Hazel unlocked the door to her apartment and stepped inside. She was greeted with a few crisp notes from the piano.
She set her bookbag down quietly and tiptoed to the living room, where she stood in the entryway, watching the figure sitting at the piano bench gently caress the next keys. The song sprang up, its melody clear and simple, resounding in Hazel's ears and straining not to be forgotten. The notes built on each other until it became a whirlwind, a symphony, and the song reached its peak… and it began to shake. And then it petered away, and all Hazel could hear was the soft whimpering of the man at the piano.
"Dad…?" She approached him and laid a hand on his arm. It was trembling.
"I'm sorry, Hazel. I didn't mean for you to hear that," N Harmonia murmured.
Hazel reached out a finger and captured a tear that had fallen on a piano key. "It was beautiful. What is it called?"
"Farewell," her father replied. "Farewell." He ran a hand through his bristly hair. "I wrote it for your mother, but I never thought I was the one who would be playing it."
"Do you think… Do you think I could learn it?"
N hesitated. "Of course. It's quite simple." He lifted the lid of the piano bench and rummaged through the sea of papers inside. "I'll… I'll leave the sheet music out for you."
"Thanks." Hazel squeezed the flyer, which was now crumpled in her left hand. "Dad, there's something I need to tell you."
"What is it?"
Hazel handed him the paper. She bit her lip as he smoothed it out and read over it, watching as his brow creased and his eyes narrowed. Unease shot through her.
"You have to understand, Dad," she began rapidly. "This is what I've wanted my entire life, to become a Pokemon trainer and be friends with Pokemon. Please -"
The sound of crinkling paper stopped her next words.
"You will not go," N said.
Hazel opened her mouth to speak. She had never fathomed her father refusing her dream.
"B-but… Why?" she sputtered.
N didn't seem to hear her. He threw down the bundle of sheet music he held and collapsed on the couch, the wrinkled flyer clenched in his fists.
"You want to know why…" His eyes were focused on something in the distance. "I don't want you getting hurt. I don't want to lose you like Hilda… like I lost your mother."
"But, Dad," she tried again. "This is my dream-"
"Don't talk to me about dreams as if you understand them," N growled.
Hazel's eyes widened. "Please, Dad. There are so many things I could learn on this journey. Let me go."
"What good is it for?" N cried. "All this battling, what good can ever become of it? What can you learn from violence, Hazel? And think how the Pokemon feel! I tried to put a stop to the fighting before, but I only learned that people enjoy living a life with their eyes veiled from the truth. But I won't let you throw yourself off that cliff."
Hazel shook her head. "I've already decided, Dad. I'm going to be the best Pokemon trainer the world has ever seen."
N was silent. Slowly, he rose to his feet and tore the flyer into two pieces. The perfect halves fluttered to the floor, like feathers from a broken wing.
"You can't do it," he said. "You're not strong enough."
And he walked out of the room, leaving Hazel standing frozen by the piano. The words he had spoken echoed emptily in her ears. They repeated themselves, over and over, until her head was filled with a barrage of those poisonous sounds.
You're not strong enough. You can't do it.
And then, miraculously, light filtered in from the surface. Whether it was truth or an illusion, Hazel couldn't tell, but she embraced it all the same. She would go. She would find a way.
She sat down at the piano and began to play.
Ebony climbed into her bed. Tomorrow would be the beginning of a new life. As she reached out to switch off her lamp, the door to her bedroom opened. Edith Fay stepped inside.
"Hey, Mom." Ebony cracked a smile.
"Hi, darling. I… I just wanted to say goodnight."
"Goodnight, Mom."
Mrs. Fay bent over to kiss her daughter on the forehead and tuck the covers tightly under her chin. Her red-stained lips parted in a smile, showing her straight, pearly buck teeth. Ebony was suddenly reminded of the picture of a Bibarel she saw in class today. She shook the thought away before she burst out laughing.
"You'll call me, right? Every day."
Ebony untangled her mother's hand from her hair. "Every week," she corrected.
Mrs. Fay's clownish smile faded a little. "Is your bag packed?"
"Yes," Ebony said, glancing at the rucksack that was slung over her chair.
"Did you get your bike back from Rydel's?"
"Yes, Mom."
"Your camping gear?"
"Yes. It's all packed."
"Do you have enough food for the road?"
"Yes!" Ebony huffed, fixing her mother with a glare.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart… I'm just worried, that's all. But I know you'll be fine. You'll have your Pokemon beside you. Promise me you'll come home and visit sometime, alright?"
"I promise." Ebony rolled her eyes.
Mrs. Fay opened her mouth to say more, but a cacophony of chords from the neighboring apartment interrupted her. She got up and stomped her foot angrily.
"Oh, I'm going to kill him! He's been playing all afternoon!" she squealed.
Indeed, music had been coming from Hazel's apartment next door ever since Ebony got home. She found it was rather delightful.
"Are you sure it's not the composer who lives down the hall?" Ebony asked innocently.
"No," Mrs. Fay growled. "It's that madman, and he can't even play!" She banged on the wall, but the music persisted.
