With a pixilated FLASH, the blinding teleportation light re-appeared over a red bricked pathway, Kadabra & Maya phasing into view from behind a curtain of light as they found their balance on the new ground.
Maya peered around, still catching her breath, unsure of exactly where they had wound up. In the heat of that moment, Kadabra didn't think; it just took her as far away from the forest as it could muster.
They shared a haunted look, remembering the heated exchange from just seconds before. Maya reached out for Kadabra's claw, squeezing it in her hands tightly.
"Are you okay?" She asked as she brushed off its pauldron-like shoulders, wicking away the leftover cindered soil from Charizard's assault. It gave her a slow nod, looking around them again to find their bearings.
Maya finally recognized where they were: Kadabra had taken them to the top of Route 6, just north of Vermilion and a short 10-minute walk from her apartment in downtown Saffron.
She peered out beyond the fences of the route, it's winding brick pathways meandering down to Vermilion's center city district. Even further she could see the docks at the port, the sailing lights now flickered on and sparking in the sea. But she could no longer see the casting ocean glow that had drawn her into Lance's fateful path.
She could still hear it... the passion in his husky voice, booming with command at his dragon's flight.
And the way his eyes had found hers, first in the heat of the moment, with that spark of recognition and devious curiosity;
and then at the end, laced with such horrid regret.
She looked down to her hands, their prophetic creases lined with Vermilion dirt and soot.
"Come on Kadabra," Maya turned around, heading north toward the Saffron city limits, the toll booth just ahead of them in the road, "Let's go home."
While it was only a small two-room studio, Maya always felt lucky that her apartment was on one of the best blocks of the city. Her bedroom window boasted the cresting view of Saffron's midtown skyline in the distance, with the moon always in view on nights like these up above the towers. And it was in the safest part of town too, far and away from the leftover seedy spots of Northern Heights where the remnants of Team Rocket's unemployed grunts would gather for drinks, plotting their next move (well, that is, if the rumors were to be believed).
She was quite proud of her little space. It was sparsely decorated with trinkets from her travels: Flea market Paintings of the Pallet countryside, a watercolor of the tallest trees in Viridian Forest's grove; small sculptures of the four Tapus that she'd found at the gift shop the last time she visited her brother in Alola; and a mask from last year's Mt. Moon festival hanging peacefully above the door.
A small computer desk sat in the corner, with dozens and dozens of old press credentials hanging on the walls around it like precious contest ribbons, her proud little souvenir collection from all the battles and events she had covered at work.
Her favorite part by far was her little balcony, connected to her bedroom by two glass doors, her little window to the outside world. She loved to grow Kantonian Daylillies and Oran Berry Blooms out there in the small porcelain pot her mother had painted for her, but it was hard to keep the Pidgeys from pecking them out in search of their own supper.
She quite liked her privacy, and was quite comfortable in being so alone. She considered it a great accomplishment just to be able to afford such a nice little place to relax, all thanks to the career she had built herself with Kadabra by her side. The space was a monument to her years of hard work, years that she often saw other young people throw away into pokémon collecting, gym challenges, or other aspirations of victory in the League. Which she'd never judge them for; she just had her own version of victory.
Though sometimes, she wished she had someone to share these victories with.
Standing nude on the tile, Maya stared at her own reflection in the bathroom mirror, waiting for the shower's heat to fill the room. She took a deep, cathartic breath, eyeing the stains of smoked soil that had tinged her cheeks and coated over the spray of freckles that usually shined across her nose. She didn't understand why, but for a moment, she truly did not want to wash this day's dirt off from her quite yet; she wanted to let it soak in for just a few seconds longer.
It made sense now, she thought, why Lance was such a revered Champion. She had only ever heard stories about the man, but he certainly was no fool; he had a fierce knack for strategy and command, and a scary discipline that she could feel radiating off from him. He had planned for the Thunder Punch to ignite like that, she thought, like a dynamite's winding fuse, hand-carved by his dragon into the battlefield. She didn't even see it coming.
