Chapter 4

Mike had not always been a miner. He had not always been known as Mike.

He had once been a sailor, a factory worker, a store clerk, a lumberjack. He had been all people at all times at one point, but he had always been a drifter. He had always been named Drifter.

Drifter awoke from his sleep in to the cold of the mountain dawn. The sun sprinkled in to the old man's modest shack, made of pine and oak wood. Old snow pillowed the cabin within the breast a steep incline scaling the mountain fifty feet upward, and the sunrise glared up from the ice, onto the old man's face.

Drifter's bones cracked as he lifted his body from the bed. He shuffled in to his slippers, and moved over to the narrow counter where a small pot of water sat on top of a two-ring stove. He flipped on a switch and began heating the water for his morning tea.

As the sun grew stronger, Drifter felt strength return to his body and color seep in to his skin. His white beard turned grey, and then brown, and a familiar vibrancy fell over his eyes. The pale night fell back in to his shadow, cast against the wooden floor, and morning yielded new life.

I have returned lost years to you, but for a new purpose.

Drifter closed his eyes to listen. A voice, as soft and familiar as summer air, whispered in through the morning.

Go now in to Glorio, for I have chosen my elect. He will return on the wings of darkness and he will seek to kill you, just as he seeks to kill me.

Drifter's eyes popped open. "You have chosen a murderer? You will have him kill me, now? After everything I've done?"

What have you done that I have not gone before you and accomplished already? the voice replied, stronger now, rattling the window. Go, and I will be with you, just as I was before. How can the darkness be shown without the light?

"How can you chose that monster?" Drifter grumbled, drawing a cup from his cabinet, plopping a black tea bag in to the old tin. "I thought you were going to deliver us from this voracity, not submit me to it!"

Where were you before I found you? Who were you before I named you?

Drifted stopped. He drew a sharp breath as his past burst forth in to his mind with appalling clarity. He saw his neglect. His pokemon dying at his feet. He saw his thirst for victory and his hunger for power. He watched himself kill his companions with words and greed and absolute indifference.

Just as I have chosen you, I have chosen him. I will show him how much he must suffer for my sake, and for the sake of my creation—pokemon and men alike. Go now.

Drifter nodded. He grabbed his coat and bag, slipping a strap over both shoulders. With his new, youthful strength, he bounded out the door and saw a Pigeot waiting for him, nestled in the snow. The large bird bowed its head at Drifter, signaling its respect. It allowed the middle-aged man to climb on to its soft plumage, and he buried himself in to the light feathers of the bird's back. Drifter looked at his cabin and saw the legendary lion, the source of the whisper, watching him from the snow. Steam hissed up from its large paws as heat reverberated from its body and melted the ice beneath its talons.

With one fell swoop of its mighty wings, the Pigeot took off in to the crisp mountain air, and bounded southward in to the sky.

At some point, all Brock and the others could do was wait. They didn't have an invitation to the ball, nor would they be able to book a room at the castle without Serena's help. Nonetheless, Bonnie had been able to sneak them all in to Serena's room while the attendants, along with most of the castle staff, kept busy with the ball.

Clemont collapsed on to the white-carpet floor. "Wake me up when she gets here."

Brock watched Bonnie roll her eyes and begin lecturing her brother on how a proper sleep regiment was important, while Kaleb and his Cyndaquil just watched them, bored. Brock took out his long-time friend, Vulpix, and the small pokemon yawned and brushed its head against Brock's leg.

Brock smiled.

If anything still brought him joy, it was his pokemon. There were many things about the creatures that didn't make sense, but perhaps most baffling was their unconditional devotion towards their trainer. No matter how bad Brock messed up, or even when he disappointed them, his pokemon would always forgive him and love him through a loyalty that surpassed reason. Brock often wondered what it was within a pokemon, that allowed the to love without the expectation of return. He wondered what the world would look like, if people could love that way too.

