Hello! These one-shots were submitted as entries for a contest on the Discord server PMDWU, which you can find more information about in the profile section of this account. All of them will use one or more than one theme from the selection of "Shadows," "Overcoming Great Odds," and/or "A Setting Sun." This initial chapter sets the stage and establishes the premise behind this collection. Overall, 27 writers contributed, and their original story tellers are presented in this chapter. Each chapter after this one will have been written by one of these writers. For now, the writers are presented anonymously. This was to make the voting process more fair.
This land had never seen a sky so red. Clouds heavy with muck and bile, flashing with lightning that not even the mighty Zekrom dare to contest. Far, far in the distance the clouds congealed into an unholy amalgamation of screams and sorrow. There, silhouetted against the dark horizon, was death. Destruction. The end of the world as every living being knew it.
If this forest had once known life, that life had long been either extinguished or forced from their homes. It was not a safe place, and the clouds on their own were just the beginning.
But in the center of such an inhospitable location, a bright glow shimmered—holding back the darkness with ease. Even the sun could not illuminate the leaves of the forest during these dark times; and yet, on the brink of wilting, they taste the glory of light once again.
That light painted Suicune's chipped and cracked headdress a warm orange, the wavering flames dancing just ahead of him. He leaned against a tree, observing them. Contemplating them. Appreciating them. While his joints had since grown stiff with the long days of travel and stress of combat, Suicune's eyes glimmered like diamonds, as they always have.
Perhaps there was wisdom in his old companion's words: flames burn the brightest at the nub of their wick.
He let out a sigh, his graying, disheveled mane shifting as he lifted his head. Not a moment passed where he could be left alone in his thoughts for long; the other pokemon of the party made sure of that. Oh how sweetly the monotony and quiet of busy guild leader work beckoned him back. Alas, there was no space in his consciousness for those activities now. Not anymore.
The aging legend still found himself growling with incredulity from time-to-time. Months had passed now, and he still could not fathom how many brave and valiant souls chose to follow him. There were so many…Suicune, The Walking Wake, they called him. The leader of the pack. His tails twitched angrily at the thought; there was hardly a reason to applaud someone such as him.
But at this moment and time, the past was irrelevant. The future was uncertain. "If any of you chose a life of hatred and silence," The Walking Wake once said, "toss that aside. You are with us now. And the sky will continue to boil unless you follow me now, in the present." Some would still proclaim that Suicune's speech was what motivated them until the bitter end. Suicune himself still believed that it was not enough.
With the night so young, however, these thoughts were like blades thrust into his heart. He would rather shake them off and focus on what truly mattered: his comrades.
Heroes, adventurers, explorers, criminals, murderers, and even the occasional civilian or family they brought along on their journey. Plenty of food and drink for all. Drink, especially; it had been years since Suicune enjoyed a drink around the campfire. Perhaps this would be the last in his long, fulfilling life. Some claimed otherwise, like a young Magby clinging to the heat of the flames. Both were acceptable outcomes to the collective crowd. After all, if life could not persist here, it never would again.
In a way, nothing could stop Suicune from cracking a smile at the many pokemon enjoying what was probably the last joyous night of their lives. Laughter prevailed despite their circumstances, and the warmth was spread from one to another without discrimination. True peace, to some extent.
There was a small amount of time where the elder simply watched and observed the many interesting allies he had made in his life. His eyes scanned the campsite, watching the pokemon as they enjoyed their night together.
The campfire itself was quite crowded, with pokemon of all ages taking seats on nearby logs and sharing stories. Here was where most of the louder and more sociable pokemon came to rest. Occasionally, a more timid mon would approach the campfire if not to make themselves known than to enjoy the warmth. Both from the fire and the company.
Suicune's gaze next drifted over to the very edge of the crowd, where a shiny Aggron stood, trying their best to wrap themself within the shadows. Suicune could still see them anxiously using their good arm to fidget with their eyepatch, their singular crimson eye darting to and fro nervously and their silver hook arm scratching the nearest tree repeatedly.
Titan was indeed an oddity among Suicune's band of adventurers, a true misfit among misfits. It was rare to see them fight and even rarer to see them talk - they preferred to look after the younger members of the pack, tending to their wounds, playing with and cooking for them. Titan was undeniably the heart and soul of the pack, their mere presence holding the ragtag band together.