She pictured him again, standing there in the dirt of Route 11, that heavy cape whipping around his feet, so regal and poised. And those shoulders, so broad and so stiff; how could a man bear to carry himself like that, all the time?
And those eyes, so clouded; the shade of a Rhydon's war-torn coat, a shining silver set of armored shields.
If only his pokémon had the same iron defenses that he undoubtedly did.
She brought her knuckles up to her nose, inhaling deep the Vermilion scents that were still glued to her: the Diglett's upturned soil, the verdant orchids on the path; and the deep, smoky fragrance of frail charcoal grass from Charizard's astonishing Flare Blitz. It soaked through her; still steeping like tea into her skin.
The steam from the shower coated the mirror like a misty terrain; it was time to wash it off.
As she crawled into bed, her body finally coming down from the adrenaline, she turned her eyes to Kadabra. Its sleeping spot was by the entrance to the room, like her little golden guardian, floating just a foot above the ground in lotus position.
"Kadabra?" She whispered in the dark.
"Dabra?"
Its wide eyes opened just a bit, meeting with her own across the room. She looked it over slowly, with a grateful smile.
"Thank you. You did the right thing, getting us out of there today. You're the best." Her words hung in the air for a moment, Kadabra nodding wisely.
Maya sighed. They were previously having such a nice weekend, but she just couldn't shake the heaviness that had come along with the memory of tonight.
She could feel the pressure in her chest again, remembering the way Lance's steely eyes had found hers in the heat of the battle, his gaze casting beyond the waves of fire, cutting right through the inferno as sharp as a Beedrill's needled blade.
For a tiny, fleeting moment, she wished to see those eyes again; to learn what lay beneath the steel.
There was no hiding this thought from Kadabra, who was always tapped into Maya's mind. There were never any secrets between them.
It glanced over at her, eyes softening with the thought as well.
"I don't think he was trying to hurt us," Maya finally said, thinking aloud, "I think... he was trying to show me something."
She turned over in her bed, now facing the large window with the sleeping city down below.
For a moment, she wondered how often he trained there on Route 11.
And how often he had done so, alone.
The Saffron Times: Legendary Kantonian media magazine, famous for its poignant profile pieces, thought-provoking human-interest stories, and not to mention the breaking news bombshells that had changed the face of the region many times over. From Team Rocket whistleblowers confessing their memoirs to the Saffron's loyal journalists, to the toughest predictions on the World Coronation Series, the Saffron Times was an empire of renowned history and respect.
And Maya always felt a great deal of pride for working there. She had started there 5 years ago, just after her 20th birthday, first as a lowly production assistant getting the Producer's coffee and spare tape, but quickly proved her worth to climb the ladder. Even on days that she knew would be long and would end with aching joints, or complicated filming logistics and tedious hours spent at an editing bay, there was never a day that she didn't look forward to being there.
The historic media magazine had just moved offices. The company had recently changed hands into new owners with a new Editor in Chief, who immediately saw the reduced price of the Silph Co. Building in midtown and bought the property outright. The renovations were still ongoing, but the staff writers sure didn't mind, as the architecture left over from its days as Silph were inspiringly picturesque: The cascading marble floors, the enormous scenic windows on every level, and the gorgeous lobby fountain that boasted beautiful hand-carved etchings of majestic Mega Gyarados in the skin of its white granite stone.
With all of the non-stop work and editing on the pieces covering the Masters 8, from thoughtful main-event interviews to puff pieces on the limited-edition Castelia cones served at the venue, Maya found herself very busy that week. She was glad; she needed the distraction. By the time she found a moment to glance at her calendar, she realized it was already Thursday.
She sat in her little corner cubical in the bullpen, the window beside her overlooking a small roof deck where Saffron journalists could relax (if they ever got the time). She tapped away at her laptop, dragging and dropping photos of Masters 8 winner Ash Ketchum from their archive files into the latest piece about the young Champion.
