It started with going beyond the impossible and kicking reason to the curb.
Or, at least, something like that. At best, it was something that could not be described by words alone, nor sounds or images. It was one of those glorious concepts that could never be relayed properly from soul to soul, like the largeness of infinite space, the innumerable amount of seconds in the Universe's lifespan, or the magnitude of gravity that every atom exerts on every other atom at once.
My name is unimportant, though you may come to recognize me in time.
Let me tell you a story.
The Lights in the Sky Are Thunderbolts - I - Once More, With Feeling!
The boy's name was Hilbert Johansson, and according to his trainer school classmates, he was something of an idiot. Unlike some, he was an idiot by choice, because he felt Unovan intellectual snobbery wouldn't get him very far in life.
Unfortunately, fate (or rather, the Pokémon which rules over it) tends to smile only on the unknowing idiots, thus keeping them alive.
Thus allowing Hilbert to wander into a secret lab just before it exploded, get a spike of stone lodged in his heart, and die.
He got better. Going into further detail is rather unimportant.
It took a few years for him to realize that he wasn't quite dead, but rather, in a coma. Much like how I feel when I recall the existence of the Babel Fish Pokémon, Hilbert woke up in a puff of logic. At that point (In fact, at every point previously) the life support wasn't doing much for him concerning mineral intake, but he supposed that it was the thought that counts.
Being an idiot, he threw himself out of the first window he could before the overnight nurses realized that his alarm was going off. He had places to go, someone to be, and dreams to achieve.
Reassuring his friends that he hadn't been kidnapped had occurred to him, but he decided against it. Doing so would have made leaving all the more difficult.
The decision whether or not to see his mother was a harder one.
In the late hours of the night, as the clock ticked over to single digits once again, Johanna stirred awake as the sounds of the doorbell ringing echoed down the hall. Though not particularly ancient, it took her a moment to force herself out of bed. The ringing only continued as she gingerly stepped over the ghosts of emptied bottles, past a room that had not been disturbed for nearly half a decade, and towards the front door.
On a perch outside her bedroom, Glameow's eyes suddenly snapped open. The purple-furred Pokémon lazily slunk down to ground level to follow her, though their attitude could not disguise the glint of their honed claws.
Johanna's vision refused to clear as she looked through the peephole. Even as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, it was like looking into an empty night sky.
"...Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom-"
She suddenly registered the whispering, though it had been going on since the ringing began.
A jolt ran up her spine, and Glameow raised on their hackles. She didn't feel the pain until after she had fallen down and pushed herself against the far wall.
"Mom? Are you alright?" she heard that voice speak. The ringing stopped.
The pounding of blood between her ears continued.
"...Hilbert?" she called loudly, hoping her voice might alert the neighbors if it became necessary.
Whatever that thing was, that thing using her son's voice was, she wouldn't let it drag her off into the night unheard. If it was one of those damn Zoroark, there wouldn't be enough Fairy-types in the world to wreak the kind of havoc that she would on the species in retribution.
"Yeah, Mom, it's me," he answered back, speaking much louder. "I know it's late and I know I've been gone for a while, but… I need to talk to you. Because I need to leave again."
She rose to her knees, steadying herself against the wall. Glameow stepped closer to the door and looked back at her, waiting for an attack command to come.
"...Tell me something only you would know," she said slowly. The former coordinator's mind began to process her surroundings as if part of another contest, though at the moment it was a contest of wits.
The voice sighed, not particularly deep but not high enough to be called squeaky. It was exactly like Hilbert's voice, but it seemed to have gained something else. "I know it's sudden, I should have expected this… Dad fought and died in the Kalo-Hoennian Conflict of Mega Evolution. No, that's not enough, I know you've told your friends that a million times over. He had a birthmark on his left ribs that most people thought was a scar. It was zig-zagged. One of my baby pictures, in the section you don't show to anyone, has me in it trying to make its shape with my hands."
Johanna's hand moved to cover her mouth as tears threatened to leak out. "It's not a trick…?"
"I know you're freaked out, and I am too, but this is important," the voice said. "I've had dreams these past few years. Mountains. Spirits. Flashes of lightning in the sky. Do you remember Sinnoh's skyline?"