Most members of the pack would have been shocked by Titan's presence at the campfire, but not Suicune. The reclusive Aggron let very few know about their personal life, but Suicune was one of those few lucky Pokemon. Suicune knew that Titan would do anything for the pack - their eyepatch and hook arm were proof of it. Their presence at the campfire was simply an extension of that quiet yet unyielding loyalty.
Likewise, Sprawled across a log quite close to the fire, a dusty-looking Sprigatito basked in what may have been the last warmth of her short life. There was an obvious air of youth about her, but with a certain twinge of experience behind the eyes.
She wore coverings that seemed to represent a life of luxury, though tattered and worn through times of struggle. A pearl necklace with a single bead remaining, a shred of a regal cloak covering what little of her back it could, and one lace glove over her left paw, holes torn right where her claws would come out.
Though her coverings were not the only torn thing about her. One ear, mostly gone. Blackened around its frayed edges, yet still attempting to heal itself after however long ago the injury happened.
She did not speak to those around her, simply staring ahead at the fire and chuckling at the raucous energy of the crowd. Even at this tumultuous hour, Cordia was content.
It had indeed been a very long and intense endeavor up to this point, one that a certain Latios had been trying hard to push himself through. Many of those from his home region would recognize his name, Kiru. Marred plate armor covered his chest, his sheathed longsword across his back. He looked a bit pessimistic, but he listened intently to the Suicune's words. Even with the concern and fear one could see in his eyes, discussions with other Pokémon in the large group helped to lift his spirits. He smiled and told himself to indulge in everything positive here like all the others. Even if it was their last chance, and whatever lied ahead, they'd have gone down with a good fight. May as well enjoy the best of what remains.
He sighed and poured himself some of the berry-herb tea that was brewed over the campfire. He took a breath to calm himself, looking out into the dark sky and dissolved forest. His breath and heart both skipped while his closed eyes dampened, one hand clasping his crystal pendant. "Our holy creators… please protect us… please grant strength and balance to us all…"
At the same time-
"Excuse me… Sorry… Pardon me…"
Elias's timid mumblings could hardly be heard above the roars of laughter and chanting from the Pokémon around him, who were practically titans compared to the half-pint Dunsparce. His species already lay low to the ground, but the runt of the litter was very easy to trip over if you weren't paying any attention.
A pack of drinking warriors failed to notice the little Dunsparce trying to get passed, and one of them, a Breloom, took a step backwards on the unsuspecting Pokémon behind him. The burly Grass-Type was sent tumbling to the ground, and Elias trembled as the ruffian growled at him. "Oi, Pipsqueak! Watch where you're going!"
"R-right, right… Sorry…"
"Yeah right, you better be sorry!–" The Breloom grumbled as he stood up, dusting himself off while still giving Elias the stink-eye. The little Dunsparce was quick to slink away. Now, along with everything else, he had a bruise to nurse.
Free from the Breloom's scorn, Elias could now see his big brother at the other side of camp– the Dudunsparce surrounded by admiring friends… Elias gave up on his attempt to meet up with him. Now, he just wanted to be alone.
Through the chorus of voices under the crackling fire, an Espartha sat by herself on a nearby log. Her frills and feathers were worn down and tattered from age. Wrinkles lined her face, and her white veil had faded to a dull gray. Yet, her vibrant blue eyes glowed with timeless passion all the same. Scattered in neat stacks around her were books: novels, biographies, map charters and even various folktale collections from far away lands.
She glanced at the sky, a torrent of misery and sorrow. Many lives had come and gone through countless years. Those that once knew her had faded into the pages of the scriptures she now possessed. Amassing as much knowledge as she could had driven her from one corner of the world to the next, story after story playing out and concluding in tragedy, triumph and everything in between.
Her gaze returned to the sight of merrymaking around her. Even with the twilight approaching, the spark of life refused to go quietly. She raised up a golden badge, its luster shining as it had centuries ago. There was one role she needed to return to: Hypatia the Scholar.
Amongst the crowd, a tired looking Absol laid on the ground with his head on his forepaws with their back turned to the fire. He would occasionally change his position as other pokemon got up and walked around, wanting to avoid sticking anyone with the chipped, scythe-like horn on the side of his head. At first glance, a seemingly melancholy aura hung over the scruffy, ashen furred pokemon. But upon closer inspection, they would see the faintest hint of a smile on the quiet Absol's dark blue face.
