Ascension
ACT TWO - DUST OF DREAMS
Chapter 11 - Dragon Ascendant, Part 1
The office of the Pewter City Gym Leader wasn't exactly spartan, but it was a venue of peace and quiet. Most of the bustling and yelling and acute posturing that burdened his job didn't make it to him, thanks to the efforts of his trusty secretary Zinnia. Instead, all the important bits for the day were neatly wrapped up in a single manila folder and forwarded to him, along with a warm cup of cocoa.
In short, the office was exactly Brock's kind of place.
Or, at least, it used to be.
Over the past month, his little resting place had become a veritable dragon's den. Not literally, despite Lance's presence and involvement, but the simile was spot-on. With the Event now just a day away, hundreds of delegates arrived in Pewter, in both the old and new settlements. New applications for stalls at the Benteng, demands from the local tribesmen, management of security services, proper housing and lodging for VIP guests— quite frankly, he was flabbergasted he hadn't gone around the bend yet from all the extra work.
Brock wrinkled his nose, looking outside his window. The sun was blotted out from all the overcast in the sky, and with the petrichor permeating the city…
There was no doubt about it. It was going to rain soon.
Just my luck, having rain on the most important day in—
"Sir?"
Massaging his temples, he waved an impatient hand and beckoned his secretary in.
While he did have headaches from time to time because of all the extra work tossed onto him recently, the motions were more of a premonition than anything else. Something to get started because he knew it was only a matter of time before the sharp migraine settled in.
How did he know that?
Because his secretary was being polite.
Zinnia was being polite.
And she was never polite.
Most of the time, his pampered niece waltzed into his office like she owned the place and proceeded to bug him with whatever was on her mind, with no regard for proper rules or decorum. But now, she stood in the doorway, half her body inside his office while the other half lingered in the hallway, almost as if she was debating whether to come in.
So bad news, then.
"There's a report from the Ranger Squad at the Karpachuka base. Apparently, a car was seen going uphill."
Brock tilted his head curiously. "I was under the impression that the mountain road is off-limits."
"Well, sir, it is…" Zinnia trailed, putting all her weight on a single foot. The teen probably thought it made her look stern, along with the single hand on her waist as the other hung down in a typically interrogative fashion.
Kids these days.
"Then why weren't they stopped."
"The driver was identified as Professor Oak, and he went up there with his ward—"
"Red Ketchum," he injected automatically, causing his niece to arch her eyebrows in confusion.
Brock sighed. If there was one thing he'd learned over the past few weeks, it was that nothing was as it seemed when it came to Oak's protégé, Red Ketchum. Worse still, when his name was involved in anything, chances were that it was something incredibly troublesome, often resulting in copious amounts of paperwork and bureaucratic nonsense.
"And why," he asked, gritting his teeth, "was Professor Oak driving uphill?"
"He said that he had urgent business to conduct on the mountaintop. He even filled out the necessary forms and everything. Got it cleared with the local rangers."
A month ago, something like this would've rung all sorts of alarm bells inside Brock's head. But this was Samuel Oak. Brock had gotten used to the man's unique brand of strong-arming and other shenanigans. Plus, if he'd actually signed the necessary forms, it left the Pewter City administration— and him in particular —bereft of any liabilities, should anything happen.
Despite his dislike for bureaucracy, Brock still knew when to appreciate its presence.
"Ah." And with that enigmatic exclamation, Brock picked up his favorite quill-pen and continued his work. After all, if the man had cleared everything with the proper authorities, then it wasn't his concern—
"The Base just informed us that a dragon landed on the mountaintop. Its estimated size is thirty feet."
…
For a moment, Brock could've sworn he had heard something absolutely outrageous. In fact it must've been a figment of his imagination. He'd been told he had a very vivid, caustic imagination— a remnant of his troubled youth.
Shaking his head, he returned to the task at hand—
"They presume it's Oak's dragonite."
Brock gently placed his writing utensil down on the table, clasping his hands together as he looked up at his niece-turned-secretary. A moment passed, then two, then three. He estimated it was just enough silence to show he was taking the news seriously, but not paint him to be an overly wary individual. He had an image to maintain, after all.
"Oak's—" he croaked, before clearing his throat. "Oak's dragonite, you say?"
