Chapter I

It all started with a vision.

August was nine years old when it came to her.

As the daughter of Crasher Wake, she was the jewel of Pastoria – with her little sun-bleached braids, her rippling sea-glass eyes, and her toothy grin, everyone loved the sight of her climbing over her father's back. Spyglass in hand. Fake eyepatch donned. Reading maps and throwing wooden swords around.

She would be the best pirate to sail the seas. She would discover new lands. New treasures. New adventures.

And on that one day, standing on the plank of her father's oldest ship, she saw it.

It dove into her mind – an image of a temple. Spiralling and big, surrounded by water – deep and blue, Pokémon of the ocean circling around it. White marble that whispered tales of treasures, of strength, of adventure.

August stood there. Gaping.

She had never become so aware of the pirate ship around her. The paint peeling along the railing, the cutlery clanging as the pirates ate their supper for the day. The rusted chains, the worn decks, the waves relentlessly slapping and teasing the wooden edge.

Then, she plunged.

None of the pirates cried out in alarm. In fact, some of them hooted.

They knew what a great swimmer she was, after all. She had learnt to swim before she had even worked out how to walk.

Sure enough, she pummelled through the waves – soaring through each bubbling crest, swift and smooth.

She would find that temple.

She didn't know how exactly – she only knew there was a tug in her heart that felt right. The image was printed in her mind, too. She would just keep swimming until she saw those same twisting pink coral along the stone, until she found those strange and unfamiliar Pokémon she had never seen in her life. No Mantines or Empoleons – but strange, red Pokémon with claws and large blue ones with tusks sticking out.

A new country, perhaps.

She would find it.

She would claim that temple. That treasure.

But no one saw the Sharpedo.

No one saw its dark skin, cruising below the waves, streamlining towards her.

August didn't see it, herself.

She only felt the pain scream through her arm. Sharp. Burning. Her whole body being lurched to the side, colliding with something heavy and angry and rough—

And blood.

Clouding the ocean red.

It took a while for the pirates to see. But, once they did, Wake was on his Gyarados, diving to save his daughter.

But August didn't see what happened with her father, his Gyrarados, or the Sharpedo.

One moment, she was blacked out, unable to see or feel a thing. Then, there was pain – hissing, clawing pain, climbing up her body as the salt stung against her. Blackness again. Pain. The sight of her arm – blood gushing from it, Healer Joy's fingers clamped over it, but more and more scarlet lashing out onto the strange white bed she was on.

She didn't know where she was. She didn't know what was happening.

All she knew was that, weeks later, Healer Joy had performed the 'miracle stitch.'

A black streak of thread knotted up around her bicep, holding her arm together. According to the other healers who had fed her and given her medicines, Healer Joy's miracle stitch was the only thing keeping her arm on her body. The Sharpedo had nearly ripped it completely off.

Miracle stitch or no, there was a hollowness in August's eyes.

Even months later, when her arm no longer felt the low throbbing and sharp burns, she had tried to get onto a pirate ship. And she couldn't – the nausea would eat at her stomach, and she would gag and heave and spew all over the ladder. The glaring eyes of a Sharpedo burning in her mind.

"You'll climb aboard when you're ready," her father had told her. "It'll be alright, lass."

But she was never ready.

And she never would be.

The maps along her bedroom walls had been taken down and ripped to shreds. Her treasures had been tossed out. Her favourite red bandana had been hidden under her bed.

Instead, she became a scholar.

She took after her mother, reading about Pokémon and kingdoms and adventures. She would stay up, her eyes burning as she buried her face into the pages, learning.

And, just like that, her dreams changed.

She was no longer the pirate prodigy. She was the scholar.

In her classes, surrounded by the brightest of tots, she was the shining star. Her teachers loved her. The philosophers surrounded her. Even her mates from class stuck by her, always asking to touch the miracle stitch that bound her arm together.

She was the name. She was the star.

Until Prince Steven Stone came along.

Prince.

The whole freaking prince of Sinnoh decided to leave the castle for a few months, to instead study in the Backlot Mansions by Pastoria. She never knew why the king and queen decided to send their son away from the safety of their castle, just to learn literature or something.

And, just like that, August had competition.

He answered all the questions before her.

He gave the philosophers new ideas that they hadn't even considered.

