Year 693 – The Elysivine Kingdom, Old Virdis

"Hark! Lend your ears, people of Neverwallow! Stand and hear the message of the God of Liberation!"

The townsfolk of the small town ceased their daily routine, eyes turning toward the robed group standing before the town fountain. They wore ash-gray robes, their hoods mostly obscuring their faces and species. The emblem of a dark red flame was plastered across the front of their robes. Each monk carried with them a stone tablet, sharing them to the bewildered townsfolk.

"Let your eyes be liberated from the shackles of your false god!" an energetic Orbeetle exclaimed, waving his stone tablet toward a mother and her child, causing the child to cry. "The flames of liberation will bring forth the truth! Let your mind be cleansed from the false teachings of your rulers! The flames will impart a new era upon Virdis—"

"Alright, alright! Break it up!"

The monks ceased their ranting as the crowd parted, making way for the soldiers donned in pristine white armor, bearing the cross wheel on their chest plates. Leading the group was a stern Primeape, glowering at the monks. The monks recoiled from the knights, but the Orbeetle remained adamant.

"The hounds who serve the false god reveal themselves!" the Orbeetle exclaimed. "Watch as they quell the truth to preserve their high and mighty status! They are the conspirators who bind you to your shackles! Only the flame of liberation will free you from these false visions—"

"Enough!" the Primeape growled. "I've let you and your group off with a warning three times already. You are disturbing the peace, and for that you will be detained."

"HA!" The Orbeetle handed his tablet to another monk and opened his carapace, expelling intense psychic energy. "The Liberation God grants me strength of will to overcome a false believer such as yourself! Do not underestimate me, knight! The flames of liberation will guide me to salvation—"

BAM!

One punch to the head, and the psionic ladybug crumpled to the ground. The other monks stared at their fallen ally in bewilderment, then looked to the Primeape in fear.

He cracked his knuckles and scowled. "Anyone else want to talk?"

The monks dropped their tablets and ran off. The Primeape signaled his men to chase the fleeing monks before kneeling over to shackle the Orbeetle. He slapped a pair of heavy shackles over his wrists and chained his carapace down before picking him up like a sack of limp potatoes.

He noticed the townsfolks' staring and waved them off. "As you were." His command got the crowd to awkwardly disperse. He breathed a sigh of relief and started his way toward the transport wagon.

"Quite the eccentric bunch, wouldn't you say?"

The knight stopped and glanced back at the fountain, finding an unusual Zoroark sitting on the edge with a book in hand. He had dreary gray fur and a mane of hair that stood up wildly with red highlights. He dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, and he appeared to be young, likely in his teens.

The knight glared. "Shouldn't you be in school, young man?"

He shrugged. "I found it painfully droll and decided to take to studying on my own."

"You shouldn't be skipping out on your lessons. Such tardiness wouldn't be viewed favorably by our lord, Arceus."

The Zoroark smirked. "To understand is to seek what the mind does not. All within Arceus' light is his will. All within Arceus' light is the domain of his children. His creations to create of their own volition. Vimon 12."

The knight sighed. "Apparently you're versed in the holy text."

"Arceus left his children to create the greater world, and his creations left us to create our world. I am simply creating knowledge through my independent studies."

"It is still rude to your teachers."

"As if I wish to return to a building of dullards that looks upon me as a monster."

"I have never seen a Zoroark like you before."

"Understandably so. My family has been around for generations since the founding of Virdis. We keep a low profile. Terrible stories of my particular shade of gray. Hunters of the night." The Zoroark grinned. "My family hails from Hisui as I've been told. Did you know Arceus is referred to as the Great Sinnoh there? Ah, but I suppose that was hundreds of years ago. Not much information about the lands outside of Virdis. I wonder what kinds of regions exist beyond our slice of land."

The Primeape shook his head. "Whatever exists beyond Virdis is of no concern to us. We have everything we desire. Virdis is a utopia granted to us by the will of Arceus."

"Hmm. But isn't all under Arceus' light? Surely the lands beyond fall into that jurisdiction."

"And it is our will granted by Arceus that we decide to not bother with other lands."

The Zoroark shrugged. "I suppose that is our will. How strange no other land has attempted to make contact with us, though." He flipped through his book and smirked. "Those monks seem invested in Arceus' supposed falsehood."

The Primeape scoffed. "Blasphemy. They had their chance to repent, and now they pay the price."

"Seems a bit harsh, though. Why the interest in these monks, Sir…?"

"…Absalom. Sir Absalom."

"Drogo Stillsong. A pleasure, Sir Absalom. So, what do you know about those monks?"

"Their actions are none of your concern."

Drogo smiled innocently. "Oh? And this has nothing to do with that little…incident that occurred several months back? I recall the knights searching for a former saint of the church. Saint Achan, was it?"

"…" Absalom glared. "Something you want to say, lad?"

"Ah, forgive me, Sir Absalom. Curious mind. Can't be helped."

"…If you must know, we believe Saint Achan has something to do with these monks. The man committed a grave sin against the church, and we're hoping these monks can tell us where he is."

"And what could Saint Achan have done to warrant such hostility?"

"…"

"Asking too many questions? I understand. I suppose I've taken up enough of your time." Drogo stood up and bowed. "I will take my leave, Sir Absalom. It was lovely chatting with you."

"…Young man. How old are you?"

"Only sixteen, sir."

"You speak with the wisdom of a philosopher. Do not waste your talents by letting your curiosity lead you to matters outside your rights. This is a matter of concern for the church and the royal family only."

Drogo smiled…innocently. "I understand, Sir Absalom. If you'll excuse me." He bowed again and went on his way.