"That's what they said," Zinnia cheerfully replied.
That was interesting. And disturbing. And, dare he say it, still not his problem.
Though it did beg the question— why was Samuel Oak pulling out his so-called 'big gun' on top of some random mountain near Pewter City? In the presence of his ward, to boot? It was common knowledge that there existed only two people in the world who commanded the might of those preternaturally powerful creatures.
And the other was the current Champion.
Brock knew Samuel Oak was no fool— he was commonly referenced as one of the keenest minds to ever exist. Had the professor found something strange? Something they had missed? He wouldn't put it past someone like the Bogeyman to be on top of things even as everyone else stood by, oblivious to the issue.
"Or maybe, he's making some kind of statement," he mused aloud, trying to calm his own nerves.
But who was it meant for? Team Rocket? Or perhaps another malicious group of people he hadn't heard of, what with the Event so close by?
Red eyes flitted through his mind.
It can't be…
Brock swallowed. No, he was just over-analyzing things. There was no way that Samuel Oak would even consider—
A sound of crackling thunder shook the room, followed by a clipped silence.
…
And then came the explosion.
BOOOM!
The detonation itself was enough to deafen him by sheer volume. But it was far, far more painful than that. Brock could feel all sorts of sensations press against the vaults of his mind— emotions so violent and intense that they'd tear his sanity to shreds should he let even a portion of it into his mind.
And then, he felt it.
Brock had always prided himself on being a good sensor when it came to raw power. Sensing energy waves was a prerequisite to gaining a proper understanding of ground manipulation, after all. And all modesty aside, he was the expert on said subject.
But this? This was like nothing he'd ever felt before. The humming throb of energy permeated all of Pewter for a moment with a power so ancient and terrible that the world had likely forgotten that such things existed out there. It wasn't like those earth-shattering catastrophes brought in by Champion-tier moves, but something more basic. More raw.
More primal.
It was the kind of power that demanded his respect, his obedience, his adoration, his abject terror. And just like that, Brock knew exactly what it was he was sensing.
Had he been in more control of his senses, he'd have noticed he stopped breathing a while ago.
"What—" Zinnia coughed, picking herself off the floor, "what the fuck was that?!"
He didn't bother to chastise her choice of words, opting to focus his attention on a thin, string-like object that slowly descended through the air, floating down until it landed on top of his files. It was a strand of hair. His hair. And to his utter dismay, it was the same shade as his steelix.
I'm not even thirty…
Brock exhaled, closing his eyes in defeat. "Something far beyond our ability to control, I'm afraid. Tell me, what reasons did Professor Oak give for his uphill trip."
Zinnia coughed again. "He didn't. He just told the rangers to ignore everything that happened on the mountaintop. Said he'd have everything under control."
Brock walked up to the window and glanced at the mountaintop.
A cloudless sky met his gaze.
"Sir, what's our response to the rangers? They're freaking out over there."
"It's as the good professor said," Brock tersely responded, his eyes never leaving the skyline. "Everything is under control."
This was supposed to be a teachable moment.
When Samuel had first suggested sending her baby away, Dragonite had been conflicted. Severely so. On one hand, it was a dragon's duty to ensure that their offspring fought and clawed their way through hardships to reach adolescence— a process that would ensure they'd come into their power by the time they became adults. It was why dragonairs laid eggs in the worst kinds of natural environments possible.
But her situation was different. For she was a dragonite.
And dragonite always bred true.
Every offspring that was conceived in her womb would undoubtedly go on to become a new dragonite— the very pinnacle of their kind. Though, the fact that it took her over sixty years to have her first and only child spoke of how rare it was for her species to reproduce successfully.
Naturally, she had latched onto her baby with all the care and obsession of a mother dragon, never letting her child leave her field of vision. Baby dratini had yelled and hissed and fought, but in the end, it was all for naught. Her own will had prevailed.
As it always should.
She was, after all, the adult in the relationship. And thus, she knew better.
Even so, she'd always known that she would eventually have to send her baby away, out of her reach. To grow. To gain strength and experience.
To evolve.
And what better hands to leave her baby in, than the one person she trusted after her own trainer?
Even if said person was a mere boy, not much older than her own fledgling.
