Frost's Story

Frost Burn

"I've left behind my family, my friends - everything. The only thing left for me is this - the battlefield. " - Small Child, Sword & Shield

Do you believe in God?

It's a question that has so many connotations. Do they exist? Well of course many Pokémon claim to have met them face-to-face, and their earthly traces are not difficult to find. Some remain steeped in myth and disbelief, such as Mew, even more so its supposed first-born Mewtwo, and none more cast in the shadow of doubt than the "Original One".

Do you believe in my God, is what so many imply with these five words. Reshiram, Darkrai, Tapu Bulu. The great and powerful makers such as the Forces of Nature, the Lake Guardians, the Creation Trio. Or the more worldly, perhaps more wholesome Gods such as Shaymin, Diancie. Even closer to the common Pokémon, all such affiliations claiming for one reason or another that their particular deity is the one most deserving of our reverence. Many choose to worship a trio or a quartet, usually those who's followers have positive relationships with one another; the Legendary Beasts, the Legendary Heroes, the Swords of Justice. Some, like the Alamos, worship them all equally. All Gods are true, they decry. All Gods are deserving of our worship.

But when I ask these words, I have in mind something else entirely. Do you believe in God? Do you trust in God? Do you believe your faith in God will change the World?

My father would ask me such questions.

When two Gods do battle with one another, very often their devout follow in their footsteps. Like Wishiwashi shoaling together, they gather their arms and armour and fight for the honour and favour of their chosen master. To be charitable, perhaps they fear for their deity's life. Such seemed to be the case during the War of the Birds.

When Articuno and Zapdos and Moltres did battle, their followers turned on one another like Seviper and Zangoose. Lady Rayos, Bolt-Tailed Raichu of the Taiga region, fought on behalf of Zapdos. Our Lord Isbert, took up arms in defense of the glory of Articuno. That resulted, naturally, in the followers of Moltres finally answering the call. And who should those devout be but the Skarsgards themselves.

The Charizard lay waste to the Polar Region. Though the birds never brought their conflict to our northern corner, the inferno wrought upon us was like the wrath of the Gods themselves. In daylight the flames burned hot as the blazing sun, at night the sky was black with smoke and ash. By the time Lugia emerged from the sea to bring peace to their children, the Polar Region had shrunk to half its original size. It's no longer a part of the main island, the only region in Itori to be separate from the Pangea. The Glacier region is technically still connected, thanks to the enormous steel bridge the natives erected.

Hundreds died. Many more were injured, scarred, scorched, left shells of their former selves. Countless homes were destroyed, healer's tents and nurseries and churches; nothing but the charred black bones of a rich and shining culture was left behind. This land is ruled by fire, what chance did we ever have?

All four of my grandparents died in this war. One fighting courageously on the battlefield, one a peaceful civilian unlucky enough to be collateral from a poorly-aimed dragoon attack, one last seen stranded on a melting ice floe as his village was forced to leave him, one left starving after King Wilhelm himself destroyed our food stores. We held a mass funeral for the dead at Arctic Town. That's how my parents found one another, and you would believe that's what radicalised them. But in fact Lord Isbert's response was the straw that broke the Camerupt's back. The gluttonous gutless Glalie who sat passively, saying we should accept the peace offered, to "not look a gift-Rapidash in the mouth." However, my parents disagreed.

How long before they strike again? How much more of our land are we willing to let melt into the ocean? Ice-types are the rarest of all types. We do not have the luxury of being complacent. We fight, or we die.

Team Arctic was my mother Alda's idea. My father Jack came up with the name; he always did have a flair for the dramatic. What else would you expect from a Ninetales? Mother was the brains behind the operation, Father was the frontman. He was also the one who would lead the charge into battle. In the beginning they fought side by side, equal in strength and determination. But then I was born. Mother would stay behind to take care of me, while my father would waltz about charming the masses. Mother would bounce me on her knee new while sat over a map of Itori, pushing little Ninetales and Sandslash and Charizard and Hydreigon figurines that at the time I thought were toys. Father would bring a basket of berries and sweetbread for us both on his way home from radicalising the latest settlement or wild area. For many years they studied the art of Soul Magic. Inspired by the story of the Gyarados of Gold, they combed through the wildest parts of the polar region, the glaciers, the ocean and the mountain ranges, searching for any piece they could get their hands on. They began to experiment. They took lives. I take no pleasure in saying so, but it was necessary for the survival of our kind. Would you sacrifice the lives for the sake of everyone you love? Go ahead, tell yourself you wouldn't. But I know better than that.