Whilst he wasn't normally one for conversation, Silver was still able to appreciate the others' company. He didn't consider himself to be among the more popular members of the assorted group, the dark type wasn't disliked either. A nice middle ground as far as the Absol was concerned.
Regardless he was happy not to be alone, as Silver had a hard time remembering how long it had been since he had spent his time with this many pokemon at once.
And he wasn't the only one. Blending in amongst the sea of bodies, but still creating quite the spectacle, a boisterous Farfetch'd waved his leek around for all to see. Hints of white tinged his black feathers despite his young age, a sign of the trials Notch had faced to get to this point.
He'd always been a solo kind of guy, never wanting to put others on the line for things he knew he could accomplish by himself. The less that got hurt, the better. Plus, he earned more glory that way. But tonight, he knew better than to attempt a foolish solo feat. It would take every single Pokémon here to be victorious.
And Notch was no stranger to victory. To commemorate his past triumphs, he made an indent on his leek. Saving the world would just be another on the already long list.
Finally, Violet the Zorua rushed into camp as the sun had begun to set for the evening. Merry cheers and laughter filled the camp, the kitsune hearing others already begin to delve into their own stories. She had to hurry, but she had lost track of time… again.
She quickly found an open campfire, though in her haste she forgot to account for stopping. The four-tailed Zorua slammed on the brakes, sending her flanks over her head as her back slammed into the dirt with a pained groan.
The Pokemon around the campfire bit back their amused chuckles, asking if she was alright. A Lucario even held out a paw, helping her back up. She quietly thanked him and took a seat by the crackling fire, staring into its flames.
Violet began to brainstorm. Trying to get those last minute details right. She had to get this right. The slightest slip up and her whole story would be ruined.
How could she return home and call herself an illusionist if she failed?
Violet was determined to not let that happen, not only for her pride's sake, but for the sake of her stories. They had to be given proper justice– She was too stubborn to allow it any other way.
Driven by companionship and joy, these pokemon would no doubt be valuable company to the very end. But Suicune did not linger on them for long; his gaze was not needed in their case. No, Suicune often found himself drawn to those forlorn souls that preferred the company of their own thoughts. He had often enjoyed quiet contemplation over raucous communion.
Those that kept to themselves were the pokemon that Suicune respected the most, and his attention fell on the lone wanderers near the campfire next. One in particular caught his eye.
The campfires burned and burned, each a speck of dust in the river of fate. A defiant cluster of stars, brought together by luck and deed and courage in spades.
Clinging together against the dark of night – yet away from the group, a lone flame glowed bright. Not a fire of companionship, but a pyre in truth, for the memory of a team and the memories to sooth.
Across from the flame-
"No, no. I can't. It's – it's not right. Not yet."
The Shaymin slumped before the pyre shook her head, her aching heart leaking through the pained expression upon her face. On her left foreleg a bracelet hung, strips of colourful cloth weaving tightly around the metal, around one another.
Torn, one and all. Mere scraps of what they'd been. Sometimes – so rarely it felt a dream – the Shaymin thought she still saw light dancing along the threads.
Here at the final hour, she glanced once more – and flinched. Head bowing in shame.
'Protect the healer.'
'Protect the bard.'
The advice echoed even now.
Her team had – the lovable idiots-
They had taken it to heart.
At the edge of the camp, five pale blue eyes shined through the darkness, flicking between themselves. Aside from whispers in a language mangled beyond recognizability, the group tried to stand back and observe.
Yet the occasional lightning strike or flickering of the fire shed light upon the troop— a collection of five Falink, devoid of a leader. And it was under one of these flares that their armor remained lit up for just a little too long, battle scars visible for all to see.
Alpha, who's horn was near-completely sliced off.
Echo, and a right shield torn in half.
Sierra's helmet, a spiderweb of cracks etched into the surface that seemed to grow with every step she took,
AT's shiny brown armor, clashing with the red and yellow shields that looked far too big for a Falink like him.
Romeo, a gash running over his left eye.
Yet before the fire left them in darkness once again, Romeo took a short step forward. None of them had any clue how to talk to the others. Reports and orders were their life, how could you translate that into asking about the weather?
Tonight would be their chance to try.