Her trainer had informed her about Red's unfortunate misadventures with a certain pikachu. Dragonite would've given the little rodent a piece of her mind, but it had already been rendered catatonic by the actions of another— his mother's alakazam apparently decided to step in to deal a little punishment, and things had gone too far. Samuel had been fairly evasive about the aftermath, but it wasn't as if she cared.
She acknowledged Red's existence. What did she care for some nameless, faceless rodent?
Still, it'd be good to finally greet him after all this time. And while she was at it, she would see for herself whether he had it in him to rear her child.
A little test of sorts.
Not that she expected him to win. The very notion was ludicrous. Samuel had told her that Red had found himself an interesting set of cohorts to accompany him on his adventures, but obviously nothing could surpass having an actual dragon like herself on the team. Back in the old days when she and her trainer traveled together, she had made it a point to make sure everyone understood the pecking order.
First, her.
Then Samuel.
Then the flunkies.
Though Gyarados did have some draconic lineage, plus he was the intimidator of their little band. She supposed he was at least a thug, not just some ordinary flunky.
Dragonite looked back at Red.
The child she once watched trip into a pile of tauros dung was now starting his own journey, with a team of his own. More than that, he was now looking for a dragon companion. And who better to accompany him than her own offspring? They would travel together, grow together, and reach the very top together.
Just like her and Samuel.
But before he took the first real steps in his journey, she would impart one final lesson to him disguised as a test. She would help Red see his own limits— make him understand what it meant to be a Champion-tier battler. She would impart the difficult lessons that she had learned on her own journey to the boy in a controlled environment. And then, as he wallowed in his own powerlessness facing a wall he couldn't overcome, when he inevitably lost…
She would come in and give her child to him anyway. She knew Red well, and he would grow from the experience. And that experience would only help her child in the long-run.
The only problem was—
I wasn't supposed to lose!
Dragonite let out an annoyed mewl. There were dozens of possibilities as to how this entire event could have turned out— she played out the entire scenario in her head. And all of them ended with the same three things.
Red's team completely defeated.
Red angry.
And… the above two.
Dragonite never had time for something as insignificant as counting, anyway.
But what she had certainly not expected was to encounter some strange, twisted little thing that looked like a gardevoir. It wasn't. There was no trace of a gardevoir's natural charm around her.
This wasn't the first time Dragonite had battled a psychic— not even close —but this one was different. Psychics were already odd creatures, modifying and manipulating the 'strands' of the universe. It was what let them exert force on the world with no apparent movement.
When Samuel first taught her about them, she had scoffed. To her, power wasn't something to manipulate on such a fine scale. One had to stamp their mark into the land, to exert their aura and make their foes tremble, to roar their presence as they arrived onto the battlefield. Though, she grudgingly had to admit, the ability to sense tendencies, ignore distance, and see through time itself wasn't half-bad either.
In particular, gardevoir weaved the world's psychic strands in very specific ways, into a sort of funnel through which they absorbed positivity into themselves. She never understood how the species survived this long without being able to battle, but pondering such matters were beneath her. And so, she never gave it much thought.
But this creature?
Based on how far it pushed her, it was no pacifist. Nor did Dragonite have any idea what it was doing. If she had to describe the phenomenon, she'd say the threads of psychic twisted around the creature were horribly wrong. It was as if the world was doing its best to ignore her existence completely.
That, or she was a being that did not belong or adhere to the rules of the World around them.
Just what was this unsettling thing that Red had added to his inner circle? Dragonite understood that it'd been some time since Red had been away from her guiding influence, but surely the kid had enough mental fortitude to not get washed away by this weird, ugly, and altogether dreadful levitating existence?
But Dragonite digressed. Because at the end of the day, she had prevailed. Victory was hers. She had the ugly, twisted thing down with a single stride, even though it meant recognizing her ugly existence by resorting to using one of her draconic attacks— something she told herself she wouldn't need to take on a fledgling like Red.
Though, in her defense, the psychic attack on her mind was a low blow. It was exactly the kind of thing she'd expect from a little rascal like that not-gardevoir, but still…
Dragonite eyed the small, yellow creature currently getting a bear-hug from Red, who was busy petting its head and congratulating it on a job well done.