And my parents were no hypocrites. My father risked his very soul for this project, taking the Sapphire Eye they found in Tungsten Glacier and placing it in front of him before allowing my mother to transfer his essence from his body to the fragment and then back again. They were successful. I sat watching while I ate my poffins and played with the whistle they'd given me in case of emergencies. I felt I had no need for it; my parents knew what they were doing.

"How did you feel?" Mother asked once Father opened his eyes again.

"I feel nothing," Father answered, "how long was I gone for?"

"Only a few seconds, I wasn't going to risk—"

"Put me in for longer."

"H-How long?"

"A day, at least."

"Jack!"

Father simply stared at her.

"What if… What if your body…?"

"Put it on ice."

So my father's soul ascended again, while I watched. My mother froze his body and left him there for twelve hours before her nerves snapped and she brought him back. She broke the ice with her powerful claws and shook her husband awake. My father stretched, shook himself off, and took a deep breath, looking like a Pokémon reborn. I suppose in a sense he was.

"How do you feel?" Mother asked.

Father kept his eyes closed and didn't answer. He described the state he was in as the soul of the Sapphire:

"I slept. I felt nothing, thought nothing. Until I felt your souls reaching out to me." He looked at us both with an expression I'd never seen before. "And I felt more awake than I'd ever been in my life. I felt the thrill of everything that brought me here; anger, fear, determination… curiosity. It was a state of pure emotion."

And then he collapsed. It took him two days to recover. Mother insisted to her last that if she'd left him there for a day like he'd asked, he wouldn't have survived the journey back. I sincerely hope that's not true, because of what I now plan to do.

Mother's actions only bought him a few more years. I am eternally grateful for those years, but it's never enough when it's someone you love, is it? My parents died too young. I suppose everyone says that when a person dies before their time, but I mean it in so many different ways.

In regards to their experiments, they had three airtight rules:

1. Never on children

2. Never on the elderly

3. Only ever on trespassers

Eventually one of our followers convinced them that included the Skarsgards. While technically welcome guests of Lord Isbert, there were countless Pokémon in our region who wanted nothing to do with a single member of King Wilhelm's military. So when Commander Faraji Ndiaye (a very on-the-nose name for a Pyroar) and General Braze Winters (a very ironic name for a Charizard) were sent to collect the yearly taxes from Lord Isbert, Team Arctic saw their chance.

They brought a small envoy of only thirty Pokémon with them, all ice and/or water-type. I wondered aloud why they had sent two fire-types at all, to which Shore, a Barbaracle Skarsgard defect, informed me they had no ice-types above lieutenant level. And perhaps, my good friend Isaac had suggested, they wanted to remind us all how much of a threat they posed.

Ndiaye and Winters stayed in one of the igloos Isbert kept for non-ice-type guests. Two Pokémon alone in a confined space would be an easy kill, Father insisted. He'd been tutored by one of our Admins and acquired Sheer Cold; since then almost every fight had lasted less than a minute. We would have the Team Arctic grunts escorting us, of course, he'd insisted the three of us needed to go alone, lest we draw any attention from the accompanying (primarily fire-type) soldiers right next door.

"Besides," he'd added with a shrug, "this is just another Sunday."

It pains me to admit, but my father was an incredibly arrogant person.

We were in the middle of a "freak snowstorm" (hint hint) and couldn't see further than ten feet ahead of us. Mother would be staying outside with me holding her claw, but all three of us stood at the igloo door. In part because we'd always disarmed our targets with our happy-family appearance, and because Father couldn't knock on the door with his paws. The Charizard opened the door, they exchanged pleasantries, I don't really remember the details. He invited the three of us in but Father told him my mother had to take me home. The Charizard stepped aside to let him in and closed the door, and we waited. The last moment of that part of my life, I was sucking on my whistle, and my mother was batting it out of my mouth.

Then there came the howl of fire and a sound I'd never heard before: my father screaming in agony. There were thuds, yells, and roars, followed by more fire.

"Jack!" my mother screamed, wrenching herself out of my grip and running to the door.

