Scene 2: The Doom Bringer (Ten Years Earlier)
Tristan launched off the ledge like a rocket. "Big sis!" he yelled with outstretched hands, his mouth gaped open with glee.
Leslie Slater threw her hands up in a panic, just catching her cannonball of a brother by her fingertips. His momentum sent her tumbling to the ground, then he landed on top of her. She let out a gasp of pain as her midsection got sandwiched between grass and boy bottom. "Tristan, you dummy!" she whined, shoving him off.
His giggles echoed through the tree-covered hillscape. "Again! Again!"
"I'll let you fall next time," she said with a scolding finger.
"No you won't." He made his best monster face, sticking out his tongue and tugging on his lower eyelids. "Mom told you to keep me safe."
"If mom saw how terrible you treated me, she'd totally be okay with you getting what you deserve." Tristan didn't respond, he just ran down the hill, laughing and screaming all the way. "Wait!" she called after him as she strained to catch up. She was six years his senior. She was an active girl entering her prime—a little boy shouldn't be capable of outrunning her; yet the distance between Leslie and her brother grew as they ran down the hill.
The crispy trees passed Tristan's vision like an orange and brown kaleidoscope as he zoomed. His parents and the other old people in town had mentioned a dry summer making all the trees weak and brittle, but he found their appearance fascinating. The warm colors and leafless limbs made exploration much better. There were more places to climb, and it was much easier to pretend to be stranded on an alien world in the unnatural landscape.
Once his excess excitement had burned off, he noticed that he no longer heard Leslie yelling after him. He stopped and checked behind his shoulder. He didn't see her. "Leslie? Lez? He listened, but no response. He retraced his steps. "Big Sis!" Finally, he heard a faint yell. He hastened his pace.
He found his sister limping along, her face covered in mud from the mix of dirt and tears. "Lez! What happened?"
"I think I hurt my arm," she cried in anguish.
"Then why are you limping?"
"I hurt my leg, too."
"How'd you do that?"
She flashed a nasty scowl. "Stop asking stupid questions and help me." She told him anyway as he offered his shoulder as a brace. "My foot got caught in a hole while I was chasing after you."
He looked down at his feet, not sure how to respond. "Why do you always do that?" she asked, notes of despondence, pain, and sibling frustration present in the chord of her tone.
He cocked his head, not thinking too deeply about it. "I dunno; I like to, I guess."
She shook her head. "You're ridiculous."
Once home, Leslie was sure to recount how nasty her little brother had behaved and how it was all his fault she had been injured. "Please, mom, never make me watch him outside again!"
Mrs. Slater seemed to glow as she patted her daughter's hand, a gentle smile on her face that inspired something resembling reverence. "I love you, dear."
Leslie stood staring at her mother, wanting to talk back, wanting vent more frustration, wanting to cause a scene, but unable to do so. She let out a puff of hot air and that was the end of her outburst. "I love you too, mom."
"Now, let's go get you fixed up, shall we?" She guided her daughter to the washroom, then turned to her son. "Tristan, your father should be home soon. I'd like to get dinner started, so would you start boiling some water while I tend to your sister?" After he nodded, her smile grew even brighter. "Thank you, sweet son."
After setting a pot of water on the stove to boil, Tristan stared out the kitchen window. The sun was getting low and the warm hues of sunset mixed with the warm hues of autumn created a beautiful canvas of comfort and calm. He smiled to himself as he appreciated everything he had. A house set on a hill, a funny sister, an angelic mother, and a strong father, whose loud steps he could hear approaching the front door.
"Daddy!" he shouted, nearly knocking over the boiling water pot as he scurried to the front door.
"Hey, kiddo!" replied Mr. Slater as he smothered his son in his burly arms. "How was the forest today?"
"Wonderful," Tristan said, sounding quite swooshy, his cheek squished against his father's chest.
"It was terrible!" Leslie hobbled in, arm in a sling, her leg stiff and wrapped. "Tristan ran off and I almost died trying to find him!"
"She's lying!" Tristan retorted, his face and tone pleading with his father to believe him.
"This sounds like something you should both save for story time later," he said, shooting a sly grin at his beautiful wife who had just entered the room.
"I agree," she said, eyes twinkling. "It's quite the story, after all."
Leslie couldn't wait that long, so she brought it up again over dinner, with even greater dramatics than before—drawing the ire of her little brother and the amusement of her father.
After the story was retold yet again over potato soup and dinner rolls, and after Mr. Slater and the children did the dishes, and after Mrs. Slater had started a small fire in the fireplace, it was time for the real story time to begin.
Pinewood coals and cinders gave off a pleasant aroma while the breeze outside turned stiff—creating a spooky setting perfect for storytelling. Mr. Slater sat on the edge of his couch cushion, his tone hushed and serious. "Have I ever told you the story of the Doom Bringer?"
Tristan's feet sounded like a keyboard with their rapid, noisy tapping against the floor—his anticipation too much to contain. "No!"
Leslie rolled her eyes. "Yes, he has. Like hundreds of times."
"Let him tell it, anyway. I like it!" Leslie scoffed, but relented to her excited little brother.
