Tristan's back slammed against the wall. A blunt pain throbbed, spreading from the back of his head. On the inside, he was afraid—he wanted to flee. On the outside, his expression was passionless—he needed to stand his ground. Boredom would be the only reason they would stop. That, or after their fill of violence had been reached. He preferred the former over the latter.
"Where are you going with that Pokeball, twerp?" asked an older boy, maybe fourteen or so, with a mophead for hair and the face of a Grumpig.
"T-t-to th-the-e-e f-for-r-rest-t," Tristan replied, his breath visible in the crisp fall air.
"T-t-to th-the-e-e f-for-r-rest-t. Ha!" Grumpig boy mocked with a falsetto tone. His little band of goons, which consisted of Buizel boy, Gothorita girl, and a guy named Kyle that didn't resemble any Pokemon, egged him on with snide jeers. He jabbed Tristan's chest with his pointer finger's knuckle. "For what?"
The stuttering continued. "To catch a Pokemon."
"You? A Pokemon? From the forest?" Grumpig boy squealed. "I bet you couldn't even catch a Starly, let alone something from the forest." This sent the three goons into a tizzy, their sides bursting at the seams from intense laughter.
Tristan remained quiet. Best not to engage. He looked forward with a blank stare.
"Whatever." Displeased by the lack of reaction, Grumpig boy tried a different angle. "You're probably just looking for an excuse to leave—just like your loser of a dad." This drew a chorus of oohs from the goons.
Tristan's blood started to boil, but he kept his expression unchanged. He took slow, deep breaths through his nose.
"If I lived in a rickety, old shack in the boonies, I'd want to leave, too." The pressure welled up inside Tristan as the goons laughed more and more. "Not to mention that idiot sister of yours. What a pain!"
Tristan squeezed his middle fingers against his palms with his thumbs, being sure to keep his other fingers loose and free. Grumpig boy would notice if he made a full fist and take it as a challenge. Best to avoid that.
"And that ugly mom of yours with the deformed face. Ugh!"
"Stop it." The words slipped out. He was angry and couldn't stop them. He desperately wanted to take them back, but it was too late.
Grumpig boy's face scrunched into an uneven, puffy lump of flesh. "What did you say, freak?" No response. "I said, what did you say!" Again, no response.
Thwack! Tristan's eye started swelling before he hit the ground. While he was down, Grumpig boy and his goons took turns kicking him in the back and gut. "Watch your tone with me, freak!"
Each strike of the foot sent a jolt of pain that reverberated through Tristan's entire body. His chest burned as he took deep, sporadic heaves of chilled air. He curled into a ball, draping his arms over his face. Dark welts formed, a sharp contrast to his pale skin. His heart screamed for deliverance, hoping that this would all be over soon.
"What are you doing?! Leave him alone!" An older girl, maybe fifteen years old or so, came charging toward the band of goons.
The kicking stopped. Grumpig boy shot his hands up, snorting about as he cowered. "He threatened us. We were just defending ourselves."
The girl, glaring at them with needle-like eyes, saw right through them. Her words were measured, yet intense. "Get out of here. Right now."
The goons scampered away. Once she was sure they wouldn't round back, the girl reached down and lifted Tristan to his feet. "Are you okay, kid?"
Tristan didn't say anything, his spirit even more damaged than his body. He stared down at the ground, his eyes fixed on the drops of red he left dripping from the blades of grass.
"Let me see how badly you're hurt." She reached for his face, but Tristan recoiled like a startled Ekans. "I promise I won't bite," she said, her voice soft and warm.
Tristan looked up. The girl looking back at him had lavender hair pulled back in a ponytail, soft hazel eyes, and a cautiously kind smile. Maybe it was the trauma from moments before, but Tristan had never seen someone so pretty up close. She reached out her hand. "I'm Nivia."
His trembling hand reached forward. He felt a spark in his chest as his hand brushed against hers. "T-t-trist-ta-a-an."
"It's nice to meet you, Tristan. Do you want me to walk you home to make sure you don't run into any trouble?"
"No!" His sudden outburst surprised Nivia, her smile replaced by a look bordering polite surprise and disgust. He winced. "S-sorr-ry. I mean, th-thank y-y-you, bu-u-ut I'll be f-f-fin-ne."
Her smile returned. "Alright then. Take care, Tristan."
"You, too," he replied as he watched her ponytail swish back and forth until she disappeared out of sight. He thought about meeting Nivia, her friendly smile, and that swishing ponytail all the way to the edge of the forest.
Once he entered the forest, however, it was down to business. He needed to find a strong Pokemon—one that would keep him and his family safe—and he wouldn't return home until he found it. Now that he was twelve, he could have one of his very own.
His imagination explored the possibilities as he wandered through the frostbitten trees. Lycanroc was one of his favorites. He imagined racing through the forest on the back of a massive Midday Lycanroc, darting between the trees like a blur. There were a couple of packs rumored to live deep in the forest. He'd love to catch a Lycanroc, even a Rockruff, but seeing as how he didn't have a Pokemon of his own yet, venturing that deep into the forest didn't seem possible.