She pouted.
She'd lost.
Not only was her dratini taken by Red's team, but the fact that she lost control in what was supposed to be a test was unforgivable. She was the one giving Red a lesson! She was supposed to slowly block his every move, gently push back against him despite his best efforts, and right when he felt helpless, defeat him as her final gift to him before he truly delved into his trainer journey.
And she would have, if not for that small, yellow thing.
Dragonite eyed the mawile again as it gobbled a poképuff from the jar.
Come to think of it, Samuel had never gotten one of those creamy puff-treats for her. Dragonite had a sneaking suspicion that she'd been cheated out of something really delicious. This was just rubbing salt over the wound that was her defeat.
With a heavy heart, she glanced at her baby, who was unconscious and draped on top of the yellow thing's back. Of course, dratini was much too large to be carried on the shoulders of a paltry creature like that— it was mostly her head that rested on the mawile, while the rest was being dragged along with her as she walked.
Dragonite suppressed the urge to pick up and dote on her child, instead turning away and facing Red, whose expression was now a mixture of utter shock and glee.
"As I was saying," Samuel started, "congratulations are in order. You won, and now Dratini is now yours to raise."
"You— I—" Red's eyes shifted over from Samuel to herself.
She just snorted a plume of smoke in response. It was as close to an acquiescence as she was willing to give him— she still had her pride, after all.
Finally, the boy's mind seemed to have rebooted as he grasped a hold of his emotions.
"…Thanks. I won't disappoint you."
"You better not," her trainer replied, faking sternness. "You're giving up a golden opportunity to become a researcher to pursue the life of a trainer. Anything less than your best, and I'll be rather displeased with you."
Dragonite grunted.
"Oh, and she will be too."
The teen looked all too amused. Meanwhile, the mawile had finally arrived, panting like she'd been running a marathon. Was this weakling really what Red had chosen as his starter? Though, in light of recent events, perhaps the insipid little thing had some modicum of cunning to it.
Dragonite considered the rest of Red's team.
The skarmory was strong and powerful, but too confident in her own abilities. Dragonite hoped their little skirmish would teach the avian some much-needed humility.
The scyther, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. It had agility, dexterity, and skill in spades, but it carried itself like a weakling. Maybe being around her youngling from now on would instill some sense of confidence in the bug.
The less said about the not-gardevoir, the better.
Dragonite hadn't yet gotten a measure of the oddly-colored growlithe or the shellder, but it was a growlithe and shellder. She sighed, lamenting about Red's naivety. Clearly, he had tried to imitate Samuel and got one for himself.
What is it with humans and large dogs? They piss everywhere, dig up the gardens, and are too excitable for their own good.
"There's also one more thing I need to talk to you about, Red."
"Uh-huh," the teen brightly replied, bouncing on his toes.
"You know how there are very few dragonite in the world, correct?"
"They can be counted on one hand," Red parrotted cheekily.
"You have my blessings to train that dratini any way you wish— that won't be something I will interfere in. But there is one thing I'd like you to keep in mind. It's a trial I had to face, and I'm afraid you will too."
Red's smile faded, but he remained silent, probably sensing the seriousness of her trainer's tone.
After a long silence, Samuel finally exhaled. "It's about the Wataru Clan."
Every single trace of emotion evaporated from Dragonite's face.
"Tell me Red," the old professor began, "do you know the basic difference between us humans and pokémon?"
Red scrunched up his face, and not because he didn't know. In fact, every single child past elementary school knew the answer, as well as the politically correct answer. He knew it, and he knew that Oak knew that he knew, too.
Then… why was the old man asking him?
"Humans have two unique characteristics that separates them from pokémon," Red answered, humoring the professor's request. "First, they don't repeat their own name. People can form words, sentences, and languages."
"And the second?"
Red pursed his lips. "Humans don't evolve."
"That's right," Oak briefly nodded. "We don't, and certainly not the way pokémon do. We are born, we grow into our prime, and then we grow old and die. We learn and we experience, but ultimately we don't change form."
"The same goes for Mawile," Red muttered. He'd always been a skeptic of 'evolution' being the argument of difference between people and pokémon. Maybe it was a viable theory back in the early days, when the number of known pokémon was calculably low— and even lower numbers were studied and researched. But today, it was well known that several species never evolved.