Her mind rewinded ten, fifteen, thirty years. Her son, her marriage, her youth. No matter where she journeyed in the region; unless she was standing at its peak, she could always see Mount Coronet.
"I do," she said.
"I've seen it. I don't know what it means, but I 've seen it. I have some kind of destiny there, because-" the voice paused, seemingly thinking better of it. "I have something very important to tell you, Mom. And unless Interpol comes knocking, you can't tell anyone."
Taking shaky steps a few at a time, Johanna walked towards the door.
Hilbert, with his old trainer card (he was lucky to have a baby face, so it would pass a cursory inspection) and a printed copy of his plane ticket, was able to make it to the security gate before having any problems.
The illusion detectors made an odd noise as he walked through. Unovans had a strong belief in the divide between humans in Pokémon, having been settled after the Kalosian-Galarian enlightenment and scientific revolution. Zoroark were almost mythical in their disregard for this divide, and for many years tended to treat it in the same way Lillipup treated fire hydrants.
This game went on for a few centuries, culminating in the usual wars, conflicts, bad times had by all, and a culture that was distinct in its disconnection between man and Pokémon.
The security guard, diligent and fully awake, quickly worked him over with a low-level Moonblast from his partnered Whimsicott. After finding a total lack of Dark-type energy reacting to the moonbreeze, he sent Hilbert on his way.
If the technology had developed just a little bit differently, and had the focus not been entirely on Dark-types, perhaps Hilbert would have had a bit more trouble passing through.
Unlike the Silph Company's warp tiles, which relied on small, closed circuit networks and power consumption equal to the average power plant's yearly output, airplanes were airplanes, and thus took time to fly.
This was a startling revelation to Hilbert, though more accurately, he was indignant at the idea that after being in a coma for multiple years, he was beginning to feel jet lagged as soon as he stepped foot back in Sinnoh.
He should have known that he couldn't fly half-way across the world in a single trip, but upon acknowledging this blindingly obvious fact, refused to bunker down for even a single night and just kept moving airport to airport, plane to plane.
Not counting naps, he hadn't slept in about thirty-six hours.
All things considered, he should have been much less surprised when, after the aforementioned first step, he tripped and fell flat on his face. This event seemed to have knocked something loose in his brain, as he took this as a sign to review his plan.
It wasn't his stomach that was filled with stone, so he would still need to eat, erosion would eventually be an issue if he tried to find shelter in the rain (or if he tried to shower, but as a teenage boy he was still assuming that deodorant body spray would be a fine substitute), and it was actually quite cold in Sinnoh during early spring.
Also, he couldn't read or write Sinjohan-Japanese.
But his actual plan was to, you know, walk the earth, meet people… get into adventures. Like Kane in Kung Fu.
Hilbert coughed and rolled over.
Perhaps not exactly that.
He stood up and brushed himself off before the rapidly approaching flight attendant could make sure he wasn't dead for the second time in his life. He could probably have managed to respond, but that might have led to some intriguing questions he didn't want to immediately answer.
As most do at some point in their lives, he had places to go, someone to be, and dreams to achieve. He pulled a crumpled list from his pocket, though he had practically memorized it, and left the Jubilife City airport to head to the first address.
Wild Pokémon don't tend to attack people. Trainers, yes, but other people don't tend to cover themselves in bait. Pokéballs were originally invented thanks to the development of apricorn horticulture, as the plants were instrumental in their creation. They grew in a manner similar to berries, and had some nutritional benefit.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that Pokéballs looked an awful lot like food to the average Pokémon. They were bright colors, spherical, and commonly worn on belts out in the open. This led to a feedback loop where trainers were attacked for food, called for other trainers to help, which led to more attacks, and eventually the belief that Pokémon will attack anyone that goes into tall grass.
Because fate decidedly did not smile on Hilbert (and perhaps because classifying him as a human would make some linguists mildly upset), a wild, aging, and nearly blind Staravia decided that his jacket looked like a tasty morsel as the boy trekked towards Sandgem Town.
Hilbert happened to like his jacket. It was a gift from his mother.