I stood there stupid, stunned and confused as Mother ripped the wooden door off its hinges and an inferno burst out. She screamed and dropped to the snow and a second later the roof of the igloo exploded in a blaze of hellfire. A tower of flame reached into the sky and inside I saw the dark silhouette and gleaming red eyes of the Charizard. He landed on the ground and threw back his head and roared, spitting fire into the steaming air. The walls of the igloo collapsed and I heard my father cry out once again.

Mother's Aqua Tail cut through the flames but the Pyroar leapt in front and raised a Protect bubble. Her tail was already glowing anew but before she could react the Charizard was running out from behind his superior and driving a Focus Punch right into her ribs. I heard bones break. Mother lay wheezing in the snow while Father, fur black as soot, came limping out from under the snow. His nine tails lifted and the tips began to glow white as snow. Ndiaye's mane turned ruby-red, and a shimmering wave of heat spread through the air. My father's cry of agony was drowned out by the Pyroar's beastly roar. I lay curled up in a ball, tears melting the snow. The two fire-types began kicking snow over my parents' bodies, and thinking they were attempting to bury them, I ran out screaming. I raised my arm, ready to strike. The strongest move I knew at the time was Metal Claw. The Charizard took in on the thigh as if it was nothing. I howled and scratched him again and again and again, until he kicked a big pile of snow on top of me.

"Listen," he said, "we're not hurting them, we're putting out the fire."

"And icing their burns," said the Pyroar. He looked at me with gentle eyes, but it only made me want to hurt him all the more. He gave me a very soft smile that infuriated me and said: "We're going to take them to a healer, okay?"

My heart skipped a beat. We couldn't take them to the healers, they'd be discovered, they'd be thrown in jail, the rest of Team Arctic would be hunted down and all of this will have been for nothing. The Skarsgards exchanged a look.

"We're going to bring the healers out here, all right, kid?" said the Charizard.

The Pyroar bent lower and said: "You take care of your mom and dad for us while we're gone, yeah? We'll be right back!"

I scratched him on the nose.

"Yyyow! Aha, feisty little tyke, aren'tcha?"

I knew there were going to fetch reinforcements. Fighting back tears, I did the only thing I could do: I blew the whistle. Team Arctic emerged from the ground, their heads popping out of the snow like so many Diglett. Polly, a Eiscue and Father's best friend, lifted me up in her arms and carried me down into the tunnels below. They did everything they could. But we had no experienced healers, few supplies, and terrible conditions. My mother's rib had ruptured her spleen, and one of my father's smoke-damaged lungs had collapsed after the roof had fallen on top of him. I knew their time was coming even as both of them insisted to their last breath that this wasn't the end.

"We're not going to die here," my mother said more times than I could count, "we're not going to leave you, Frost."

"It's not time yet," my father said, I'm not sure to who exactly, "there's so much left to do, it's not time. It's not time."

They died in the middle of the night. I sat by their bedsides, too exhausted and in a strange way too sad to even cry. Our Admins and the rest of my parents' closest friends were in the room with us, as well as a few family members. Their families, not ours. I was the last one left.

The others leaned on each other for comfort. A sheet was drawn over their bodies. Finally Paul, a Walrein and friend of Mother's who'd been middle-aged when I was born, came up to me and asked:

"Would you like some time alone, boss?"

They were gone before they could take Hoarfrost Town from Lord Isbert. Though I wish my parents had been there, it was I who was granted that honour. At night and from a distance, Nebula Castle looked like a rolling black cloud. Only the phosphorescent light shining from within gave it its silver lining, though from the inside it bounced off the decorations and took on a sapphire-blue shade. Up close the building looked like a natural hill, as if it simply grew from the ground as an act of nature. Who knows? Perhaps it did.

Crunching snow in place of crunching gravel led up to the door, aluminium engraved with the outline of a Glalie's body. The entrance looked like a gaping mouth with a thousand spear-like teeth. The guardsmon wore armour lined with thick white fur; Drampa and Volcarona and Vulpix, to name a few. Some also dressed themselves with Wooloo wool. Even for ice-types, standing bare-skinned in the cold for hours on end isn't a good idea. The Beartic and the Abomasnow at the entrance held their spiked hammers heads-up, with ice picks hanging at their waists. Their armour was white all over to blend in with their surroundings, though the clear rings around their wrists could be banged against together to let off a ray of yellow light, designed to signal to one-another in blizzard. Inside, ice stalactites lined the corridors leading into the main hall, perhaps to intimidate what rare guests would find themselves past the doors. Nice try, I wear harder spikes on my back.