A small distance away from the hustle and bustle of the crowd, a young Buizel sat on a withered, yet somehow flat tree trunk. He enjoyed the warm atmosphere of the party, but he didn't particularly care for the noise that much, leading him to watch instead of participate. He didn't have any distinguishable marks or clothing to set him apart from any normal civilians either, so not much attention was brought to himself.
…Well, he had one thing. Held in Raku's paws was a thick, tattered, and incredibly old book, most likely becoming that way from decades and possibly even a century of use. Of all the things he could've chosen to take from his hometown as reality started to crumble before his very eyes, that was it. It held an indescribable importance to him.
There were many things inside that book, but nobody had managed to catch a glimpse of anything yet. The stories, information, or whatever was written in there wouldn't be rotting away with the world around them just yet. With everyone else at the campfire, it would be going on into the future as well. That was the one thing Raku could make sure of.
A Leafeon sat towards the back of the crowd, minding her own business. She wasn't exactly the sociable type—she'd been dragged out here because of a favor to the headmaster—so she felt acutely out of place around the boisterous crowd. Amy didn't particularly mind, though. She was used to the loneliness.
She gave a glance over to the crowd, gathering around the fire, sharing stories eagerly. Tales of bravery, and of love.
She did have plenty of those to tell, didn't she? As a professional wanderer, she tended to hear all sorts of interesting tales in her travels, some of which she'd experienced personally. But tales of others were always the more interesting sort, at least in her mind.
She gave a shallow glance to the inside of her scarf—a photo from her youth was tucked away in there for good luck. Few would realize that on first glance, though. She barely resembled her old self.
When she looked up, she realized that the Suicune was staring at her, right in the eyes. It was frankly uncomfortable—she hated looking people in the eyes. Then, the Suicune gave her the slightest gesture of the head towards the fire.
Amy chuckled nervously. Fine, she'd participate. Only with a tale told secondhand, though. No need to open up to these strangers.
Off to the wayside, a Xatu proselytized to an eager crowd before him. Everyone knew Samael was… peculiar for a priest. If the mere peasant's cloak and rejection of sacred rituals didn't clue Pokemon in, then the self-important attitude would've left more than a few followers skeptical.
Even now, he forsook Communion Rites for a simple group prayer, insisting that while he could never speak for the Legends, if fighting in the face of annihilation wasn't evidence of the party's goodness, nothing was.
Samael claimed he was fueled by mere curiosity. Such sheer destruction must be connected to the Legends, he claimed, and that link mustn't be hidden. Yet, he always found time to reassure the frightened souls amongst them of their fears. And no one dared doubting his wealth of knowledge.
But there was one question Samael could never answer. Many begged for the gods' vision of their battle ahead, but the Xatu was always evasive. Truth was, even with the Legends guiding him, he could never foresee anything past that final battle.
So, as he answered the final prayers of the crowd, he silently called for the Legends, hoping Their fickleness would save them in their final hour.
And at the edge of the fire's glow, where Suicune's convictions were soft and distant, a growlithe sat, staring off at the backs of the crowd. He was young and his breeding was pure, but the folks here said he was humble, for his fur was messy and his legs were strong. He wore a satchel with the faded crest of his king fastened on with a bronze buckle, slouched in his seat and he drew deep breaths. They thought he was a prince or a knight-to-be, learned in things good and sacred, but not yet worn by toil and age.
When the clamor began, the crowd shuffled in closer. The growlithe stayed just where he was. He whispered, "I pray you rest in peace, for I could not find them. Despite your love, my promise, and our hope, I die anyways and you too will die with me too. There is nowhere more to run."
And so, he gazed at their backs from where he sat, tired and quiet.
But the quiet of the flames was often not enough for some. Suicune lamented that the cold could be just as comforting as the heat. Or perhaps…some chose the cold because they believed they deserved it.
He had meant what he said: this was no time to drift apart and stray from what made them so strong. And yet, Suicune understood quite well how not even the death of the world itself could shatter such a sturdy barrier. He was like that once, too.
There were many pokemon that chose to shy away from the fire. Many of which that preferred to spend their last night of peace alone—an accepted decision amongst the group. Suicune understood the gravity of the situation and chose not to sway them.
One such pokemon was a Sandslash, clad in red quills. Cherry was her name; she never bothered to change it.