Absalom cast a suspicious glance back at the Zoroark before hauling the unconscious Orbeetle to the holding wagon. "Strange kid…"

Absalom made his way to the throne room, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. "King Ogden, I've come to make my report."

Before the Primeape was a grand, marble throne wrapped in a vineyard of thorny vines decorated in wine red roses. Atop the throne, which was large enough to seat the mighty creator god Talos, was a Venusaur dressed in royal regalia. He had an aged appearance in his expression with tired eyes that felt as cold as Northern Virdis.

Beside the king's throne was a lone guard: a Crawdaunt. Much like the king, he carried a cold composure in his stance, standing with his pincers crossed behind his back. He dressed in minimal armor and had a large, X-shaped scar across his face.

"Sir Absalom," the king spoke, his voice low and booming. "What news do you bring regarding your current assignment?"

Absalom bowed his head again. "We've captured a few of the cultists that have been engulfing your kingdom, Your Majesty. They spread the words of falsehood, denouncing our devotion to Arceus as lies."

"Hmph. Sir Achan has caused us a great deal of trouble. To dare steal a cluster of Logos from us and force their power to become his own. He doesn't understand the power he is playing with."

Absalom glared. "And yet, to have acquired a great number of followers in such a short amount of time…"

"The people are wise, Sir Absalom. They will not fall for the honeyed promises of these non-believers. What's important is that we protect our kingdom from whatever trickery these cultists are plotting."

Absalom nodded. "We're attempting to draw out answers from one of the captured cultists, though…his mind is resisting Logos for some reason."

"Hmmm…" The king glanced at his guard. "Take The Ghost with you. He has a greater understanding of Logos and should be able to pry an answer from the prisoner. He may know of Achan's location."

"By your command, Your Majesty." Absalom rose as The Ghost walked down the towering steps to the throne, passing the Primeape. Absalom followed behind.

"Sir Absalom."

He stopped and gazed back at the king. "Your Majesty?"

"Use this as an example of our kingdom. Men like these cultists aim to destabilize the peace we've kept for hundreds of years. I wish not for my son to inherit a throne of a collapsing kingdom. The fate of the kingdom rests entirely on your actions moving forward."

"…" Absalom bowed. "Of course, Your Majesty." With that, he took his leave, shutting the throne doors behind him.

Days later, after extracting the information needed from the prisoners, Absalom led a raid on Saint Achan's hideout. It was a cave hidden deep within the forest, covered by the natural foliage.

The knights charged through, cutting down cultists that tried to intervene. Blood splattered across the walls, bodies of cultists falling one-by-one. Absalom marched through the blood-soaked cavern, approaching an out-of-place wooden door at the end of the cave.

He brought it down in a single punch, entering an earthy den complete with boxes of dried food and a brick fireplace crackling in an unusual red flame. Sitting in front of the fire was an armchair with a figure slouched back.

Absalom rolled his shoulders and approached the armchair. "Saint Achan, for treason against the Elysivine Kingdom, you are under arrest by order of the Holy Knights. Surrender yourself peacefully or be taken in by force."

The figure made no response.

"Resisting arrest, are we?" Absalom grabbed the chair and spun it around. "Don't play games with me, Saint Ach—" His eyes widened.

Slouched over in the armchair was nothing more than a crude dummy that collapse in front of the Primeape's feet. As Absalom stared at the collapsed dummy, a laughter echoed from nearby. He turned his gaze toward the fireplace as the flames started to stir.

"You cannot impede us from seeking the truth, Sir Absalom," the flames whispered. "I saw the truth beyond the eyes of Logos. I have been liberated from the deceit you and the royal family have brought to this region. I shall liberate them from their chains. The Order of the Scarlet Flame will bring forth the truth and save Virdis from eternal stagnation!"

Absalom jumped back as balls of flame erupted from the fireplace, each one snapping at the air like tiny specters. He channeled dark energy through his arm and swung, banishing the spectral flames to smoke with a single strike. He glanced at the singe marks on his arm and scowled.

"Sir Absalom!" A few of his knights marched into the room. "We've taken out the cultists guarding the entrance. Were you able to find Saint Achan?"

"…" Absalom clenched his fist. "What have you done, old man?"

Year 695

"I don't want to see any slacking out there! Five more laps around the castle courtyard!"

There was a time where it seemed unnecessary to be recruiting so many new knights into the knighthood, yet the recent activity of the Order of the Scarlet Flame brought about a rather unpleasant shift in the people's faith in the kingdom. Whatever nonsense the Order was spreading, it was reaching attentive ears.

For that, increased security across Virdis was needed.

His recent batch of recruits looked promising, to say the least. In fact, when recruitment was announced to the neighboring towns, a group of eight volunteered to take up arms. Among that eight was an unexpected addition.

Prince Ogden, a bright-eyed and willful Grovyle destined for the throne, had decided to dedicate his services to the knighthood to help his father with the growing concern revolving around the Order's actions. Joining him was his friends he made outside the castle. They were of a lower class, hardly fitting for someone of the prince's station, but the king didn't mind.

Absalom watched as the prince and his friends made their next lap around the courtyard. They consisted of an Electivire, Swellow, Sandslash, Mamoswine, Pachirisu, Machoke, and Dachsbun. Despite the harsh training they were undertaking, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Absalom nearly flipped when he saw the Mamoswine shoving the prince to the ground as if trying to win a race, but relaxed as the Grovyle picked himself up and chased after the mammoth with laughter.

The Swellow, in particular, seemed to be the most encouraging of the group. Abner Hawthorne, he believed was the young man's name. He worked on a potato farm and had failed multiple times to pass introductory training, but he persisted. Despite taking the longest to join the knighthood, he led the group almost like a leader, even with the prince following his lead.

