I apologize for the lack of quality within the previous few chapters. I am going to go in and correct typos that I refused to look at earlier. I have been lazy with my editing and I apologize. For now on, I am going to make sure that the quality stays consistent. In that case, enjoy this chapter! Thank you to all who reviewed. Again, your encouragement means so much. Thank you.

Chapter 18

Lumoise City, Kalos

Clemont wasn't sure what just happened. The world grew black and white and red. There was a high-pitched ringing, deafening beyond belief, consuming every sound—a scream within Clemont's ears. And there was a chill. It began with the spine and passing through, he cried out but did not hear a thing. Everything was silent. Except for the ringing. And the ringing and the ringing. Was really Brock's blood, the only color in sight?

When he saw his friend fall to the floor, Brock's knees giving out in the dirt, Clemont began to scream.

The world began to move again.

"Brock!" he gasped, his breath felt like ash, coughing up the skin of his throat, "BROCK!"

"Clemont, no!" Meyer cried while Akoni tried to grab the boy's sleeve, but not even his strong summered arms could hold back the fire before him, "Clemont, stop!"

And Clemont did not listen. He ran towards the crater of dirt and blood, and grabbed his pistol from his belt. He shot towards that creature from hell, that dark moon before him, as the tears streamed down his ashen face. He watched, though did not perceive, that the bullets did nothing to impede the beast in Gary; those wings a shield of thick darkness.

"Pathetic," Lunala whispered, and Clemont again screamed at the top of his lungs, throwing his gun in one last desperate attack.

The creature swat the weapon away, as though it were a fly. He smiled so bitterly. He thought about killing the boy, but found his pain much more satisfying.

In that decision, Lunala took off. He followed his army in to the night, and without looking back, vanished in dark light.

"Come back here!" Clemont grabbed Brock's sword and waved it wildly, "YOU COWARD, COME—,"

He didn't finish. He fell before Brock's body, facing upwards in to the sky, dropping the sword as he sobbed. Clemont crawled up to his old friend, his best friend, and cradled his head within his arms. He rested it on his lap.

"Don't you die, now—you can't die—you never gave up," Clemont bit out, the anger still throbbing in his blood.

"Clemont," Brock gasped, a shudder of a breath, lodged somewhere between his chest and his throat. "The…pocket…my vest."

Before the golden-haired boy could respond, Drifter ran over to the fallen trainer, bending down on one knee to examine the wound. Clemont pushed the prophet away, his grief consuming his instincts.

"Stop it," Drifter snapped, pushing back. He turned back to Brock and ripped open his shirt to see if the laceration went all the way through.

It did.

And it was turning him to stone from the inside.

Drifter fell back, his face devastated and white. Clemont read the expression and a new wave of sobs erupted from his mouth.

"You can't save him. How can you not save him? Weren't you supposed to help us?" Clemont spat at Drifter, "How could you let this happen?"

"Clemont," Brock grabbed his friend's shirt in a firm, desperate grip. With his other hand, trembling and shaking wildly, he reached in to his vest and pulled out a piece of paper. He shoved it in to Clemont's bloody clasp. "Don't let him down."

Clemont took the note and unfolded it. It was the note that sparked their quest together. It was the note from Ash's journal. It was the note written with Serena's name.

"Brock!" Drifter yelled as he watched his comrade petrify before his eyes; the dark skin now stone.

And Brock smiling, as though he would not have changed a thing for the world.

Safron City, Kanto

"Yea, they say they're Lightbearers?" Misty was trying to explain to Professor Oak as he walked through the Capital Building. He and Misty entered the elevator while she continued her vain attempt at describing their new visitors, "or the Purehearted? They speak funny, and their uniforms are a bit…intense."

"And when did they arrive?" Professor Oak asked impatiently, clicking on the button for the 7th floor in a repeatedly hasty manner, "And why are they here?"

"Oh, right," Misty said, recalling the details of their strange arrival, "They arrived this morning, on a flock of Pigeots, about an hour before we received the message from Kalos, and they say they are here to 'fight the wings of darkness'."

"Wonderful."

The two reached the Officer's Beau on the 7th floor, where Cynthia had called a meeting for all generals, champions, and army leaders. They passed by Clara, the secretary, who knew now to let them in, and inside the giant meeting hall was a chaos of voices and people. Professor Oak and Misty stood at the entrance, overwhelmed by the shouts and opinions being thrown in an unorganized fashion. Cynthia was trying to calm everyone down, but even Lance has joined in on the arguing. Wallace looked bored, and Steven was thoroughly amused.

"Cynthia!" Professor Oak shouted over the crowd, and the blonde champion waved him over to her.

