Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Centurnum
Chapter 1
A Cold Open
—-
100 years prior to the events of Dare To Dream.
—-
Blustering winds.
A deep freeze that pierces into marrow and soul.
A still form- once full of fire and life- now laid extinguished on the mountain's white peak.
The blinding blizzard arrived with little warning. Howling winds carried with them flakes of ice and battering gusts that would rip the warmth out one's body. Not one soul would dare mock Mount Silver's ire by making an appearance now. Only the most prepared- or whom have the most maddened misplaced confidence- would brave the freeze.
Buried beneath one pile of snow lay one poor soul who had thought themselves prepared for the storm. In truth, they were and had been many times before when they stalked the mountain cap, protected by a churning flame within herself that repelled the relentless cold with a fiery blaze.
What that experience and fire could not protect her from, was being hunted herself by a force who was foreign and equally witted.
Now, the ninetales who was once so wise and experienced in her home of the mountain's breath, was nothing but a lump on the frozen ground for snow to build on.
Were it the end there.
Beyond the blinding white that cloaked the air in fathomless cold and deafening howls, something greater than the rage of the mountain had observed this lump, and became curious.
Opportunistic.
Descending from high, piercing the buffeting snow in ruby-red and snow-white feathers, was the Sacred Fire of the Johto region: Ho-Oh.
With mighty flaps of large wings, heat was raidated in waves onto the snow below, melting a layer of it in seconds, permitting the phoenix a sight into what they had been looking for.
The ninetales was most certainly deceased, Ho-Oh surmised as they landed by her side. Any living ninetales would've been unhappy in this blizzard without a doubt, but alive. Their fire would have melted the snow, even in this blizzard, not left them buried in the cold.
Examining the ninetales more closely with peering eyes, rather than nine tails these species were known for, this one had only eight. The eight tails were evenly split- four on one side, four on the other. The centermost tail was missing; only a short, bloodied stub of fur was all that remained where it had been.
Upon further examining the cold body, they had spotted another peculiarity: a red blotch had stained the ninetales' chest. The blood from the wound had spilled out below her very little, as it had froze. Using their great beak, they brushed aside some of the fur and expected to find a large wound inflicted by slashing claws or a snapping bite. What they instead found was a small hole in her chest, no bigger than many of the pebbles or small rocks from around the area. In that moment, Ho-Oh knew the cause.
Looking around, small man-sized indents in the snow- faint as they were in the smothering blizzard- trekked both towards this ninetales and then further away where they had originated from, disappearing in the growing snow.
Ho-Oh had seen enough; there was little point in lingering further.
They had what was needed.
Grabbing hold of the limp, damp body with large talons, Ho-Oh unfurled their great wings and took flight. Rising over the turbulent wind, the ground below was soon lost in the blizzard. Pushing past the storm with ease, Ho-Oh ferried their new catch towards their home carved in the mountain's ice, thoughts swimming in how to best push this ninetales in the right direction in the future to come.
But that would be then. Now, their eyes glared past the snow-blind, leering towards the flare of bright lights that shined past the white veil below. So they were still here, in defiance of the natural order- of hierarchy. Only the most prepared or those the most ambitious would dare brave the freeze- the latter would be nothing more than a volunteer to this cycle of eternal return.
Ho-Oh humored a simple thought as they left the area, ninetales clutched tightly in talons.
Which one would they be?
—-
He was growing exhausted, soldiering through the icy winds and knee-high banks of snow. His thick coat- heavy and lined with fur as it were- still left him wanting for more warmth in the face of these whipping gales. The boots he wore were also quite lacking for comfort, letting water and ice seep in. Still, these are far from the worst conditions he had ever encountered, and the prize he had collected was more than worth the trouble. A fine hunt indeed.
Taking comfort in that thought, the man clambered over another mighty bank of snow, brushing off the heaps of snow that had accumulated on his body, and continued onward through the bitter storm. He could see them now through the near-blinding blizzard, the two sights that were few in bringing him delight: the bright lights of a grounded behemoth born of iron and steel, crafted in the wake of his leadership, and outfitted with all the whims and wants an airship could want in this new era; and adjacent to it, lying ominously to its side, a whirling cataclysm that boiled in hues and sparks of violet: a Space-Time Distortion.