By all accounts, there was nothing special about Cherry. She hung her head as she sat up against a tree being shared by at least three other loners. There were scratches and scars littered across her body, yes. Sharp claws and an air of mystique about her. Nothing new.
What made her distinct were her eyes. Piercing, intense, perhaps even bloodthirsty—the look of a killer. Or perhaps…an imperceptible guilt hidden behind a harsh exterior. There was no easy way of knowing.
Most avoided her, and just as many expressed their disinterest in getting to know her. She frowned in return, but it was not a disappointed frown. After all, Cherry understood that the time to form connections was over.
It was far, far too late. In a way, Cherry felt she had been robbed. She would have laughed if she could.
At the base of the birch tree at the edge of the fire's light lingered Fervid, a young Grafaiai who had spent much of the evening obsessively making the tree his own. Poisonous paint encircled the base of the birch in a slow spiral that strove upwards in stripes of bone yellow and muted orange. The cracked pores of the birch tree's bark bled with red ink that mirrored the oppressive sky overhead.
The Grafaiai suckled on a finger to slather it with more yellow paint. He worked obsessively, undaunted by the grim forecast given by the ceaseless violence on every horizon, to transform the birch into a pillar of flame. He mirrored the chaos of the collapsing world with the only expression he was allowed.
One crooked ear twitched as he looked away from his canvas, and beheld the merriment he turned his back on. Suicune spoke words of faint hope, and but for a moment, Fervid could push aside his thoughts of the bright, unbearable reality that threatened to swallow him. He knew a tale or two.
Meanwhile, a Raichu dragged around firewood with his old bones. There was no secret to his age: his tail and ears drooped, patches of fur were greyed or missing, scars pierced everywhere, and his skin sagged. Oversized rat teeth pushed out of his constant frown which often chittered. He muttered disillusionments about Arceus and life often. And yet, he had never hesitated to help with firewood or carry out food to the others, even if his legs and arms shook from weariness.
He rarely acted interested in the others, or even the dreadful red sky above, despite his dutifulness. Not even the bitterest moments of depression and acceptance among the group swayed him from his responsibilities, willingly a ghost for the others.
If one listened carefully, they could hear meaning in his yammering. "Arceus is with us," "Arceus will see a new world," "we are one." Faith grounded his feet.
Further away from the rest of the campfire, an Absol wearing a cowl sat in quiet observation of the majestic Suicune. There was something about his leadership that compelled them to follow his path. Before this, Rí Trahaern and Tánaiste Scáthach were among the few to evoke a similar level of respect from them.
Suicune's words about 'a life of hatred and silence' - those resonated with them. They'd wallowed in such feelings once, disillusioned by a world that wouldn't listen, and living in self-imposed isolation.
But thanks to aid from a certain Archeops, they found the will to rise above, quash those feelings, and escape isolation. Now, the life they led as Archdruid Cathbad of Alba could not be better.
They also learned to use their perception as a gift to people had been saved thanks to their warnings, both in Alba and on this quest.
There was a great battle on the horizon, and this would be the last night of merriment. All the deaths they'd seen over time made them value moments like this more than ever.
Cathbad made their decision: they were going to make this evening count.
Behind all the crowd, a lone Grovyle collapsed onto his knees. He was covered in scars and scratch marks from head to toe – with his back being particularly burnt away. He wore a black and maroon uniform that resembled military grade with words written near his chest "Viva la revolución!". He also had a torn golden sash that he carried over his neck. Even when he was trying to hide his expression from others, everyone could hear him crying over his shoulder.
He couldn't bear what he witnessed. The trauma was too great as the tears kept running down his body. Many of the crowd wanted to help him out, but he dismayed any help as he thought he deserved to suffer.
Fernstrike only got here because of lacking other places to go. Wherever he went, whomever he met in other towns, he could only think of his partner Monferno. He shivered in fear whenever someone was introduced to him as he didn't want to experience his loss again. The campfire and the crowd gave him hope of trying to turn a new leaf after what he did, but it wasn't high enough to boost his spirits.
In the meantime, lurking in the shadows of the trees around the campfire, a silver Ninetales sat watching the other Pokemon. A cloak that seemed to absorb all light shrouded her from the vision of the others, and nothing could ever tell she was there.