"So, we just wait here?" Kaleb wandered over to the dining table and took a seat, resting his feet on the table. He locked his fingers behind his head and observed the large chamber.

"I don't know," Bonnie scratched her chin, "maybe we should wait somewhere else. What if Serena doesn't like our little 'surprise?'"

Brock walked over to the glass doors, closed before a large balcony. He looked over the water and noticed how the storm hadn't moved. He grunted and turned away, observing the impersonal décor. Though the room wore a luxurious mask, there were no pictures hanging on any of the walls, nor sitting on any table or dresser. The colors were the same as the rest of the city; reds, oranges, purples, yellow…it could have been anyone's room.

"Vulpix…" Brock's companion began sniffing the air, running around the room. The pokemon followed the scent to the bedroom door and scratched at the exit. Brock followed and opened the door.

The pokemon burst forward and dashed down the hallway.

"What the—Vulpix!" Brock jumped and ran after it.

"Brock!" he heard Bonnie call after him, but she didn't follow.

Vulpix led him down four flights of stairs, yapping, and it scurried in to the kitchen, where many of the cooks were at work preparing the light foods for the ball. Brock dodged them while muttering varying forms of apologies, but he knocked a couple pans off the stove causing some staff members to slip and fall on to their backs.

"Vulpix! Get back here now!" Brock shouted, ducking under a large tray being carried by a waiter entering the kitchen as he ran out in to the foyer, still on the pursuit.

Still far behind, Brock watched a pair of hands sweep his Vulpix up off the floor before it could disappear in to the ballroom just across the lobby. He stopped in his tracks and panted, shaking his head back and forth in order to suppress a grimace.

"Lose something?" Gary Oak asked, detaching himself from the crowd of guests floating in to the ball upon their waves of sparkling jewels and fabrics. He was dressed in a clean, fitted tux. His auburn hair was combed back out of his face, revealing the familiar arrogant smirk that seemed to reach even the depths of his dark eyes.

Vulpix continued to squirm, its nose sniffing towards the ballroom.

Brock returned his pokemon with a loud exhale. Before the gym leader could wonder what Vulpix had been searching for, Gary reached out his hand and clasped Brock on the shoulder.

"It's good to see you,"

Brock eyed the trainer up and down. "You got an invitation?"

"Of course I got an invitation," Gary scoffed, almost insulted, "c'mon, you'll be my guest."

"I'm wearing shit,"

"Shit is shit," Gary shrugged, "no one gives a damn. They're too busy obsessing over themselves—I would know—now come on."

Brock let Gary push him over towards the ballroom. All the young trainer had to do was show the guards at the door the invitation, and the two were allowed in. Brock was too curious to refuse.

Inside, the hall glistened with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Huge, velvet curtains covered the immense windows towards the east wall, billowing chains of ribbon arched down from the ceiling, and music from the orchestra at the far end carried the hollow laughter and gossip of the guests upon classical tones.

And then Brock spotted her.

At the back of the room, there was an elevated area closed off by a velvet rope and guarded by security. A long line of guests waited to be allowed in for only a moment, so that they might greet the Kalos Queen. She sat on a rosewood throne, gilded with amethysts and diamonds, and gold leaf accents ran from the top of the chair like veins. Serena greeted her fans with a distant smile, though no one seemed to notice the fragility of her facade.

Brock did. The first thing he noticed were her eyes. They had once been imbued with the warmth of a girl in love. The brightness of them could make anyone pause and look again, but the paradoxical nature of their expression used to captivate. Her eyes had once been ice on fire; snow reflecting the sun.

Now, they only held frost. Her gaze had frozen in to a shallow sheet of ice, one that reflected the world without seeing it, as though she were trying to keep everything away from her by holding up a mirror. Brock felt his heart breaking. He had hoped the warmth in her would last forever. It had been a foolish wish, he realized.

Brock felt Gary step forward to follow his gaze.