Throwing his shoulders back, he readjusted the straps of the rifle towed on his back as well as the new golden tail he had procured, and crossed the vast field of thick snow with raised legs. Drawing closer, the flicker of struggling lamplights guided him to the hunched figures of two men, both thickly wrapped for the weather and firearms snug to backs, their hands hovering by the failing lanterns tied to their waists as they watched the distortion intently. A quick glance passed over him by one of the men, who turned to face the anomaly once more, but stood erect once he processed who he had seen.
Curling his hand into a fist, the soldier thrusted the salute onto his chest right above his heart. "General, sir!" he shouted, voice fighting the howl of wind and sleet. At those words, his partner next to him copied the action as well, saluting similarly.
Stepping even closer so that they could properly hear one another, the general spoke in turn. "Oh, please," he smiled. "No need for such formalities out here in the mountains. We are all brothers, are we not? 'Anton' will serve just fine, I assure you." Brushing his gloves against his coat to beat away any snow, Anton cleared his throat. "How are we on our investigation of the distortion?" he asked, waving a hand to the massive rift near them.
"Nothing unusual to report, gen- Anton." The soldier scoffed into his scarf. "At least, nothing stranger than usual with one of these things. Saw a couple of ours go in and come back out shortly after, as per your orders. From what they've observed, seems like inside is a forest, just like any other. Only things they say stood out was an obvious footpath straight down the middle, but with how these things are…" He gestured to the crackling distortion, swaying his arm about circularly. "They couldn't find where it leads."
Anton scratched his chin with his thick-gloved hands, thinking. It's been hours since they first landed, so he knew this distortion would close very soon. And in that short precious time, this one turned up nothing of interest as well. A streak of bad luck as of late, he figured. "Who's inside now?"
"We think not a soul. Been standing here on lookout for some time, and haven't seen anyone go in after the probing team went out." A sharp gale of wind grew as the man spoke, throwing a burst of snow onto him which he could not react to in time. Batting the snow off, he looked less than pleased. "But then again, it's hard to say for certain what I could see through this godforsaken blizzard."
A sharp, electrical snap burst from the giant rift, garnering the group's attention. Then another bolt cracked across its surface. Then another. Instinctually, they all took large steps back through the thick snow. As expected, the space-time distortion glowed a vibrant sheen of violet that pierced the blizzard, a droning hum growing from it. In an instant, right as the hum peaked, a bright flash erupted from the anomaly.
It vanished, leaving only the original snowy terrain it had replaced before, boulders sticking up from the snow-banks and all.
"Suppose it's too late for speculation now," Anton scoffed.
Through the curtain of sleet that separated them from the returned area, he glanced a large shifting figure hulking on all fours through the bank, a stiff white coat blanketing its bulky physique: a beartic. Not too unusual a sight in frost-riddled mountains such as these. But there was something else there that caught his attention- something was glistening in the snow, small and round, lying on the snow's surface near the beartic. Even the ice bear seemed to have taken an interest in it, flipping it over and sniffing the object.
Interesting.
Space-time distortions often have peculiarities inside them, their source unknown, but their potential and value intoxicating. Often it was stones wild beasts and the like used for their evolution; scantly, it was objects none had witnessed before, such as lengths of smooth black rope with streams of copper concealed inside. But those items could only be found inside a distortion whilst it was churning, never after. So what was there?
A simple shot from his rifle might serve here, but with beasts large as these, it was unreliable. The blizzard did not help the matter. Fortunately, he knew the men beside him to be equipped with tools sourced from foreign ideas that were purpose-built in driving away these creatures. Hisui had been good for this.
Anton raised his arm towards the beartic, the two soldiers at his side watching intently. "Drive it away."
Obediently and immediately, the two men thrust his fist over their hearts in a salute, then extinguishing the fire on their hip and trudging their way through the thick field of snow to the occupied beartic, Anton not far behind them. Slowing their pace as they got near, they slinked down into a crouch, careful to hide in the blinding gusts of the storm. The beast's figure grew larger as they got closer: a fierce reminder of its overwhelming power over them. They were so close now that they could hear its grunts as it sniffed at the metallic object. Close enough to be satisfied.