He pushed his way through the crowd of people and found two tall, regal looking gentlemen dressed in white uniforms decorated with gold trimmed, red sashes. One of them held an intense countenance, with dark features upon his pale skin. He looked at Oak impatiently, and nodded a curt greeting towards the professor. The other man was equally as tall, but younger and slender. His eyes were bright in comparison to his friend, and held a bit more enthusiasm, though he too seemed restless.

"Professor," Cynthia said gesturing to their visitors, "meet Generals Flynn and Solomon."

"Hello," Oak replied a bit uneasily, shifting his weight on the balls of his feet, "um, I'm sorry, where did you come from, exactly?"

"Professor Oak," Solomon began, clearing his deep voice, "as much as I would love to inform you on the details of our origin, we do not have time. Lunala is moving towards this region as we speak, and we must send our combined forces to the Plateau before dusk."

The professor looked at Cynthia and then back at Solomon.

"So it is Lunala," Oak confirmed in more of a statement, but the two generals nodded in response anyhow, "another question, then: What has happened to Brock and my nephew, Gary? Sorry, one more: what has happened to Ash?"

Flynn began to fidget. Solomon kept a determined visage, though his eyes exasperated upon the wall of this predicament.

"Ash Ketchum was taken by Lunala," the older general reported a-matter-of-factly, "Gary has been as well. Brock now fights for us."

The professor had so many questions. But he looked at the clock and it was already past noon, time was ticking by faster than he could think or process any of what he discovered. For now, all he could do was nod and assume that, at this moment, to fight Lunala was the only thing they could do to help their friends. And his grandson.

"And what about a man named Drifter? Does he exist?" the professor asked, his final question for the time being.

Flynn blinked with surprise and said, "Yes. Drifter's the emissary for the sun. He's our leader."

Professor Oak nodded calculatingly and turned to Cynthia. "We need to trust them."

"I figured," Cynthia muttered and let out a high-pitched, piercing whistle. The room went quiet and still, and even Steven looked as though he had been called to attention. Cynthia stood up in front of the panel of champions and pointed in to the direction of the Plateau. She then began to speak.

The Indigo Plateau

Bonnie sat grasping the paling fingers of Serena's perspiring hand. Despite the sweat, her ivory skin felt cold. Bonnie continued to ask Delphox to heat moist towels in order to lay them on Serena's forehead, but it didn't seem to help deter the temperature. Kaleb and Pancham would come in and out of the room bringing in firewood, igniting the hearth with his Quilava. Sylveon stayed beside Serena's bed with Bonnie, helping with the rags. The room, though busy, stayed mostly silent—on the edge of a dreaded precipice—as though any sound were enough to collapse the fragility of the moment.

Farther in to the afternoon, a few hours after Ash had left, Serena stirred. She opened her weak eyes, and offered a frail smile towards Bonnie with her colorless lips. She touched the young girl's face and sigh.

"Where is he?"

Bonnie cupped Serena's hands and bit away the tears, sending them back in to their natural springs before they broke the dam of her lips. "He went to fight Lunala. He says he's going to save you. Don't worry."

Serena closed her eyes. She smiled widely now, but as one who does while surrendering a gift from their hands; full of yielding peace. The golden-haired girl lifted her head and tried to speak again, but her voice was weak and cracking.

"He came back," Serena whispered to the air, her eyes still hidden, "he came back for me."

"He did," Bonnie assured her, and gripped her sister's hand with more vigor, "and he's coming back again. I saw it. I saw his eyes, Serena. They are just as determined and passionate as when we both met him. Serena—"

Serena let out a slow, shaking breath.

"Serena," Bonnie repeated, her own strength now failing, "Serena!"

"Shhh," the pale girl cooed, her hand now wiping Bonnie's tears, "I'm still here."

Lumoise City, Kalos

"We have to go," Drifter was saying, his hand latched tightly on to Clemont's arm, "we have to go, now."

"No," the young man was shaking his head wildly, his glasses fogging before his eyes. He kept a tight grip on Brock's face.

"If we don't go now, his sacrifice will be in vain," Drifter whispered, straining to keep the urgency in his voice to a minimum. He tensed his muscles in patient waiting.

"We can't just leave him here,"

Akoni and Meyer arrived beside Drifter, the two exchanging glances above the young gym-leader's head. Meyer bent down and grabbed his son by the shirt. He knew only he had the authority to do so.

"It's time to go," Meyer said softly, a stark contrast from the way he yanked his son away from the body.

They left while Akoni stay behind with Drifter. He knelt down beside Brock's frozen body, and moved his fingertips over his fallen friend's lips and imagined himself closing them. When he removed his hand, the stony eyes were still open in place.

"Where do we go now?" Akoni asked Drifter, his dark eyes staring down at Brock. He clenched his fists angrily and looked at his leader, "Tell me we're going after him."

