The Story Of War
The sunlight pierced through the thin curtains like an accusatory finger, dragging me from sleep which I clearly hadn't had enough of. I groaned, flinging an arm over my eyes as if I could somehow swat the offending light away. Of all the things I missed about home, blackout curtains were near the top of the list—right up there with coffee strong enough to wake the dead.
Reluctantly, I cracked an eye open. The room wasn't mine, but it wasn't unwelcoming either. Warm, wooden walls surrounded me, their knots and grain catching the sunlight like nature's own art. The furniture was simple but sturdy, handmade with care rather than flair. The air carried a faint tang of pine, mingling with the crisp freshness of the mountain breeze slipping through the partially open window.
The window itself drew my attention next, and my grogginess ebbed as I took in the view.
It was breathtaking—so much so that I almost forgot the rude wake-up call. From here, I could see the tops of the forest stretching out like an endless emerald sea, broken only by ribbons of mist that drifted lazily among the trees. Beyond the treetops, the jagged peaks of distant mountains rose, their snow-capped summits gleaming in the early light like crowns made of ice. A river carved its way through the valley below, glinting silver as it caught the sun. It was the kind of scene that artists spent lifetimes chasing, and here it was, right outside this window.
The sounds of morning matched the view—alive, chaotic, and layered. Birds filled the air with chirps and calls, each one seeming to shout over the other in an endless competition for attention. The wind played a gentle harmony, rustling leaves and carrying faint, unintelligible cries from somewhere deeper in the forest. Pokémon sounds. Growls, yips, and something that sounded like a cross between a bark and a roar drifted through the air, blending into a strange symphony that was wild and untamed.
It was... peaceful. Almost too peaceful, like a stillness that preluded far more excitement than was strictly healthy. My instincts stirred, tension prickling along my skin as if the quiet itself was a warning I hadn't learned to read yet.
A deep, rumbling grunt interrupted my thoughts, low and resonant enough to seem almost seismic. My breath caught, and my gaze snapped toward the source of the sound.
Sitting in a chair against the far wall was a Lucario—and not just any Lucario.
He was massive. And yes, he. I'd eat my own pancreas if this brick shithouse turned out to be female. Standing, he'd easily clear six feet and then some, which put him at a good seven inches taller than my five-foot-eight frame. Even seated, he radiated power, not the volatile, aggressive kind, but the kind that was calm, deliberate, and terrifyingly self-assured. His fur was a striking blend of blue and black, streaked with lines of silver that didn't suggest age so much as battle-earned distinction.
And then there were his eyes. Vermillion, intense, and utterly unblinking, they locked onto mine as though he were peeling away every layer of pretense to examine the raw truth underneath. It felt less like being looked at and more like being dissected.
His paws were laced together in front of his muzzle, elbows resting on his knees, his head slightly tilted forward. The posture was casual only in appearance; everything about him screamed control. The way his claws flexed faintly, the barely perceptible ripple of muscle under his fur, and the way his aura hung heavy in the room—it all made one thing abundantly clear. This was no casual observer. He had been waiting for me to wake up.
The room fell silent, the forest sounds outside a distant backdrop to the oppressive tension building between us. My heart thudded in my chest, loud enough that I was certain he could hear it. Still, I forced myself to sit up, keeping my movements deliberate. Show no fear. 'If only my body had gotten the memo.'
His silence stretched on, a leaden weight in the air, before he finally spoke. His voice was deep and gravelly, a rumble that seemed to vibrate in my bones. The words were fractured, a mix of guttural growls, barks, and the more familiar syllables of "Lu," "Lucario," and "Rio." But there was enough structure for me to piece together the meaning.
"You... are... human... my daughter... speak... of."
The final growl that punctuated his words was primal, carrying an undertone of restrained menace. Even without understanding every nuance, the message was clear: he wasn't here to exchange pleasantries.
And then the pin dropped.
This was Luna's father.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
My mind reeled, piecing together the scene I'd woken up to. This is Luna's father, and I'm waking up in his daughter's bed. The same bed we apparently shared. For how long? I don't know. Long enough to heal, judging by the lack of soreness in my body.