They were all an impressive bunch for the short time they've been under his care. He expected great things from their efforts.

"Let the flames free you from your shackles, people of Virdis!"

The townsfolk ran off screaming as scarlet-colored flames rained over the streets. The cultists of the Order shuffled ominously through the flames, untouched by its disastrous sting, and lay waste to the town. Many bystanders who failed to escape screamed out in agony as the fireballs connected, torching their bodies in hellish heat.

The Arbok leading the group fired blasts of fiery, fang-shaped projectiles that snapped over the shoulders of fleeing Pokémon and setting them ablaze. "Let the flames erase the fog that has clouded your minds! Bring forth the truth to your heart—"

BAM!

The Arbok went flying back from a flyby assault. Cutting through the air at supersonic speeds was Sir Hawthorne, barreling down groups of cultists with his wings. They retaliated with heaps of flame, forcing the knight to launch skyward.

"Team! Move out!"

Sir Stark, the Mamoswine, burst onto the scene, casting himself in the aura of Facade to barrel through the torrent of flames heading his way. He roared, bashing away cultists with winding sweeps of his tusks.

Sir Fletcher, the Electivire, leapt across the rooftops, firing off bolts of electricity occasionally from his hands before firing off random attacks with his Metronome, the potential for damage seemingly unfathomable.

Sir Tyson, the Sandslash, rushed in with Fury Cutter active across his claws and quills. He tucked himself into a ball and crashed through cultists with his Rollout, lacerating them before they had a chance to ignite him.

Many cultists dropped one by one from seemingly nothing, just missing the shadow darting in and out of sight. Only the knights of Elysivine knew it was their evasive comrade, Sir Porter the Pachirisu.

Sir Dufort, the Machoke, had a less flashy means of dealing with the cultists. He used destroyed buildings and chucked them into the crowds, blowing the cultists away with grand explosions of rubble. He laughed with delight, chucking rock with force greater than any catapult.

Sir Solberg, the Dachsbun, took to a supportive role in the back. Through a combination of Misty Terrain and Sunny Day, as well as the infusion of his Well-Baked Body ability, the cultists' flames were being diverted into Solberg, even extinguishing the burning bystanders.

And then, there was Prince Ogden. The young Grovyle dashed into the fray, cutting down cultists with grand swipes of his Leaf Blades. With fast, spinning movements, he mowed through rows of cultists at once, dropping them near instantly. He slammed down on the ground, skidding to a stop.

"By order of the Holy Knights, you're under arrest!" Ogden exclaimed.

The Arbok recoiled as he stood up. "Being taken down by children? Outrageous! You brats are blind to the truth! We are liberating these people from their shackles—"

"All I see is mass murderers making excuses!" The cobra looked up in horror as Sir Stark leapt into the air and crashed down, squashing the snake beneath his massive foot. "So, why don't you take a nap and reflect on your actions?"

"Gaaaaah…" was the Arbok's response.

Porter scurried over and jumped onto Stark's tusk. "What's with these guys? They're not making any sense."

"That's for the law to decide." The knights instantly bowed their heads as Sir Absalom stepped onto the scene. He looked around at the fallen cultists with disdain. "How sickening they justify these horrific actions as salvation. They will be tried harshly."

Fletcher crossed his arms. "I don't get it. Saint Achan was a kind man. What would drive him to act so…callously?"

Sir Tyson scoffed. "Thou hast too much sympathy for a man who casts aside his faith for power."

"I think of it more as trying to understand the meaning behind these attacks."

Absalom scowled. "We haven't made progress on that, either. We still don't have a motive for Saint Achan's actions." He scratched his chin. "We'll have to round up the cultists and bring them in for questioning. Hopefully this will yield more favorable results—"

"Sir Absalom! Look out!"

The prince's shout caught Absalom off guard, looking to his left as it became engulfed in flame. He fell back, roaring his pain, and quickly smothered the flames from his face. He cracked his right eye open and saw a figure lurking in the shadows. It was a grayish fox with a wild mane of hair concealed under a heavy cloak.

Wait…where have I seen that face before…?

The figure turned and dashed away into the darkness.

"Halt! Thou are under arrest!" Tyson gave chase with Porter and Solberg following behind.

Fletcher knelt beside his captain and helped him sit up. "Sir Absalom, are you alright?"

Absalom massaged his face, feeling the burns subside, yet felt a bit…off. He felt like he could hear the hissing of his own burning flesh, but it seemed to be his imagination.

"I…am unharmed, yes."

Hidden away in the abandoned cathedral resting near where land met desert, the progenitor of the Scarlet Flame lay in waiting, staring into the flame crackling in his hand. Its light grew dimmer, the presence of its scattered embers across Virdis extinguishing bit by bit. The power he lent to his followers was dwindling fast, but the flames will continue to spread.

Soon, the truth will be revealed.

The cathedral door suddenly creaked open, urging the figure to rise from the benches and aimed his staff in retaliation. However, before he cast down flame upon the intruder, he stopped at the sight of their distinct mane freeing from under their hood.

"…Drogo." The figure tapped his staff down and stepped closer into the light. He was an elderly Typhlosion, one very much uncommon to their brethren found in Johto. A purplish fur color with a mane of purplish-red flames igniting around his neck like spectral wisps.

Drogo, the Hisuian Zoroark, approached his region-bound companion with a stern glare. "Saint Achan, this has gone on long enough."