Her glowing red eyes were weary with the knowledge of centuries, having seen the rise and fall of gods, the collapse of empires, and the lives of thousands. They had stared into death itself, and they now stared towards the fire.
Mortria had not interacted with other Pokemon in a very, very long time. She had hid away from civilization, studying her spells and dreaming of a dark and distant future. Recently she'd had an odd desire to wander again, and had found her way here, somehow. None of the mons here had heard of the broken lands of Archaia, and that meant they had never heard of her.
She wondered if maybe, perhaps for one night, she could join them by that fire and see what it was like to interact with others again.
For these pokemon, Suicune simply wished for closure—a future where these lost souls could pursue a path free of death and sorrow. A future of peace and happiness. Alone as they were, they deserved to be remembered.
Some did not require Suicune in their thoughts, however, let alone his blessing. They came alongside others, riding to the very end with those that would stick by their side without question. These companionships and groups provided Suicune with a flicker of hope. He needed as much of that as he could get.
In the middle of the campsite, not so far back as to be alone and not so close that they would stand out, sat a Lycanroc and a Quilava. They did naught but stare into the flames, memories in front of their eyes. The Lycanroc's orange fur was faded, the spikes jutting out from his head chipped. The Quilava's eyes were dark, clouded with something unknown. His paws fidgeted aimlessly.
Shattered Stones tore his gaze away from the fire. Jin glanced at him, concern and pain in his eyes. Shatter returned his gaze, eyes without that spark of energy Jin knew so well. He turned his gaze to the ground.
Jin hugged him, his head melting into Shatter's mane.
He knew all the others had gone through the same pain recently, but he also remembered what happiness was like, what the old times were like, before all this happened.
Jin glanced at Shatter again, and they nodded. They would remind the others, and themselves, what happiness and love was like. They stood up, and Jin nodded at Suicune, before turning his head to look at the stars, just like they used to.
At the back of the Campfire, where barely any light from the fire itself would shine, a Delphox would stand, taking a deep breath as she glanced at her partner, a Thievul who tipped his head to her.
She sighed, and stepped forward, forcing her way to the head of the crowd, standing strong in front of the group and close to the fire. Her Thievul partner stood by her side.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Theivul asked, glancing at the Delphox. Their gray-green eyes looking up and down at their fellow fox.
She nodded, "Anerin. I'm sure." She replied, bowing her head to him. Her grin was one of glee and filled with excitement.
The Thievul sighed and nodded, "Alright, Jess, don't mess up." The Thievul joked, waving a paw at her.
"I won't, I won't," She chuckled in return before clearing her throat. She took a deep breath, and squared up to the fire.
The fire was rather soothing, especially since she was a fire type. She smiled and waved to the other Pokémon on the opposite side of the fire, before sitting beside Anerin.
While other Pokemon felt their best in the day, Cámille came alive at night. Cámille was a Datrix that had grown accustomed to doing things by daylight. Alone. But this was a bit different.
Even though this forest was nearly freezing and she had to use a bit of her savings on a wool vest, this was Walking Wake. An ancient legendary Pokemon of paradoxical wonder and might. The Dartrix had to join the adventure.
In the sky, she circled the campfire of Walking Wake's party for a while and avoided the others on a breeze. As it died down Cámille settled into a Cheri Berry tree. Others didn't understand why the Dartix wished to travel.
But her partner, a Quaxwell understood her well. She reminded herself of their last conversation.
"I get ya, Cámille, it's bad not to have a change of pace sometimes," he started.
"Change of pace?" Cámille questioned.
The Quaxwell tapped his feet. "Yeah yeah, like me going into the ocean."
Cámille got out of her thoughts before she turned to the group. Walking Wake and everyone else was having a good time. The Dartrix flew down in front of the campfire and perched on the branch of a log. "I'll join in on the fun too."
Near the fire sat another trio of Poke'mon: a Scrafty, a Goodra, and a Raichu. All three were old, rugged. Though they laughed, drank and joked together, their eyes held distant wisdom to them. They clearly shared a connection, for they always sat near to one another, walked by one another and did everything together, but none knew what that connection was, for they were not a team.