"Please tell me that's not her," he muttered, though the statement did not need a reply. Gary knew very well that who they both saw was in fact, Serena. Gary had met her only a couple times before, like Brock, whenever Ash had brought her in to town long ago. Her hair had been short then.

"She's beautiful,"

"She's dead," Brock gave his friend a dark stare, "you can't bring her back to life."

Gary flinched back and tried not to roll his eyes. "Goddammit Brock, sometimes it's like you think I have no morals."

Brock let out a slow breath. He buried his face in his hands for a moment as his reaction subsided. It's true that Gary was a womanizer, but he also stayed loyal to his friends and would never hurt them or those important to them.

"I'm sorry, it's just," Brock clenched his jaw, "she's not the same,"

"We all aren't," the auburn-haired trainer retorted, plucking a small shot from one of the waiters carrying trays of drinks around to the guests. "So are you going to talk to her or what?"

Brock continued to watch Serena from afar. The fanfare announced the commencement of the dancing and the guests continued to flood in to the hall, decorated with jewels and pokemon at their side. For a moment, it all felt cold and lifeless, and the pokemon seemed to be nothing but decor to these people, who waltzed around, dressing them up for sport.

He almost turned around and walked out the door.

xxxxx

Gary didn't know what he'd been expecting, but what he saw sure hadn't been it. The young woman across the ballroom was fair and slender and familiar. Her hair had grown out and darkened, from a pale yellow color to a honey wheat or burnished gold, and even from afar, her eyes were bright blue orbs strong enough to catch a glance and leave a memory that could last years. Gary's heart began to race. He tried to hide the sweat forming at the nape of his neck with a couple more drinks.

Time had made Serena more beautiful, more mature in stature, but she seemed unreachable. The warmth that followed her was gone. Her complexion was pale and icy, stiff like stone. Her red lips no longer posed to curve in to a friendly smile, rather the opposite. Watching her greet her fans and guests, those chattering drunk or excited and vibrant, Gary observed her ache.

He clenched his teeth and glared at the floor. He wondered about the pain Ash had done to her.

"What's the point anymore," Gary found himself saying, but Brock didn't answer—let alone turn around—so he continued, "I loved Ash too, like a brother, but when are you going to let him go. Goddammit, Brock, it's been five years! For all we know he could be halfway around the world, in some different dimension, or he could even be –,"

"Gary, stop,"

The threat in Brock's tone was dark enough to stiffen the trainer in to an even deeper rage. They stood in a tense silence as the guests continued to float by them without a care in the world, as if they were a sea of lifeless molecules, too busy and absorbed in to themselves.

Gary leaned forward again, this time distorting his tone in to a cold suppression of anger . "I just don't want to see you—or anyone else—get hurt. Over and over again. We all had to move on, it's what humans do. We heal, we adapt. You're not letting yourself heal by holding on to him, and you won't be helping Serena by bringing it all back up."

"You don't think I've tried to avoid this?" Brock seethed, wincing as he balled his hands up in to fists until his knuckles turned white. "You really don't think I've tried to forget? To 'move on?' Gary, every time I try, or even feel like I'm getting it all back, something comes up. A clue, a sighting, some dream, letters, messages, freaking journals! They all show up and it all just makes me latch on again and again with some new ignorant hope. It's as if something inside me can't let me give up, like something wants me to find him –I don't know. I can't explain."

Gary rubbed his eyes as though trying to scrap off whatever it was that blinded him to comprehend the meaning of Brock's words. He searched himself for empathy and found little. Deep down, he didn't want to feel anything when it came to Ash anymore. He wanted to stay numb to it and he wanted others to be numb for his sake.

"I know you probably think it's your responsibility to find him," Gary said, downing up another glass of champagne, "but it was his choice to leave, we all know that. He changed. He made his decision to leave us and it's not our job to bring him back. We can't make him. No one can make anyone do anything they don't want to do."

"The Ash I knew wouldn't leave anyone," Brock said in a matter-of-fact way and Gary felt the pang of a deep-rooted guilt, "something happened. Something made him leave and I think he's in trouble. If it were me, or you, Ash wouldn't let go."