Reaching to their waists, they both pulled a small, wound sack no bigger than the palm of their hands. Looking to each other, one of them raised three of their fingers and began silently counting down, his partner tightly gripping the thread around his pouch. Three became two, two receded to one, then one was nothing.
At zero, they both ripped the cord from the small pouches, small abrasions embedded in the cords sparking a small wire inside the bag that quickly grew in brightness, then throwing the bags towards the beartic whilst covering their eyes with their free hands. The scatterbangs did not even have time to contact the ground before the pop pods and magnesium inside them reacted with the fire burning down the cord, and in an instant, they burst in the air with a deafening series of bangs and blinding flashes that easily cast steep shadows through the blizzard. The beartic reared back and roared, thrashing its head side to side in a feeble attempt to see or hear or to sense anything, only to be overtaken by panic and clumsily bolting away through the blizzard, soon vanishing from their sight.
Seeing their success, they stood up from the cover of snow, confident the beartic had been driven away. "Still works like a charm!" one of them shouted, slapping his friend on the back.
Anton simply moved past the two, eyes narrowed onto the badge he spied a ways away. Kneeling into the snow, he picked it up and examined it. It was clearly made of bronze, that much was apparent on its tinged brown sheen. The rest, however, was not so clear. It bore no insignia or any land known to him, no flag or nation or hint as to what the brooch meant to stand for. It was shaped like an intricate shield, its surface partitioned into four equally-divided sections, strange beast-like footprints seemingly strewn some kind of meaning lost to him at the bottom; the imagery of two broadswords seemed to be emblazoned behind it all, as well as a crown cresting on the top. Flipping it over revealed little else.
His first thoughts were of the kingdom of Galar, given the crown, swords, and shield; yet this design was not one he was familiar with from that nation's insignia in all its history. Secondly, if it were Galarian in nature, why would Galar have any business on Mount Silver? It did not add up. He pushed his thoughts aside and the badge into his soggy coat pocket. There would be time to have it more thoroughly examined against records back within Paldea.
"What did you spy, sir?" one of the two behind him asked.
He picked himself up, and passed between the two grunts, clasping his hands on their frozen shoulders as they walked back. "Nothing important as of yet. Come, brothers, you two have stood long enough in this cold. Get yourselves a warm drink from the hall and rest when we return- you've more than earned it."
It was not long before the group managed to trek through the field to the airship, despite the wind's sheer cold pushing back. Led by tall lights that shone like guiding stars, they found themselves at the foot of the enormous pill-shaped vessel. Seated just below the lurching main domed hollow hull was a pathetically narrow, small ramp that climbed to a bolted heavy steel door that lay in the center. They climbed it, heavy footsteps thudding against the sheet metal, and with some effort, unlocked the door's latch. The door blew open in the face of the antagonizing gusts, slamming into a wall within the dark interior. Quickly filtering inside, they closed the hatch and sealed the elements out.
It was warmer inside; relatively speaking. The walls did a good enough job of keeping the wind-chill out at the very least. In truth, they were less like walls and more-so a network of rattling pipes, chaotic dials, and strained girders that served as the veins and the skeleton of the iron beast, groaning underneath its own weight and occasionally pouting as pipes burst irregularly into a hiss before settling into the norm.
It was terribly cramped and unsightly, but that was the price of progress.
They all patted themselves down and stomped their boots to dispel any lingering snow, casting it down into a growing ice-cold puddle below accompanied by only one of many cheap rugs strewn randomly across the bleak halls. Offering Anton one final salute with fists over hearts, the two soldiers left into an adjacent dark room to change.
