Thanks to SaLiNaSaLa, PKMNfanSakura, Larieth and yonas813 for reviewing the previous chapter.

This story is not pokemon heavy meaning you're not going to find the chapters featuring heaps of pokemon running about. Pokemon feature as monsters, religious icons, symbols etc. This story is focused around the human characters and it's set in a medieval world. I know this might be disappointing to many people, but there's already heaps of Pokemon-centred fantasy stories out there.

~The Sun and the Moon~

The scent of herbs and spices filled the room – such a strong scent it was it followed you around the town earning you strange looks from the other villagers. Potion brewing was often associated with the wicked practice of magic, and anyone thought to be connected would be driven away from the village.

Lyra peered through the open window. Such a small town meant everyone was always interested in someone else's business. Her neighbour, a man called Elm, was staring at her now, his face scrunched up in disgust. It was always the same expression – a look of distrust. "Mother, he's staring at us again," Lyra said, swatting away a fly that came to close to her face.

Her mother, Leanna, glanced over her shoulder her face flushed red from the heat of the boiling pot. She pushed a strand of loose brown locks away from her dark eyes. "Ignore him. These people will never understand what we do - that is why we keep our distance."

Lyra turned away from the window and walked over to her mother. The woman was brewing some sort of calming potion – something that would make it easier to sleep by keeping the nightmares away. "Are you certain this will work?" she said, peering over her shoulder. The liquid was brown.

"We must keep those dreams away from your mind," the woman said. "People will ask questions – ones I cannot give answers for."

"Do you share these dreams too?"

Leanna frowned. "To dream is dangerous in these parts."

"Why do I dream of this white light?"

"I do not know, my dear." Leanna pressed a hand against Lyra's forehead. "You are warm."

"I was chopping wood earlier."

Her mother lowered her hand. "That was over an hour ago."

"It is a warm day." The sun was harsh, and the air so moist, it was as if she had just climbed out of the lake. Every few moments she would have to wipe her forehead to remove the sweat beads from falling into her eyes. "I'm not coming down with the sickness. Besides, the plague has been gone for decades now."

The Devil's Fever. That was the name that had been given to the plague. It started off with a fever and would be followed by aches and chills. The sickness would worsen, and purple boils would appear on a person's skin. Eventually, the victim would stop breathing. However, only those with magic in their veins would succumb to the severe effects of the disease whilst the average person would recover with little lingering effects.

"The plague should not be taken lightly." Leanna checked her forehead again. "Still warm."

"I feel fine. I'm serious."

Her mother tilted her head to the side and frowned, unconvinced. Still, the women did not pester her further. "Very well, if you're not unwell, I need you to take this to Ethan's mother. Her mind will not allow her to sleep. She misses her son dearly."

Lyra nodded. "It's been months since he disappeared." Ethan. Her childhood friend of ten years. The boy had disappeared just short of his eleventh birthday. Some believed he had been captured by bandits, and others believed he had run away, but his mother believed the boy was alive and well. "He's alive. I know it."

Leanna dipped a spoon into the pot. Looking towards Lyra, she said, "Open the satchel."

Lyra picked it up. Holding it out she said, "Who taught you?"

"They did," she replied, jerking her head towards the bookshelf. There were rows of dusty books. Some of them were decades old. "Reading is power, Lyra. You will not get far in this world if you cannot read. Like your friend, Ethan. The poor boy." She poured the contents of the spoon into the satchel.

Lyra didn't flinch. All she felt was a brief pang of heat and then it subsided. "What if the other villagers find out?"

Her mother frowned. "They won't."

"They already suspect there's something different about us. No one talks to me."

"Because they fear a woman who can read. Do not concern yourself with them."

Lyra placed the satchel over her shoulder. "Right. I'll take this over then." Glancing over at the books she added, "Are you going to teach me the words of those books?"

"When you are ready, but not today. Another time."

She pouted. "I'll see Ethan's mother then." Her mother returned her attention to the boiling bot as Lyra made her way to the door. Stepping outside, she was greeted by a blast of cool air, a brief respite from the heat. Ethan's mother lived in the house next door. The woman used to spend a lot of time outside, but since Ethan's disappearance, she rarely left the house.

Ethan's mother was no older than her own but was already showing early signs of elderly age – despite the woman not being older than fifty. There were wrinkles around her eyes, and patches of grey hair. The stress of having lost her son and husband had drained her of life. Meghan was sitting on a chair outside, shrouded in golden sunlight.

Lyra approached her, standing in the path of the light to grab the woman's attention. "You shouldn't be sitting in the sunlight like this. You'll burn."

The woman raised a hand to shield her eyes. "Lyra? You are Leanna's mother."

"At least your mind remains sharp," Lyra murmured. "What are you doing outside?"

"I am waiting for my husband and son to return."

"They've been for a long time, Meghan." Lyra pulled out the satchel and held it out towards the older woman. "You need to take this. It'll help soothe your thoughts."

