Welcome to my first-ever Ruins of Alph thread! 
This is a fanfiction I started writing a little while ago, set in Kalos about ten years after the events of Pokémon X and Y. In this version of Kalos, Pokémon are nearly unknown, except to those who remember the world before the "Geosenge disaster" and don't want to forget it. The protagonists have never heard of a Pokémon, and so it's understandable even if you have no idea what a Pikachu is. Unfortunately, that also means there's a lot of filler explanation and stuff that might be boring to some of you.
Also, the chapters are a little long. I've finished eleven of them plus the prologue, and I'll be releasing one each week. This is to give me time to finish Forces of Truth and Power of Ideals, the fake expansions I've been working on. I want to get those out of the way before committing too much time to this. If I haven't finished the sets by the time I've released the eleventh chapter, I'll finish the Ultra Rares and be done with it.
So, without further ado, enjoy!
This is a fanfiction I started writing a little while ago, set in Kalos about ten years after the events of Pokémon X and Y. In this version of Kalos, Pokémon are nearly unknown, except to those who remember the world before the "Geosenge disaster" and don't want to forget it. The protagonists have never heard of a Pokémon, and so it's understandable even if you have no idea what a Pikachu is. Unfortunately, that also means there's a lot of filler explanation and stuff that might be boring to some of you.
Also, the chapters are a little long. I've finished eleven of them plus the prologue, and I'll be releasing one each week. This is to give me time to finish Forces of Truth and Power of Ideals, the fake expansions I've been working on. I want to get those out of the way before committing too much time to this. If I haven't finished the sets by the time I've released the eleventh chapter, I'll finish the Ultra Rares and be done with it.
So, without further ado, enjoy!
It was raining.
He had never liked rain. Although, he had to admit, it did serve its purposes. No one would be outside during a rainstorm. The smaller the chance of anyone seeing him, the better.
After all, he was supposed to be dead.
*
He came to the ruins of what had once been a bloodred building. Now, as always, it was his secret lair - but of course, no one knew that. He stopped for a moment, struck by how cliché that sounded. He would have to change the name. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he set off at a brisk pace again, into the shambles, and down to his underground laboratory.
As he descended the stairs, he angrily thought about the misfortune that had cost him his fame and power. The memory was coming back to him with alarming frequency now. What did it mean? He had captured the great forces of life and death and used their very energy to power a 3,000-year-old weapon. He had failed to contain the forces, and something went wrong. Very wrong. When he fired the weapon, it destroyed itself and everything around it. He still couldn’t understand how he had survived.
Once more, he shook his head. It would not do to dwell on such thoughts, not when his plans were nearing fruition.
At last. He reached the deepest part of the lair. The heavy doors plated with gold had always cast a commanding presence, in his mind. Now they looked bleak, promising fortune that would not come. Just like his last plan.
Again the memory came over him. He saw the weapon firing on itself, and the subsequent explosion. Before he could see any more, he squashed the memory, and stepped through the doors.
*
“I don’t see anything,” said the first man, clinging to a branch.
Both men wore once-bright red suits. They had both experienced the failure of their leader and the explosions. They weren’t inside the weapon as it happened, like their leader had been, but they felt the blasts anyway.
They were among the only ones still loyal to their leader after the failure. Many felt that his plans were always doomed to fail, and having a second chance wouldn’t change anything. The men in once-bright red suits thought differently. If their leader had survived, he must have been given a second chance. They knew that their leader was too meticulous to allow the same mistake to happen again. Therefore, they reasoned, there was no way he would fail this time.
“It’s still there,” said the second, also in the tree. “A little grey thing, with brownish ears.”
“Oh, yeah, I see it!” the first almost shouted in delight. “It’s my turn to catch this one.”
“No way,” said the second. “I saw it first. It’s mine!”
In the midst of their bickering, neither of them saw the tiny grey Pokémon with brown ears scurrying into the forest.
*
He swept into the deepest part of his secret lair with the air of someone with a thousand things to do and no time to do them.
“Gaston!” he barked at the man closest to the door. “What news of the agents in the field?”
“Bertram and Jarret have yet to return,” said Gaston, fingers typing rapidly at a keyboard in front of him. “By wireless transmitter, they report that they have seen three Pokémon, but all have evaded them.”
The leader swore under his breath. “Those fools! Send more! If we don’t capture as many Pokémon as we possibly can, we’ll be overrun again!”
“Yes, sir!” said Gaston, fingers moving even more furiously. “Alma and Eldan have been dispatched to assist Bertram and Jarret.”
“Good work, Gaston,” said the leader. Gaston worked hard to hide his smile; any praise at all from the leader was all too hard to come by. He suspected that it could be because of the leader’s failure in the place that had once been called Geosenge Town. The leader had never been the same since.
*
Alma could barely contain her excitement at being chosen for the mission. She was fairly new, and she had heard from her superiors that it usually took months to be chosen for anything, let alone the top-priority mission. She burst out of Room B2 - which everyone always called the Assignment Room - with dreams of fame and grandeur. Briefly, she considered the possibility that Gaston was pulling a prank - trying to get her to believe she was chosen, only to be humiliated by the rest of the workers - but she dismissed the thought: Gaston was too serious for that.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she ran to the Hangar. She remembered all too well her initiation day - most people hadn’t thought she capable because of her youth. Occasionally, she heard whispers in the hallways. People didn’t think she was up to her job. She would show them - all of them! - with this mission.
*
She had been initiated just over a month ago, but she remembered it as if it was just yesterday. She had come to the lair from Laverre Town, at the very north of Kalos. When she first caught sight of the broken-down building, she had run as fast as she could, anxious as she was to end her long journey.
The guard had directed her to Room B3, which he called the Recruit Room. She eventually had come to learn that the workers had names for all the rooms, possibly because it was much easier to remember names than combinations of numbers and letters. Only the guards seemed to know the real numerical names for the rooms.
Room B3 was one of the only rooms on the second floor, along with the Control Room, the Assignment Room, and the leader’s chambers. When Alma had come to its doors, she had hesitated, but then took a deep breath and went in. She first saw the council of scientists sitting in a half-circle around the edge of the room. She didn’t know their names; all the people of this organization were very secretive, but she knew of them. They were rumored to be the leader’s sisters.
“Alma Devou,” the blue-haired one had said, “you have come to the laboratories from Laverre Town. You would seek to join us in our revolt against those who have hurt our honored leader.”