And now here I was, sitting up in said bed, under the intense scrutiny of said father, who could probably crush me into a human pretzel if he so much as twitched wrong.
An inescapable sense of dread settled over me, made infinitely worse by the sudden, gleeful voice of my other half ringing in my head like a bad sitcom laugh track.
"Oh my Giratina, you are SO fucked," Shade cackled, his voice practically dripping with schadenfreude.
"Not helpful," I muttered under my breath, though I doubted even Shade's particular brand of cynicism could make this situation worse.
I cleared my throat, trying desperately to salvage what remained of my dignity. "Uh... good morning? And to your question, yes, at least I would assume so," I said, forcing a smile I hoped didn't look like the nervous grimace it felt like.
His ears flicked slightly at my words, and for the first time, his expression shifted. It wasn't quite approval, but there was something almost... calculated in the way he regarded me now. As if he'd been measuring me against some invisible yardstick and I'd managed, just barely, not to fall short.
Great. He wasn't planning on maiming me—yet.
Of all the ways I'd imagined meeting Luna's father, not a single scenario involved me waking up in her room, let alone in her bed, with him staring daggers through my soul.
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat refusing to budge. This morning wasn't just shaping up to be interesting. It was shaping up to be one of the most dangerous mornings of my life.
After a few more moments of silence—silence so awkward it could have been bottled and sold as a weapon—I finally mustered enough courage to speak. Keeping what I hoped was a placating smile firmly in place, I ventured cautiously, "So… Sir. Can I call you Sir?"
I paused, giving the massive Lucario enough time to respond. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he tilted his head ever so slightly, crimson eyes narrowing as though he were weighing my words for hidden meaning. Finally, he gave a slow, deliberate nod, the kind that felt less like approval and more like a temporary reprieve from judgment.
Buoyed by this tiny victory, I pressed on. "Can you tell me exactly how long I was out?"
His answer came after another brief pause, his gravelly voice laden with the previous distortion that turned his words into something almost incomprehensible.
"Second… day… you… fell…"
I blinked, a faint twitch forming in my brow as I processed his response. Or rather, attempted to process it. The translation was awful. Like, laughably bad. Luna's translations had never been this rough.
And then it hit me.
'Luna's translations'. She'd been doing all the work.
The memory came back to me: one of our early lessons on aura. I'd asked her about the ability to understand other Pokémon, and she'd explained the mechanics in her usual no-nonsense manner. Long story short, the better your aura control and understanding, the better your ability to translate. It made sense now—this crappy translation wasn't because of him. It was because of me.
Or, more specifically, it was because of Shade.
"Oh, don't blame me, I didn't do anything" came his voice, dripping with faux innocence.
'Exactly. You didn't do anything,' I shot back mentally. 'Two minds, one soul, one body, remember? Your laziness is why I suck at this.'
I could practically feel the eye-roll through the link. "We didn't have a deal back then. Besides, we're working toward the same goal now. You're welcome."
And just like that, the peanut gallery fell silent again, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and Luna's father, who was still sitting there like an immovable mountain, watching me with unsettling patience.
Clearing my throat, I returned my attention to the Lucario. "So, uh, Sir, the thing is… due to some personal issues, I only recently gained any real control over my aura. Translation, as you might have noticed, isn't exactly my strong suit right now." I hesitated, offering a sheepish grin before pushing on. "That said, I think this whole conversation would go a lot smoother if you took the lead. Please?"
For a moment, I was sure I'd made things worse. His crimson eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and his ears twitched as if considering whether my request was a sign of weakness or just plain incompetence. But then, without a word, he gave the faintest of nods, his posture remaining as rigid and unmoving as ever.
He had acquiesced.
I resisted the urge to sag in relief, though I had a sneaking suspicion he could sense it anyway. 'Baby steps,' I thought. At least I hadn't been vaporized on the spot. Yet.