"I do not want to calm my mind."

Lyra didn't lower her hand. "You must. They're not coming back home."

The woman glowered. "Do not say such things! You are wrong. You are just a simple peasant."

Once the woman had been kind, but loss had turned her heart cold and sour. Now she was suspicious of almost everyone and preferred to keep her distance. Lyra didn't even know why her mother continued to try and maintain a friendship with the bitter woman – it was as obvious as daylight that she wanted to be left alone.

"I've come here to help you. It's a gift from Leanna."

"Leanna? The witch."

"Yes, the witch you've been taking potions from for years. Don't turn on her now." Lyra held the brew before the woman's face. "We can't change what happened in the past. Ethan was my best friend. I miss him dearly and there's not a day that passes by where I don't think of him, but we can't grieve forever."

For the first time, the woman slapped the satchel aside. "I do not want your poison. Witch."

"We're not witches. Everyone knows magic is forbidden. It's a death sentence." The woman had lost her mind. Grief had drained her of any interest in caring anymore. "But if you don't want to take it, that's fine. I can't force you."

"Be rid of this village, witch," the woman spat.

Lyra turned her back and walked away. "A witch?" she murmured. A word that was rarely spoken. Anyone caught to be practising magic would be locked up in a cage until they starved to death. A fear perpetuated by the king's own words that magic was the work of the Fallen One, The Blight. Giratina. "Has that woman even read a book before? We're not witches."

Most people in the village couldn't read nor write. Such skills were not essential in peasant life. Skills reserved for the privileged folk such as the royal family in the city of Blackthorn the so-called Jewel of the North. People who had probably never worked a hard day in their life who were able to enjoy life's finest pleasures because of the blood in their veins.

Edward Blackthorn and his two grandchildren, Clair, and Lance. Lyra had read the stories. The ones about the perfect royals, but perfection only existed in fairy tales. Lyra glanced over her shoulder. "Wherever you are, Ethan… Know that you are missed dearly. I will see you again. I know it." Ethan was the only other person who would willingly talk to her. Everyone else seemed to think she was carrying some odd disease.

She averted her gaze and continued her way home. In the corner of her eye, she spotted her eccentric neighbour carrying a brown chicken. She looked away. The poor helpless animal. It did not understand the fate that awaited it.

The door swung open. Her mother stood at the frame. "You have returned."

"Yes. I tried to give her the satchel, but she refused. She called me a witch."

Leanna poked her head around the corners then retreated inside. "And here I had hoped the woman had more sense. A witch… She's fortunate the community haven't turned on her yet and made their accusations of witchcraft."

Lyra followed her inside. "She grieves over the absence of her son and husband."

"And people must overcome their grief." Leanna closed the door. She walked over to an open window on the opposite side of the house and poked her head around, checking to make sure there were no locals within range. "The woman is a fool. She wouldn't be alive if not for witches."

Frowning, Lyra said, "But we're not truly mages. You just understand herbs better than anyone else."

Leanna pressed her hand against Lyra's forehead. "You're warm again."

"I'm not sick. We've been through this." Lyra pushed her mother's hand aside. "Why do you keep asking me that? Will you even give me an answer? You're always checking my temperature as if I have some mysterious illness or something."

"I'm your mother. It's my job to worry about you constantly." Shoulders slouching, the woman added, "You're all I have left. After your father died… I promised not to allow anything bad to happen to you. Your father wanted the same – a peaceful life and one full of love and joy."

Lyra peered out the window. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon as the cover of darkness would blanket the sky once more. A time to be cautious. As her mother often said, you should be afraid of the dark. She turned away. "I miss father," she murmured. "Why did he have to try and be a hero?"

"Because he was our village leader. He exchanged his life to save ours. Those bandits would've taken all the girls in this village and done unspeakable things. I miss him dearly myself, but our village stands because of his noble sacrifice." Leanna turned to the window and sighed. "We used to look at the stars each night, and search for Arceus's sign. The Horned God watches us."

"And Arceus took father away."

"And he watches us now from the world above." Leanna smiled at Lyra. "We still have each other."

Lyra frowned. "But the bandits – they will return. They always do." Who would save them this time?

"We have no reason to be concerned." Leanna pulled her daughter into a brief hug. "Arceus protects us. Everything that happens… happens for a reason. Now… get some rest. We will find some herbs tomorrow. I can test your knowledge." Leanna turned away and moved towards the bookshelf.

No more words needed to be said. Lyra yawned and returned to her room. Her bed was a simple wooden one on the floor with layers of wool to provide some comfort. She laid down, rolled over onto her side, and shut her eyes.

"What is on today's agenda?" Edward Blackthorn said, adjusting the golden crown on his head. Thin wispy shades of grey hair poked beneath the crown, but his mind was still young. It was the night before the full moon and the king had called for a meeting of the most brilliant and influential minds in the city.