Ensuring his rifle, the mysterious badge, and his newly won trophy were all on his person, Anton marched down the hallway, heavy leather footsteps echoing off the cold interior around him. Many of the rooms passed by were inconsequential, filled with either busy-work over papers or laboring over maintenance in each and every room. The usual, he thought. Though as he traveled to his quarters, there was one room he wanted to check in particular very close by. Stopping in a doorway of one scantily lit room, he contently watched inside. This space was perhaps the most important, the heart of the great beast; the engine room. A great, whirring machine rumbled in the dark, innumerable spinning gears and pulleys endlessly toiling away so long as they were invigorated, receding further into the block unseen. Stationed in front of this mechanical marvel, in front of its panel of levers and dials, were four men moving glacially slow with a single large cylindrical core in their hands. He knew the glowing core weighed but only seventy-pounds, and it was hardly big enough to reach any of their heights if stood on its end.
Four men, all necessary to lift one object that weighed as much as a modest table. Any less and it might slip from one man's hands in a fleeting moment of carelessness.
And kill them all.
They openly communicated with one another, speaking over the pops and bangs of pressured pipes, of when one of them pushed it forward but an inch so that the others could comply and reciprocate. Slowly but steadily, the core was fed into a circular slot perfectly fitted for the energy source. Here, it would serve to fuel the airship for a few days at the most.
Content, Anton turned and left down the hall and went up stairs made up of little more than sheet metal. So forced on their work, they had not noticed him. An excellent display of discipline.
On the next level, there was the metal door to his private quarters, standing tall and proud at the end of the dim hall. What was not standing as tall nor proud, was the grimaced grunt pacing beside it who stood upright once he saw Anton approaching.
"And to what occasion do I owe this pleasantry?" Anton jested as he searched for the key in his pocket.
The soldier shook his head. "I'm afraid there's nothing pleasant about this, sir. I must ask that I speak with you."
He inserted the key and unlocked the door, hearing as the tumblers inside clunked open. "Oh, please. We are all brothers here, are we not? No need for-"
"I must insist that I speak with you, sir."
Anton paused, glancing at the irate man. Sniffing his nose, he pushed the heavy door aside, creaking it open. "Very well. Then please, let us speak together inside, then."
He walked inside, followed by the man. Anton's quarters were far more presentable than the rest of the airship, and rightly so. A fine rug laid center of the floor, clean and kempt unlike the ones outside. Numerous finely-crafted drawers and cabinets lined the perimeter of the room, each one unrugged and spotless, housing luxuries within them. And of course, Anton's desk was seated in the back, facing a glass dome peering into the world of snow outside and a mess of papers and maps and plans strewn on its top. The room was not perfect, though. It was quieter in here than the rest of the vessel, but the rattles and pops of worked pipes still rang out on occasion.
It all fondly smelled of cigar smoke and ambition.
Anton crossed the room and finally relieved himself of his acquired possessions, taking off the wet fur coat he had worn for so long that day and resting it on the chair by his desk, then laid the near-frozen tail of a ninetales onto the desk's corner. He lifted his rifle's strap off himself and leaned the weapon in the corner, but caught the glare of the man locked onto him from the room's entrance.
"I take it you had a good hunt whilst your men risked life and limb exploring these distortions for you?" he plainly asked.
Anton simply ignored the obvious passive-aggression attached to the question. "An excellent shot, it was," he explained. "Just one shot was all that was necessary to fell it. Landed squarely in the chest and pierced the heart, if I imagine it correctly. I'd had skinned the whole fox and taken the coat if I could, but with this sudden blizzard we all shudder from now, I had to parley with the mountain for just one tail." He stroked the golden streak of fur laden beside him. It had only been a few minutes at most since he had exited the blizzard, but he could feel a feeble sensation of warmth rise from ninetales' tail. "A shame, really. But this should make a fine trophy regardless."
The man did not seem impressed.
Anton raised an arm to a chair in the center of the room, a small table and the furniture's twin opposite of it. "Please, take a seat."
That had him finally budge. The man crossed the room and sat down, arms still stiffly crossed and the corners of his mouth pulled down. He otherwise gave no word.
Whilst the man stewed in whatever ailed him, Anton went to one his glossy cabinets and pulled the doors open, espying many attractive glasswares and fine drinks on its shelves. He grabbed a pair of glasses, placing them on the cabinet's countertop, then examined several of the drinks for a good brand. "Now, tell me, brother: what might your name be?" Finally, he found a bottle with an intoxicating scent.