Eyes closed, the faintest twitch of his sensors was the only indication he'd shifted his focus. When he opened his eyes again, those crimson irises seemed to pierce straight through me, as if peeling back layers of my soul. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of his presence—commanding, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
"So, boy," he began, his words methodical and measured. While his tone was slightly unnerving, I couldn't help but find it oddly endearing. It was a habit Luna had displayed countless times—pausing in thought while forming her words, especially when assessing a situation. The resemblance was uncanny, and for a moment, it almost made me smile.
"I trust this will suffice?" he continued, his voice calm, the question posed with a politeness that felt more like a formality than a genuine inquiry.
"Y-yeah, it's fine," I managed, nodding.
Satisfied, he pressed on. "Boy, I have a question for you."
At those words, I straightened instinctively, a chill creeping down my spine. This could go in any number of directions—none of them particularly favorable. My mind raced through possibilities, most of them involving questions I couldn't afford to answer truthfully, especially if they pertained to my origins. While I doubted he could read my aura with perfect accuracy, I had no intention of lying to Luna's father if I could help it.
"What does my daughter mean to you?"
The question hit me like a freight train. My violet eyes locked onto his vermillion ones, unblinking but for entirely different reasons. His gaze was unrelenting, his posture that of a predator waiting to pounce.
"W-what?" I stammered, my confusion evident in my tone.
His eyes narrowed, the intensity of his stare somehow managing to increase. "I will ask again, boy. What is the significance of my daughter to you?" His voice was a rumble, low and steady, yet carrying a weight that made it feel as though the very air around us had thickened. "Your answer may well decide your fate. Choose your words carefully, for deceit will not aid you here."
I swallowed hard, my mind scrambling for something—anything—to say that wouldn't dig my grave any deeper. The weight of his presence was suffocating, and the way he framed the question left no room for ambiguity. This wasn't just a test of my words. It was a test of my intentions, of my very character.
And Luna's father? He wasn't the kind of person—or Pokémon—you could bullshit.
Taking a deep breath, I focused more on gathering my thoughts than the air in my lungs. I knew this moment would come, but I wasn't entirely sure how to shape the words. What was I supposed to say? The truth seemed so far beyond the surface. Still, I had no intention of avoiding it, not now, not with Luna's father sitting there like some immovable mountain. His gaze was sharp, calculating, and somehow… understanding, as if he could see through every layer of my hesitation.
"Well, sir," I began, my voice steady but carrying the weight of things I didn't normally share, "I think to answer your question, I need to give you some context about myself. The first thing you should know is... my aura is, well, unique." I met his eyes briefly, making sure he caught my sincerity. "It works differently than most, at least that's what Luna tells me. I'm still figuring it out myself, but I'm not here to lie to you, not to her father. Not now."
The Lucario stood before me, his crimson eyes piercing, unyielding, yet devoid of judgment. He didn't speak, but the slow nod of his head urged me to continue. I took a steadying breath, letting the cool air fill my lungs as I prepared to bare truths I had long kept buried.
"You see, sir," I began, my voice hesitant, the weight of my words unfamiliar, "I haven't always been... like this." The admission felt raw, a jagged piece of my past I was unready to confront but could no longer avoid. "I've lived a life that's… eventful. And by eventful, I mean it's left me broken in ways I can barely put into words."
I paused, searching his gaze for any sign of impatience. There was none. Only unwavering attention.
"I distracted myself from the cracks," I admitted, my voice quieter now, "I convinced myself everything was fine. I drowned in work, in meaningless tasks, anything to keep my mind too busy to think. But that crater changed everything. I arrived there by… complicated means, and even now, I don't know why I ended up under that lake. All I know is that I was lost. Alone. And for the first time, I had nothing but time."
The words hung heavy between us, and I swallowed hard, forcing myself to press on. "It did me no favors. Time has a way of unearthing things you've buried deep, things you've worked hard to forget. My… issues resurfaced. That's the only reason I even found Luna. I was awake when she fell. At first, when I saved her, I told myself it was just a means to an end. I needed information, and tending to her wounds gave me something—anything—to focus on besides myself."