Just then, Gary spotted Pikachu. The small pokemon hopped on to Serena's shoulder and nestled itself on to her lap. For a moment, her eyes melted in to a familiar warmth as she looked down and smiled at Pikachu, scratching the back of its ear. Gary watched her disappear behind the amassing crowd of guests pleading for a picture or autograph—swallowed up by their relentless need.

Gary turned to tell Brock what he saw, but his broad-shouldered companion had already begun to move towards Serena and Pikachu. Without a second thought, Gary pushed his limbs forward is anxious pursuit.

xxxxx

"Where could he have gone?" Bonnie asked sitting on Serena's bed, petting Dedenne, and staring at the wall. She chewed the inside of her lip as the minutes turned in to an hour. The sun had set.

Clemont napped on the floor, drifting in and out of consciousness whenever Bonnie voiced concern for either Brock's disappearance, or Serena's impending surprise upon seeing them all here.

"I feel like I'm betraying her," Bonnie thought aloud, not speaking to anyone in particular, "the last thing she needs is us waltzing in and interrogating her about Ash. You can't begin to know how much he hurt her."

Bonnie winced at the memory of Serena, immobile from the pain. The young blonde remembered how unresponsive her best friend had been. For weeks, all Serena did was lie in bed, Pikachu at her side, the two weeping silently together. She didn't eat. She didn't sleep. She would have nightmares and cry out for Ash in the middle of the night. Bonnie would run to get her mother, who'd shake Serena awake and wrap her in her arms, rocking her back and forth. Bonnie would cry too. She would try and read to Serena funny stories, or she would tell her what kinds of Pokemon she'd seen that day. Serena would just listen, as still as a stone, here eyes a thousand miles away and clouded with impending tears. Eventually, she was taken in to the hospital.

"You can't always protect her," Kaleb said, his dark eyes watching Bonnie from where he stood, next to the glass doors.

"I know," Bonnie placed a hand over her heart. Kaleb had been the only one to listen and empathize with Bonnie whenever she spoke about Serena. Serena's pain had also been her pain. Not even Clemont had felt the pang of Serena's loss as deeply as Bonnie had. Only Kaleb seemed to understand and soothe her.

Clemont woke up. He took a deep breath and dragged himself in to a sitting position, rubbing his eyes. His Luxray came up to him and began licking his face.

"I'm awake, you can stop now," Clemont groaned, wiping his wet face, "is Brock back yet?"

"No,"

"I'm sure he'll be back soon," the blonde inventor waved his concern away and fell back on to the floor, "honestly, I'm starving. I could go for a pizza or something."

"I think we should go look for Brock,"

Bonnie looked up at Kaleb, surprised by his suggestion. He rarely ever offered an opinion unless asked, but his eyes were staring intensely out the dark window, looking out in to the night.

"The storm," Clemont muttered, remembering the strange anomaly. He jumped up, ran towards the glass doors, and bounded out on to the balcony.

A harsh wind screamed in to the room, creating violent waves across the curtains, causing them to flap loudly. A low thundering grumbled in the dark, while soundless flashes of lightning entered the room.

"It's practically in the bay!"

Kaleb nodded. "It's traveled over 70 miles in under an hour."

"But it didn't even look like it was moving earlier," Clemont felt a raindrop splash across his nose. Then another came. Then andother and another and soon a torrent began to pound the side of the castle. Clemont jumped back in to the room and, with Kaleb's help, slammed the glass doors shut against the wind.

Dedenne began to whimper. Even Luxray and Kaleb's Cyndaquil seemed uneasy, and both began to growl lowly towards the balcony.

"Damn," Clemont muttered.

"What?" Bonnie watched the tension form on everyone's face, confused as to the source of the worry. "What's going on?"

"Something's in the storm," Kaleb said, facing the window, posed and ready for battle.