“Yes, uh…”
“Ma’am will suffice until the end of the ceremony,” said the blue-haired one. “Only then will you learn our names, for reasons of security.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Alma had said.
“Then let us begin,” the woman had intoned. “Alma Devou, what is…”
*
People called it the Hangar, but no transportation of any kind was there. It actually functioned as a rendezvous point for workers starting on or returning from missions. There was always a guard on duty, as the Hangar was one of the few parts of headquarters above ground. The leader wouldn’t like anyone finding out about his plans. When Alma reached the Hangar, she thrust open the doors - heavy steel, with inlaid precious metals, just like every other door in this place. The guard, who had been lounging on a reclining chair, turned his head sharply toward her.
“Ah, Alma,” he said, relaxing. “It’s just you.”
“Yes, sir,” said Alma, saluting. “There a problem?”
“I’m sure everything’s fine, Alma,” said the guard, sighing and leaning back in his chair. “Everyone’s been on edge lately. The leader seems wary. I’m sure it’s just that he doesn’t want another failure like last time, but his mood affects the rest of the organization. Now, here I am, jumping at every little disturbance.
“But of course you came here about your mission?” he said, turning back toward her.
“Yes, sir,” said Alma again.
“Well, then,” the guard muttered, turning to a desktop computer next to him. “Your partner for this mission is Eldan. He’s been with the organization since before the accident, so he’s got some real experience. I’ll bet Gaston wants a veteran with you for your first mission.
“Anyway, he should be here soon. I think Gaston briefed him in the Assignment Room right after you.”
*
Eldan walked down the hallway - brisk and dignified. As much as he wanted to run, to get to the Hangar as fast as he could to embark on a mission, he couldn’t. Running would completely ruin his sense of style. If he lost that, he would be thrust from the organization. Well, maybe not thrust, exactly, but definitely demoted. And he couldn’t afford that. So he walked briskly to the Hangar, anticipating all the while the glory he would achieve after successfully accomplishing a difficult task for his leader.
When Eldan open the doors, he strode stylishly into the room. He first noticed the girl talking with the guard. This youth couldn’t possibly be his partner for the mission, could she? The closer he walked - stylishly, of course - the more certain he became that this was the one he was supposed to work with. She wouldn’t be here, he reasoned, if she wasn’t meant to be on the mission.
“Hello, Emmet,” he said to the guard as he approached. “And you must be Alma, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” the girl answered. “You’re Eldan?”
“I am indeed,” Eldan said, inclining his head and holding out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
The girl - Alma - shook his outstretched hand. Turning to the guard, he said “Thank you, Emmet. Are we now free to go?”
“There is just one last thing I would impress on both of you,” said Emmet. “You both know what your mission is, but I will restate it one last time.
“You will be going out into the field to catch as many Pokémon as you can. Each time you catch one, you will transport it back to headquarters with the transfer machine inside any Pokémon Center. If, however, you deem it necessary for the success of your mission, you may temporarily retain any Pokémon you catch, with the intention to return it to headquarters the moment your mission is over.
“As I’m sure you both know, Pokémon can only be truly caught inside a Poké Ball. You have already each been given one to start. When you catch a Pokémon and transfer it to us, we will give you another Poké Ball. Understood?”
Alma and Eldan both nodded.
“Good,” Emmet continued. “Do you each have at least one Pokémon, before you start your mission?”
They nodded again. Alma held up a Poké Ball as proof.
“Then your mission begins! Good luck, Alma and Eldan. The future of this organization is riding on your success.”
*
“Motivational, isn’t he,” said Alma dryly as they walked through the streets of Lumiose City.
Eldan said nothing. They were already above ground; they had left the building through the Hangar, which opened onto the gleaming city. He noticed a faint drizzle and hoped it wouldn’t obstruct their mission too much.
“What’s your Pokémon?” asked Alma curiously.
Eldan remained silent and kept his face impassive. Alma would have to learn to ask questions less - or at least ask them with style. Directly asking about the Pokémon he had brought on the mission wouldn’t do.
“Fine, don’t tell me,” muttered Alma.
They walked in silence for a while, admiring the sights of the capital of the Kalos region. The underground lair wasn’t far from Prism Tower, the tallest building in the world. Rumors said it was also a Pokémon Gym, but the Gym Leader had gone into hiding with all the other Gym Leaders following the destruction of Geosenge Town and the leader’s failure. It was said that they were too embarrassed to show their faces, because they hadn’t been there to prevent the explosion. Eldan privately agreed. It was most unstylish to be absent from the explosion that devastated the region and wiped away an entire town - especially if one’s title was “Defender of Kalos.”
“So, where are we going first?” said Alma, who apparently couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
Eldan drew a deep breath. It wouldn’t be stylish to lose his temper now. “First,” he said, “we are going to Route 7 and the Parfum Palace. Two of our agents are there, on the same mission as we are, but they have had no luck so far.”
“Ooh, I’ve always wanted to see the Parfum Palace!” exclaimed Alma.
“We are not going there to sightsee, Alma,” Eldan told her sternly. “Bertram and Jarret are failing at their tasks, and we will correct their mistake.”
“Oh, fine,” said Alma, huffing in annoyance. “C’mon, then, faster!”
*
From his place in the tree, Bertram could easily see a small purple Pokémon with green leaves sprouting out of its head. Determined to catch it before Jarret could interrupt, he tossed a Poké Ball to release his own Pokémon, a purple frog-like creature about two feet tall.
“Croagunk,” he whispered, so as not to let Jarret hear, “attack that Pokémon with Mud-Slap.”
The Pokémon obliged, scooping up a handful of mud and hurling it at its plant-like adversary. Weakened, the other Pokémon tottered around on its short legs a while before toppling over. Seeing his chance, Bertram threw a Poké Ball. The short plant Pokémon disappeared inside the Poké Ball in a flash of light.
Bertram heard clapping from behind him. He turned and saw Jarret.
“Jarret?” he said. “You were there the whole time? And you didn’t try to take it for yourself?”
“Of course,” said Jarret. “I couldn’t take that one from you even if I wanted to. I already caught one, and I need to get back to a Pokémon Center as soon as I can to transfer it back to headquarters.”
Bertram sighed. By now, he was resigned to being second-best to Jarret. Hopefully these two new people sent to assist them might put Jarret in his place.