My voice faltered, the shame I had tried to suppress creeping into my tone. "She was a distraction. That's all she was to me… at first." I exhaled, running a hand through my hair as the memories surfaced. "But then she left. She was hurt, weak, and wouldn't survive the night, and I told myself it wasn't my problem. She could make her choices, and I could make mine. But even as I said it, I was already following her trail."
A faint chuckle escaped me, bitter and self-deprecating. "And there she was. Bloodied, bruised, and glaring a hole straight through that Blaziken like she could burn him to ash with sheer willpower. It reminded me of someone. Someone I once knew… and someone I failed."
I hesitated, the weight of that memory threatening to derail me, but I pushed it aside. "I stepped in, managed to scare off that overgrown chicken, and carried her back to the camp I'd set up. I told her how reckless she'd been, how much of an idiot she was for trying to fight in that state." I shook my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "She didn't take kindly to that."
"Over the rest of her recovery, something changed. She stopped being a distraction. I saw her for who she was—someone strict, capable, and sharper than I'd given her credit for. She's got this dry, sarcastic sense of humor that sneaks up on you, you know?" My voice softened, a warmth creeping into it. "Somewhere along the way, we became friends."
I met the Lucario's gaze directly now, my words steady and sure. "You asked me what Luna means to me. She's my friend. My comrade. And the closest thing I've got to family."
My voice dropped, taking on a dangerous edge as my eyes narrowed. "And I don't care who I'm up against or what it'll cost me—no one messes with my family." My teeth clenched, and a low snarl escaped, the protective instinct surging to the surface.
For a moment, silence stretched between us, the weight of my declaration filling the space. Then I straightened, exhaling slowly, letting the tension ebb. Whatever judgment the Lucario made next, I had said my piece.
After a moment the mountain of a Jackal rises toward the rooms only entrance, before stopping at the door to call over his shoulder "Come boy" not wanting to keep him waiting I scrambled out of bed.
…
As we moved through the village, I couldn't help but marvel at its majesty. From this perspective, up close and amidst the bustling life, the intricacies of its design stood out even more than when I first laid eyes on it. The winding pathways, lined with weathered stone and moss, seemed to guide the rivers that snaked through the heart of the settlement like veins carrying life to every corner. The architecture—crafted from ancient oak and reinforced with stone—was as functional as it was beautiful. Bridges arched gracefully over the rivers, their railings etched with subtle markings and patterns, some faded with age, others still vibrant. Each carving told a story, one I wished I could read, though I doubted they would reveal their secrets to an outsider like me.
This opportunity to take in the village properly was a small solace, considering my last trek along its streets had been… less than peaceful. Back then, chaos and fire had painted the scene, but now the serenity felt almost jarring in comparison.
Still, even the beauty around me couldn't fully distract from the weight of the stares. Apprehension, distrust, and outright hostility radiated from every Pokémon we passed. Their gazes were piercing, their emotions practically palpable. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they thought of me. My inability to decipher the growls and snarls exchanged between them only deepened the sense of isolation. It seemed that in addition to controlling your own aura, the capability of the one you were speaking to also played a role in how clearly words could be translated. Lucky me.
Feeling the tension creep into my shoulders, I directed my attention to my guide, hoping to focus on something—anything—else. The steel-plated Lucario beside me was the picture of composure, his strides purposeful, his movements precise, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more beneath the surface.
"So, uh, Sir," I began hesitantly, the question rolling in my mind since I'd woken up finally spilling out, "where exactly is Luna? Not that I dislike your company or anything, but I haven't seen her since I woke up."
The behemoth of muscle and steel actually flinched. It was a small thing—so subtle it might have gone unnoticed by anyone who wasn't paying close attention. But I was paying attention. The flicker of unease in his body language was enough to make my unease grow. As quickly as it had appeared, the crack in his stoic armor was sealed, his expression returning to its unreadable state. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but carried an edge I couldn't quite place.
"Luna is currently…"
…
Yesterday evening,
Chief Chrome's POV
The grand doors of the council hall groaned open, revealing my daughter leaning casually against the slate wall within. At first glance, her posture seemed relaxed, the image of composure. But I knew better. The slight twitch of her paws betrayed her nervous energy, and the flick of her tail, more animated than usual, hinted at her inner turmoil.
