Updated 9/8/2023.
It was a magical time, just before dawn. The time when night and day met, when the trilling songs of the Kricketunes gave way to the morning chirps of the Pidgeys.
Under the dark sky the world shifted, rousing from its slumber. Atop a chilly leaf, tiny specks of crystal-clear water condensed, drawn from the morning air. Slowly, so slowly, they drew together.
Just a single speck at first, so tiny its shimmer could barely be seen. Then a dozen specks, a hundred. With an effort they merged, surface tension coalescing them into a fat drop of pure water which weighed on the leaf, slid down and down...
It reached the tip, and stayed there. Caught in the twilight, refusing to let it pass. Drooping down further and further until-
Drip.
Pelipper awoke to the familiar feeling of water dripping onto her head. After a brief moment of disorientation, she shook away her grogginess and rose to meet the new day.
First came her morning stretches. Once upon a time, she would have leapt straight out of her nest and flown to the Post Center to start the day. But that was decades ago, now. These days, Pelipper took her time. Woke up her tired muscles. She wasn't as young or spry as she once was.
That was not to say that she was old. At least, that was what Pelipper herself insisted. Her colleagues held too much respect for her to say otherwise.
Something complained as Pelipper stretched. One of her flippers. The left one today; it seemed as though they were tormenting her in turns.
She was used to it. Pelipper put the ache out of her mind, continuing with her exercises until it went away. Then, she turned her attention to the mailbag laying against her. Expertly, she opened the clasp with her beak and started rummaging through it.
The second order of business, as always, was a good breakfast. No messenger flew on an empty stomach, after all.
Pelipper withdrew a leaf packet filled with a variety of nuts and dried Oran Berries. The regular kind, not the ones you would find in Mystery Dungeons. Those were much too potent for a morning snack. And much too valuable to be wasted in a packet of regular trail mix.
Pelipper still carried a few, though, in an easily accessible pouch on the outside of her bag. Anybody who wasn't a fool did; Dungeon Orans patched wounds like nothing else could, especially in emergencies. Pelipper herself had used them more times than she could count.
Eventually, the last of the trail mix disappeared. Under the dim light of the stars, Pelipper put on the mailbag. Habit guided her motions: the straps of the bag went over her wings, then a clasp secured them behind her back. She adjusted the straps until the bag fit snugly against her chest.
Third order of business. Pelipper leapt off from her nest. Her wings caught the air, carrying her forwards at a leisurely pace.
The Post Center awaited.
It was about fifteen minutes before the Post Center came into view. It was a small, modest building on the outskirts of town, not much larger than the merchant tents set up near the town center. Stocky and sturdy, a design which Pelipper had seen stand her whole lifetime. And a design which she had seen grow.
The sun had just barely peeked over the horizon. Only a few early risers were out and about. The peaceful quiet would soon be broken by the bustling of a waking town, but for now, Pelipper enjoyed the silence.
Slowly, she drew lower and closer to the Post Center. With a flourish, Pelipper flared out her wings, perfectly floating through the narrow gap in the ceiling and onto one of the landing perches inside.
At this time of day, the Post Center was quiet. Only two other Pokemon were present, and one of them - a Noctowl - was on his way out. He spared Pelipper a brief nod before taking off, exhausted from his nighttime patrol.
"Howdy there, Pelipper! Coming in early today, I see!" came the hearty greeting from the other Pokemon in the room. The Sandslash behind the counter waved a claw, and Pelipper answered the greeting with a flap of a wing.
"I'm always early, Sandslash!" Pelipper replied with a laugh. "Is there any mail today?"
"Hah! There's mail every day! If you're talking about special mail, though..." Sandslash gestured to the request board next to the counter. "The delivery to the Sand Continent is still up. If you want to take it."
He looked at Pelipper with wide, hopeful eyes. The request had been gathering dust on the board for over a month. Nobody save Pelipper had the endurance to fly a delivery over an entire ocean, and Pelipper was hardly going to fly all that way on a whim. Perhaps when she was younger, more ambitious...
No, she was perfectly content with staying where she was.
"Ha! You wish. You're only getting rid of that one when a Dragonite shows up."
"...Ah, well. 'Twas worth a shot."
Face full of mock disappointment, Sandslash reached for a neatly organised stack of letters behind him.
"Here's all the mail for your usual route, then. It's 600 Poke for the whole lot this time. You want me to leave it with Persian as usual or...?"
"Yup! Thanks, Sandslash!"
The mail went in the bag, after which Pelipper clasped the top closed unhurriedly. Sandslash made a mental note that the mail was on the way, and Pelipper traded a bit more small talk with him before turning to leave.
Regular stuff. Everyday stuff. Not too exciting, but both Pelipper and Sandslash had lived long enough to appreciate the fact.
The comfortable routine was broken by a noise in the distance. Flapping wings, soft and light. Getting closer, but of course it was.
Only, now that Pelipper and Sandslash turned their attention to it - the wingbeats were fast, not the slow and efficient strokes that messengers usually adopted.
Fast, and - frantic. The wingbeats were irregular. Rushed.
"...That," Pelipper started, words slowly and deliberately rolling from her beak as the air in the room went still.
"That doesn't happen to be a delivery. Does it?"
"Nothing on the schedule for today. Or tomorrow."
The flapping was drawing closer quickly. Pelipper and Sandslash exchanged a look.
In unison, they burst into motion. Pelipper began emptying her mailbag, lightening its contents with each clump of letters dumped to the floor. Sandslash snatched the pouch of emergency Orans from underneath the counter before sprinting to the storeroom for more.