Pinsir. Tauros. Girafarig. Stantler. Skarmory. Mawile—
They were all born. They all grew old. They all eventually died.
Never evolving. Never changing.
Just like humans.
"Exactly," Oak beamed in response. "So, does that mean they're human or pokémon?"
"Still pokémon," Red replied. "They all repeat their names. We don't."
"And that is the only difference between us and them. They repeat their names over and over. They employ hundreds of permutations and combinations of broken parts of their own name to form their linguistics. And more interestingly, every pokémon, no matter its species, is able to understand every other pokémon species almost perfectly. In fact, one could even argue that they all speak variations of the same language."
"But— but that can't be, can it?" Red challenged. "The expressions used by Mawile are too different from the ones used by… say, Scyther. The vowels are different. The sounds are different."
"Congratulations," Oak chuckled. "You've now arrived at the very first obstacle faced by researchers when they began to demystify the language of pokémon."
Red cocked his head. The old man had often told him about the importance of rejecting established paradigms when it came to better understanding pokémon. Paradigms, he often said, were based upon existing information, proofs, and a healthy amount of scientific ego and prejudice.
"The sounds a pokémon makes seem like a cacophony of gibberish to us, even though it makes perfect sense to them. Mawile probably got her name from the word chunks she uses to communicate."
Mawile gave him an odd look.
Red ignored her. "Clearly, they're listening to something we aren't. Something that's very much related to sound as a whole, but isn't limited to the actual pronunciation of any expression."
He paused, thinking things over. As a ranch-boy, he knew how certain kinds of sounds had a variety of effects on different pokémon. A shrill noise would cause sandshrews to immediately jump out of their holes to see what was going on, whereas the same noise would cause ekans to quickly dive underneath the soil. Extremely low-pitch sounds made growlithe growl, while pineco lost control and fell to the ground as a result.
And then, something clicked in his brain.
Red looked up, a sparkle in his eye. "Could it be the frequency?"
Oak sported a calculating expression on his face. "Go on. Why do you think frequency is the answer?"
Red half-shrugged. "It seems like the only available option. It's clear it's not the words or vowels themselves. So it must be something to do with sound or frequency then."
"…"
"…What?"
The professor shook his head. "I have had discussions with scores of graduates over this topic, and most of them ended up in the realm of 'it's just the way it is'. But you, my boy, have come up with a reasonable answer all on your own within minutes."
Red flushed. "Don't think I didn't notice the leading questions, old man. You're losing your touch."
The comment earned him a chuckle from his mentor. "Even so, you're not quite done yet. Do you think frequency is the answer to why pokéspeech makes perfect sense to them while it's gibberish to us?"
Yes.
Red opened his mouth to say as much, but stopped as another thought hit him.
"It… it can't be the complete answer."
"Go on," Oak encouraged.
"For one, the words are too varied. The frequencies of the letter-chunks from a mawile's name is different from, say, that of an alakazam or geodude or pidgeotto. But even so, Mawile has been able to understand everyone else on my team perfectly. And if all those combinations, each with different pitches, all end up referring to the same words in pokéspeech, then frequency likely has little to do with it."
Red ran a hand through his hair. He could feel like he was on the verge of something, but there was some small bit of knowledge he was still missing.
"Besides, it still doesn't explain why pokémon are able to understand humans— who have a variety of languages, each with their own nuances —yet humans still can't understand pokémon."
Oak stared. And then he laughed aloud. "Are you absolutely sure I can't convince you to work at the lab full-time?"
Red shot him a wry smile. "I'll pass, thanks."
"Worth a try, I suppose," the old man grumbled. "Don't be surprised if I send you another job offer in the near future. We need more minds like yours in the business, Red."
"Fair warning, don't be surprised if I say no."
"Oh I won't," Oak replied, his voice a bit too chipper for Red's taste. "And by the way, if you're interested in further exploring this subject, you should definitely visit Celadon City. Look for a man named Eusine."
"Eusine," Red repeated to himself. The name sounded unfamiliar. Even though hundreds of researchers and delegates visited the Oak ranch periodically, Red doubted he had ever met anyone thus far with that name.