"Yes. Indeed." Achan caressed his staff, staring into the glass bauble embedded within the cross-wheel decoration. A dark red glow flickered within the bauble. "We must double our efforts. We must bring about a truly disastrous flame to show the people the truth—"

Drogo grabbed the staff and gently pushed it down. "Saint Achan. These flames are hurting people. Both bystanders and your followers. It's driving them mad. They can't control it. It's corrupting them to their darkest impulses."

Achan clawed at his skin, laughing quietly. "My dear boy, these flames are the key to salvation—"

"They're hurting people."

"Nothing is accomplished without sacrifice, my boy. You can see the truth, too. You know what Logos' influence has done. You know what happens when we break its influence."

"…" Drogo sighed. "I'm prepared to make that sacrifice, yes, but your followers have no control over themselves under the flame's influence. Look what it's doing to you. The means you drew out this power. Don't you hear the screams of Logos in the flame?"

"…" Achan groaned, a moment of clarity returning to his eyes as he fell back into the withered benches. "Oh…Oh Sinnoh…"

Drogo eased the Hisuian Typhlosion onto the ground before sitting beside him. "You're not well. You need to take it easy."

"…" Achan glared darkly at the floor. "Drogo, my boy, I have been in service to the church for years. I've only come across the truth of Virdis' peace in recent times. Logos…is not a force to be taken lightly. It is a wonderful gift to advance knowledge onto creatures, but…that knowledge is absolute. Do you recall what they've done to some of our earlier followers?"

Drogo glared. "They were shown the true light of Arceus, or so they've said."

"To dare use the Great Sinnoh's name to strip away the volition of another. That power of absolute knowledge can grant wisdom, but it can also be used to implant someone else's thoughts. No matter our experiences, that knowledge is gifted to us as absolute. It's one thing to gift us the wisdom of the greater world beyond the sky, but it's another to take away another's right to choose. A complete violation of free will. The Great Sinnoh leaves his creations to create as they desire. This is beyond reckless!"

Drogo nodded slowly. "That Orbeetle I saw a couple years ago. I…saw him working as a teacher reciting the word of Arceus. He says he repented for his misguided troubles—"

"Those aren't his thoughts, though." Achan growled, cracks of heat opening up across his face.

"Saint Achan—"

"Logos…these creatures, they aren't tools. They have seen things that I can't imagine. Their wisdom and experience. They could hold the secrets to the greater world beyond the sky! And yet, because they lack the morality of us creatures, they can be manipulated to control. This…peace! It's all a lie!"

"…"

"I'm sorry to have dragged you into this, my boy. You have a bright future ahead of you, and you shouldn't be wasting your talents helping this sinful fool." Achan clenched his teeth. "I forced a cluster of Logos into their Symbiotic Reincarnation ritual to create the Scarlet Flame. Their screams drive me mad!" He closed his eyes, whimpering as tears fell from his face. "I am unworthy to call myself a man of Sinnoh!"

"…" Drogo patted the old man's shoulder. "I am willing to accept the risks of undoing these several centuries of lies, but we cannot keep putting the innocent in danger."

"…" Achan glanced up wearily. "What do you suggest?"

"There is one way to end this, but we need to do things a bit differently." Drogo glared. "I have a plan. We need to keep the Holy Knights occupied for a while. We can't keep spreading this power to those who would use it for harm. No, we need an army that can follow orders." Drogo scratched his chin. "…Saint Achan, do you recall some of the old legends about Talos?"

"Yes."

"Do you recall how, according to legend, the Golett line came to be?"

"…" Achan glared. "What are you suggesting?"

"Do you trust me?"

"…With every fiber of my being."

"Then we have work to do."

It had been a few weeks since Absalom returned from his last mission. Physically, he felt fine, even receiving a full check-up from the finest physicians. However, for some reason, his body has been feeling off since taking that fireball to the face. It left no scars, yet occasionally he felt as if his skin was burning. He could hear the sound of his flesh sizzling and swore he smelled his own searing flesh.

He stumbled out of his home one night, groaning at the uncomfortable warmth festering across his skin and praying the night air would cool him down. He collapsed outside, leaning against the wall, and covered his face. He scratched himself vigorously, searching for the source of the festering burns.

What is this? I haven't been able to sleep in weeks. Ugh, my head.

Absalom moved his hands away from his face, then recoiled in horror as the flesh started tearing away, crumbling away into piles of ash. Searing, scarlet red crawled up the length of his arms, burning away the sleeves of his bed robe and spreading along his face. The skin peeled away, showing his charred bones with the cracks splitting into the shapes of malicious, jagged smiles that widened to laugh at him. That haunting laughter of Saint Achan, eluding him and the Holy Knights for years.

Alarmed, he dove for a rain barrel at the corner of his home and plunged his hands into it. The pain instantly subsided as he leaned into the barrel, panting heavily. His legs trembled to keep him upright. He clenched his eyes shut, focusing on his breathing for a moment longer, before pulling his arms out of the water.

To his surprise, his arms were completely fine. Not a sign of anything beyond the scars he already had. He checked his face again, and the pain he felt earlier seemed to dull, too.

He collapsed back against his house, covered his left eye. "What is happening to me…?"

He turned his gaze up to the stars for answers, wondering if Arceus would provide him comfort in these trying times. Instead, much to the knight's confusion, the sky seemed to…flicker? A brief wave of distortion he couldn't describe. It wasn't as if the sky was cracking or that Palkia himself was rending the sky apart. It was just…misshapen, yet also not.

Absalom rubbed his eyes, and the flickering ceased. Like it was never there.

"What the…?"

Absalom impatiently tapped his foot, waiting inside the physician's office for the results of his checkup. With the increasing concerns of his insomnia getting the better of him, he sought to get a second opinion on his health.