Koga, the head priest of the Church of Arceus, cleared his throat and peered up from his notes. "The city's finances remain steady. There has been a decrease in the number of people not paying their taxes. The people feel your laws are fair, Your Majesty…. Though we are receiving several requests to annul some marriages." He flicked through the pages of his notes – at least five pages.

Edward stroked his chin. "I will allow you to oversee the divorces." Turning his head to Samuel, he said, "And what of your research? Last I recall you were studying bezoar."

Samuel nodded, a crease in his brow. "You have a fine memory. Scholars from surrounding regions have written how bezoar can be used to cure poison, but we still do not have a complete list. I would like to continue researching this… But I will need your permission to see what poisons it can treat and how effectively."

"I'm sure there are peasants from nearby villages that will be of use."

Edward turned his head to the final person at the table – his grandson, Lance.

Lance leaned forward, arms resting on the circular table. "The northerners threaten the peace. King Alder's forces outnumber us greatly and if he decides to continue his conquest across The Great Sea then we will be serving a foreign king. We should be bolstering our numbers and strengthening our fortifications."

"I have arranged a truce with King Alder," Edward replied.

Folding his arms across his chest, Lance raised a brow. He studied his grandfather's features. here were black bags beneath his eyes, clear evidence he hadn't been sleeping well. Perhaps that explained the madness behind his words. "A truce? You want to make an alliance with a mage? You always said we couldn't trust them." He failed to conceal the edge in his tone. Everyone in Blackthorn knew mages could not be trusted.

"Do you think that is wise?" Koga said.

Lance nodded. "Twelve moons ago they conquered Hoenn. They took control of the mines and now they have the finest weapons and armour the world has seen. We cannot hope to best them in battle should war arrive on our shores."

"They will not attack us if we give them what they desire – Clair."

Lance almost rose from his seat. "You wish for Clair to marry into the Unovan nobility?"

Edward grimaced. "She will marry Prince Benga before the next full moon."

"Prince Benga? He will kill her with his words. She will die of boredom," Lance reasoned.

Edward's face was hard as if it were made of stone. "We need to protect our shores and sometimes that comes at a great cost. Clair will make a fine wife. She will serve him like a wife should. In time she will grow to love him."

"Unova is no place for Clair," Lance retorted. He had heard the stories of violence on the streets and mistrust of foreigners. Clair would be a foreigner on their lands. Had his grandfather gone mad? "Unova will be her grave. You'll never see her again if you send her there. She should be here in Blackthorn – her true home."

Edward grimaced. "And I have made my decision. I have already written to King Alder accepting his request."

"We could've chosen any another noble house," Lance said. "I'm still an option."

Edward shook his head. "You are Lord Commander of Blackthorn's forces. You swore a knight's oath before Arceus to never marry nor have children. You will uphold that oath until your dying breath. The future of our name rests with Clair – we will share the children between our houses." Though he did not sound convinced.

Lance sat back in his chair and folded his arms. He tightened his jaw. Old men always thought they knew what was best of the region. Perhaps in their old age they had forgotten who had won the city in the first place, but he knew better than to voice his concern – Edward would not listen to reason.

After a few moments of reflection, Lance said, "Have you told her the news?"

"I will."

Lance sighed. "The people will not be pleased to hear about a union with mages."

"They will be when they understand it stops our city from being blasted by magic." Edward drew in a deep breath and rubbed his temples. He exhaled and spoke further. "I understand you are not comfortable with this idea, but Clair's children will continue our proud legacy. Now – I must talk to Lance alone. Samuel and Koga – you are both dismissed."

Both men rose from their chairs and bowed before taking their leave.

Once the door had closed behind them, Edward turned to Lance. "How are you feeling?"

"About your political marriage plans for Clair? I think it's a terrible idea."

Holding back a sigh, Edward said, "No. Not about Clair. About yourself. Samuel's potions."

"I'm stable," Lance remarked, avoiding looking directly into his grandfather's eyes. It wasn't a conversation he liked to discuss. Any form of weakness could threaten his position, but he couldn't lie to the old man. "Some days are worse than others. The headaches have worsened. The bouts of nausea come and go but each time is worse than the last. But I can manage. I can still serve."

Edward frowned. "We need to increase the dosage."

"I can manage," Lance repeated.

"Your illness is worsening. We need to take steps to ensure you can serve."

Lance tightened his jaw. "Then you should take the position off me. Wikstrom. Bruno. Chuck. They can all lead and fight. You always said a leader should never show any weakness before his men…. If you think I am a liability then remove me."

"Do not be ridiculous. You are my grandson and only you will serve as commander." The old man drew in a deep breath and exhaled. He placed a hand on Lance's shoulder. "Samuel will find a cure for your ailment. He can ease your symptoms. But we are closer to a cure. Have faith."

Lance didn't press further. It was the same response each time. We will find a cure, but there was no cure for his sickness. Samuel had never seen anyone with it before. Still, he wanted to serve and that meant not giving his grandfather a reason to doubt. "I hope my faith is strong enough." He stood up from his chair and left.