He thought about Grumpig boy and the others cowering in fear as he sent his Ursaluna to chase after them. He laughed out loud with satisfaction, only to come crashing back to reality. Ursarings lived further south, and Peat Blocks were nearly impossible to come by. The odds of getting an Ursaluna were slim to none.
A Sneasler or Weavile could do the trick. They were fast, agile, looked scary, and could cut and climb with ease. Plus, Sneasels were definitely in the forest. In fact, he found himself locked in a staring contest with one at that very moment.
That one moment turned into two, then into many as neither boy nor Pokemon moved an inch. Was this to be his fateful encounter? Without a Pokemon to aid him in battle, Tristan was left to contend with Sneasel on his own. "Alright, Sneasel," he stuttered, holding out his Pokeball. "Get ready for me to catch you." It drew its claws and bellowed out its challenge—only to run off. "Wait!" Tristan shouted as he ran after it. "Come back here!"
He tore after it with great haste, but without thought. The chilled air stung his cheeks as he zigzagged through the forest. He'd always been fast, but maybe not as fast as a Sneasel. Despite doing everything he could to keep the Pokemon in his sights, he lost it as he entered a clearing.
With his hands on his knees, Tristan looked around. He didn't recognize where he was, but he did note the placement of the sun. At least he knew the general direction he should follow. He didn't recognize the creature that made the antagonistic snarl originating from just beyond the wall of trees in front of him, but he did recognize the tone. On alert, he squinted his eyes and made out the outline of something maybe a foot shorter than himself.
Out from the cover of trees walked a Weavile with a sinister grin on its face. It clacked it claws together and made a naughty little giggle. It was followed by another Weavile, then another, then another, then another.
This wasn't good. Weaviles were notoriously dangerous and fickle. Great to have on your side, terrible to be facing with no means of protection. Facing one was bad. Four more? More bad.
He backed away slowly, not wanting to initiate their hunter instincts, though he was already too late for that. For every step he took, they took two. The look in their eyes resembled that of Grumpig boy—a look ready for fun in the form of violence. He wouldn't even make it out of the clearing before they reached him. He couldn't help it. He ran.
Under normal circumstances, the group of Weaviles would have overtaken him in seconds; however, his adrenaline propelled him to a gear he didn't know existed. Trees, bushes, boulders—all blurs as he rushed by beyond his top speed. He felt like he was walking on air, each step taking him further and faster as if he were bouncing on trampolines in the shape of clouds. But they were scary clouds.
What should have taken seconds turned into minutes but, eventually, his body reached its limit. His muscles seized and he went crashing to the ground. The Weaviles all gathered round, laughing and displaying their claws as Tristan struggled to his hands and knees.
Why did stuff like this always happen to him? He wasn't sure how much more he could take. He'd already taken a licking from the kids in town. Now these Pokemon, too? Unlike town, however, he was in the middle of the forest—no one was around to save him.
As the Weaviles drew in, a new cry was heard. It started as a low, rumbling growl, then grew into a fierce roar. The Weaviles halted their advance. Tristan turned to see what it was, then wished he hadn't.
At the top of a nearby hill, a Pokemon with dark skin and fur as white as the driven snow glared down at the happenings below. Its ravenous scarlet eyes fixated on the pack of Weaviles, who now stood at high alert.
Tristan recalled the night of the fire—the night that broke his family in every sense. He knew that face. In shock, he sat motionless as the Doom Bringer, Absol, raced down the hill, sending a slash from the scythe on its head hurtling toward the nearest Weavile, driving it back. Before the others could react, a cry of pain echoed off the branches as Absol's teeth sunk into another Weavile's leg, then another as Absol's scythe sliced another across the chest. Terrified, the Weavile's all scurried away as fast as they could, the Doom Bringer hissing after them.
Once satisfied that danger was gone, the Absol turned toward Tristan, who stared back at it with a look of terror. It took a step toward him. He recoiled as if experiencing great pain. It stopped.
The two stared at one another for what must have been ages. Tristan kept his guard up, but the terror from before largely subsided. With his instincts in check, his mind began to race. The sun dipped below the trees. He'd be late for dinner, but he was a bit preoccupied at the moment. He'd had a rough day, yet encountering the Disaster Pokemon was the least of his troubles. So far.
Absol stood motionless as if even a twitch would cause a panic. It didn't look intent on causing any troubles.
Interrupting Tristan's thoughts were the howls of a pack of Lycanroc. Absol, weary of the noise, vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Tristan knew it would be best if he did the same. Still not entirely sure where he was, he noted the sun's position and headed back in the direction he hoped would take him home.
He kept checking over his shoulder as he walked, expecting to see those scarlet eyes stalking him. The people of Snowpoint had killed Absol for bringing calamity to their lands. As a child, Absol was the symbol of his fears. It was there that night of the fire. But it hadn't eaten him then, and it had saved him just now. What was he supposed to do with that?
As fortune would have it, just as he reached a point of the forest that was familiar to him, he stumbled across a sleeping Rockruff. Doink! His Pokeball hit it in the back, jiggled three times, and grew still. His first Pokemon! And it could evolve into the Lycanroc he loved so much. Perhaps his dreams weren't as far fetched as he believed.