The Haunter doctor entered the room, adjusting his spectacles. "Sir Absalom, I've finished reviewing the results of your checkup, and I'm afraid I can't find anything wrong with you."

Absalom glared. "Doctor, I am not making this up. I've been having these…visions of my arms combusting and the sky…cracking. It looked real. It…It felt real. I haven't been able to sleep for weeks."

"Are you positive you do not possess the Vital Spirit ability?"

"Doctor!"

The Haunter raised his hands. "Sir Absalom, I've gone over every medical book in my possession. I'm afraid whatever ailment you're experiencing is either beyond my knowledge or one conjured from your mind."

"That can't be…"

"Perhaps it is stress from your work in the knighthood?"

Absalom rubbed his temples and groaned. "Well…I have been working longer hours in recent months."

"You're looking into the Order of the Scarlet Flame, correct?"

"Yes…"

"And you speak of your body catching fire?"

"…Yes."

"Then I recommend taking some time off from work. It may do you some good."

"…" Absalom narrowed his eyes unsurely. "It can't just be stress…"

"Father, I don't know who else to turn to. May you please grant me the wisdom of Arceus so that these nightmares can be purged from my mind?"

With medical help off the table, Absalom turned to the church, seeking the help of the Granbull priest currently residing over the holy grounds. Absalom dropped to his knees, hands clasped together, and begged for the bulldog's guidance.

The priest massaged his chin. "Sir Absalom, though I wish to see all of Arceus' children find peace in his light, I may have to side with your doctor on this one."

"But Father, you don't understand! These nightmares I am experiencing! I don't understand what they're trying to tell me!" He gripped at his fur, growling. "It all started with my last mission hunting the Order of the Scarlet Flame. They did something to me, I know it! I'm seeing things that shouldn't be seen! I don't understand any of it!"

The priest lay his hand on the knight's shoulder. "There is only so much the light of Arceus can do to mend the mind, Sir Absalom. These nightmares you are battling must have a purpose if you truly believe to be afflicted by some kind of curse. It was by Arceus' divinity that we were granted the wisdom of his acolytes, Logos. They are a fraction of Arceus' wisdom that has been shared with the likes of us. Perhaps these are just nightmares conjured by stress, but they could also be a sign."

"…" Absalom clenched his eyes shut.

"For now, I do not need Arceus to know that you are in desperate need of rest. Speak with the king and take some time off. It will bring you salvation."

"…" He sighed and stood up. "Right…"

Year 696

"AAAAAAHHHHH!"

On the far west of Virdis, a small village came under attack by a member of the Order of the Scarlet Flame. Dressed in a heavy cloak, the cultist lumbered into the village, ignoring the bystanders and firing on any of the knights aiming to get in their way.

From its sleeve, a beam of red light fired, piercing through the knights' armor and leaving them with smoldering wounds. Many knights circled around the cultist to take them by surprise, but they retaliated with a myriad of red beams from under their sleeves, blasting the knights away in a wave of heat.

They lumbered up to a home and blasted the walls down with a fiery blast, startling a noble Abomasnow hunkered down inside. He tripped over his furniture as the cultist hovered over him, glaring down with hollow red eyes.

"W-What do you want with—GAK!" The cultist seized him by his throat and lifted him effortlessly off the ground.

With a swipe of their hand, the nobleman's shirt was incinerated away, revealing the key dangling around his neck. They snapped the key off and tossed the nobleman aside before walking out of the house.

"Going somewhere?"

The cultist looked up before being violently blindsided by a kick to the head. Sir Hawthorne circled through the air at great speeds and came back down with a second kick just as the cultist picked themselves up.

Hawthorne hovered in the air, glowering at the hooded figure. "Surrender quietly, and this'll be over—WHOA!" He dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the beam of heat firing from under their sleeve.

The cultist turned to run away, but Hawthorne sailed down and struck hard with a mighty Steel Wing. It managed to discombobulate the cultist into crashing on their face. Hawthorne crashed down, pinning their head under his talons.

"You're not winning this fight. What are you up to—" His eyes widened as the cultist suddenly raised their arm and…fired their hand off with a jet of flame with the key in its clutch.

It sailed over the rooftops, dropping the key in the awaiting hands of a hooded figure on top. They gave a mocking salute to Hawthorne before vanishing into a black mist.

Hawthorne growled and turned the cultist onto their back. "Who are you?!"

He threw the hood off, then paused in confusion.

"What the…?"

A clay puppet rattled across the floor of the throne room, sliding into the steps of the king's throne. King Odgen looked upon the strange contraption in confusion before looking upon Hawthorne, Absalom, and the rest of his unit.

"You're saying one of my villages was attacked by…a puppet?" the king asked in bewilderment.

Hawthorne glared. "One that possessed incredible firepower that matched the flames used by the Order. However, whatever compelled this contraption to move vanished the moment its master fled the scene."

Tyson raised his brow. "And thou are sure the perpetrator got away? How can one man possibly outpace thee and thy speed?"

"It wasn't a matter of speed. I couldn't get a good look at their face, but they almost certainly vanished. Perhaps teleported."

Porter walked over and kicked the puppet. "Well, whatever the case, this thing managed to take out a squadron of knights on its own. Based on the joints, something was definitely possessing it, otherwise anything this shoddily built could be knocked over by a stiff breeze."

Prince Ogden looked up at his father. "Father, if the Order is creating artificial soldiers to spread their cause, why would they attack a village so far away from the capital?"

"Hmm…"

Hawthorne raised his wing. "I must note that the puppet went after a nobleman, and it grabbed a key off his person before transporting it to its master."

The king's eyes widened briefly. "A key…"

"Your Majesty?" Stark called out.