His win had been quite an upset, but not to anyone in Kanto who had been paying attention. Maya was a fan of Ash, and his ultra-creative battling techniques. He deserved the title of Monarch, and earned it in one of the most heartfelt battles she had ever watched. Maya still got the chills thinking back to the last moments of his Pikachu's showdown with Leon's Charizard, wondering what inspiration that the little mouse surely had tapped into to make that final blow. They had made everyone in Kanto very proud.
I wonder when his next big interview is, Maya thought, glancing over to the studio schedule taped to the edge of her desk. Trailing a finger down the list of upcoming tapings, she was unable to find his name. She did, however, spot Iris' name on the list, confirmed for tomorrow in Studio A, right down the hall. She smiled at the thought; Iris was an old friend, and Maya was incredibly proud of her performance on the biggest world stage.
Kadabra floated not far beside her chair, again in its meditative lotus daze. It loved to bask in the afternoon sun by the window, and reflect on the relaxing auras of the journalists on their break below.
Though this sun wouldn't last long; they could see a gloomy overcast sheet of clouds heading north over the city. Another one of these weird storms, Maya thought.
Back at her computer, Maya's mouse found the search bar of the main archive again. She needed another picture of Leon for the article.
Her hand floated over the "L" key, before pausing.
Her brows lifted with a curious idea. She peered around, making sure none of her nosey neighbors were eyeing her monitor.
Her fingers continued: "L..."
The archive search system's auto-fill kicked in, suggesting terms that it thought she could be after. Lampent? Lake Acuity? Lapras?
Maya peered up again at the window, ensuring no one could even see her in the reflection. She tilted her monitor's screen forward, its soft white light now aiming down at her wrists.
She kept typing : "L...A...N..."
Autofill tried again: Lanturn? Landorus?
...Lance?
With one last look around, Maya hit ENTER on the search. And after a few seconds, the archive had pulled up dozens and dozens of articles mentioning the mysterious man, many of which were about the Masters 8.
Her eyes suddenly fell upon his face as the computer's library displayed his latest headshot photo, the one they had used for all of the World Coronation Series promotionals. Maya braced herself in her swiveling chair as those dark eyes met hers again, beaming right through the screen with that raw intimidation. Strange, she thought, that this was the photo he had chosen to represent himself to the world: a scary, daunting glare, his high collar peeled open, his hand outstretched and grasping at the air with command. His famous cape was pinned together neatly, faceted with silver dragon-pin buttons across his chest. Those buttons; they must be made of crowned Corviknight steel, Maya thought, to have the strength to hang on those heavy shoulders.
The first thing she noticed was that there were no stand-alone profile articles on him to be found; no one-on-one interviews about his victories, no ego-inflating biographies that so many other Champions had the Times write for them. Shy boy, Maya thought.
Though there were plenty of tagged articles mentioning his name. Maya scrolled through them slowly:
"NEW BLACKTHORN HOSPITAL OPENS DOORS". Thanks to the Champion's generous fundraising efforts, his hometown of Blackthorn City got a new state-of-the-art hospital, complete with a Long Term Care wing and NICU. The article, featuring a photo of a trio of Blissy standing beside the Champion at the opening ceremony, also notes that at Lance's wish, the hospital was built connected to the town's only pokémon center, so that anyone enduring longer stays could also care for their pokémon as well.
How sweet, Maya wondered. The article mentioned that Lance's reign as Champion had turned Blackthorn from a hole-in-the-mountain town, with hardly any resources or tourists, into one of the most popular & wealthy cities in Johto. All the people there had him to thank for their bustling economy, and hometown pride.
Another article: "KANTO GYMS TO BE HANDICAP ACCESSABLE": Just a few years ago, Lance had spearheaded this campaign to ensure anyone challenging the gyms or the Indigo Plato would have access to elevators and ramps, so that all pokémon trainers could enter on equal ground. This one only had a photo of the elevator's construction.
Honorable, Maya thinks. He was paying for all of these renovations out of his own pocket.