Her sharp, crimson gaze snapped to mine the moment I stepped inside, and though she didn't speak, the unasked question was as clear as day. Her unease practically radiated from her like a thick fog, almost palpable to my senses.
A heavy sigh escaped me as I approached her. "The boy will live," I said, the words heavy with the weight of their meaning. Relief flickered across her face for the briefest moment, but her sharp mind wasn't so easily appeased. Her eyes narrowed, and the subtle tilt of her head, accompanied by an annoyed flick of her ear, reminded me just how quickly she could pick apart my evasiveness.
I didn't need to sense her aura to read her emotions; they were plain to see. The slight bristle of fur along her arms, the rhythmic sway of her tail—agitated and deliberate—were things I had seen countless times before. Not on her, though. These were movements I'd come to associate with someone else entirely.
Her mother.
The resemblance was striking, no matter how much Luna tried to distance herself from it. In moments like these, I was reminded of my mate—her fiery temper, her unyielding will. Even the way Luna's claws tapped the stone floor, a barely audible yet persistent sound, echoed the mannerisms of her mother when frustrated. A part of me wished she were here now; she had always been better at calming these storms.
"Luna," I began carefully, watching the way her ears swiveled ever so slightly toward me, a tell she hadn't quite managed to suppress, "the boy will receive another healing session before anything else happens. He will be in perfect health. That was the best I could do."
The bristling subsided, though the fire in her eyes didn't dim. It never truly did. That anger—sharp and unforgiving—wasn't directed at me. It never was. No matter how harsh the training or how strict the rules, Luna never turned her hatred toward us. No, her frustration was with the situation, with the shackles she felt and her inability to break them. That, I could understand.
When she disappeared in a blur of cobalt, leaving only a rush of air in her wake, I didn't pursue her. She needed time to vent her frustrations, and I had long since learned when to give her space.
With another resigned sigh, I turned toward my home. Not for the first time, I wished her mother were present. She had always known what to say in moments like these.
.
…
Present,
Jackson's POV
"...Indisposed," he finished after a lengthy pause, the word dropping like a stone into the silence that followed. His tone was flat, stubbornly even, denying me even the faintest hint of the severity behind it.
Whatever "indisposed" meant, I doubted it was as simple as he made it sound. The deliberate way he chose that word—and the quiet weight with which he delivered it—hinted at something far more troubling. But prying further felt unwise. At least, not yet.
We continued to ascend in silence, the air thinning as the incline steepened. The higher we climbed, the more the world below seemed to shrink away, cloaked in a dense sea of green that stretched endlessly across the horizon. It was only after ten minutes of this grueling trek that we stopped.
When I looked around, I realized why. The view was breathtaking. We were near the peak of the mountain that Luna's village called home. From this elevation, the forest below looked like an endless ocean of emerald green, each ripple of the terrain giving the illusion of waves frozen in time. To the north—if the sun still rose in the east—something caught my eye. It was unnatural, standing stark against the otherwise untouched landscape. I squinted, attempting to make sense of the object, but a blinding flash forced my gaze away. Whatever it was, it wasn't natural. Man-made, no doubt.
Turning back to Luna's father—I really need to get his name—my attention was drawn to the structure before us. It was more than a shrine; it was an entire temple carved directly into the mountainside. The stone was a patchwork of grays, smooth in some places but jagged in others, as though shaped by time itself rather than any single artisan's hand.
The shrine stood in against the rest of the village. Where the homes below were warm and alive, interwoven with greenery and crafted with surprising skill, this structure was cold and austere. No plants dared to take root here. The only break in its uniform appearance came from engravings that adorned the surface. They were crude, their edges blackened and faded by age, but their presence spoke of history—of significance.
Luna's father gestured toward the entrance, his deep voice rumbling with reverence. "This is the oldest structure in our village," he said, his tone carrying the weight of tradition. "It bears the history of how we came to be and serves as a tool to pass that knowledge to future chiefs."
As he moved inside, his voice echoed down the stone corridor. "Only those we permit may enter, and even fewer will hear our story."