"If it's the man I think it is, the Order must be targeting the men I've entrusted the keys to the Logos Generator."

Absalom raised his brow. "I wasn't aware it needed a component to be operated."

"There are ten of them. It's a safety feature to make sure the power of Logos doesn't fully manifest through the device. Each key opens a closed circuit that spreads the power through a series of chambers that magnifies their power and range. It's designed to spread Logos' power across Virdis in a state of emergency."

Solberg scratched behind his ear. "So, that means they're target is the generator. What do you suppose would happen if they tried using their flames in that thing?"

The king glared. "Nothing good for the kingdom. However, with the addition of these puppets, we may have our share of trouble."

"How may we help, Your Majesty?" Fletcher asked. "If it means protecting the people, we'll do anything."

"…" The king narrowed his eyes unsurely, but ultimately sighed. "There is one way to even the battlefield, but I am entrusting all eight of you to keep this a secret. There are many secrets to Logos' power, but it goes beyond granting wisdom. You eight have excelled masterfully in the ranks, especially you, my son. For that, you eight will be entrusted to protect Virdis from disaster."

The prince bowed, as did his friends. "Whatever it is we must do, it shall be done, Father."

The king nodded. "I shall make preparations for the ritual. Steel yourselves, knights of Virdis. You are about to receive a blessing from our kingdom's mightiest force."

Absalom observed from the back, looking off to the side occasionally as his face started to burn with phantom pains again.

He wished he could tell himself he adjusted to the strange sensations haunting him, but the world seemed to twist and melt little by little as the days passed. He pushed through in an effort to serve the knighthood, fighting through these visions of his flesh searing away and his skeleton burning as he marched through the street. At some point, he stopped noticing, living in the moment. The burning never went away, but it dulled.

However, no matter how much he wanted to say he was getting better, things didn't look right.

He started noticing things whenever he went into town. He would pass by the kingdom's subjects, all waving and bowing to him, honored to be in the presence of such esteemed might. Absalom kept his composure in their grace, ignoring the spectral visions that haunted him.

Everywhere he looked, he saw thin strands of purple light connected to the civilians, invisible to all, even the Ghost-Types who could see what wasn't seen. He couldn't make sense of these strands and their purpose for the longest time, wondering if his vision was really starting to wither away with his age.

On his day offs, he opted to follow one of these strands, finding the end of it. However, more often than not, they would lead to a dead end. No, not a dead end in the traditional sense. They were almost…incomplete. Like part of something greater that hasn't manifested yet.

He didn't get much help from the local priest, and he would've been thrown into the asylums if he told his doctor he was starting to see things. He may have been deluding himself into thinking these threads served some greater purpose, but it became an obsession for him.

Days after days, he investigated the threads to find an answer.

Eventually, he noticed two threads attached to each other.

He happened to be at the right place at the right time when he noticed two Pokémon unassociated with each other walking on opposite ends of the street, and they had a shared thread connected between them. He never even saw these threads connected to families, so why these two?

Curious, Absalom walked past the man, giving him a heavy shove that sent him tumbling into the street. The woman seemed to notice and walked into the street to assist him.

Absalom waited off to the side, keeping an eye on them. They seemed to talk for a moment, sharing a laugh with each other. The thread that connected them started splitting apart, weaving into something…greater. Something like a tapestry.

What was Absalom witnessing?

"…I saw no other choice but to come to you. Perhaps you would be able to explain what I'm seeing."

Desperate to understand what he was seeing, Absalom turned toward the only available option left: a mystic. Not a priest or a doctor, but someone who dealt with the occult. If anyone in the Holy Knights saw him fraternizing with the alleged mystics who often scammed the people of Virdis, he would've been ostracized. He wasn't an idiot, so he dug deep into Virdis' records and searched every connection available until he found one many claimed had a reputable history.

He doubted this mystic was truly one connected to the supposed dark forces, but he needed answers.

The mystical Komala that sat before him gazed sleepily into the crystal ball between them, hovering her hands over it. "You wish to understand these visions you are seeing?"

Absalom covered his eye. "Ever since I was struck by the Scarlet Flame, I've been getting these strange reactions. I feel like my vision is deteriorating. My skin feels like its burning off. My body feels off. And…now I'm starting to see things that shouldn't exist."

The mystical koala narrowed her eyes. "How so?"

"These threads that surround me. When I see a strand connected between two creatures, I try to push them together. The results are…horrifying. I pushed two people together, and they ended up forming a relationship. When I last spoke with them, they admitted they might've never had the chance to interact had it not been for that…fateful encounter, as they call it."

"I see…"

"I thought it mere coincidence, so I kept testing." He gripped his wrist tightly. "I'm…ashamed of what I've done. Some of it started out harmless enough. A young boy ended up meeting who he considered his best friend for life. A man down on his luck struck fortune helping a nobleman who was nearly crushed in a construction accident. But some incidences devolved. I persuaded a traveling professor to change his route to another town, and I heard he and a few other travelers fell through a sinkhole in the ground. I…I thought I was helping a young boy who was lost find his way back home with one of those threads. I…" Absalom covered his face and shuddered. "I ended up arresting a madman who murdered and violated the child!"

Absalom collapsed against the mystic's table, gripping into the tablecloth and hiccupping with tears. "Mystic One! Please tell me what these threads I'm seeing are! What is this curse that has befallen me?!"

The Komala leaned back in her chair, massaging her chin to ponder the knight's troublesome admission. "Sir Knight, are you familiar with a concept known as the Red Thread of Destiny?"

Absalom lifted his head, wiping his tears away. "I…beg your pardon?"