Jarret walked into the Pokémon Center. Like every other Pokémon Center, it had a main desk, where the Nurse waited to heal anyone’s Pokémon. To his right - the Nurse’s left - there was the typical PC, which could store anyone’s Pokémon - but that wasn’t the function he was looking for. It could also send Poké Balls anywhere in the world, so long as he had the access code for the destination.
Ignoring the Nurse’s greeting, he went straight to the transfer machine. He keyed in the access code for the secret lair and pressed enter. A small platform with a spherical indent, like a bowl, came out of the side. Jarret carefully placed the Poké Ball containing the Pokémon he had caught into the bowl-shaped platform. He pressed the button that would begin the transfer. The platform retracted, and the transfer began.
*
“Sir,” said Gaston.
“Yes, Gaston?” the leader replied. “I certainly could use some good news about now.”
“Yes, sir,” said Gaston. “Jarret seems to have caught a Pokémon. He has just sent it to headquarters. It’s not very strong, but it’s a start.”
“Indeed,” said the leader. “A start. You know, of course, without an army of Pokémon, we can hardly take over the Pokémon League.”
“Yes, sir.”
“A start,” the leader mused. “We must stoke the coals, if we are to revive Team Flare.”
He had never liked rain. Although, he had to admit, it did serve its purposes. No one would be outside during a rainstorm. The smaller the chance of anyone seeing him, the better.
After all, he was supposed to be dead.
*
He came to the ruins of what had once been a bloodred building. Now, as always, it was his secret lair - but of course, no one knew that. He stopped for a moment, struck by how cliché that sounded. He would have to change the name. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he set off at a brisk pace again, into the shambles, and down to his underground laboratory.
As he descended the stairs, he angrily thought about the misfortune that had cost him his fame and power. The memory was coming back to him with alarming frequency now. What did it mean? He had captured the great forces of life and death and used their very energy to power a 3,000-year-old weapon. He had failed to contain the forces, and something went wrong. Very wrong. When he fired the weapon, it destroyed itself and everything around it. He still couldn’t understand how he had survived.
Once more, he shook his head. It would not do to dwell on such thoughts, not when his plans were nearing fruition.
At last. He reached the deepest part of the lair. The heavy doors plated with gold had always cast a commanding presence, in his mind. Now they looked bleak, promising fortune that would not come. Just like his last plan.
Again the memory came over him. He saw the weapon firing on itself, and the subsequent explosion. Before he could see any more, he squashed the memory, and stepped through the doors.
*
“I don’t see anything,” said the first man, clinging to a branch.
Both men wore once-bright red suits. They had both experienced the failure of their leader and the explosions. They weren’t inside the weapon as it happened, like their leader had been, but they felt the blasts anyway.
They were among the only ones still loyal to their leader after the failure. Many felt that his plans were always doomed to fail, and having a second chance wouldn’t change anything. The men in once-bright red suits thought differently. If their leader had survived, he must have been given a second chance. They knew that their leader was too meticulous to allow the same mistake to happen again. Therefore, they reasoned, there was no way he would fail this time.
“It’s still there,” said the second, also in the tree. “A little grey thing, with brownish ears.”
“Oh, yeah, I see it!” the first almost shouted in delight. “It’s my turn to catch this one.”
“No way,” said the second. “I saw it first. It’s mine!”
In the midst of their bickering, neither of them saw the tiny grey Pokémon with brown ears scurrying into the forest.
*
He swept into the deepest part of his secret lair with the air of someone with a thousand things to do and no time to do them.
“Gaston!” he barked at the man closest to the door. “What news of the agents in the field?”
“Bertram and Jarret have yet to return,” said Gaston, fingers typing rapidly at a keyboard in front of him. “By wireless transmitter, they report that they have seen three Pokémon, but all have evaded them.”
The leader swore under his breath. “Those fools! Send more! If we don’t capture as many Pokémon as we possibly can, we’ll be overrun again!”
“Yes, sir!” said Gaston, fingers moving even more furiously. “Alma and Eldan have been dispatched to assist Bertram and Jarret.”
“Good work, Gaston,” said the leader. Gaston worked hard to hide his smile; any praise at all from the leader was all too hard to come by. He suspected that it could be because of the leader’s failure in the place that had once been called Geosenge Town. The leader had never been the same since.
*
Alma could barely contain her excitement at being chosen for the mission. She was fairly new, and she had heard from her superiors that it usually took months to be chosen for anything, let alone the top-priority mission. She burst out of Room B2 - which everyone always called the Assignment Room - with dreams of fame and grandeur. Briefly, she considered the possibility that Gaston was pulling a prank - trying to get her to believe she was chosen, only to be humiliated by the rest of the workers - but she dismissed the thought: Gaston was too serious for that.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she ran to the Hangar. She remembered all too well her initiation day - most people hadn’t thought she capable because of her youth. Occasionally, she heard whispers in the hallways. People didn’t think she was up to her job. She would show them - all of them! - with this mission.
*
She had been initiated just over a month ago, but she remembered it as if it was just yesterday. She had come to the lair from Laverre Town, at the very north of Kalos. When she first caught sight of the broken-down building, she had run as fast as she could, anxious as she was to end her long journey.
The guard had directed her to Room B3, which he called the Recruit Room. She eventually had come to learn that the workers had names for all the rooms, possibly because it was much easier to remember names than combinations of numbers and letters. Only the guards seemed to know the real numerical names for the rooms.
Room B3 was one of the only rooms on the second floor, along with the Control Room, the Assignment Room, and the leader’s chambers. When Alma had come to its doors, she had hesitated, but then took a deep breath and went in. She first saw the council of scientists sitting in a half-circle around the edge of the room. She didn’t know their names; all the people of this organization were very secretive, but she knew of them. They were rumored to be the leader’s sisters.
“Alma Devou,” the blue-haired one had said, “you have come to the laboratories from Laverre Town. You would seek to join us in our revolt against those who have hurt our honored leader.”
“Yes, uh…”
“Ma’am will suffice until the end of the ceremony,” said the blue-haired one. “Only then will you learn our names, for reasons of security.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Alma had said.
“Then let us begin,” the woman had intoned. “Alma Devou, what is…”
*
People called it the Hangar, but no transportation of any kind was there. It actually functioned as a rendezvous point for workers starting on or returning from missions. There was always a guard on duty, as the Hangar was one of the few parts of headquarters above ground. The leader wouldn’t like anyone finding out about his plans. When Alma reached the Hangar, she thrust open the doors - heavy steel, with inlaid precious metals, just like every other door in this place. The guard, who had been lounging on a reclining chair, turned his head sharply toward her.
