Politics
I woke slowly, the kind of waking where reality drifts in gently, like a leaf settling on still water. Warmth surrounded me, and I could feel the steady rise and fall of a chest beneath me. The soft sound of breathing, even and calm, filled the room. For a moment, I stayed still, unsure if I was dreaming or awake.
Opening my eyes, the first thing I saw was Jackson's face. He lay there, his features softer in sleep, free of the pain and tension that had gripped him yesterday. Relief surged through me as I noticed the difference—his breathing, once shallow and rasping, was now steady and strong.
I didn't mean to stare, but something about seeing him like this made it hard to look away. The sharp lines of his jaw, the way his messy hair fell across his forehead, the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth—everything about him felt... human. And yet, so different from anyone I had ever met.
My tail flicked against the bed as I shifted slightly, realizing belatedly just how close I was to him. His arm was draped over me, protective and warm. My cheeks burned as I became fully aware of the position we were in. How did this even happen? I didn't remember falling asleep like this.
Part of me wanted to stay, to let the warmth of his presence chase away the lingering memories of fear and uncertainty. But another part of me was flustered—mortified, even. I couldn't just lie here, tangled up with him like some lovesick pup.
Carefully, I began to wiggle free, trying not to disturb him. His arm was heavier than I expected, and I froze when he shifted slightly, mumbling something under his breath. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought he might wake up, but his breathing remained steady, and he stayed asleep.
Once I was free, I stood by the bedside, watching him for a moment longer. The color had returned to his face, and his body no longer seemed as frail. The sight brought a sense of peace I hadn't felt in days. "You're stronger than you look," I whispered softly, almost to myself, before turning and leaving the room.
The hallway was cool, the wooden floor creaking under my paws as I padded toward the kitchen. The smell of roasted berries and fresh bread greeted me before I even entered, and I found my father already seated at the table, a quiet presence as always.
"Good morning," he said, his tone as neutral as ever, though there was a subtle warmth in his eyes.
"Morning," I replied, taking a seat across from him. He slid a plate toward me—berries roasted to perfection, their skins glistening, and a thick slice of bread still warm from the oven.
I hadn't realized how hungry I was until the smell hit me. Grateful, I began eating, savoring the burst of sweetness from the berries and the comforting texture of the bread. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable, but it was heavy with unspoken thoughts.
After a while, my father spoke, his deep voice breaking the quiet. "Your mother should be back in a few days. She left to look for you when you didn't return on time."
The statement hit me harder than I expected, guilt rising like a wave. "I didn't mean to worry her," I said softly, staring down at my plate.
"She knows that," he replied simply, his gaze steady. "But you know how she is. She won't rest until she sees you with her own eyes."
I nodded, taking another bite of bread to distract myself. My mother, Daze, was nothing if not determined. I could only imagine the lengths she must have gone to in order to track me down. The thought made my chest tighten with both gratitude and apprehension.
Before either of us could say more, a sharp knock echoed through the house. My father's ears twitched, and he rose from his seat, his movements deliberate and calm. I followed him as he approached the door, a sense of unease prickling at the edges of my mind.
When he opened the door, a figure stood there, framed by the morning light. It was an Absol, their sleek gray fur shimmering faintly, the crescent-shaped horn on their head gleaming like a blade. Their piercing yellow eyes met my father's as they gave a small bow of respect.
"Chief," the Absol said, their voice smooth and steady. "The council requests your presence. They wish to discuss the events of yesterday... and the humans."
I felt a jolt at the mention of Jackson. My father's expression didn't change, but I knew him well enough to sense the tension in his stance.
"I'll be there shortly," he replied, his tone even but firm.
The Absol's gaze flicked briefly to me before they nodded and turned to leave, their movements as fluid and purposeful as water flowing over stone.
As the door closed, I turned to my father, my chest tight with worry. "What do you think they'll decide?"
He met my gaze, his expression unreadable. "That depends," he said after a moment. "On just how much they fear the unknown"
I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over me. Whatever the council decided, I had a feeling it wouldn't be simple. And Jackson's presence here was about to make things a lot more complicated.
…
My father and I descended the winding path that led to the council hall, the second-highest building on the mountain that cradled our village. The air buzzed with the sounds of Pokémon going about their morning, their voices weaving a chaotic symphony of life. Snatches of conversation floated to my ears—words drenched in anger and fear as they recounted yesterday's events. I caught fragments describing the accursed poachers and their heinous acts, voices filled with venom and curses, each tale painting the attackers more monstrous than the last.
Yet, amid the sea of hatred and vitriol, a few voices carried gratitude instead of fury. They spoke of relief that no lives had been lost, their words a balm against the bitterness of the others. A handful even mentioned him, the human. They spoke of how he fought alongside us, how he saved those being captured. Some even dared to voice admiration for his selflessness—for his sacrifice for me.