"There's an old tale about an invisible red thread that connects two soulmates together. They are destined to be with each other, bound to be with the one who will bring them true happiness. However, though they are meant to be together, they don't always find their way. Some threads go undiscovered. These soulmates will often find their way into other relationships, bringing just as much joy or even despair. I believe you were gifted with seeing a rarer form of these threads."

Absalom blinked twice. "Huh…?"

"Destinies that may never be. You brought fortune, both good and bad, correct? That is the essence of life. All life is guided by fortune, whether we know it or not. Consider the man who died in the sinkhole. He would've never taken that route had it not been for your intervention, right? However, he still chose to take that route of his own volition. You pushed him to take that route, but he chose to take it. Maybe because the conditions were seemingly better in that direction, or the path to his destination was shorter than he expected. Life is made up of these little moments. Life can change dramatically all because of something as simple as going left instead of right."

"…" Absalom narrowed his eyes. "What is this, then?"

"Perhaps it is the Tapestry of Fate. You are looking into an invisible spectrum of possibilities. Threads that may find their way on their own, or may never be a part of something greater. You have been blessed with an incredible gift, Sir Knight."

"…" Absalom lifted his hand. Ever since he started seeing these threads, he never noticed any attached to him. "What happens when someone doesn't have a thread?"

The mystic shrugged. "That is beyond my understanding. For now, how will you aim to understand?"

"…"

"That will be ten coins, by the way."

Absalom facepalmed.

"What? I'm running a business here."

Year 697

Absalom kept note of the progress being made by his unit, now known across the region as the Laurus Vanguard. With the rise of the Order's remote puppets aiming to hunt down the keys meant to unlock the Logos Generator, precautions were made to limit the scope of their search.

So far, six keys have been taken, but that almost limited where the Order's next target would be, making it easier to anticipate an attack and retaliate.

The vanguard received the blessing from Logos as promised, and what a wondrous power it was. He believed for a time that Logos granted knowledge, but to actually impart some of their power into an individual? It was unheard of. And the results were remarkable.

Hawthorne soared with remarkable speed, faster than the eye could track as he slayed scores of puppets with a single maneuver.

Fletcher's penchant for stylized attacks brought forth a myriad of strange techniques conjured by his empowered Metronome, many of which Absalom had never thought possible.

Tyson's sharpness increased tenfold, effortlessly cutting into puppets with just the motion of his swings alone. No sword could match his claws.

Stark barreled through the lasers like they were nothing. In fact, the beams seemed to amplify his Facade, allowing him to endure great heaps of damage and dishing it back with greater force.

Porter remained the stealthiest of the group, performing critical strikes that dismantled the puppets in a single blow. There wasn't anything he couldn't take down.

Dufort was already a powerhouse when it came to physical strength, but his ascension in power coupled with his recent evolution made him a force of nature that could overturn entire towns with just one hand.

The battlefield became a scorching death zone whenever Solberg entered the scene, casting down a ray of light from the sky that caused the puppets to melt into piles of sludge. He had to perform a lot of solo missions because of this.

And then there was the prince, who also had recently evolved to his highest state. Channeling the power of Frenzy Plant, Prince Ogden created vast forests of roots that entangled and smashed apart whatever puppets stood in his way.

They exceeded in power unlike anything Absalom could imagine. They alone had the strength to match the Order's rising status in power.

As Absalom observed them from a distance, he took special note of the fate-bound threads attached to them. Curiously, as he became more accustomed to studying these threads, he found that the group had threads connected between all eight of them. He imagined it had to do with their special bond.

However, he took interest in a thread that flowed off of Prince Ogden. Absalom followed it one day to see if it led to anything involving an untouched destiny for the prince, but he never found where it led to. It's almost like the thread is incomplete. A future waiting to unfold?

Originally despising these visions, Absalom admitted he became fascinated whenever threads found their way back to each other, amazed by the tapestries that unfolded for his eyes only. Granted, he tried to be careful whenever he pursued one. Though he had no real connection to some of the deaths caused by his hand, the guilt still weighed on him.

Why was he gifted with these visions, though?

Did the Tapestries of Fate have something in mind for him?

Whatever the case, his loyalty to the Ogden family was undeniable. Whatever future awaited the prince, he would ensure his success, no matter how long it took.

Year 699

After several long years of hunting the perpetrator of the puppet attacks, the Laurus Vanguard were finally able to corner and capture the one controlling them. The prisoner was brought to the most secure prison within the kingdom, restrained in every conceivable way to prevent him from escaping.

Absalom marched through the prison hall with two knights escorting him to the prisoner's cell. It stood at the end of the hall, blocked off by a thick metal door. He glared warily, sensing the threads of fate beyond the door. He could tell they've gotten shorter. Does that mean this prisoner would meet an untouched destiny soon?

"I'll shall handle the interrogation. You will remain out here," Absalom ordered.

The knights obeyed, undoing the latch and opening the door a crack to let Absalom through.

Once the door slammed shut behind him, Absalom lifted his eyes to the young man chained down to the wall. A gray Zoroark with his wild mane hanging limp in front of his face. His robe was in tatters, likely escaping a hard-fought battle with the vanguard.

Memories came back to Absalom, recalling the young man from years ago. "I didn't need to see the fates to know this path would lead you here. I warned you to stay away from the Order."

Drogo laughed quietly. "Sir Absalom. It's been a while. Strange to meet again under these…conditions."

Absalom glared. "You are in no position to make light of this. The crimes you've committed are innumerable."

"A small price to pay to undo the stranglehold the Ogdens have on Virdis for the last eight hundred years."

"You aim to disrupt our era of peace?"

"Is this peace? Sounds like a kindly dictatorship." Drogo glared. "You've used Logos' power on some of our more…unruly members. Stripping away their right to choose, implanting thoughts of repent into their minds. That wasn't their choice."