Actually, Ebony much preferred Mr. Harmonia's playing over the so-called "composer's." It was more heartfelt, more passionate, as if every note he played contained a piece of his soul.
"Well, goodnight, sweetheart," Mrs. Fay said, still fuming. Her cheeks were red when she bent over to plant a kiss on Ebony's forehead again.
"Goodnight," Ebony whispered.
Her mother stalked out of the room and shut the door behind her quite forcefully. Ebony sighed and switched off her lamp. She closed her eyes. She was going to be leaving tomorrow morning, starting a new life in a beautiful and promising world. Her heart was full, and she fell asleep listening to the most beautiful music in the world.
Mr. Truesdale didn't sleep very well now that he was fifty-two and experiencing the beginnings of arthritis. So instead of trying this morning, he rolled himself out of bed and headed downstairs to tend to his bus. The old, rickety thing was sitting by itself in the parking lot, looking as if it may collapse any second. Mr. Truesdale went up to it and patted its side affectionately.
"There, there, old Bertha," he told it, rubbing its headlights with a sleeve. "We'll be on the road soon, once those tourists wake up. They like their sleep, that lot. If they were more like you or me, we'd have been done with this tour a week ago."
"You named your bus Bertha?" a voice said from behind him.
Mr. Truesdale spun around, as rapidly as his old bones would allow. There was a girl standing before him. The old bus driver wondered for a moment how she had gotten so close without him noticing.
"Ah, yes," he answered, slapping the bus's side once more. "Bertha's her name."
"Did you name her after the Sinnoh Elite Four member, by any chance?" the girl asked, smirking.
Mr. Truesdale colored. "Why, yes… I can tell you, that woman's got class."
He could see the girl was trying not to laugh.
"Well, what you want?" he demanded, a little indignant now. "Young people like you don't just go making conversation with old geezers like me."
The girl grinned. "I want to know if you and… Bertha are, by any chance, going to Littleroot Town."
"Well, uh, unfortunately no," Mr. Truesdale stammered. "Our last stop is Petalburg. Did you need to get to Littleroot?"
The girl nodded. Mr. Truesdale was transfixed by her. Perhaps it had been too long since he had seen someone young and fiery, but this girl with her golden eyes almost reminded him of… royalty. Yes, a queen, that's what she looked like.
"Of course, I can make a stop there if you'd like," he offered. "It's on the way."
Those golden eyes lit up. "Really? I can pay you for your trouble." The girl rummaged through her bag and pulled out a handful of crisp green bills.
"Oh, no, no, I can't take that." Mr. Truesdale pushed the money away.
The girl looked at his bus dubiously. "I think Bertha might need it. She's looking a bit under the weather."
"No, not Bertha," Mr. Truesdale chuckled. "Say, when do you need to get to Littleroot?"
"By the thirtieth," the girl said as she reluctantly pocketed her money.
"Ah," he smiled knowingly, "a Pokemon trainer."
"You could say that."
Mr. Truesdale winked. "Then it would be even more of an honor to escort you to Littleroot."
"Oh, thank you!" the girl exclaimed, extending her hand. "My name is Hazel, by the way."
"Ah, just call me Robbie. Robbie Truesdale."
They shook hands.
Ebony had been on the road for a week now. She was weary and she desperately needed a shower, but her spirits had never been higher. She was nearing Littleroot Town. Only a few more days of travel and she'd reach her destination. Her customary scowl had been replaced by a half-grin.
On the other side of the road, a boy was riding his bike parallel to hers. He had been on the same path as her for a few hours. His clothes were spattered with mud and frayed at the edges, and he had a messy crop of brilliant orange hair. He hadn't spoken a word, but Ebony was growing tired of him. Whenever she tried to speed ahead, he would calmly catch up without ever seeming to try. And when she slowed down her pedaling, he would lag behind a little.
She finally stopped and drew her bike to the side of the road. The boy skidded to a halt a few meters away. He propped himself up against the roots of a tree and pulled out a canteen from his bag. He glanced at Ebony expectantly.
She ignored him. She would just wait for him to leave first, she decided. He couldn't stay here forever.
"I'm almost certain we're headed to the same place," the boy said.
Ebony munched on her trail mix, pretending not to hear him.
"Look, you're going to Littleroot Town to see the professor, right?"
She didn't answer.
"I'm going to Littleroot. Why don't we go together?" He was smiling. "Pokemon journeys are more fun when you have a traveling partner."
"How would you know?" Ebony snapped.
The boy's smile grew wider. "I knew you could talk."
"Of course I can talk," she said, then added, "idiot."
"So how about it? Traveling partners?" the boy said, getting to his feet.
Ebony rolled her eyes. She actually rather liked this boy and his friendly, upbeat charisma. It really couldn't hurt to make a friend and have some company - as long as it wasn't Hazel Harmonia, she told herself.
"Sure," she said.
The boy smiled again, a dimple forming at the corner of his mouth. "I'm Aiden.'"
"Ebony," she said.
They shook hands.