“Ah, Alma,” he said, relaxing. “It’s just you.”
“Yes, sir,” said Alma, saluting. “There a problem?”
“I’m sure everything’s fine, Alma,” said the guard, sighing and leaning back in his chair. “Everyone’s been on edge lately. The leader seems wary. I’m sure it’s just that he doesn’t want another failure like last time, but his mood affects the rest of the organization. Now, here I am, jumping at every little disturbance.
“But of course you came here about your mission?” he said, turning back toward her.
“Yes, sir,” said Alma again.
“Well, then,” the guard muttered, turning to a desktop computer next to him. “Your partner for this mission is Eldan. He’s been with the organization since before the accident, so he’s got some real experience. I’ll bet Gaston wants a veteran with you for your first mission.
“Anyway, he should be here soon. I think Gaston briefed him in the Assignment Room right after you.”
*
Eldan walked down the hallway - brisk and dignified. As much as he wanted to run, to get to the Hangar as fast as he could to embark on a mission, he couldn’t. Running would completely ruin his sense of style. If he lost that, he would be thrust from the organization. Well, maybe not thrust, exactly, but definitely demoted. And he couldn’t afford that. So he walked briskly to the Hangar, anticipating all the while the glory he would achieve after successfully accomplishing a difficult task for his leader.
When Eldan open the doors, he strode stylishly into the room. He first noticed the girl talking with the guard. This youth couldn’t possibly be his partner for the mission, could she? The closer he walked - stylishly, of course - the more certain he became that this was the one he was supposed to work with. She wouldn’t be here, he reasoned, if she wasn’t meant to be on the mission.
“Hello, Emmet,” he said to the guard as he approached. “And you must be Alma, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” the girl answered. “You’re Eldan?”
“I am indeed,” Eldan said, inclining his head and holding out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
The girl - Alma - shook his outstretched hand. Turning to the guard, he said “Thank you, Emmet. Are we now free to go?”
“There is just one last thing I would impress on both of you,” said Emmet. “You both know what your mission is, but I will restate it one last time.
“You will be going out into the field to catch as many Pokémon as you can. Each time you catch one, you will transport it back to headquarters with the transfer machine inside any Pokémon Center. If, however, you deem it necessary for the success of your mission, you may temporarily retain any Pokémon you catch, with the intention to return it to headquarters the moment your mission is over.
“As I’m sure you both know, Pokémon can only be truly caught inside a Poké Ball. You have already each been given one to start. When you catch a Pokémon and transfer it to us, we will give you another Poké Ball. Understood?”
Alma and Eldan both nodded.
“Good,” Emmet continued. “Do you each have at least one Pokémon, before you start your mission?”
They nodded again. Alma held up a Poké Ball as proof.
“Then your mission begins! Good luck, Alma and Eldan. The future of this organization is riding on your success.”
*
“Motivational, isn’t he,” said Alma dryly as they walked through the streets of Lumiose City.
Eldan said nothing. They were already above ground; they had left the building through the Hangar, which opened onto the gleaming city. He noticed a faint drizzle and hoped it wouldn’t obstruct their mission too much.
“What’s your Pokémon?” asked Alma curiously.
Eldan remained silent and kept his face impassive. Alma would have to learn to ask questions less - or at least ask them with style. Directly asking about the Pokémon he had brought on the mission wouldn’t do.
“Fine, don’t tell me,” muttered Alma.
They walked in silence for a while, admiring the sights of the capital of the Kalos region. The underground lair wasn’t far from Prism Tower, the tallest building in the world. Rumors said it was also a Pokémon Gym, but the Gym Leader had gone into hiding with all the other Gym Leaders following the destruction of Geosenge Town and the leader’s failure. It was said that they were too embarrassed to show their faces, because they hadn’t been there to prevent the explosion. Eldan privately agreed. It was most unstylish to be absent from the explosion that devastated the region and wiped away an entire town - especially if one’s title was “Defender of Kalos.”
“So, where are we going first?” said Alma, who apparently couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
Eldan drew a deep breath. It wouldn’t be stylish to lose his temper now. “First,” he said, “we are going to Route 7 and the Parfum Palace. Two of our agents are there, on the same mission as we are, but they have had no luck so far.”
“Ooh, I’ve always wanted to see the Parfum Palace!” exclaimed Alma.
“We are not going there to sightsee, Alma,” Eldan told her sternly. “Bertram and Jarret are failing at their tasks, and we will correct their mistake.”
“Oh, fine,” said Alma, huffing in annoyance. “C’mon, then, faster!”
*
From his place in the tree, Bertram could easily see a small purple Pokémon with green leaves sprouting out of its head. Determined to catch it before Jarret could interrupt, he tossed a Poké Ball to release his own Pokémon, a purple frog-like creature about two feet tall.
“Croagunk,” he whispered, so as not to let Jarret hear, “attack that Pokémon with Mud-Slap.”
The Pokémon obliged, scooping up a handful of mud and hurling it at its plant-like adversary. Weakened, the other Pokémon tottered around on its short legs a while before toppling over. Seeing his chance, Bertram threw a Poké Ball. The short plant Pokémon disappeared inside the Poké Ball in a flash of light.
Bertram heard clapping from behind him. He turned and saw Jarret.
“Jarret?” he said. “You were there the whole time? And you didn’t try to take it for yourself?”
“Of course,” said Jarret. “I couldn’t take that one from you even if I wanted to. I already caught one, and I need to get back to a Pokémon Center as soon as I can to transfer it back to headquarters.”
Bertram sighed. By now, he was resigned to being second-best to Jarret. Hopefully these two new people sent to assist them might put Jarret in his place.
Jarret walked into the Pokémon Center. Like every other Pokémon Center, it had a main desk, where the Nurse waited to heal anyone’s Pokémon. To his right - the Nurse’s left - there was the typical PC, which could store anyone’s Pokémon - but that wasn’t the function he was looking for. It could also send Poké Balls anywhere in the world, so long as he had the access code for the destination.
Ignoring the Nurse’s greeting, he went straight to the transfer machine. He keyed in the access code for the secret lair and pressed enter. A small platform with a spherical indent, like a bowl, came out of the side. Jarret carefully placed the Poké Ball containing the Pokémon he had caught into the bowl-shaped platform. He pressed the button that would begin the transfer. The platform retracted, and the transfer began.
*
“Sir,” said Gaston.