A pang reverberated in my chest at those words. On one paw, I was heartened that some in the village could see beyond their anger, finding light in the darkness of what had happened. On the other, the reminder of Jackson's actions—the lengths he went to for my sake—brought a sense of melancholy that weighed heavily on my steps. His sacrifice had left an indelible mark on me, one that I couldn't yet fully process.
The council hall loomed ahead, its ancient stone form imposing against the rugged mountain backdrop. The structure exuded a quiet power, its dull gray walls blending into the rocky surroundings, though vibrant flora had claimed parts of it, softening its harshness. Climbing ivy and blooming wildflowers gave it an air of timeless majesty, as though nature itself had chosen to venerate the building.
We reached the great oak doors, their surface worn but sturdy, etched with patterns of the past. They creaked open, revealing the cavernous hall within. The space was vast, the slate walls adorned with intricate carvings that told the story of our village's history. Torchlight flickered across the room, casting dancing shadows on the floor. At its center sat the other four members of the council, their presence commanding and distinct.
On the far left sat Echo, leader of the reconnaissance corps. He was an Absol of many seasons, his grizzled fur and weathered expression telling the story of a life spent in the wild. His longer horn marked him as male, and though his eyes were closed, the subtle flick of his ear was acknowledgment enough of our arrival.
Beside him lounged Quarry, head of the labor corps, a Lopunny whose strength lay not in combat but in the relentless toil of building and harvesting. His golden-brown coat was streaked with yellow tufts of fur, and his muscular frame, built in the fields rather than the battlefield, radiated a casual power. He sat with his arms crossed and legs kicked up on his table, chewing lazily on a blade of grass, his nonchalance a sharp contrast to the room's tense atmosphere.
The final two council members sat on opposite ends of the room, locked in what appeared to be a silent battle of wills. A Bisharp, her cobalt plating gleaming in the torchlight, methodically sharpened her silver blades with deliberate, grating strokes. Her ebony eyes flicked briefly to us but quickly returned to her opponent. Across from her sat a Gardevoir, distinguished by the bandages covering her eyes and the green skin peeking out from beneath her flowing white gown. She, too, seemed undeterred, her unseeing gaze somehow piercing as it matched the Bisharp's steely glare.
It was clear they had just concluded—or perhaps were still in the middle of—one of their infamous arguments. The tension between the Trade Leader, the Bisharp, and the Medic Leader, the Gardevoir, was almost palpable, as if the air around them bristled with the unspoken animosity that often simmered between the two.
My father's sharp cough broke the uneasy silence, drawing all eyes to him as we stepped toward our place at the head of the room. His presence, as always, commanded respect, and even the feuding leaders shifted their attention, their glares dissolving into grudging acknowledgment
Surprisingly, Grace was the first to speak. The usually quiet Gardevoir—when not clashing with Alloy—spoke with a tone louder than her customary whisper, her words carrying a weight that made my fur bristle. "Ah, Chrome, you have arrived," she said. Despite the gentle cadence of her voice, an undercurrent of foreboding dripped from her words. I didn't care much for the implication.
"Yes, we were just informed of the meeting. My thanks to you, Echo, for sending for us," Father replied. The old Absol opened his eyes, revealing piercing rubies that gleamed with a sharpness defying his age. He gave a slow nod in acknowledgment. "It was nothing to speak of, Sir, but if you don't mind, I'd like to begin the proceedings. It is imperative that I understand the next steps regarding our...guests."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber, each voice adding to the growing tension. Father raised a paw, his deep voice cutting through the noise with commanding authority. "Very well, then. Let us begin. Quarry, what is the status of the repairs and our food stores? Winter is fast approaching, and the last thing we need is a shortage caused by this recent...inconvenience."
The Lopunny, who had been silent until now, locked his emerald gaze on us. His expression, paired with a gruff, almost uninterested tone, reflected the common accent of the northern region. "Repairs will be completed by the end of the day. Twelve buildings were burned during the attack, but no one died. As for the food stores, only one was damaged, but we extinguished the flames quickly and salvaged the supplies. I'd also like to thank you, Chief, and Glacia for your assistance during the chaos."
Father dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the gratitude with his characteristic stoicism. "We simply did what was best for the village, Quarry. Your efficiency is appreciated."
The conversations flowed from there, shifting to reports of the attack's aftermath. Each leader recounted their corps' efforts, discussing actions taken to stabilize the village. As the dialogue wore on, a sense of grim resolution began to settle over the room.
Finally, Father addressed the matter that had been lingering like a shadow over the gathering. "Now, moving on to the final matter—what is the condition of the humans?" His expectant gaze landed on Echo.
The Absol answered without hesitation. "The captives remain incapacitated, kept under with sleep powder. What are your orders regarding them, Sir?"
Father's reply was swift, though it left Echo visibly displeased. "Strip them of their weapons and armor, then transport them to the Eastern Human settlement."
Echo's ears twitched, betraying his discontent. "If I may, Sir, why are we simply returning these creatures to their homes? After what they've done, execution would be a far more fitting punishment."