He even joined Crasher Wake on his pirate ship once. When August still hadn't been able to.

The pompous bastard.

Her friends swarmed around him, desperate to be acquaintances with a prince. And yet, he didn't even seem happy around them. There was a placidness to his smile – a calmness in his eyes that made it look like he felt nothing at all. Always shrugging. Always nodding. Not once raising his voice or saying something abruptly.

Calculated. Thoughtful. Mild.

By the time she was thirteen, August was pretty sure she hated him.

Until, of course, he spoke to her.

She was on the pier, a book propped in her hands. It was a story about two siblings, brother and sister, who found each other after centuries of separation through a flute.

She always read by the pier. Hoping, desperately, that by sitting on the rustic woven browns and feeling the salt of the ocean against her skin, she would build up the courage to go on a ship again. To stop seeing the Sharpedo eyes. To stop feeling the flaring agony in her arm that still crawled over her bones.

"Can I see the miracle stitch?"

She heard his voice before his shadow fell over her. His long, perfectly sleek britches brushed against her skirt as he sat beside her.

Icy, silver hair. Curious blue eyes.

She wanted to hate him. She really, really wanted to hate him.

But still, she raised her arm. Let him feel the grooves and dark stitches that clung to her arm.

"Can I ask you a question?" he then said.

She nodded. Unable to breathe a word.

"Do you believe this was a miracle?"

August furrowed her brow.

She had gotten many, many questions before.

Did it hurt?

Were you scared?

What did the Pokémon look like?

But no one had ever asked her that.

Finally, she cleared her throat.

"Yes," she said. "It was a miracle. I… They told me that no other healers could have done what Healer Joy did. She saved my arm."

Steven Stone nodded at that. "But do you really believe it was a miracle?"

"Yes. It was absolutely, definitely a miracle." August could hear the defensiveness in her own voice, even as she added, "How could you possibly think otherwise?"

"I simply don't believe in miracles."

"And why not?"

Steven glanced over at her arm. Touched it gently. "This isn't a miracle, August. This is someone's hard work. Healer Joy has worked to make something like this. She has practised. That's what my mother always told me. We don't make miracles. We simply get what we work for."

Perhaps he was right. But August couldn't nod along.

It was her miracle stitch. Not his. What could he possibly know?

"That's my favourite story, by the way," Steven said, gesturing at her book. "The Story of Eons. It's why I learnt to play the flute."

August nearly rolled her eyes.

He played the flute? Was there anything he couldn't do?

"Well," August suddenly said, "I want to talk about miracles again. Because they do exist. I had a vision on the day the Sharpedo attacked me, and it showed me a giant Sea Temple. That vision came to me. It was a miracle."

She instantly felt heat prick her cheeks. Because she knew what he would say.

What sort of miracle nearly rips off your arm?

But Steven Stone wasn't like her other classmates. Instead, he tilted his head.

"A vision?"

"I know it sounds crazy. But I saw—"

"I believe you, August."

She glanced up in alarm. "You do? But you don't believe in miracles."

For the first time, he actually seemed stumped. August felt a smug kick in her smile.

"Well," he said carefully, "I don't think the vision came to you out of nowhere."

"You think I worked for a vision? Practised seeing weird temples every night before sleeping?"

His infuriatingly calm smile actually grew. "Well… Did you?"

"What? Of course not. Don't be silly."

"Perhaps you were chosen, then. Chosen by something or someone to receive the vision."

"Which would make that a miracle."

"Unless you worked hard and showed that you were capable of seeing such a vision."

August threw up her hands.

There was no winning with this guy.

"People always ask why I dove into the water," August said softly. "And I used to tell them about the vision. But they all called me crazy. They said it was scurvy getting to me brai—my brain."

"You don't have scurvy. You look healthy."

"I know. But…"

Steven nodded. "But now it's easier to just tell people you fell off the ship."

"Aye."

She didn't mind that he took the words from her. In fact, it was nice having someone beside her who actually seemed to understand. Who knew how to challenge her and make her think – even though he was nine months younger than her.

"Do you still see the temple?" he asked her.

She closed her eyes. Saw the marble. The rippling tides. The crystals.

"All the time."

"We should go then," Steven said. "Together. We could find it."

"That would take a miracle."