"Diego," he replied. "Diego Castillo."
Anton made his way over to him, drinks in hand. "Ah, Castillo, then," he repeated as he placed a drink on Diego's side of the table.
It would go untouched.
Taking a brisk sip of his own brew, Anton felt liquid fire burn his throat. He made his way to the chamber's door and locked it shut. Returning to Diego, he sat opposite of him. "Now, what might this pressing occasion be?"
"Several occasions, actually," Diego starts. "Firstly, why are you having us be the ones to scavenge these… distortions? That's a job for scientists and trailblazers, not a vanguard of an empire."
Anton thought carefully on his words. "This is well beyond our call of duty, without a doubt. But these strange blemishes to the land warrant a more authoritative approach not deferred by churning gears of bureaucracy and circles of paperwork. You are free to disagree, but I have decided this to be amongst our priorities for our land- to secure our claim in this turn of a new era."
Furrowed ridges deepened on Diego's brow. "Even if some of our men are inside those things when they disappear?"
"Yes."
The answer, though plain and true, did little to appease him. He moved on to another point of issue. "Fine. Then how about these campaigns we've been led on as of late? I enlisted to defend my empire, to defend Paldea. Why is it we are the invaders to these foreign lands? All these men and resources, and for what? What do we even stand to gain from Johto? Forests and mountain ranges?"
Placing his glass on the table, Anton stands and returns to his desk, opening some drawers on its sides in search of something. He let the rattlings of a stressed pipe subside before speaking. "Fair concerns. But rest assured, brother: Paldea stands to gain everything. It is by divine right we should claim these estranged lands that have fallen to reprehensible ideas and beliefs. Their resources and wealth are far-more suited to preserving our way of life than to sit idly in fools' coffers. The glory that comes from each and every flag we plant on faraway shores…" A resolved smile crossed his face. "It should make any true citizen of Paldea proud, for these are intrinsic truths." Finally, he found what he had been searching for: a cigar and a book of matches.
"Is that so? For a general so intent on the warpath, barring all trade and communications with our enemies, you sure seem flippant on when it applies."
"I haven't the slightest idea of what you mean."
From behind himself, the ruffles and thump of a pack of papers had landed on the table in the center of the room. He could not see the contents of the sheets well, but a knowing stare seemed to embody Diego. Having come closer, Anton could see them now- these papers were documents, tradelogs, inventory checks and orders. His signature was the very bottom of many of them. It detailed the purchases of relics from overseas to be shipped to the mainland of Paldea- relics he had hoped to be kept off the books.
Now his attention had been hooked.
"I'm sure you know what these mean," Diego continued. "Against the very same anti-trade mandate you had enforced, you've been bargaining overseas."
Anton kept his composure. He placed the cigar and matchbox back down, and faced him. "Now, where might you have found those?" he calmly asked.
"Mailing room, in the received-box. Thought you could just get these back first and burn them, didn't you?"
"You know, as well as I," Anton continued, "that what you have just committed is a gravely severe infraction. Did you not? No one- barred the recipient or myself- may indulge in others' mail."
A pipe began rattling once more, building pressure.
"Why should I be worried?" Diego asked, a sly smile on his face. "When we land on Paldea, I'll hand these over to the Mesagoza House of Defense. There are some things even you can't get away with; they'll tan your hide for this, and about time, too."
The rattling pipe had not escaped his attention. Even now, it grew louder, about to burst to relieve pressure.
Anton turned to face the window, peering out. The blizzard had not let up even the slightest. Even now, with a clear view outside unhampered by snow pelting his face and with the help of lights flooding the ground below, he could not see outside past mere feet in the storm. Something could easily get lost out there.
"Is that truly your intention?" Anton asked. "To betray your country?"
"Spare me the platitudes," Diego spat back. "I'm doing this for Paldea. What you're doing isn't right!"
Anton sniffed. "I see."
The pipe reached a climax; it was about to burst.
Quickly reaching to his waist, his hand found the handle of a revolver. Spinning around, it was leveled at Diego's chest.