“Yes, Gaston?” the leader replied. “I certainly could use some good news about now.”
“Yes, sir,” said Gaston. “Jarret seems to have caught a Pokémon. He has just sent it to headquarters. It’s not very strong, but it’s a start.”
“Indeed,” said the leader. “A start. You know, of course, without an army of Pokémon, we can hardly take over the Pokémon League.”
“Yes, sir.”
“A start,” the leader mused. “We must stoke the coals, if we are to revive Team Flare.”
It is said that the wind holds the mysteries of time.
The wind, which is a mystery in itself, blows across the lands unhindered. There is no force that can contain the wind, for the wind always seeks to be free.
A wind rose in the West Sea, a wind that held such mysteries, and was one such mystery. It blew across the land, through the sprawling metropolis that was Lumiose City, through the barren wastelands to the north, and through the icy climates of the east.
In many villages, the elders teach that the wind warns when something momentous is about to occur. This was so in a small village on the outskirts of Dendemille Town, where a young farmhand turned the earth so new vegetables could be planted.
Ryan had been shoveling for hours, hard at work making the soil on his family’s farm ripe for planting. It was not much of a challenge; he was used to it. He had done this same work since the age of seven, the age at which young children in his village often learned the tricks to their family’s trade. Now, at the age of fourteen, he had been doing this work so frequently it came naturally.
Still, when the wind blew overhead, Ryan took the opportunity to straighten and wipe sweat from his brow. He grinned, happy to feel the light breeze on his sweat-dampened face. Although his village was far to the north, the chill did little to cool him off. The wind was much more refreshing.
*
Ryan recalled the stories of the wind. The village elder told them to all the young children. At the library, children would gather to hear fantastical tales painted verbally by Elder Arhan. One such story, he remembered, was the story of the wind. Elder Arhan had told it with artistic words, as always.
“The wind is its own master,” Elder Arhan began. “It has no one to command it, to control it. The wind is free. Free of responsibility and necessity. It goes where it pleases, unhindered by humans and creatures.
“Once upon a time, there was a man called Amis. His strength was such that he could lift several bags of flour with minimal effort. He used his strength for good, assisting the elderly and ill with their daily tasks. He was loved by everyone in the village.
“Once, a peddler came into the village, bringing stories such as the one I am telling you now. Such fantastical stories they were, full of wonder and mystery. The most incredible story is sometimes the most believable. The peddler’s stories were those most incredible of stories. They were so unnatural the people of the village couldn’t help but believe him.
“The peddler grew to be a very important and well-known man in the village. Everyone knew his name. People came to see him often, to bring him news and stories. One boy told him about Amis, the strongest man in the world.
“The peddler made up his mind then and there to go talk to Amis. He believed that if anyone could control the wind, Amis could. And, if he was known as the man who had set Amis on the path to total control of the wind, he would be the most famous man in the world!
“So he told Amis about the wind, and how he should harness it. Amis readily agreed. If, he thought, he, Amis, was known as the man with total control of the wind, he would be the most famous man in the world!
“Naturally, Amis tried all he could to contain the wind. First, he tried to hold it in a jar. He waited patiently on top of a hill for the wind to pick up. When it did, he opened the jar and then immediately closed it so as not to let the wind escape. But escape it did. For although Amis could hold air in the jar, he could not hold the wind, for there can be no breeze inside a closed jar.
“Undeterred, Amis tried again. From the failure with the jar, he learned that the wind could not be contained. But it should be able to be controlled. He built a flying contraption, a fantastical thing worthy of the peddler’s stories, with a wooden frame, two large paper wings, and a metal launching mechanism. This experiment also met with failure. For when he jumped from the top of the hill, the wind grew too strong, and ripped a hole right through the wing. He flapped frantically, but couldn’t keep it aloft.
“Of course, Amis tried again. And again. And again. After making his one-hundredth attempt, he disappeared. Some say the wind consumed him. Others say he was ashamed of his failure and went into hiding. Others still say that he finally won control over the wind and flew off to a distant land, and that our ability to exhale comes from that.
“Whatever the case, Amis never knew that there are in fact creatures with power over the wind. These creatures can ride the wind, change its direction, and even create wind from nothing. These creatures are mystical in nature, and very dangerous. Be warned: exercise caution if you ever leave the village. Do not cross a wind creature,” finished Elder Arhan.
Ryan remembered those stories. He had been fascinated by the magical creatures with wind powers. He couldn’t comprehend it all, but what he could understand was so breathtaking he had decided on the spot to one day leave the village on a journey to see the world.
*
Ryan shook his head to clear his thoughts. Now was no time to be daydreaming. There was important work to be done. He rammed the shovel into the hard earth. He would really need to get these vegetable beds turned before sunset.
*
Ani was about to flip a page in the book she was reading when she noticed a man standing in front of the desk. She carefully marked her page, set the book down, and adjusted her glasses.
“How may I help you?” she asked him - the traditional greeting of any librarian.
“Checking this out, please,” said the man, who she now recognized as Aric, the potter.
She took his proffered book, writing the title and date in her journal. Elsewhere, librarians used digital scanners to record the checking out of a book, but not in her village. Everyone was very old-fashioned here.
Once, Ani hadn’t been taken seriously because of her youth, as eleven was usually far younger than usual to begin work. Most people started learning their family’s trade at seven, and finished training and started working at seventeen. Ani was intelligent and loved her work, though, so she was given the post by her mother six years early. Even now, at age fifteen, she was a little young to be working, but people had realized her skill and grown to accept her. She no longer felt insufficient to her job.
She handed the book to Aric, who took it, thanked her, and left. At this moment, her attention was caught by a sudden rustling sound. She looked outside, and saw that the trees in the library garden were rustling in the breeze. This wasn’t anything new to her, even though there hadn’t been a good wind in some time. She turned back to her book.
*
Roc hefted the hundred-pound sack of flour over his shoulder and set off toward the art shop. The village’s painter, Rikan Hunlad, lived on the second floor. Roc was his apprentice, and slept in the attic.
He liked work with Master Hunlad. Although Roc had always been burly and blundering, he felt that an apprenticeship to the master painter would improve his dexterity and precision. He had actually ended up with more chores than he had anticipated, but the benefits of being a painter’s apprentice were worth it.