Drifter took a few seconds to breathe. Around them, the ash and soot still swirled with the smoke of the buildings burning in the distance. He shook his head.

"That won't be necessary, Akoni," Drift squinted up in to the flame-lit sky, embers igniting the dark clouds making them look pregnant with fire, "he's already going after us. Come, you need to beat him to the Plateau. I will go before you and warn the others."

Akoni watched Drifter start back towards their group, his boots crunching the burnt grass and debris littered on the floor. The Alolan felt his face grow pale, his mind flashing to the other young lives the came on Brock's lead. Nothing was going as he'd expected. Everything was harder, more difficult; more complicated. And now, Lunala was riding the army to the Indigo Plateau, where—

"Drifter," Akoni blurted, and his face contorted in to a grimace as the prophet turned to face him, "I told Bonnie. I—I told her where Serena was—where Ash was. She and Kaleb are…"

Drifter looked at Akoni with a gradation of incredibility. "Now is not the time to unload your heavy conscious on me, Akoni. I don't have time anymore. We are all out of it. There's an army about to destroy the human race, and in this moment—right now—I am as lost as everyone else. I don't hear anything anymore. I can't see the outcome of this. I…I can't help you."

As Drifter whispered the final sentence, pain stretched across his face and he felt himself crumpling. He thought of the times he'd failed his friends; his soldiers, comrades, and allies. He did not know where Solgaleo was, but it felt as though his presence was lost. He wondered, for a moment, if it'd all been a dream, and about the hope that had now grown taut.

"Have faith," Akoni said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, "you know you are not alone in this. You may be his messenger, but the burden of a life is not yours. You have done your job well, and prepared us for this day. If we knew it'd be this hard, we'd never have stayed. No one would ever have come. You told us what Solgaleo told you, and that is all you needed to do. You were never destined to save Ash. Or James. We were never purposed to save anyone."

And as the world fell away, and the earth shook and trembled, the two of them turned to leave the ruins behind. They walked towards the living, the crying and fearful faces, and put on a reserve of strength that they had kept safe; a last resort in order to survive.

3 years ago

James Ketchum walk through the forest; an apparition formed by the moonlight creating dapple shadows upon the forest floor. He knew these wood by heart, and ambled in the dark until he reached a break in the pines and evergreens. He did not move in to the clearing right away. He melted in to the shadows of the forest line, and watched the lights of the cabins flicker on and off within various rooms. With his arms crossed before his chest, he sank against the trunk of an aspen and waited.

It began to rain.

James moved the hood of his black cape over his head, and deftly slunk in to the night. The clouds had moved over the moon now. He used this absence of light to slither against his old home, the walls now perfumed by wet wood. He thanked the rain for its efficacy in drowning out sound, and crept up to the living room window. There he stood and waited, as the torrent howled on, watching two figures move before the firelight ignited upon the hearth.

His black eyes looked in, unwavering, even against the flames. His orbs reflected not a beam of light. He stared for about twenty minutes, shielded from the rain by a few feet of root jutting out from the ceiling of the cabin. His gaze was fixed on the boy bearing his name. He had grown tall; slender but strong under his blue jacket. The resemblance would be uncanny, were it not for the eyes. James did not have those amber eyes anymore. He did not belong to color.

The other figure beside the boy, instructing him, was Drifter.

And James filled with rage towards the man who stole his son. He knew Drifter would eventually sense his presence. It didn't take long. The prophet's eyes moved to the window and immediately spotted him.

Drifter froze.

James then vanished in to the dark again, and moved to the front door. He didn't knock.

Yet, he heard Drifter tell Ash that they were done for the day, and to go to the other room. James then felt the floorboards of the small porch recoil as Drifter man his way towards him. The door creaked open, the hinges moaning in protest. Out from the firelight, Drifter emerged, stepping forward and closing the door behind him.

The air grew dark.

The only light filtering in to the rainy night, hit their boots from the crack underneath the door. Even so, James could feel the heat of Drifter's stare, and he returned it with the coolness of his own.

"Drifter," James began, smiling to the void, "it's been a while."

"Why have you come?" Drifter shifted, and the sound of the pounding rain filled in the gaps of their silence.

James folded his arms before his chest. "I'm doing well, thank you? I see you've lost your formalities."

"Your appearance was expected," Drifter paused to analyze the moment, "but the manner of your arrival is odd, I must say. You come with no power."

"I come with every power imaginable," James snapped, and clenched his jaw to tame his temper. He continued, coolly, "I don't need to take him by force. He will come on his own, if given the choice."

"The boy stays with me, James," Drifter said with a voice of stone, his words chiseled from the very heart of a mountain, "and he will do what you could not."