He gave her a crooked smile. "You already know how I feel about those."

And she couldn't help it – she laughed.

Sure enough, within minutes, they were planning it out. She would journal all her dreams, he would start collecting enough materials to last them weeks on a ship, and they would both sit by the pier every night. Studying maps. Reading tales. Planning their journey.

It was only when the sun sank beneath the ocean, the orange haze turning to darkness, when Steven paused.

"We should be friends," he said.

He said it so nonchalantly that he could have been telling her that it was night time. But August took his outstretched hand and held it tight.

"Let's be friends."

From there, she decided she wouldn't be a pirate or a scholar.

She would be an adventurer.

They learnt about compasses. About reading shadows to tell the time.

One day, gripping onto Steven's hand and burying her face into his sleeve, she climbed onto the little canoe they had found. They called it Miss Tidal, and though August had been pale as a ghost while Steven rowed them out into the sea, she hadn't thrown up.

In fact, she had laughed as the waves lapped up to meet her again.

Of course, the second something rocked the canoe even a little bit, she shrieked for him to return back to the shore – heart hammering, fingers numb, and legs trembling. And though she had been flushed and embarrassed when she realised it had only been a Magikarp, Steven had later brought her a little ring. To celebrate the small victory.

It wasn't anything romantic, he had reassured her, as he showed her his matching silver ring.

"It's just to mark our promise," he said. "Our promise to complete this adventure. I would have given it to you before, but I thought I would save it for when you went on a boat again."

August had stared at it long and hard before sliding it onto her thumb. "I still can't believe it. How long was I on the boat for? An hour, right?"

"Five minutes."

"It was definitely longer!"

"Maybe six."

They both laughed, and she decided she loved that sound – crisp and gentle, but honest and kind. She wanted to hear him laugh more.

"Six minutes is still…" August smiled. "It's a miracle."

But Steven was there. Shaking his hand. Reaching out to grip her hands. "No. It was your hard work. Your courage."

People were beginning to notice them, too.

They still raced each other to answer questions, but there was no more silent competition. If they disagreed, it was aloud – bickering for hours and hours until the other scholars told them to save it for another day. They were always sneaking off together, either to the pier or the library or, on very odd nights, on their canoe, Miss Tidal.

And everyone noticed the matching rings.

August didn't leave it. Ever. She slept with it, showered with it, and would scowl at anyone who asked to see it.

It was their promise. Their adventure.

And, within a few months of that day on the pier, August had gone from hating Steven Stone to slowly, but surely, fancying him.

It was his fourteenth birthday.

He would be going back to the castle to celebrate with his mother and father. But, before he left, she had asked him to meet her on the pier at sunrise.

She was going to give him a gift. A red bandana, to match the one she would wear when they started their adventure.

And then, she was going to tell him that she liked him.

But that was the day August learnt that miracles didn't last.

For, before he had even reached the pier, she felt the pain curl up her fingers on her stitched arm. Worse than anything she had felt before – splintering up, up, and up until it reached the stitch. Ripping right into her, making her howl.

Her blood cut a vivid arc through the air. Splattered over her nice dress and ran down her hands.

She was screaming. Crying.

Agony. Suffering. All wrenching through her like a shard of glass.

The last thing she saw was Steven Stone's eyes. Genuine fear inside them.

"August?"

And she was gone.

In and out.

Just like it had been on that day the Sharpedo had bitten her.

In and out.

Being dragged into a library.

Her parents' voices.

Steven Stone's trembling lips.

Healer Joy.

Blood.

And when she awoke properly, with all the fog racing away from her head, she no longer had an arm.

Her right arm was just a stump by her bicep. A horrific, lumpy and purple stump.

Healer Joy had told her that it was the best she could do – that the rest of her arm had been too infected to save. Her parents had held her, telling her that she was still perfect, that she would still do amazing things even without her writing hand.

And Steven…

The first thing she noticed was that his eyes landed on the ring. It had been on her infected hand, but Healer Joy must have taken it off before cutting it away. Instead, it sat on the table beside her bed, saved.

But he didn't say anything. Neither did she.

It was only when she tried to take a spoonful of stew with her left hand, only for it to slip and spill all over her tunic, that she broke into harsh, whispered sobs.