He'd know. After all, he'd spent quite a lot of time lounging around the reception area.
"He has his… oddities, but then again, most geniuses do," Oak replied affably. "And his research into pokéspeech is phenomenal. In fact, our earliest theories about Mia's changes were based on his theories on Shifts."
"Shifts?" Red tasted the word on his lips. "What are those?"
Oak looked uncomfortably shifty at that. "Something that a two-minute discussion wouldn't do justice to. You're taking the Mt. Moon Adventure Course, right?"
He nodded.
"Good," the gray-haired man went on. "Then you'll probably find yourself in the Celadon forests. Gardens of the Moon, they call it. A phenomenal place. One time, I found a most interesting butterfree when I was—" Oak trailed off as he noticed the stares he was getting. Hell, even Drago seemed annoyed. "...Anyways, I digress. You should meet him if you can."
Oak coughed into his hand, as if to indicate he was finished.
Red took the opportunity to glance sharply at Mia. While he instinctively had some understanding of what she had become, trying to put it into words was next to impossible. It was like describing a new color, or a new taste.
In other words, it was something that could be experienced, but not explained.
Mia just exuded a 'don't-care' expression through their bond. Mawile on the other hand, who'd been resting against his knee, looked a mix of surprised and conflicted. It was like someone had just told her something extremely basic, and Mawile just realized that she didn't notice till then.
He then looked towards Drago, who had a sour look on her face for some reason.
Red didn't know what that was about, but looking at her did remind him about the topic of their conversation, before they devolved into interesting tangents.
"This is all incredibly interesting, but does it have to do with the Wataru?"
Oak seemed slightly miffed at his impatience. "I'm getting to that. But before I do, let me ask you this. Ignoring communication, is there any further barrier that distinguishes people from pokémon and vice versa?"
Red's instincts wanted to scream yes. For all his young life, he'd heard Oak constantly nag him about how Mia was, despite all the cake and watermelon he fed her, a pokémon. Not his sister. And in response, Red would always ignore his ramblings and behave in a brotherly fashion around her as an act of rebellion.
But now, after all these years, it seemed like the man's words weren't in vain.
Red didn't like it. He didn't want it— not one bit. But he accepted them as truth.
"No," he answered softly. "There's no other difference. Except for the fact that humans are physically weak, and can't do any of the same moves or exhibit the same powers a pokémon possesses."
And just as the words left his mouth, Red realized his folly.
"That's not right," he found himself further clarifying. "Master Bruno is unnaturally strong, and can actually use fighting-type moves. And Lady Sabrina is a renowned psychic, among others."
Of course, neither of them were comparable to, say, a machamp or an alakazam. But having weakened skills wasn't the same as having no skills.
"A good point. You probably don't know this, but the Sevii Islands are actually a theocracy where they worship the legendary bird Articuno, infamously known as the King of Ice. Even here in Pewter City, they worship an ancient serpentine mammoth known as Kukulkan, paying obeisance like any other God."
"So what's the difference then?" Red found himself asking. "The way you said that makes it sound like pokémon are superior to us in every possible way."
Oak chuckled. "And now you know why people don't like to talk about this very much. About why we are humans, and they are pokémon. Despite possessing abilities that far surpass mankind, we dehumanize them and treat them like some subspecies, happily dwelling in our own hypocrisy."
Red glanced back at Drago, and not for the first time, he observed how her head was about as large as his entire body. She could probably gobble him up in a single bite if she wanted.
And Samuel Oak, a human being like him, carried her around in a pokéball and treated her like a pet.
There are so many things wrong with that statement.
He considered his own team. Skarmory, a metal-clad avian, was capable of slashing through bone. Scyther was faster than the wind. Growlithe could breathe fire. Mia… well, she was Mia. Even Mawile, for all her supposed frailness, could easily kill him if she saw a potential opening and wanted to go through with it. They were all-powerful monsters that were far more capable than him, yet they chose to follow him. A human.
But why?
Dragonite snorted, blowing a thick jet of fumes at his face.
"As you've pointed out," Oak continued, "several people today can mimic pokémon moves and abilities, despite it being a weaker version. Most of us can't, and therefore rely on technology to suit our needs. But the same wasn't true in the past. Why, before the Kanto-Johto war, the number of people capable of demonstrating said abilities were far greater than what they are today. And some of these people… still live on."