The air in the chamber grew heavy, the weight of Echo's challenge filling the space. Father's gaze hardened as he fixed his eyes on the elder Absol. When he finally spoke, his tone was sharp, almost cutting. "The reason is simple, Echo. Humans are spiteful by nature. Should we execute these captives, it would matter little what reasoning we provide. To them, we would become bloodthirsty savages. My mate has told me enough to know that in any serious confrontation, the only outcome for us is extinction."
A tense silence followed, broken only by the faint crackle of the torches. Father's words hung in the air, sinking into the minds of all present. Slowly, nods of reluctant acknowledgment began to ripple across the room.
Just as Father moved to conclude the meeting, Grace's sickly sweet voice cut through the quiet. "Actually, Chief Chrome, there is one more matter to address."
All eyes turned to the Gardevoir. Her tone sent an uneasy shiver down my spine as she continued. "The human currently residing in your home. I've received a report from one of my medics. His tattered clothing, disheveled appearance, and signs of malnourishment suggest he is either a recluse or abandoned. I propose his death."
The ensuing silence was deafening. The leaders looked at one another—some shocked, others contemplative, and still others glaring disapprovingly at Grace.
Rage flared within me, a typhoon of anger that demanded release. Before I could speak, a firm paw landed on my shoulder. Father's grip tightened as he stepped forward, his expression like tempered steel.
"And what reason would we have to kill a child who aided us?" he asked, his voice cold yet laced with restrained fury.
Grace's composure remained infuriatingly intact as she replied. "Chief, I would not presume to question your judgment. However, there is something...wrong with him. During the battle, his movements became savage, his laughter unsettling. He appeared to enjoy the pain he inflicted, even upon his own kind. When I attempted to read his mind, it felt as though I was being looked down upon by something far beyond comprehension. To push further would have led to my destruction."
Echo spoke next, his gravelly voice carrying an air of solemnity. "I second the motion. I saw it too. The boy's path is drenched in violence, his future steeped in anguish. He is a harbinger of destruction—a monster waiting to be unleashed."
Quarry, usually indifferent, straightened in his seat. "If the Absol's premonition is that strong, I won't argue against it. Better safe than sorry."
Before I could react, Alloy's voice rang out, sharp and furious. "Are you three out of your minds?" The Bisharp stood, her golden claws digging into the dark oak of her desk. "That boy fought for us—saved us! Let's not forget, Echo, the damage of that battle could've been avoided if you'd done your job properly. My son was almost taken due to your negligence!"
"I agree with Madam Alloy," Father said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of finality. "I put forward both my votes as Chieftain and head of the Guardian Corps to deny the request."
As I prepared to cast my own vote, Grace's soft yet cutting voice interrupted. "I would like for Lady Glacia to be removed from this discussion. It is rather obvious she knows the human rather well, and with her experience, her view might be… tainted."
The room once again returned to silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. My father's eyes narrowed, and his voice, though calm, carried the unmistakable edge of a challenge. "May I remind you," he began, each word precise, "that I have been training her for these very situations since she was just a cub. Not to mention her attendance and input in decisions far more significant than the life of a single child. Are you questioning my competency, Grace? Because if you are, I trust you are prepared to face the consequences."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop as his words lingered in the air. Grace visibly stiffened, a subtle shiver betraying the effect of his rebuke. Yet, to her credit, she quickly regained her composure, though her voice softened as she replied, "No, Chieftain. I would never question your judgment. However, Lady Glacia has never defied an order from you, and with such… aggression. I only wish to ensure that any protective instincts she may have developed for the creature that saved her will not interfere in these proceedings."
Her words stung like frostbite. Damnable Grace—she had us cornered. My father could not outright dismiss her point without appearing biased, and she knew it. Alloy, while grateful for Jackson's role in saving her son, was still a leader chosen for her rationality and her responsibility to our people. Her stance could still be swayed. Mine, however, was unwavering. I would remain firm in my support for Jackson, but doing so here would only serve to place Father in an even more precarious position. Grace had effectively stripped me of my voice in the matter.
I clenched my fists, feeling the cold burn of frustration, and spoke with the icy resolve they so loved to associate with me. "Very well," I said, my voice sharp and unwavering, "I shall await your verdict outside."
With that, I rose and exited the hall, my every step echoing through the silence behind me. The weight of their gazes bore into my back, but I refused to falter. Once outside, I leaned against the wall, the cold stone biting through my fur. My stomach twisted into knots, dread pooling in my chest as I realized I had left Jackson's fate in my father's hands. Would he see the boy's worth as I did? Or would the voices of fear and suspicion sway him?
The muffled hum of continued debate drifted through the heavy doors. My ears twitched at the sound, straining to catch any indication of where the discussion was headed, but the words were too faint. I clenched my teeth, the cold evening air doing little to cool the fire of anxiety burning within me.
Jackson had risked everything for us—for me. And now his life hung precariously in the balance, his fate decided by a council that viewed him as little more than a threat. My claws bit into my palms as I whispered to myself, "You'll make it through this, Jackson. You have to."