"Many of those men were violent criminals who endangered the lives of the innocent. They should be grateful we didn't opt for execution."

"Yes, I suppose they would be grateful. Is that another thought you inserted into them?" Drogo closed his eyes and scoffed. "For all the crimes committed by the Order, one belief has remained just: Virdis' supposed peace is led by a forced destiny. Anyone who steps out of line must either repent or be forced to repent. There is no choice in the end."

Absalom glared. "No choice? And yet you curse me with the flame to see nothing but unfulfilled choice?"

Drogo raised his brow. "Pardon?"

"I know it was you who blasted me all those years back. Ever since then, my mind has been deteriorating, seeing the threads of destiny's unfilled paths. Why would you curse me to see such tragedy?"

"…" Drogo glared. "Seems the flame had an adverse effect on you."

"What do you mean adverse effect?"

"There isn't a single creature in Virdis who isn't under the influence of Logos. Well, except those exposed to the Scarlet Flame. You seem to be resisting it, and now it's evolving to strip away the layers of Logos' influence to showcase a rough vision of what they see. You're starting to see things like Logos. See the world from their eyes."

"…" Absalom covered his face, then groaned. "And what is your end goal?"

"To erase that influence that has been cast across Virdis. The repercussions will be disastrous, but I rather not see our land wallow away in stagnation just to appease a so-called peace. This is not the way of Arceus. You use his name to justify your cruel rule. I will not stand for such blasphemy."

Absalom scoffed. "If your plan is to use the Logos Generator, you're out of luck. You may have nine of the keys, but the tenth one is far away from here. You won't be able to use it. Not that you'll be escaping any time soon."

"…" Drogo glared.

"And now that you're captured, you'll tell us where Saint Achan is. Extinguishing the flame within him will put an end to the Order's nonsense. This is for the good of all Virdis. We stand alone from the vile world outside this land. This is our utopia. You will not take away the people's hopes and dreams."

"…" Drogo closed his eyes. "Sir Absalom, do you want to know why I joined the Order in the first place?"

Absalom raised his brow in confusion.

"I had a dream that Virdis return to the Savage Era as the rest of the world evolved around it. I saw a primitive world much like the one discovered by the Arbiters. Is this all there is to life? Living in this one region? What has happened in the last eight hundred years since this land was found? We've been isolated for too long. Now is the time to evolve as we were meant to. Arceus did not create us just to be separated from the rest of the world!"

Absalom growled. "You do not understand the cruelty of this world! I have seen the harsh reality of fate, and you wish to impose your own will onto these people?!"

"Spoken by the man who serves the very same! I shall erase the binds that seal away the truth!"

"Enough of this nonsense, boy! Tell me where Saint Achan is, or else you will be facing a harsher sentence than him—"

"He's dead."

"…" Absalom's eyes widened. "What?"

"He's been dead for a long time, Sir Absalom." Scarlet flames ignited across Drogo's arms. "Saint Achan gave his life in service of a vision I had. A vision where someone who embodied the purest aspect of dreams…will bring forth a new age for Virdis!" Drogo opened his eyes, bright red stars sitting atop a sky of darkness. "I inherited his will…so that I may bring forth the new dawn!"

"You hold the Scarlet Flame!" Absalom lunged at Drogo and aimed to knock him out with a single punch.

Drogo collapsed into a sea of flames, slipping loose from his chains and passing through Absalom's attack. He slipped past the Primeape and crashed into the door, passing through the cracks.

Absalom spun around and shouted, "Stop him, NOW!"

He kicked the door down, but it was too late. The guards had been knocked unconscious, and Absalom saw the trail of flames escaping down the hall. He growled and bolted down the hallway as fast as he could.

"I need a teleportation unit! Now!"

It took roughly an hour for Absalom to gather the necessary teleporters to launch him to the destination sight. The prison Drogo was transported to was on the other side of the grand capital, which took up a large section of the center of Virdis. No one would be able to get there in under an hour.

And yet…

Absalom raced to the structure in question: a massive, onyx-colored pyramid with eye patterns decorated on the spire. His eyes widened as the top of the pyramid started to split open, and a gathering of red light formed within.

"Impossible! When did he get the final key?!" Absalom growled and rushed to the inside of the pyramid.

He sprinted down the main hall and into the open chamber of the generator. To his horror, he saw Drogo standing in the center of the chamber, hovering over an eye-shaped platform and channeling his flames through the inner circuits. Absalom paused, looking around in horror as the dormant Logos embedded within the walls started to light up, turning the serene blue hue of the chamber into a hellish red.

Absalom glowered at the Zoroark. "Do you have any idea what will happen if you fire this off?!"

Drogo glared. "Let the chains be undone."

"YOU FOOL!" Absalom kicked off the ground, launching himself forward with his fists ignited in dark energy. His eyes widened at the cluster of threads forming within his vision.

A new tapestry was being created before his eyes.

It was…

For him?

"Central release command!" Drogo shouted. "New Order: Erase the Cognition Erasure Barrier!"

A powerful red light erupted within the chamber, and both men screamed out in agony as their bodies were ripped apart in the hellish heat of the Scarlet Flame.

A beacon of red light fired from the pyramid, slamming into the sky and rippling over Virdis. On that night, all eyes turned toward the sky, gawking at the aurora of red light vibrating over the region. No one that night will understand the full truth of what went down in the Logos Generator, the key to Virdis' isolation and eight hundred years of peace.

Virdis, known only by its rulers as the Phantom Region, finally appeared out of the invisible fog that kept it hidden from the rest of the world.