"Do you need help?" Steven asked, instantly on his feet. "Here, I can—"

The thought of Steven Stone, Prince of Sinnoh, feeding her because she simply couldn't, was mortifying. Humiliating. Soul crushing.

So, with whatever voice she could find within her, August snapped.

"Don't come near me."

He froze. "August…"

"Don't. I can't do this."

"There's nothing to do. Just… relax. I can call Healer—"

"No!" she cut in. "You don't understand! I can't do this."

Her eyes on the ring. His gaze following.

"There's no rush," he said softly. "I can wait. We—"

"There's no we, Steven. I don't have an arm. I can't even stand on a boat. I'm useless."

"No. Together, we—"

August scoffed. "Together? Together? We'd come back, and if some crazy miracle happens and we find something, do you know what people would say? Prince Steven Bloody Stone found a Sea Temple while dragging along a cri—"

"Don't say that." There was a calm, silent rage in Steven's voice. "Don't you dare say that."

She had the sense, even as snot dribbled onto her lips, not to argue to that.

"Besides," Steven added. "I don't believe in miracles."

"Great. Because neither do I."

For some reason, he staggered back. Like that actually hurt him.

And it pissed her off.

Because dammit, dammit, dammit.

He had the whole freaking world at his feet. He was a revered prince. He was an explorer. A scholar. Everything that she had always dreamed of.

And now, she couldn't go on her own father's ship. She couldn't write. She couldn't go on an adventure.

August clenched her left fist. Then, without even thinking, she reached for the table, grabbed the ring, and tossed it at Steven Stone.

"Go find someone else," she told him coldly. "Because I don't want to see you ever again."

Then, she closed her eyes.

Because she didn't want to know if he picked the ring up. She didn't want to know if he had found the bandana that she had gotten for him. She didn't want to know if he knew how she really felt about him.

She just wanted to suffer silently.

Alone.

Steven stopped coming to the Backlot Mansion to study. Apparently, he had gone back to the castle.

But August was no longer the star of her class, even with him gone.

No one spoke to her. They all seemed to turn green at the sight of her swollen stump of an arm. They all avoided her, like they expected her to turn into a Sharpedo at any given moment.

She couldn't write anymore, and she gave up trying with her left arm.

She struggled to read. Because it reminded her too much of him.

And she never, ever went to the pier.

Because it hurt too much.

Months later, when her classes had ended for the day, she heard the whispers.

It was from the other lads and lasses in the class – speaking in their hushed voices as they started packing their ink bottles and pens. August frowned, staring at her table, but listening to each word they said.

"Did you hear the news?"

"The news?"

"The prince is missing."

"Prince Steven Stone? What?"

August felt tears in her eyes. But she didn't glance up at them. She didn't even utter a word to any of them.

She just listened to the group as they chattered.

"He jumped on a ship and left Sinnoh."

"Left Sinnoh? Where did he go?"

"No one knows. No one knew anything of his plans."

"Wow. He's only fourteen, though. What would happen to him out there?"

"Yeah. What if a Sharpedo gets hi—"

"Shut it! She's right there!"

August bowed her head lower as she felt them all stare at her. Felt their pity.

When she was sure they were gone, their voices echoing out the door, she did the only thing that she could do.

She cried.

Two whole years had passed.

No one had heard from Steven Stone. No appearance, no signals, no letters.

Nothing at all.

His mother and father had sent pirates and knights alike to search for him, but no one came back with any news.

He was gone.

Lost to the tides.

Forever.

On her seventeenth birthday, August found herself on the pier. Staring at the rhythmic percussion of the waves, set alight by the orange glow of the sunset.

Where are you, Steven Stone?

Alone.

Where are you?

This chapter has been in the making for months. But I got hit with a wave of magic and got it done and I actually... like it? So if you hate it... lol. Awkward.

A reminder for those who are impatiently waiting for chapters: check out The Iron Knight, also on this profile! It's a complete nuzlocke story with similar writing since... well. Same author.

I am trying to make this story as accessible as possible for those who have not read The Iron Knight, hence why some TIK fans may notice that I'm not name dropping as much as I could! I don't wanna spoil anything from other books now, do I?

But yes! I would love to hear thoughts on this chapter! It's very different to TIK's first chapter, but... yeah! Hope you enjoyed!