Stood in the Lord's chambers, while Yetunde and Blake restrained him with their crushing grip, I summoned one of the scribes who defected to my side during the battle (the plucky young Smoochum who unlocked the door to those well-sealed chambers) and instructed her to remain at the castle and continue writing letters to Queen Octavia.

"Are you sure, my l—"

I hold up a hand. She was about to address me as "my lord", and I wish for no such title. In my ideal world there will be no such thing as lord, prince, or king.

"What is your concern?" I asked the scribe.

"It's just… I wasn't the one who used to write his letters, he's been thrown in jail. I'm not sure I'll be able to imitate him perfectly; are you sure the Queen won't notice?"

"Queen Octavia doesn't care about this region that much," I assured her. "Not yet, anyhow."

I recruited many more of the Isbert Pokémon, well over a hundred. Those who did not wish to join me I allowed to travel elsewhere, to Ryūsei or perhaps to Tenrai, but I could not have them returning to the crownlands. Of course it was only a matter of time before word would spread, but I needed those first few weeks to set the snowball rolling. And I bought them.

There were only two of the Isbert Pokémon I could not let go. Two warlocks by the names of Aidyl and Margate. Two of Lord Isbert's closest advisors, though they lived miles from civilisation. The closest settlement was Majime Village ten miles away. According to every one of the defected Isbert Pokémon I'd asked, they were the two most powerful Mana-users in Itori. Their humble home was igloo-shaped but seemed to be made out of some kind of purple-pink crystal.

The space inside was too small to live in, I knew there was a secret entrance somewhere. There were no windows, but the crystals hanging from the ceilings captured perfectly the aurora borealis outside, reflecting it across the roof. Vials of purple liquid line the walls, all with caps of different colours. In the centre of the room, a ghostly pale-purple flame burned from a nothing but a stone. The warlocks stood (or hovered) on the other side of the fire. Aidyl was the blind Murkrow with milky white eyes. Margate was the deaf Misdreavus with white tips at the end of her hair.

I didn't wait for their invitation to sit down, legs-crossed. I was alone. I knew either one of them could turn me to dust, but they both knew they'd be surrounded by my soldiers waiting outside, and killed. I sat regarding them for a moment. They lived alone together, miles and miles from the nearest settlement, even the nearest home. Margate read lips, so my informants told me, but I've never met a Pokémon who could read the words coming from a beak. I begin by asking:

"How do the two of you communicate, out of curiosity?"

No response.

"I know you both understand me."

"That does not mean we are obliged to answer." Margate spoke clearly; perhaps she was not born deaf.

"I am simply making conversation."

"No," said Aidyl, "you are not."

In silence I could sense their minds ticking away. They might not have realised, but I'd been trained to pick up on traces of all four of the Arts since I was a hatchling. I couldn't make out their silent words, but I could feel them humming through the room.

"Do you know why I am here?"

I knew they did, but I wanted to hear their answer.

"You wish to manipulate our power for your own gain," said Margate.

"Almost right," I held up a claw, "but I'm afraid neither of you possess the skills I need."

"Such power will not be within the range of your grasp," said Aidyl.

I spread my arms. "And that's where you two come in!"

Their minds ticked.

"Now would be the time you explained how you planned on blackmailing us," said Margate.

"Straight to the point, just how I like it. Down by the Melting Towers, I have exactly fifty-eight of Lord Isbert's former soldiers in captivity. My grunts are ready to execute them at my command."

I could feel magic energy building in the room.

"Or in the event of my death."

The current in the air faded. That's better, I thought but didn't say. No reason to give them game away.

"You will instruct me as to how the Beta Memorial is opened, or we will be in need of a memorial far grander."

"You are bluffing," said Aidyl.

I was. For a start, a massacre on that level would require the cooperation of several dozen Pokémon, and I couldn't trust that many would be comfortable defying Terra's Treaty and committing a terrible war crime. Secondly, I am not a monster. My enemies are necessary collateral, but I would not take the live of my own people. After all, it is them I am fighting for. But would the warlocks be willing to risk it?

The pair remained mute. Impatience crawled like bugs in my brain, but I sat and waited as if I had all the time in the world.

