank god he was able to turn right; he thought there'd be more of the ridiculous, god-for-saken hedges). It wasn't long before he reached another monument.

This time, it wasn't a poke ball, but a great Zekrom monument. He knew this pokemon without having to read the statue's label. Anyone who'd went to school knew this ancient, legendary, omniscient Zekrom was from the Unova region. What great power this creature had! It would have been mind-blowing to witness its mere, awesome presence, and he'd heard of trainers, just as ordinary as he was, that were able to capture it (Think about it. Capture an extremely rare, powerful force within a mere ball? Impossible). He loved his pokemon, but if he had an incredible beast such as this guy—

"Zekrom—the Pokemon that assists those who seek to make an ideal world. Magnificent, isn't it?"

Caught a bit off guard, he turned to meet the eyes of a petite female around his age. Peers have told him he always had this sort of serene look on his face when he was admiring a certain object.

"Yes, it is," he said finally.

"Are you also touring the place?" She wasn't from here by the looks of the beret sitting on her short, ebony hair.

He wouldn't describe his stroll as a sort of 'touring' the palace. He'd went straight for the hedges instead of the palace. Gold columns? Boring. But her question was vague. Did she mean the hedge garden, the palace, or the whole Kalos region?

At Calem's conflicted expression, the girl caught herself. "Oh! My apologies for the oddly phrased question. I meant are you touring the palace as well?"

Well, at least she has self-awareness. She was putting on a good first impression for herself, unlike someone else he recently met…

"I'm only interested in what Parfum's garden has to offer at the moment, but maybe I'll tour the rest later," he says.

"Ah, I see. So you're a trainer."

He was slightly taken aback. "What makes you conclude that?"

"Only a true trainer would be focused on historical monuments and such and not riches. I've learned that from my father."

A true trainer, huh? He's always thought anyone could be a trainer with their own interests allowed. One didn't have to be so attentive towards history in order to be successful. Some trainers accept the pokemon road for the adventure and exhilaration; some take this path to become the best of the best or to merely learn more about the mysteriousness of it all.

And perhaps even a few trainers chose to travel alongside pokemon to give meaning to one's life.

He looks up at the statue surrounded by the great, blue horizon. "Your father knows what he's saying."

"Yes. He's told me a lot of things. He's a teacher, you see."

He instantly faces her. "Oh? So are my parents."

An enormous amount of surprises around every corner, this girl…

She blinks, and for the first time he notices she has deep, chocolate brown eyes, not dusty amber.

"What a coincidence. You must understand where I'm coming from, then?"

"Apologies: my parents don't talk to me as much as your father to you, I'm afraid."

She shakes her head fretfully. "Oh no, you're good. I'm the one that's sorry—I shouldn't have asked! I must be bringing up bad memories—"

"You're fine," he says quickly, feeling a prick of annoyance that he immediately squashes. She doesn't deserve it. She was a little overly-polite for his comfort—he preferred down-to-earth—but at least she wasn't being obnoxious.

He frowns inward to himself. What was he thinking? Did he actually have a type of girl now?

And after so many years of trying to focus on another subject other than standards.

"Well, would you look at that," she announces, glancing at her wristwatch. "It's nearly three sharp. I could have sworn I'd just arrive here five minutes ago. Time sure flies in this world."

He nods tersely. "I couldn't agree more."

"It was nice talking to you, err…"

"Calem."

What? Why did he give up his name so willingly? He had a feeling he shouldn't have done so.

"And I'm Mora. I hope to see you again sometime." She holds out a delicate, long hand, which he—unexpectedly—automatically shakes it with his own soft ones that he hates with a great passion. His hands used to be calloused as a Miltank's hide, but now his hands were as smooth as this petite girl's.

"See you," he bids. The girl smiles firmly, then departs down one of the long walkways behind him.

After a while, he decides he should take his own departure as well. With one last examination of Zekrom, he turns, expecting to see the girl just a ways off. But she's nowhere to be seen.

She'd vanished.

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Happy Roaming, and I give everyone my thanks!~