"Long ago, the Pearl Clan had settlements scattered across the northern face of the Coronet Mountains, all the way up to Lake Acuity. The land was peaceful, conflicts with the Diamond Clan had resolved, People and Pokemon had entered a new age of harmony, and there was widespread prosperity. But that all changed with the appearance of the Doom Bringer."
Tristan gasped. Yes, he'd heard the story many times, but it was so easy to get lost in the story once more.
Mr. Slater continued. "One winter day, a four-legged beast with sharp claws, horns shaped like blades, and fur whiter than the pure snow appeared in a village near Lake Acuity. It gave a terrible cry that pierced the heavens. It was hungry. The villagers were frightened, but as suddenly as it had appeared, it disappeared without a trace.
"That night, a heavy rain came, melting the thick snowpack. The runoff was too much for Lake Acuity to handle. Its borders burst and mountains of rushing water swept over the land, taking many lives and destroying everything the survivors had built.
"The people, determined to never let a flood destroy their property again, traveled high into the mountains. Years went by, and they had once again built a thriving village away from treacherous waters.
"But one day, the same white beast with terrible claws and horns appeared. This time it was more aggressive, using its head to nudge people down the mountain to eat them up. Afraid of the creature this time around, the people fought back. With sticks and slings, they drove the beast out of their village."
Tristan clenched onto his sister, terror filling his eyes. "So scary."
"It gets even scarier," his father said, raising his bear-like hands high above his head like an Ursaring. "That night, there was a violent rumble that twisted the earth beneath the village. Homes collapsed and great boulders tumbled down from the mountain peaks—crushing sheds and destroying fields.
"The villagers, now wary of the dangers of the mountains, but with fresh memories of the flooding of the valley, rebuilt their village in what became Snowpoint City. Safe from the quakes of the mountains, safe from the floods of the valley, it was the best of both worlds.
"The villagers lived in peace for many years, but one day, the white beast with terrible claws and horns visited them once more. This time, it bore its true nature. With its blood red eyes ravenous and wild, it grabbed a child by the scruff of the neck and attempted to flee."
Tristan couldn't take it. "Aahhh!" he screamed.
Leslie fumed. "Tristan, get off of me or I swear-"
"Come here, son," Mrs. Slater called, arms outstretched.
With crisis averted, Mr. Slater continued his tale. "Fortunately, the village elder had tamed a Pokemon that was able to track down the beast, defeat it, and return the child safely home. But that night, a fire tore across the highlands and set the village ablaze. Try as they might, the villagers were unable to fight the fire and, once again, everything they had built was destroyed.
"This time, there was nowhere safer for them to go. They had to clean up and start anew. As they searched through the rubble for their missing friends and family, and for tools and possessions to salvage, they once again saw the white beast—this time digging through the ashes for something to eat.
"That's when it clicked. The white beast was to blame for all their troubles. In its desperation for food, it had brought these natural disasters so it could prey on the dead. The villagers were furious. They chased the beast until it was too exhausted to move. Then they killed it.
"Since that day, the people of Snowpoint haven't experienced any deadly natural disasters, but the people remain vigilant, keeping their eyes on the lookout for a new white beast—the Doom Bringer—ready to kill it to prevent tragedy from befalling us once more."
After the story, Tristan was sent to bed. He had a hard time falling asleep. He stared at his ceiling for hours, the wind howling out his window. On edge, he could have sworn he heard the fear-inducing cry of the Doom Bringer off in the distance. An eerie orange glow simmered on the horizon. Finally, exhaustion overpowered his adrenaline, and he sank into a deep slumber.
Tristan awoke to the sound of his mother screaming. Out of sorts, his eyes jolted open. The scene was one of nightmares. He took a startled gasp for air, his lungs choked by smoke. "Mom? Mom!" he yelled as orange flames tried to claw their way into his room from under the door.
The panicked Mrs. Slater screamed, praying her voice would carry. "Tristan! Climb out your window!"
Tristan frantically tugged at his window, exerting all his strength over and over again, but it wouldn't open. Tears welled in his eyes, now irritated by fumes of smoke, as the approaching flames warmed his back. "It's stuck!" he shouted, but no one could hear him.
Overcome by fear, Tristan ran to his bedroom door, desperate to get out. He let out a scream as the nob burned his fingers. He cradled his hands against his chest, his instincts preventing him from trying another painful escape.
All hope lost, he curled into a sitting fetal position and watched the flames draw nearer with each passing second. He rocked back and forth, tears streaking down his face as he stared at the door. His lungs cried out in agony as they struggled to filter breathable air out of the thickening smoke.
As his consciousness began to fade, Tristan's charred bedroom door crumbled to the floor. Flames encompassed the room, so scorching hot that they dried his tears faster than they could be shed.
He heard the sound of shattering glass. His senses dulled, he looked back slowly as his vision waned. Before he drifted off, the last thing he saw was a pair of scarlet eyes set in a dark face. The creature had fur as white as the fresh snow, which gave off a cool glow in contrast to the blistering shades of flame consuming the room. Then, everything went black.