*
Master Hunlad’s latest in a long series of quickly-dreamed-up chores for Roc had been to fetch a hundred pounds of flour. The painter had wanted to experiment with new paint bases - water bases couldn’t get the sharp quality he was looking for and thin coats of oil based paint dried too quickly. He had told Roc that flour could be the medium he had been looking for. Never one to question the master, Roc did as he was told.
At the mill, Roc had been greeted by the miller, a kindly old man named Dalton. Dalton had been the village’s miller as long as anyone could remember. His graying hair was short and bristly, and his build suggested that he had once been athletic.
Dalton had given him the flour he needed. When Roc tossed payment to him, he said with a wry grin, “Flour won’t do a thing in the paint. It’ll ruin the consistency, see. And when it dries, it’ll be crumbly and dusty. Rikan knows that.”
“What do you mean?” asked Roc.
“I mean that Rikan’s trying to get you out of the house,” said Dalton. “He’s working on something big, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that you can’t help.”
“Oh,” said Roc. “That would explain a lot. I’ve suspected that he hasn’t been wanting me around, but you’ve taken a great deal off my mind trying to find out why. Thank you, Dalton.”
“Pleasure to help,” said Dalton with a sense of dismissal.
*
As Roc drew near to the art shop, he saw Master Hunlad inside, sitting at his easel. With his newfound information regarding a new project of Master Hunlad’s, he decided it would be best to leave the flour inside the house and take his leave as quickly as possible.
When he exited the art shop, he felt a gust of wind blow across his face and ruffle his hair and coat. He struggled to remember the last day he had felt a gust of wind like this. It hadn’t been for a long time. What was it Elder Arhan always said about the wind?
*
Ryan tossed a clump of earth over his shoulder with the blade of the shovel. Gently, so as not to harm the roots, he placed a lettuce sprout in the hole he had dug. Living so far to the east really did limit farming capabilities. The cold weather killed off most plants, leaving farmers able to plant only root vegetables and leafy greens. As a result, most of their diet consisted of these roots and leaves.
Ryan took a second to glance at the sun and its distance from the horizon. He could probably get a couple more lettuce sprouts planted before supper. Digging his shovel into the ground once more, he recalled the gust of wind he had felt earlier that day. It signified something, he thought. They had gone so long without wind that a sudden gust must mean something was coming. Something was about to happen, something out of the ordinary. That’s what Elder Arhan would make of it. Hoping fervently that it wouldn’t be a bad thing, like an early frost, Ryan wondered about other possibilities. What was the wind trying to tell him?
After only a few moments of pondering this, Ryan felt another gust, even stronger than the first. Yes, he thought, this must mean something. He made up his mind to ask Elder Arhan about it in the morning.
Once he placed the final lettuce sprout in the final hole in the ground, Ryan turned around, hoisted his shovel over his shoulder, and started walking toward his family’s house. As he walked, he realized something. What if it wasn’t the wind as much as the magical wind spirits trying to tell him something? The more he thought about it, the more certain of it he became. Maybe the wind didn’t even do the warning in Elder Arhan’s stories! Maybe it was all done by the wind spirits.
But, he reflected sadly, Elder Arhan said the wind spirits are dangerous. If they’re warning me about something, it can’t be good. We’ll probably have an early frost this year after all.
*
Elder Arhan reclined in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He remembered the wind from earlier that day, and was still trying to puzzle out what the spirits were trying to tell him. Technically, whatever the spirits had to say was intended for the entire village, but since he was the only one able to interpret their meaning, he always thought of their messages as being for him.
The wind had come in two gusts only a few minutes apart. Normally, two short gusts would mean that the wind spirits wanted something to be done and they were getting impatient. The short, sharp bursts showed a short, sharp temper. But these winds seemed different, somehow. They weren’t sharp, they were gentle, almost caring, and yet there was some degree of force behind them, as if they wanted to make sure their message was known.
He decided to consult the books. He was surprised the answer hadn’t come to him sooner; he always consulted the books when there was a problem he couldn’t solve. The books had been written by the elder of the village almost three thousand years ago. Back then, of course, the village hadn’t been the same as it was now, but many of their ways were similar. Arhan and all of his predecessors had used the books as a source of wisdom when they themselves had none.
So now, when he consulted the books, he expected to find the meaning of the wind spirits’ missive quickly. The first place he checked was the chapter titled Messages and Meanings, because, of course, he was looking for the meaning to a message. While there were a few pages devoted to the messages of the wind, he could find nothing besides what he already knew. Undeterred, he turned to another chapter: The Ways of the Wind. He could find nothing there, either. As minutes turned into hours, he became more and more discouraged. Perhaps there was no answer to this problem.
No, he thought, there’s always an answer. Perhaps those who came before me have simply never encountered a problem such as this before.
Continuing to search, he did not realize the rising of the sun. Therefore, it came as a surprise to him to hear a sharp knock on the door. “Order!” he cursed as he stood up. His aching back was getting worse with age. When he opened the door, he was even more surprised to find the crisp daylight reflecting off the fallen snow into his house. Then, he turned his attention to the one who knocked.
“Ah, Ryan,” he said. “Come in, come in.”
Ryan followed him back inside and took a seat in a maroon armchair. Arhan settled himself into his own chair and then said, “What brings you to my house?”
“The wind, sir,” said Ryan.
Ah. So I’m not the only one who has noticed it, thought Arhan. And I’m sure I can guess what your next question--
“What does it mean?” asked Ryan.
I guessed correctly, thought Arhan dryly. Aloud, he said, “I have been wondering that as well, Ryan. I have come to no conclusions yet.”
“Oh,” said Ryan, a little disappointed. “Well, I --”
“Hold on, Ryan,” said Arhan. “I have a few ideas, and while none of them make sense, I hope your young mind can elaborate them.
“First and foremost, you must understand that when two short, sharp gusts of wind occur, it means that the wind is impatient. The shortness of the gusts mirrors the shortness of the spirits’ temper. However, and this intrigues me, the gusts we experienced yesterday were not sharp, and did not seem to indicate impatience. Do you agree?”
“Yes, sir,” said Ryan. “They seemed more...insistent, I guess.”
“Yes, insistent,” said Arhan. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. You see, you have put an idea in my mind, Ryan. Perhaps the wind is not merely expressing its feelings, but actually warning us about something! That would explain why I couldn’t find it in the books, too. The wind’s message for ‘something’s about to happen’ is one gentle breeze. The only reason there were two is because the spirits knew I wasn’t getting it the first time!
“Aha, thank you, Ryan! You’ve helped me solve this mystery!” said Arhan.