The pipe boomed. After the sudden bang, it hissed as the pressure stabilized once more, returning to quiet.
The man opposite of Anton was lying face-down across the table, unmoving.
Satisfied, Anton holstered his weapon, then pulled out the chair at his desk and sat neatly in it. Opening one of the desk's drawers, he found a stack of papers. Grabbing one, he laid it across the desk's surface beside the golden tail, and readied a pen.
It had been a while since he last had to write a condolence letter; Regrettably, Diego Castillo had become lost in a distortion when it suddenly closed.
—-
It was black.
Nothing seen, nor sensed.
Not hot, not cold, not still or moving; time as meaningful as a breath in the wind.
Lying between life and death.
But it was not forever that this nothingness lingered.
It was hot- distractingly so, as if submerged in fire. Only the hums and murmurs of low distorted sounds seemed to reach her pained ears. Opening a pair of tired eyes, they saw the bright shimmers of light refracting through clear water, and bubbles rising to the surface above.
Light. In water.
That light was coming close. Coming from her. Through the darkness that encased her, the ninetales saw as golden light flooded from a small wound on her chest, filtering through the water like rays from the sun.
That is when she saw it: a giant talon gripped to her chest, pinning her beneath the water's surface. A similar light poured out from the base of it, and it was wrapped in a texture of light like a net. The water around it seemed to be boiling, an appearance like a flickering blur fervently burning away from the talon.
Her senses fleetingly returned to her. She was underneath water, pinned and confused, wholly unaware of her circumstance, only knowing her immediate situation. Seeing the bubbles rise past her, glistening with a myriad of colors, reminded her body of something crucial. Almost instantly, a sharp pain filled her chest as her lungs burned for air.
She squirmed, trying in vain to break herself free from the talon, but could not budge it even an inch. In a panic and devolving to base instincts, the ninetales opened her mouth to breathe fire, but found only shock as water poured into her body. She thrashed more, kicking with the claws on her legs and digging against the skin of the talon but could not puncture it. Growing tired, weaker, a fleeting number of bubbles rose further from her and breached the surface. Her eyes began to close.
A shadow peered through the water's surface, a large eye leering down alongside a crooked beak of gold.
It retreated.
Then, she was moving. Being lifted.
Water ran off her drenched body and tails, pouring in buckets down into the crystal-clear pool below. Once the water petered out to mere drips, she was dropped beside the small pond, spitting and hacking up water and sucking in air.
Once more lungs had recovered, she was finally able to lift her head, and open her eyes once more.
She was inside a dark hollow of ice, so great and expansive that it was like a crystal cave. A ledge was just above her with no way to reach it save a steep wall of ice. Outside, a blizzard churned and howled, threatening to swallow anything and anyone whole. No easy way out. The pool beside her was steaming; a thick waft of warm mist expanding and rising into the air.
She looked down at herself. Her body was unfathomably soaked to the bone and clinging to her. Strangely enough, she felt… good. Her memories were foggy, but she could remember enough that she knew she had felt an intense pain in her chest just moments ago.
'Moments ago' had been hours ago; time had passed without her.
But none of this was more important than what was perched across from her.
A red phoenix, draped in crimson and gold feathers, was eagerly leering towards her. A faint smile seemed to cross its crooked golden beak.
Lowering its plumed head, a voice forced its way into the ninetales' mind, unbidden and foreign.
"Welcome back," a feeling, a sensation had made itself known to her. "We have much to discuss."
—-
—-
—-
Author's Notes:
Hello yes, I am still alive.
Sorry for the delay for Centurnum! The project sort of bloated, but in a good, fun way!
What was at first intended to be a world-building prequel to Dare To Dream has evolved into its own story that follows Star's mother in her own tale that follows her from witnessing the technological marvels of the Paldean Empire, to the world's end and rebirth, and finally into her leading the large faith we see in Dare To Dream. (This is still a Dare To Dream prequel lol.)
I hope those of you reading are as excited for what's to come as I am, and hopefully I'll be getting more chapters out relatively soon!
Also also- there will often be accompanying images of the fic's chapters on the Ao3 version! (Like this chapter for example!) Be sure to check it out!