"If you open the Memorial," said the deaf Pokémon, "the Pokémon inside will kill you."

"And that is why you must also instruct me on how to… reason with them."

"You are a fool beyond saving if you believe you can tame a God," said the blind Pokémon.

"Tame? I would ally myself with them."

"You would ally yourself with chaos and destruction," said Aidyl.

I raised my chin slight.

"Such things are necessary in the name of progress," I responded.

"No," says Margate, "they are not."

My heart thudded with anger. I let it calm before I responded:

"Tell me, if you are so sure this will be my demise, why not send me straight to it? You seem to think of me as the enemy, why not be rid of me?"

"Because we do not see the life of an enemy to be equivalent exchange for the lives of our loved ones," said Aidyl.

"We seem to disagree on that, Frost," said Margate.

I felt a hot thrill of anger, but as always I keep my cool.

"All your loved ones will die without me," I said.

"By your own admission, they are about to die at your hand," Margate argued.

"If you do not assist me. The choice is yours."

"Why should we trust that the Pokémon threatening our people will be the one to save them?" said Aidyl.

"Because you can't change the world without a little pain. I understand that even if you don't."

Silent whispers filled the air; the kind you can't hear, but that crawl in your ear and underneath your skin. The kind you can feel behind your eyes and in the beating of your heart. I shifted uncomfortably.

"You will both die with your friends, you understand."

"The body is a mere vessel for the soul," said Aidyl. "I do not fear death."

"I am literally a ghost," said Margate.

I leaned forward and let a smile play on my lips and in my voice.

"You may not fear death," I said, "but I bet your apprentices do."

Red anger filled the room. Margate's eyes glowed crimson and Aidyl's feathers rustled with no wind. The ground trembled and all of a sudden my heart was hammering in my chest. My muscles felt weak, and gravity was dragging my claws to the ground.

"You will not harm our students." Both voices come from everywhere but their mouths.

My vision flashed white and ripples of cold spread across the ground. Icy crystals covered the walls as I spoke:

"Oh yes I will. And if I die here another will take my place and do it for me. I will not let anything get in the way of my parents' mission, I will not let their deaths be in vain! You will tell me what I need to know or you will rot beside their graves!"

Silent whispers so loud I could feel them in my bones. Then the Murkrow said in a quiet voice:

"Very well."

I put a hand, now free again, to my ear.

"Speak up."

"You heard me."

I resisted the urge to claw the beak off his face. I looked to the Misdreavus to see if she would be of any more help.

"The secret is denial," she said.

"Denial," I said. "How the hell is that supposed to help me?"

"We do not know."

"Must I remind you yet again that everything you love is on the line?"

Every word looked like it was being pulled from her mouth by force:

"Minds in a state of denial," she said, "souls frozen in time. It is this energy that will resonate with the God of the Arctic."

"I still need more than that."

They whispered faintly to one another for a moment. The Murkrow spoke:

"Many Pokémon experience this state when presented with something… difficult to accept."

"We're not going to die here, we're not going to leave you, Frost."

"It's not time yet, there's so much left to do, it's not time. It's not time."

That's it, I thought. That's the key.

I had my Pokémon comb the region. Then I had them dig through the glacier, the shores, the ice-capped mountains. We gathered piece after piece, more than a hundred. But though I knew how the Sapphires worked, though I knew how denial worked, would it be enough? Would bringing the tortured souls to God's gate be enough to summon them? Even the warlocks had no answer for me. There must be something else, I thought. Something to bind their powers together.

Then one day camped outside Sunset Hill in the Range Region, Hoshi, my Starmie Grunt Leader, approached to inform me they'd found something.

"Sapphire?" I said without looking up from my map. "Bring it to your assigned Admin."

"Not Sapphire, sir," they said, "a Pokémon."

"A Pokémon?" I replied drily. "And this couldn't be brought to your higher-up? You had to disturb me at the Murkrow's hour with this?"

"I brought the issue to Admin Isaac, sir. They said to bring word to you immediately."

I glanced up. "What kind of Pokémon?"

"I… can't explain. Please, sir, we need you down to the caves."

So I followed the poor fish, deeper and deeper until the only light come from our phosphorescent plants trapped behind glass, and the air was musty and dry as a catacomb.

That's where I discovered the Spiritomb.