The local Pokémon Ranger station received multiple calls that later week asking where the new hill smackdab in the middle of Route 202 came from. There was a brief investigation, as wild Pokémon didn't tend to make new mountains unless agitated.
Or very often at all, for that matter, unless they're a particular Legendary Pokémon from Hoenn and given a cool red rock.
Hilbert put that ordeal behind him, and unaware of the later effects of his actions, continued onwards.
The Horakis were family friends, or so he had heard from his mother. He couldn't remember meeting them when he was young. The wife had been Johanna's rival on the contest circuit, while the husband had been an academic. Note, not the kind of academic that stares at walls and comes up with whatever theories make them feel smart, but the kind that studies the natural world through actual praxis. They had a daughter born around the time that he was, but this too was second-hand knowledge to him.
Miss Horaki opened the door soon after he knocked. She was a petit woman, as was the norm in Sinnoh. Hilbert's father had been foreign; fair-haired and rather tall. He got a little bit of both traits, so he stood out quite a bit.
"Yes?"
Feeling that politeness would get the best results, Hilbert took off his hat and bowed slightly. "My name is Hilbert Johannson. I understand you were friends with my mother."
The woman teared up slightly and quickly beckoned him into the house.
There was the questioning that he expected; the whos, whats, wheres. She said her daughter was a beautiful young lady, but that she was working with Professor Rowan in the field that day, so they couldn't be introduced.
Hilbert got the feeling she meant something more by that, but disregarded it. Picking up on subtext? That's what a smart person would do, he thought.
She asked about his home life. "How's she treating you?"
He held himself back from saying he wouldn't know. He held no resentment for her in his heart. He stumbled into his own situation, and though he didn't regret it, he was beginning to feel distinctly out of place, out of time.
He shrugged.
"And why did you say you came back here? Where is she?"
It was hard to miss the slightly steely glint in her eyes.
"Is she still drinking? And why did you come directly here after waking up?"
Hilbert tensed. Of course, the woman was intelligent. Birds of a feather flock together, and one didn't work with the regional Pokémon Professor without some brains.
"It's not… what you think. It was my fault in the first place, and I know she used to drink while I was away, but I can't explain how I know that until…" he trailed off.
His mother was not abusive. Never. Going off the deep-end, even temporarily, after she had potentially lost her only son… he found himself unable to blame her. He had been stupid, that was that. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought. And what did all that hardship get him?
His chest began to pulsate where his heart used to be. He felt his spirit calling out to hers, to the Earth beneath them, and felt them reply.
"Do you believe in destiny, ma'am?"
She sent him to go find the Professor after that conversation.
Details? My friend, you don't need those. All will become clear in time.
As Hilbert walked to Lake Verity, he noted the heavy winds and large amounts of bird Pokémon overhead. He wondered if him being attacked wasn't an isolated incident; they jerked back and forth in mid-air, and he could swear that they were attacking each other. Something must have agitated them, he thought.
The forest opened up around the mouth of the lake, revealing an open bank surrounded by trees and a plane of water so flat, one could mistake it for glass.
Something shimmered above the water. Something reached out to him, though it was subtle. If he hadn't been attuned to such things, he would have missed it entirely. All of a sudden, he felt more… empathetic. He almost felt bad for the Staravia that he knocked out earlier.
Almost. The jacket was a gift.
There were more Flying-types above the lake, swirling in a spiral pattern in the sky. Some were nearly round, flapping tiny wings, while others were large enough to nearly blot out the sun.
At the other end of the clearing, near the tree line, were two people. One was an older man with gray hair, whom he presumed to be Professor Rowan. He was well-built beneath his waistcoat and refined clothing, clearly strong, though he seemed too relaxed to prefer using that strength often. A retired trainer, Hilbert guessed. The other was a girl, peering cautiously up at the swarm behind a curtain of slate-gray hair. She wore a heavy red parka, white scarf, and a white knit cap emblazoned with a Pokéball.
The Professor juggled a jar of sap with one hand, choosing to only stare at the swarm.
Over the whipping wind, he heard, "Now, Dawn, in this situation, what would a smart Pokémon researcher do?"