"Like the Wataru?" Red guessed.
Oak smiled. "The Wataru are originally from a place called the Meteor Village, located in Hoenn. They are what many people call draconids— people capable of communicating with dragons in a language they call the dragon-voice."
"Fancy name," Red whistled.
"For a fancy thing too," Oak muttered. "Dragon-voice is an incredibly difficult skill to learn, and the secrets for mastering it are passed down by word-of-mouth among the draconids, from generation to generation."
"What does it do?"
"It…" the professor looked distinctly uncomfortable, "can be used to… compel a dragon."
Red blinked. "Excuse me?"
"To a certain extent," Oak casually clarified, doing his best not to glance at the enormous dragon by his side.
Personally, Red had trouble trying to reconcile Drago's indomitable strength and form with the fact that it was possible for someone to compel her in the first place.
"…I see. How does that work?"
"A topic for another time," Oak evaded his question again. "What you need to understand is that every dragon species has a different dragon-voice, which is why different draconid clans tend to compel and raise a particular species of dragons. For the Wataru clan it happens to be—"
"The dratini line," Red mumbled.
"The dratini line."
"And you think that someone from the Wataru clan can…" he gulped, as negative thoughts flooded his mind, "try to compel Dratini away from me?"
"They wouldn't for any random dratini," Oak replied softly. "But as you well know, what you now have is no ordinary dratini."
"Never thought I'd hear ordinary in the same sentence as dratini," Red dryly chuckled, soured by the very thought. "They'd try to take it away 'cause it can evolve into a dragonite, I suppose?"
"Succinctly put, yes. But there's more to it than that. Do you remember how rare dragonites are?"
Red nodded.
"The fact is, Red, there are four dragonites in the world as of right now. Just four."
"Four?"
"One is with me," Oak shot an affectionate glance towards Drago. "Another is with Dragon Master Vincent Drake of Hoenn— he's also a draconid. The last two, as you can probably guess, are with the Wataru. One currently serves as the chief protector of the clan, and the other is Champion Lance's most powerful team member."
"And now, there's Dratini."
"That there is," Oak agreed. "And I'm reliably certain one of Lance's current dragonair will become a dragonite in time. So in time, the number will rise to six."
Red's brow furrowed. "What happened to all the other dragonites? From the past, I mean."
Oak chuckled mirthlessly. "There were no other dragonites in history."
"Huh?"
"The elder scrolls of Meteor Village speak of a certain dragonair," Oak started in what Red dubbed his 'storytelling voice'. "It was exceedingly long-lived and powerful, but more impressive was its size. While most dragonair stop growing in their first century, this one grew to cosmic proportions— comparable to the size of a small mountain, longer than a dozen wailords back to back. The draconids believed it to be a deity and worshipped it as their protector. They called it the World-Eater."
Red was momentarily taken back to his dream with Mia back at the hospital, where he'd seen actual worlds being created and annihilated in the blink of an eye.
"Was— was it… a legendary?"
The old man paused. "Truthfully, I'm not qualified to answer that question. But the stories say that on one special night, the World-Eater began to exude a brilliant, white light. They say that the dazzling brightness in the night sky was enough to put the afternoon sun to shame. By the time it had dissipated, the World-Eater had changed. Gone was its vast, serpentine form, and in its place stood a giant, four-limbed lizard with tiny, vestigial wings that no longer served a purpose on its byzantine, expansive body."
Red was hanging onto the venerable professor's every word.
"It was larger than anything they had ever witnessed, oozing out a strength and presence that was said to outshine the legendary Fire-bird herself. And then, it sunk down into the eternal depths of the ocean." He took a deep breath. "On that day, the World-Eater earned itself a new title. They called it the Dragon of the Night."
"Dragon—" Red muttered, "—nite."
"Precisely."
The mother dragon next to him grunted in affirmation.
"And what happened? Did the Wataru force it to rise back up and compel it?"
Oak snorted. "Heavens, no. Not even the most ambitious and prideful of the Wataru were addled enough to attempt something like that. No, they went for the next best thing."
Red arched an eyebrow.