“Oh, of course, sir. But I’m still not understanding something,” said Ryan.
“And what might that be?”
“What is the wind warning us about?” asked Ryan.
All jubilancy gone, Arhan faced him. “I don’t know, Ryan. A change in the wind could mean anything.”
*
The stranger reached the top of the hill and was about to begin his descent into the village when he felt the gust of wind. Sweeping his wild black hair away from his face, he looked up at the sky. He smiled in understanding, and began walking toward the village below.
The wind, which is a mystery in itself, blows across the lands unhindered. There is no force that can contain the wind, for the wind always seeks to be free.
A wind rose in the West Sea, a wind that held such mysteries, and was one such mystery. It blew across the land, through the sprawling metropolis that was Lumiose City, through the barren wastelands to the north, and through the icy climates of the east.
In many villages, the elders teach that the wind warns when something momentous is about to occur. This was so in a small village on the outskirts of Dendemille Town, where a young farmhand turned the earth so new vegetables could be planted.
Ryan had been shoveling for hours, hard at work making the soil on his family’s farm ripe for planting. It was not much of a challenge; he was used to it. He had done this same work since the age of seven, the age at which young children in his village often learned the tricks to their family’s trade. Now, at the age of fourteen, he had been doing this work so frequently it came naturally.
Still, when the wind blew overhead, Ryan took the opportunity to straighten and wipe sweat from his brow. He grinned, happy to feel the light breeze on his sweat-dampened face. Although his village was far to the north, the chill did little to cool him off. The wind was much more refreshing.
*
Ryan recalled the stories of the wind. The village elder told them to all the young children. At the library, children would gather to hear fantastical tales painted verbally by Elder Arhan. One such story, he remembered, was the story of the wind. Elder Arhan had told it with artistic words, as always.
“The wind is its own master,” Elder Arhan began. “It has no one to command it, to control it. The wind is free. Free of responsibility and necessity. It goes where it pleases, unhindered by humans and creatures.
“Once upon a time, there was a man called Amis. His strength was such that he could lift several bags of flour with minimal effort. He used his strength for good, assisting the elderly and ill with their daily tasks. He was loved by everyone in the village.
“Once, a peddler came into the village, bringing stories such as the one I am telling you now. Such fantastical stories they were, full of wonder and mystery. The most incredible story is sometimes the most believable. The peddler’s stories were those most incredible of stories. They were so unnatural the people of the village couldn’t help but believe him.
“The peddler grew to be a very important and well-known man in the village. Everyone knew his name. People came to see him often, to bring him news and stories. One boy told him about Amis, the strongest man in the world.
“The peddler made up his mind then and there to go talk to Amis. He believed that if anyone could control the wind, Amis could. And, if he was known as the man who had set Amis on the path to total control of the wind, he would be the most famous man in the world!
“So he told Amis about the wind, and how he should harness it. Amis readily agreed. If, he thought, he, Amis, was known as the man with total control of the wind, he would be the most famous man in the world!
“Naturally, Amis tried all he could to contain the wind. First, he tried to hold it in a jar. He waited patiently on top of a hill for the wind to pick up. When it did, he opened the jar and then immediately closed it so as not to let the wind escape. But escape it did. For although Amis could hold air in the jar, he could not hold the wind, for there can be no breeze inside a closed jar.
“Undeterred, Amis tried again. From the failure with the jar, he learned that the wind could not be contained. But it should be able to be controlled. He built a flying contraption, a fantastical thing worthy of the peddler’s stories, with a wooden frame, two large paper wings, and a metal launching mechanism. This experiment also met with failure. For when he jumped from the top of the hill, the wind grew too strong, and ripped a hole right through the wing. He flapped frantically, but couldn’t keep it aloft.
“Of course, Amis tried again. And again. And again. After making his one-hundredth attempt, he disappeared. Some say the wind consumed him. Others say he was ashamed of his failure and went into hiding. Others still say that he finally won control over the wind and flew off to a distant land, and that our ability to exhale comes from that.
“Whatever the case, Amis never knew that there are in fact creatures with power over the wind. These creatures can ride the wind, change its direction, and even create wind from nothing. These creatures are mystical in nature, and very dangerous. Be warned: exercise caution if you ever leave the village. Do not cross a wind creature,” finished Elder Arhan.
Ryan remembered those stories. He had been fascinated by the magical creatures with wind powers. He couldn’t comprehend it all, but what he could understand was so breathtaking he had decided on the spot to one day leave the village on a journey to see the world.
*
Ryan shook his head to clear his thoughts. Now was no time to be daydreaming. There was important work to be done. He rammed the shovel into the hard earth. He would really need to get these vegetable beds turned before sunset.
*
Ani was about to flip a page in the book she was reading when she noticed a man standing in front of the desk. She carefully marked her page, set the book down, and adjusted her glasses.
“How may I help you?” she asked him - the traditional greeting of any librarian.
“Checking this out, please,” said the man, who she now recognized as Aric, the potter.
She took his proffered book, writing the title and date in her journal. Elsewhere, librarians used digital scanners to record the checking out of a book, but not in her village. Everyone was very old-fashioned here.
Once, Ani hadn’t been taken seriously because of her youth, as eleven was usually far younger than usual to begin work. Most people started learning their family’s trade at seven, and finished training and started working at seventeen. Ani was intelligent and loved her work, though, so she was given the post by her mother six years early. Even now, at age fifteen, she was a little young to be working, but people had realized her skill and grown to accept her. She no longer felt insufficient to her job.
She handed the book to Aric, who took it, thanked her, and left. At this moment, her attention was caught by a sudden rustling sound. She looked outside, and saw that the trees in the library garden were rustling in the breeze. This wasn’t anything new to her, even though there hadn’t been a good wind in some time. She turned back to her book.
*
Roc hefted the hundred-pound sack of flour over his shoulder and set off toward the art shop. The village’s painter, Rikan Hunlad, lived on the second floor. Roc was his apprentice, and slept in the attic.
He liked work with Master Hunlad. Although Roc had always been burly and blundering, he felt that an apprenticeship to the master painter would improve his dexterity and precision. He had actually ended up with more chores than he had anticipated, but the benefits of being a painter’s apprentice were worth it.
*
Master Hunlad’s latest in a long series of quickly-dreamed-up chores for Roc had been to fetch a hundred pounds of flour. The painter had wanted to experiment with new paint bases - water bases couldn’t get the sharp quality he was looking for and thin coats of oil based paint dried too quickly. He had told Roc that flour could be the medium he had been looking for. Never one to question the master, Roc did as he was told.