"Stop showing off the sample to the dozens of wild Pokémon?" she suggested.
The Professor regarded the sap for a moment. His theory was that the local Flying-types were acting strangely because something was off in the food chain. The local Kricketot populations were normal, and most berries were still out of season. Bird Pokémon could ingest tree sap while building their nests, so they had gone out to collect a sample. Polluted water could be a further cause, but there were local superstitions about disturbing the lakes.
"No, that couldn't be it," he remarked offhandedly. Behind his back, Dawn made a face.
Immediately after he said this, an impatient Staravia seemed to have had enough. As it swooped down, its cry echoed across the lake.
Before it could strike right between Rowan's eyes, the old man reared back.
There was a dull clap, much like muffled thunder, as Rowan slapped the Flying-type aside with his free hand. It went sprawling into the dirt, puffed out air, then wisely decided to fly very far in the opposite direction.
"No," he said, "You should remember that the wild Pokémon should be more afraid of you than you are of it!"
Dawn made a face again. "I… don't think that's how the saying goes."
"Hmph." Professor Rowan moved to slip the sap into his briefcase, only to find that it was gone.
Another Staravia screeched as it flew away, holding the bag in its talons.
Hilbert watched the Flying-type as it tried to speed past him.
It really was not a good day to be a member of that species.
Absentmindedly, he said, "Stone Edge."
He hadn't been asleep for all those years.
No, he had been training.
Briefly, the Staravia may have wondered why they were suddenly falling. It was quite rare for the ground to stop by for a chat, but that day it had a few strong words to say.
It took a few seconds for the bird Pokémon to finally land on the ground. And by land, I of course mean "make a weak thump, roll for a few yards, then pass out entirely."
Another Stone Edge appeared beneath the falling briefcase, though it was rounded like a half-pipe and allowed the bag to harmlessly roll onto the ground.
"Thank you," Hilbert said, before tapping his heart. His fingers plinked quietly against it, but it's the thought that counts.
The two other people noticed his presence, and the older man waved him over.
Hilbert picked up the bag and walked towards them.
"Thank you for the help, young man," the Professor said, taking back his briefcase.
"Don't mention it," Hilbert replied. He looked back at the swarm and felt a piercing wind sweep through him.
"That was a strong move for a trainer so young," he said, scratching his beard and sweeping his gaze over the ground. "What species is your partner?"
Hilbert smiled as if he was in on some grand joke.
"Professor, is it true that scientists don't share some of their more dangerous discoveries?" he asked.
The Professor raised an eyebrow. "Occasionally, yes, but I fail to see the connection…?"
"My partner's a Golett, but it's more accurate to call him a part of me. We've been together for so long that there's no better way to describe it."
Dawn muttered something, but the only word Hilbert caught was "corny."
"Yes… and?" the Professor prompted.
Hilbert smiled and stepped away from them, before facing the Pokémon circling overhead.
The swarm got closer, if only because two of their own had been attacked. They weren't as intelligent as the Galarian Rookidee, that was for sure.
"I'm being literal."
Cloth ripped as Hilbert let some of his power slip.
An outcropping of blue stone stuck out of Hilbert's chest, burning the air around it like lightning.
His jacket flapped behind him as he crossed his arms under his heart. Blue electricity poured out of his eyes like fire.
"Before you call me lame," he said, looking back over his shoulder at Dawn, "Let me show you what I can do."
Hilbert, being a teenage boy, couldn't resist the urge to show off in front of a pretty girl.
Dirt leapt from the ground to coalesce around his hand. It compressed and compressed, and within seconds, it was as hard as rock. It continued growing, spiraling outwards towards a single point.
The wind seemed to intensify as the flock grew more agitated. He felt their spirits begin to hone in on him, angry and confused. They were not individually strong, not like Pokémon that channeled their spirits into Type Energy, but the quantity and total power was worthy of notice.
"This…
Hilbert held up the cone as if it weighed nothing. The leaden, rocky texture gave way to smooth, marble-like hardness. The drill took on a purplish-gray tinge which shined in the sun, while the base around his arm matched his heart in hue.
"…is a drill."