He struck his wrist-mounted spike against the wall, creating a cascade of sparks that caught one of the many torches lining the hall. The flame flickered to life, illuminating the passage in a warm, amber glow. The walls of the cavern were covered in markings—symbols and figures etched into the stone. There were no illustrations, but the crude depictions conveyed their message plainly enough.
The story began in blood.
"Long ago, this land was plagued by combat." Luna's father dragged his paw across one of the engravings, his claws tracing the faded lines. "Greed, born of man, mingled with the ambitions of Pokémon. Together, they created a breeding ground for conflict."
As we moved deeper into the temple, the story unfolded across the walls. The early images showed small figures—humans and Pokémon working in harmony. There were canids and avians, even creatures resembling living stone. But as the depictions progressed, the peaceful imagery gave way to chaos. Gigantic beasts now filled the frames, their sheer size and power overwhelming. Forests were razed, storms raged, and mountains crumbled under their might.
"They wanted and wanted," Luna's father continued, his voice laced with disdain. "Man and Pokémon alike. They took land, gained power, and cared nothing for the destruction left in their wake."
We came to another series of carvings. They showed a young boy and a Lucario standing amidst the ruins of a burned village. The boy knelt, his head bowed in grief, while his companion stood vigil. In the next scene, the Lucario pointed skyward, drawing the boy's attention to a streak of light cutting across the night. The light shattered, scattering fragments across the heavens, and one of these pieces fell to the earth, landing in a distant mountain range.
"The night wept for the loss of its children," Luna's father said, his voice softening as he recounted the legend. "But its despair was interrupted. A star broke, its fragments falling to the land below."
The next carvings showed the boy and his Lucario venturing into the mountains, where they discovered a massive crater. At its center lay two jewels, their surfaces gleaming even in stone form. One was a deep, oceanic blue, streaked with black. The other was a radiant gold, laced with crimson threads. The boy took the blue gem, and the Lucario took the gold.
"Two fragments, two souls," Luna's father said. "Each gem bound itself to its bearer, amplifying their bond. It was a bond forged in joy, in fear, and in loss. And with that bond, they changed."
The Lucario's design changed, its once simple patterns replaced with intricate markings. Its blue fur darkened, its aura sensors grew longer, and vermilion streaks adorned its limbs. The creature stood taller, radiating power. A single word echoed in my mind: 'Mega.'
"Together, they fought against the greed that consumed the land," Luna's father continued. "They protected both man and Pokémon alike. But even as the war neared its end, the king of man made his final, treacherous move."
The carvings depicted a fierce battle. The boy, now a grown man, wore the blue gem as a pendant, while his Lucario bore the golden orb in an anklet. The pair faced overwhelming odds. A brilliant beam of light erupted behind them, distracting them long enough for a Gallade to strike. Its blade shattered the golden jewel, rendering it inert and gray. The next image showed the man throwing himself in front of his fallen partner, taking a fatal blow meant for the Lucario.
And there, the tale ended abruptly. The final carving depicted a humble village nestled against a mountain, its sparse structures a shadow of the thriving settlement that stood today.
"In his final moments, the boy sacrificed himself to save his partner," Luna's father said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "The Lucario, driven by grief and rage, ended the war and crushed those responsible for his loss. He then founded this village—a sanctuary far from the reaches of human greed."
"But that is not the end of his tale." The chief's voice carried a weight that seemed to resonate within the ancient walls. He stepped toward the carving of the village, his paw suddenly engulfed in an ethereal azure flame. With a deliberate motion, he pressed the appendage into the slab of stone. A low rumble echoed through the chamber as the slab slid aside effortlessly, revealing a hidden passage.
Beyond it lay a chamber bathed in soft, otherworldly light, emanating from a memorial at its center. The structure was mesmerizing, composed entirely of a translucent orange crystalline material that caught and refracted the faint light, casting intricate patterns of gold and amber across the walls. The memorial's design was intricate, its shape resembling a flame frozen mid-flicker, an eternal tribute to a life long past.
"That Lucario," the chief said, his voice low and reverent, "was my ancestor."