The Scrafty was named Eb. He kept himself in a daze of smoked totter seeds with ground up blast seeds for spice. He was jovial, amicable, as much a friend to everyone as he could be. By him sat Molo, the Goodra, the oldest of the three. He was quiet but held a warm smile on his face, looking around at the youthful faces of the rest of the camp. Despite their collective age, he acted as a mentor to the two other senior Poke'mon. Finally, the (relatively speaking) youngest of the group, the Raichu named Kazinan, sat in mostly stoic silence, trying to put on an air of quiet strength. However, his facade was regularly broken by jokes and romantic stories.
The three mentored and helped where they could, cared for all.
Two other pokemon, a Drakloak and a Pancham, sat on the edge of the crowd playing some sort of game in the dirt. They were pretty recent additions to the ranks, and as such, they didn't know too many of the pokemon surrounding them. It would be futile to try and make friends on the final night (for better or for worse), though, so they chose to keep to themselves and have some fun on their own.
Shane placed a dot in the grid they had created. Then Ori, floating above the board to analyze it more thoroughly. Shane looked at the board, then back at Ori, then flopped onto it, scattering dust every which way. Ori fell on top of him, both of them dying laughing. They'd have to remake the board, but it was worth it for the bit.
They generally seemed quite cheery despite their numerous scars. When they were apart, however, both seemed to take on an aura of loneliness and latent fear that couldn't be resolved. If one looked closely enough, one could see the strife hidden in their gaze. Was the playful banter and such all just an act? There was no way to tell.
And then there was Ascolt and Atrice. The Lunatone and Solrock pair had joined them not long ago, finding Suicune's army nestled among the underbrush like many other refugees had. But unlike the countless others, they did not fold into the ranks simply to survive. When they had found Suicune, they had called him a legend, proclaiming that they were here to witness a story unlike any other, and that fate would guide them to the greatest conclusion of all. What that meant, nobody knew. But as they began to accurately foretell each coming catastrophe, it quickly became apparent how useful they would be, so everybody consigned themselves to endure their presence, if only to survive.
Now, as they floated above the gathered survivors of this apocalypse, they cast their glaring red eyes upon the crowd, almost as though seeing through each of everybody's souls. Perhaps they could. Who would know that to be true better than them?
An interesting batch, indeed. And with plenty more lounging about, Suicune could spend all night keeping an eye on them. But he didn't grow to be this old by simply being an observer. No, The Walking Wake never once passed up an opportunity to act.
Tonight, Suicune had one last speech to make. One last thing to tell those he's come to know before they take the final step towards oblivion. He would make his words count if it was the last thing he ever did.
With a groan, Suicune pushed himself off of the tree he was leaning on. "Friends!" he announced, immediately grabbing the attention of most of the pokemon not already preoccupied. His raised arms and booming voice caught the attention of the rest. "Come, I have a few words for you all!"
The crowd grew quiet, curious. Perhaps even a bit tentative. But through it all an air of warmth spread between, as though Suicune's words had already affected them. By the time Suicune reached the campfire and stood by it, all eyes were on him.
"This might be the final night we spend with each other," he said. "It has only been because of you and your willingness to fight that we stand here today." His sharpened eyes scanned the pokemon around him. Respect and pride coursed through every word and every glance. "I know that the road ahead of us may be shrouded in a thick fog— thicker than any of us have ever seen. But I know that you will all fight to the bitter end. If not for the ones you love, then for the world we live in."
The crowd cheered in agreement.
"But we are still here, are we not?" he continued. "We still live. Our stories remain. Here, at the end of it all, let us not forget where we came from, what led us to this point. Stories. Tales of old. Fiction, or otherwise."
He smiled, looking around him once again. His headdress seemed to be reaching higher above him than most had ever seen. "I am certain you all have plenty. So let us share! Nothing is to be kept secret. Here, during our last night together…we will live on through our words.
"And, with good luck and courage, we shall be victorious!"
Once again, the crowd cheered. Louder this time.
However, before any festivities could begin, Suicune added one extra detail. But first he waited for the others to quiet down, to which they did. He told them, "One more thing…to ensure that we provide only the grandest of tales tonight, I beseech upon you a challenge: one tale above all others will be the one we cherish until the final blow. And as such…the singular hero among you—the one that tells the grandest tale—will deliver the final blow."
Excited murmurs surged through the crowd. Already, Suicune could detect that many had stories in mind. He could tell from their smiles and laughter that this would be a night to remember.
With a laugh of his own, Suicune held out his arms. "Now…who wants to go first?"