"Observation. They searched the ocean bed for the mighty dragoness, but never found her. What they did find, however, were a pair of eggs. Eggs larger than normal. Eggs that hatched into dratini. You see, the average dratini is a hairsbreadth above one foot when they hatch. But these," his eyes flickered towards the unconscious dratini lying upon the ground, "were easily over four."
Red followed his gaze. The message had been received.
"Then how did you…" he trailed off.
Oak smiled in nostalgia. "I think I was around eighteen years old when I found her. My friend Victor and I were in the Seafoam Islands, participating in the annual surfing contest. By any chance, have you heard of the Humunga Dunga Wave?"
"It hits once every year, right before winter sets in," Red answered automatically.
The old man chortled. "Yes, the very same. Back then, there was an annual ritual where people would attempt to ride the Humunga Dunga when it came. They finally stopped it one year, after the death toll climbed too high. Anyways," he coughed, "Victor and I attempted to ride the wave that year. Victor got smashed away early on while I… I was swept away by it. When I woke up, I found a dratini coiled around myself." His lips widened into a warm smile. "She was constantly spitting water at my face, trying to wake me up."
Red chortled at the mental image, and then openly laughed at Drago, who was looking away in embarrassment.
"Victor was surprised when I decided to keep her for myself. Dragons were already known to be powerful, but they're notoriously difficult to raise. For penniless boys like us, rearing a dragon was a pipe dream at best."
"That clearly didn't stop you," Red pointed out.
"No," Oak smiled, "I suppose it didn't. My father and the rest of my friends advised me to let her go. But I was stubborn. Stupidly so."
Red snorted.
"Yes, kind of like yourself," Oak admitted. "And I kept her. It took her a long time— five years, in fact —before she finally evolved into a dragonair. I was overjoyed, and I spent the next decade trying to get her to reach the pinnacle of her strength."
He paused.
"But Dragonair was different. She was too large, too powerful. While other dragons flew, Dragonair sailed in the wind. When others hurled bolts of thunder, Dragonair could call upon a thunderstorm."
Red stared at Drago. Dragonair, as a species, were already considered incredibly powerful, but to think she was once even more powerful than that, before evolving into her final form… Just how much was she holding back during their match?
"Power attracts power," Oak continued. "As I kept winning championships and countless contests, my name and fame grew, and so too did rumours. People began to put together that Dragonair was like one of those beasts cultivated by the Wataru to be at their disposal."
Drago growled at that.
"Over time, I received several offers from the Wataru clan to—" Oak's lips twisted in distaste, "—sell her, in exchange for wealth, and even multiple other dragon babies. The Wataru believed they alone should be the Dragon-masters of Kanto, and Dragonair and I began to challenge that status-quo. I rejected all of their offers, at which point skirmishes and conflicts arose. And then..." he trailed, "Dragonair evolved."
Oh shit.
Red didn't need to be a genius to understand the can of worms that opened.
Oak wistfully looked at Drago, caressing her maw. "She was a beautiful, dangerous thing. Still is," he chuckled. "Her evolution gave credence to all those rumors from before, because only the Wataru in all of Kanto-Johto had dragonite."
"That doesn't make it theirs," Red retorted, affronted on his mentor's behalf.
"You know that because I'm explaining the full history of the species," Oak chided. "But I didn't know it, not at the time, and Meteor Village wasn't exactly fond of the spotlight. For all the world knew, I could've stolen one of the Wataru's specially-bred dragon eggs. The then-leader of their clan, Ghetsis, openly challenged my ownership and demanded I return it."
"The nerve…" Red growled.
Oak laughed. "I thought the same. My name was floating around in professional circles, my team was strong, and I had a decent back of friends and associate-trainers who knew me for years. I was a budding High-Elite trainer with several championships under my belt, and preparing for the Battle Frontier. But I was up against something that would make a trainer of any caliber tremble."
"What was it?"
"An army of dragons."
Red paused, trying to imagine the sight of dozens of dragonair charging at him, and immediately shook the thought out of his mind. "...Then? What happened next?"
"Then…" Oak trailed, his eyes clouded as he looked into the distance. "Then we went to war."
Editor: Solo Starfish, the best goddamn starfish the world has ever seen.
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