The revelation, though significant, did little to shock me. It was, in many ways, the logical conclusion. The chief's presence alone was enough to set him apart from the others in the village—not just his towering stature and distinct features but the sheer authority he exuded with every word and movement.
He approached the crystalline structure with deliberate steps, his gaze lingering on it for a moment before he reached toward its center. From within the memorial, he retrieved a small object, holding it tightly in his paw as he turned to face me.
"Human—Jackson," he began, his voice heavier than before, "I must regrettably inform you that by this afternoon, you must leave our village. And I must ask that you do not return."
The words weren't a surprise. After all, I had seen the wary glares and distrustful murmurs of the villagers since the moment I arrived. What did surprise me was the genuine sorrow in his voice, subtle but unmistakable. His ear flicked erratically, his tail lashing once before he stilled it, betraying emotions he otherwise kept tightly controlled.
"Seeing as you have assisted in defending our home and defeating the raiders, you are entitled to a reward," he continued. "You may take first pick of the spoils of battle—any resources we have gathered from the men's persons or their infernal contraptions of black smoke and iron. Additionally, we will provide you with food rations for your journey."
He heaved a heavy sigh, the sound seeming to weigh down the room. Stepping closer, he placed a large, callused paw on my shoulder, the gesture more fatherly than I expected. His eyes met mine, their golden hue flickering with something almost like regret.
"I am truly sorry, boy," he said quietly. "This was the best I could do. The alternatives were to send you off with nothing—or have you killed. The others on the council are damned fools."
He pressed the object he had retrieved into my palm before stepping past me, heading toward the exit. As I looked down, I found myself holding a perfectly polished orb. Its surface was a swirling mosaic of deep, iridescent hues—amethyst purples and azure blues that seemed to shimmer and dance as though alive. At its core lay a faint, ever-present glow, like a miniature nebula trapped within glass.
"Why?" I asked, my voice almost a whisper as I turned to look at him.
The chief paused but didn't turn back. "Because you answered correctly," he replied, his tone cryptic yet resolute. With a sagely shrug, he resumed his stride, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
It was only then that I noticed the carvings adorning the chamber's upper walls. They stretched in an unbroken band above the exit, circling the entire space. Each depicted a Pokémon I recognized, yet they were distinctly altered. A Charizard bore tongues of blue draconic flames. A Pinsir had sprouted enormous, insectoid wings, its eyes gleaming with manic energy. Even the Tyranitar was broader, more imposing, exuding an aura of unmatched power.
The realization struck me like a thunderclap—they were all Mega Evolutions. The carvings were a testament to a forgotten legacy, capturing the sheer diversity and strength of these forms. From Mega Aggron to Gengar, each figure was etched with masterful precision, their features brought to life in painstaking detail.
I stood in silent awe until a soft cough broke my trance. Down the hall stood Luna's father, waiting patiently for me to follow. His silhouette, framed by the flickering torchlight, carried an air of quiet expectation.
Clutching the orb tightly in my hand, I sprinted toward him. Its importance was clear—not just to the chief but now to me as well. As I reached the corridor, something in the corner of my eye gave me pause. Off to the side, almost isolated from the grand parade of Mega Evolutions, was another carving.
It depicted a Mega Lucario, yet it was unlike any I had seen before. Its stance was hunched, its features sharp and worn with age. The flowing appendages that typically adorned its head were now jagged, resembling spiked locks of hair. Its claws, elongated and menacing, looked as though they were made for rending and tearing. The only color that remained in the image was a deep, visceral red, streaking across its form like dried blood. It was older, more primal—a stark contrast to the other, more refined Megas.
I filed the image away in my mind, a puzzle piece I would revisit later. For now, I had to move.
Emerging from the temple into the crisp mountain air, I felt the weight of my impending departure settle over me. Each step carried the growing realization that I was being cast out, not as an enemy but as an outsider—a fate decided not by my actions but by the limitations of trust.
Behind me, the hidden chamber sealed shut, its secrets once again cloaked in shadow. Ahead, Luna's father stood, his expression unreadable as he waited to guide me back to the village—for the last time.