Maya kept scrolling, and one more article caught her eye:
"CHAMPION LANCE ANNOUNCES MUSIC SCHOLARSHIP". In a series of interviews of music students attending the Celadon Academy of the Arts, it seemed Lance had began a scholarship program for Kanto students attending the school. Again, no photo of Lance, but this one did have a quote from the Champion: "My Father's music had a big impact on me growing up, he told me of his many fond memories while teaching here at CAA. The inspiration of his music can be found all around Kanto now, and I'm excited for the next generation of musicians to find their inspiration here too."
Maya smiled at the thought; a Musician raising a Dragon Master. She scrolls a little further down to the comment section, wondering what the readers had to say. "Lance is amazing!" "Lance is the greatest!" "My Brother won this scholarship! So glad we have such a thoughtful Champion!"
It slowly dawned on her; He wasn't just a Champion. He had made real change for these people.
Her memory recalls the night they shared just days before, and her chest begins to burn... the blazing fires, his cold eyes; his hand outstretched in apology as he watched her warp away into the black of the night.
For days she had tried to forget, but there was no use.
Her eyes found his photo again, this portrait of a marveled man, that cold glare matching back to her, those square shoulders spreading wide and heavy with the weight of the world.
These people who's lives he's changed; their small-town problems and big-city dreams, and the droves of traveling trainers in both of his Champion lands whose ultimate wish is to watch him, or face him at the footholds at the dreamed Elite Four...
He must carry all of them with him, all of the time.
Out of the corner of Maya's eye, a small white FLASH emanated in the reflection behind her.
"Whoa!"
She CLAPPED her laptop closed and spun her chair around to face the flash, Kadabra's eyed shooting open with the feel of her dread.
There floating behind her was Abra, the pokémon mailroom manager of the building. It had teleported here from the mailroom, as it did every afternoon around this time for its daily delivery. What a relief, Maya thought!
"Abra, you can't sneak up on people like that. You almost gave me a heart attack." Maya couldn't help but laugh; she remembered when her trusty friend was still an Abra, so silly and so wise.
"Ka-Ka-dabra" Kadabra chuckled, happy to see it's psychic friend. The Abra floated over to Maya, reaching into its cross-body knapsack for her mail.
"Something for me? Thank you, Abra." She watched the Abra retrieve a small stack of letters, handing them over gently. Maya quickly glanced through them, tapping them neatly on her desk.
Reaching back into its bag, the Abra dug deep into the bottom in search for something else. It finally pulled back out to reveal: a small gift-wrapped box, clasped daintily in its little claw.
"What? Is this for me too?" Her eyes narrowed at the surprise. The Abra handed the box over silently, Maya taking it into her hands with great care.
A small tag hung down from its lid with two little cursive words: 'For Maya'.
She gave it a gentle jostle; lightweight, as if filled with Altaria feathers.
Without another sound, Abra floated backwards toward the entrance of her cubical, and teleported away in another FLASH.
Maya gazed back down at her little gift with curiosity. Hand-wrapped in a crimson satin ribbon with a thick intricate bow, the box looked as if someone had taken great care to construct it. Kadabra looked it over thoughtfully, guiding its spoon over the lid with a hint of suspicion. Much too early for her birthday; and Mom usually sent her carepackages to her apartment to save her the trouble of dragging them home. So what could it be?
Kadabra and her shared an excited look. One way to find out!
With her small, delicate fingers, Maya tugged on the ribbon and the bow gracefully fell apart. Grasping the top of the box, she lifted its lid carefully and placed it aside on her desk. She eagerly peered inside.
Oh no.
Her chest tightened; that tugging ache crawling up her bones again, wrapping around her ribcage and pulling tightly like a Venosaur's vine-whip on a fragile forest branch.
There in the box, sitting neatly on a bed of folded silk, was the bloom of a Vermilion Orchid.
A freshly picked, fully grown, newly cut Vermilion Orchid.
This was no gift, Maya thought.
This was an invitation.