"And by that, do you mean kill you? That is something I seem to be having trouble with."

Drifter stayed silent. James could sense the prophet's righteous anger building.

"I'm giving you one last chance," James didn't have time for this. He wanted to take the boy and leave Drifter's throat hanging from a sinew, "You hand the boy over, or I will take him from you."

"Come back here again, James," Drifter warned, the fire in his eyes visible in the dark, "and I will not let you live."

James scoffed. He jerked his head back towards the direction of the forest, and began walking towards the thicket.

"He's my son, Drifter," James lowered his voice; a distant thunder before the rain. "I'm trying to save his life."

"And you think his life would be kept should he join you?" Drifter growled, enraged by the twistedness of that logic.

"If he doesn't," James spun around, the silhouette of his face towards the prophet, "Lunala will kill him. I will kill him. He'll make me do it."

Without a warning, James' knees began to buckle—he suddenly felt weak at the realization he'd just spoken. The truth he had been trying to deny for so long. He grabbed a wooden beam upholding the cabin roof, in order to support himself. The weight of his dilemma too much.

"Look at what you've done to yourself," Drifter said, his voice now a whisper, yet still full of ice.

"Please, Drifter, please," James began to plead, "I—I don't want him to die. You would have him killed!"

"And you would kill him!" the prophet stepped fully towards his old apprentice and grabbed James by the collar of his black cape, "Would you really kill your own son?"

"Give him to me Drifter," James said again, his hands wrapping themselves around Drifter's wrists, pushing the prophet away from him, "Lunala will save his life. He's promised…"

"He would promise you the world and give you nothing but dust," Drifter growled, throwing James off of the porch, "don't you see?!"

James rolled in to the rain, his body slapping the mud on the ground.

Thunder cracked the sky open, and gave way to an increasing heavy torrent of rain. The wind shook the wood of the cabin, rattling the windows and the the door.

James struggled back up to his feet. His face smeared by wet dirt, his black hair stuck wild across his face. "I hate you," he breathed, his shoulders heaving up and down from the furious breaths he took. "I hate you!"

"You were my best friend!" Drifter shouted back, just before a flash of light seared across the night, his voice breaking, "…my brother when I had none. Why didn't you trust me?"

James spat in to the ground and walk backwards in to the dark. He didn't respond after that. His glare said it all. Even after he was still long out of sight, Drifter could feel those black eyes watching him; even through the rain.

present day…

Cynthia had to admit. She had never imagined that she would be leading an entire army to battle against a massive swarm conjured by evil forces. However, now, it was something she could add to her resume.

She, Professor Oak, Misty, Tracy, and Steven rode in an open transport helicopter piloted by Lt. Surge and Wallace. They led the battalion of aircrafts behind them, all heading towards the Plateau. Cynthia examined the shared glances from the trainers before her as they organized their pokeballs. She moved past them, grabbing on to the netting above, and made it over to the pilots, asking for their coordinates.

"Literally, we just left," Steven remarked, overhearing Cynthia's inquiry. He gave the cabin an easy grin and folded his hands behind his head, "we can't be past Cerulean City yet."

"He's right," Lt. Surge answered gruffly, their horizon already turning dark, "We'll reach the Plateau by nightfall."

"Which part of the Plateau exactly?"

Wallace passed her a quick glance over his shoulder. "The Iron Valley, actually. If we can get there by nightfall, we'll meet the swarm head on. Hopefully, we'll be able to level them."

"We'd better, I don't want to fight this whole thing in the air," Cynthia muttered and turned to the professor, "we don't have enough pokemon that can fly."

"Any pokemon can fly," Steven interjected again with another smile, "just push them over the edge of this helicopter and poof! They're flying. How they land is up for debate."

"You're sick," Misty observed and pursued her lips.

"Why thank you,"

"Steven, this is not the time for your comic routine," Cynthia snapped, and again looked at Oak, "we're severely outnumbered,"

The professor nodded, "It will take a miracle to end it. But courage is enough to slow them down."

She glanced at the transport hovering beside theirs. Inside, Flynn and Solomon were there, speaking to another gentleman dressed as they were. It suddenly occurred to Cynthia, that she did not remember there being three.

Professor Oak followed her gaze. He then stood up abruptly and moved closer to the edge of their cabin to get a better look at the adjacent transport.

"Do you know him?" Cynthia asked, surprised by the professor's reaction.

Oak's eyes only grew wider, their vision shaking with the reflection of the rotor blade.

"Yes," he answered eventually, "His name is Drifter."

hope you liked this chapter. Next one will be longer, I promise. In the meantime, please review any comments or questions!

PS. Drifter (just to clarify) does have the power to apparate, if you remember from earlier on in the story. He has just reframed from doing so for a while, in order to travel with companions.