Often, when Pokemon had problems that needed solving, they put up their requests on the town's general request board. Depending on the severity of the request, a proper Rescue Team might be called to help.
That process only worked for less urgent problems, though. Things that could afford to wait an hour or two before help arrived on the scene. But if there was something was on fire right now, even the fastest Rescue Team might not be enough. Half an hour to arrive could be half an hour too late.
Pelipper and Sandslash knew it better than anyone else. After all, both had gotten firsthand experience during the Meteor incident about two decades back and the Temporal Tower incident a decade after. Natural disasters had struck by the dozen, then. Who did Pokemon turn to when the Rescue Teams weren't quick enough? Who else was faster?
Fliers, of course. Bird Pokemon. And most towns had a large concentration of them right around...
A green-white blur crashed through the roof of the Post Center, almost slamming into the ground. It caught itself at the last moment, though. A... Xatu?
Pelipper caught herself. Xatu were notorious for their tendency to stay still. This was... highly unusual.
"Are you alright?" Pelipper hurriedly proffered one of her Oran berries to the strange Pokemon. The poor Xatu looked like he needed it, wobbling as though he might topple at any moment.
"I do not-" the Xatu hesitated.
"Nonsense! Hurry, eat! And tell us what's wrong!"
"...Many thanks."
The Xatu scarfed down the berry, almost choking on it in his haste. By the time he caught his breath, some of his exhaustion was already beginning to fade away. Pelipper offered up another, but the Xatu shook his head.
"I thank you again, messenger. But I implore that you save it for yourself. Danger is- Darkness is-"
"Calm down, dear. Deep breaths..."
"A- rift is opening. It is- darkness pouring through. Fragments. Regrets. Unnatural. It should not have- You must prepare-"
The Xatu halted, resumed in a whisper. Talking almost to himself.
"Too soon. Too soon. Why had I not- You must remember. Light to dispel the dark. Use the Light to-"
The Xatu's eyes focused on something only he could see.
"- I have- overstayed my welcome. It is too soon. Too late. I-"
The Xatu flinched before leaping into the air as if thrown. Never looking back, frantically flying away, away, away.
Pelipper could only stare at the departing blur of feathers, stupefied. Danger? Darkness? What was he talking about? Yet-
"That... That right there was the Xatu of Grand Canyon," Sandslash said. A small box of Heal Seeds and assorted Orbs laid at his feet, forgotten. "I remember him. Met him after the Meteor."
Pelipper looked at Sandslash. Sandslash, who managed the entire Post Center by himself without recording anything on paper. Sandslash, who remembered all the mail routes perfectly and could reroute messengers with the speed and grace of a Floatzel dancing through the waves.
In that moment, Pelipper's incredulous brain decided to come up with the stupidest question possible.
"...You do?"
"Not someone you easily forget, that Xatu."
A pause.
"At his pace, the Grand Canyon's half a day away."
"Sounds about right."
"And what he said - you hear what he said, Sandslash?"
"Sure did."
The duo sat in silence for a minute. Thinking. Contemplating. Worrying.
Pelipper sighed. "Would you mind if I move my things over here? Don't think I'll feel safe sleeping in the dark tonight."
"Feel free. I... think I'll go gather up some firewood. Sorry to say this, but do you reckon...?"
Sandslash shot a familiar look at Pelipper, of a silent plea masked with regret. Energetic though she was, Pelipper was technically retired, and as much as Sandslash wanted to let her stay that way...
"This is important. I'll fly my route today, don't worry. I'll spread the warning as far as I can."
Sandslash left her a grateful nod, then rushed out of the Center. Into town, to spread the warning and gather up the other messengers.
Pelipper filled her mailbag back up, then after some consideration, reached behind Sandslash's counter for another sorted stack. And another. She turned to look in the direction of Xatu's departure. West, as if he was racing the sun itself, squeezing out as much distance as he could before night fell.
Perhaps he was.
Pelipper sighed. She was alone in the Post Center. Alone with her thoughts.
"Maybe I am getting too old for this."
For the first time in a long while, Pelipper truly felt her age, in her creaking bones and fading feathers. Truly considered just how much she had lived through.
She gently nudged the thought aside. There would be time later to reminisce. Now, she was a messenger. A mail-carrier. And it was time to do her job.
The town was coming to life, now. The sun was finally above the horizon. Just in time.
Fourth order of business. Pelipper spread her wings, taking to the skies. She strained her soul. Called on ancient instincts, unused for so long, but familiar all the same.
Tailwind. Agility. Agility. Agility. Agility. Agi-
A breeze blew over the town, slowly at first, picking up speed until the awnings of the houses below creaked. Until the grass of the plains bent, then bowed. Until the air itself sang, in a ferocious roar to rival a hurricane. The townsfolk turned from their morning routines, from their conversations, from their sleepy stupors.
Somewhere, Sandslash watched with a hint of admiration and awe. With how the confluence of air above him snarled, twisting the air currents from their natural path - the mail routes in his head shifted, spinning off into a dozen possibilities. It seemed like the other messengers were about to have a slow day.
Within the howling tempest, a small blue figure flapped her wings. Faster, and faster, then faster still. Fast enough to match the tempest itself. Not too fast, though; what good would her Tailwind be if she left it in the dust?
For a moment, the air in the town slowed, as if holding a great breath. With a final whoosh, it stilled. In the distance, rapidly drawing away, was a lone Pelipper shooting through the skies.
A delivery was on its way.
A/N: Starting off with a prologue. I'm eager to see where this takes me.