At the mill, Roc had been greeted by the miller, a kindly old man named Dalton. Dalton had been the village’s miller as long as anyone could remember. His graying hair was short and bristly, and his build suggested that he had once been athletic.
Dalton had given him the flour he needed. When Roc tossed payment to him, he said with a wry grin, “Flour won’t do a thing in the paint. It’ll ruin the consistency, see. And when it dries, it’ll be crumbly and dusty. Rikan knows that.”
“What do you mean?” asked Roc.
“I mean that Rikan’s trying to get you out of the house,” said Dalton. “He’s working on something big, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that you can’t help.”
“Oh,” said Roc. “That would explain a lot. I’ve suspected that he hasn’t been wanting me around, but you’ve taken a great deal off my mind trying to find out why. Thank you, Dalton.”
“Pleasure to help,” said Dalton with a sense of dismissal.
*
As Roc drew near to the art shop, he saw Master Hunlad inside, sitting at his easel. With his newfound information regarding a new project of Master Hunlad’s, he decided it would be best to leave the flour inside the house and take his leave as quickly as possible.
When he exited the art shop, he felt a gust of wind blow across his face and ruffle his hair and coat. He struggled to remember the last day he had felt a gust of wind like this. It hadn’t been for a long time. What was it Elder Arhan always said about the wind?
*
Ryan tossed a clump of earth over his shoulder with the blade of the shovel. Gently, so as not to harm the roots, he placed a lettuce sprout in the hole he had dug. Living so far to the east really did limit farming capabilities. The cold weather killed off most plants, leaving farmers able to plant only root vegetables and leafy greens. As a result, most of their diet consisted of these roots and leaves.
Ryan took a second to glance at the sun and its distance from the horizon. He could probably get a couple more lettuce sprouts planted before supper. Digging his shovel into the ground once more, he recalled the gust of wind he had felt earlier that day. It signified something, he thought. They had gone so long without wind that a sudden gust must mean something was coming. Something was about to happen, something out of the ordinary. That’s what Elder Arhan would make of it. Hoping fervently that it wouldn’t be a bad thing, like an early frost, Ryan wondered about other possibilities. What was the wind trying to tell him?
After only a few moments of pondering this, Ryan felt another gust, even stronger than the first. Yes, he thought, this must mean something. He made up his mind to ask Elder Arhan about it in the morning.
Once he placed the final lettuce sprout in the final hole in the ground, Ryan turned around, hoisted his shovel over his shoulder, and started walking toward his family’s house. As he walked, he realized something. What if it wasn’t the wind as much as the magical wind spirits trying to tell him something? The more he thought about it, the more certain of it he became. Maybe the wind didn’t even do the warning in Elder Arhan’s stories! Maybe it was all done by the wind spirits.
But, he reflected sadly, Elder Arhan said the wind spirits are dangerous. If they’re warning me about something, it can’t be good. We’ll probably have an early frost this year after all.
*
Elder Arhan reclined in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He remembered the wind from earlier that day, and was still trying to puzzle out what the spirits were trying to tell him. Technically, whatever the spirits had to say was intended for the entire village, but since he was the only one able to interpret their meaning, he always thought of their messages as being for him.
The wind had come in two gusts only a few minutes apart. Normally, two short gusts would mean that the wind spirits wanted something to be done and they were getting impatient. The short, sharp bursts showed a short, sharp temper. But these winds seemed different, somehow. They weren’t sharp, they were gentle, almost caring, and yet there was some degree of force behind them, as if they wanted to make sure their message was known.
He decided to consult the books. He was surprised the answer hadn’t come to him sooner; he always consulted the books when there was a problem he couldn’t solve. The books had been written by the elder of the village almost three thousand years ago. Back then, of course, the village hadn’t been the same as it was now, but many of their ways were similar. Arhan and all of his predecessors had used the books as a source of wisdom when they themselves had none.
So now, when he consulted the books, he expected to find the meaning of the wind spirits’ missive quickly. The first place he checked was the chapter titled Messages and Meanings, because, of course, he was looking for the meaning to a message. While there were a few pages devoted to the messages of the wind, he could find nothing besides what he already knew. Undeterred, he turned to another chapter: The Ways of the Wind. He could find nothing there, either. As minutes turned into hours, he became more and more discouraged. Perhaps there was no answer to this problem.
No, he thought, there’s always an answer. Perhaps those who came before me have simply never encountered a problem such as this before.
Continuing to search, he did not realize the rising of the sun. Therefore, it came as a surprise to him to hear a sharp knock on the door. “Order!” he cursed as he stood up. His aching back was getting worse with age. When he opened the door, he was even more surprised to find the crisp daylight reflecting off the fallen snow into his house. Then, he turned his attention to the one who knocked.
“Ah, Ryan,” he said. “Come in, come in.”
Ryan followed him back inside and took a seat in a maroon armchair. Arhan settled himself into his own chair and then said, “What brings you to my house?”
“The wind, sir,” said Ryan.
Ah. So I’m not the only one who has noticed it, thought Arhan. And I’m sure I can guess what your next question--
“What does it mean?” asked Ryan.
I guessed correctly, thought Arhan dryly. Aloud, he said, “I have been wondering that as well, Ryan. I have come to no conclusions yet.”
“Oh,” said Ryan, a little disappointed. “Well, I --”
“Hold on, Ryan,” said Arhan. “I have a few ideas, and while none of them make sense, I hope your young mind can elaborate them.
“First and foremost, you must understand that when two short, sharp gusts of wind occur, it means that the wind is impatient. The shortness of the gusts mirrors the shortness of the spirits’ temper. However, and this intrigues me, the gusts we experienced yesterday were not sharp, and did not seem to indicate impatience. Do you agree?”
“Yes, sir,” said Ryan. “They seemed more...insistent, I guess.”
“Yes, insistent,” said Arhan. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. You see, you have put an idea in my mind, Ryan. Perhaps the wind is not merely expressing its feelings, but actually warning us about something! That would explain why I couldn’t find it in the books, too. The wind’s message for ‘something’s about to happen’ is one gentle breeze. The only reason there were two is because the spirits knew I wasn’t getting it the first time!
“Aha, thank you, Ryan! You’ve helped me solve this mystery!” said Arhan.
“Oh, of course, sir. But I’m still not understanding something,” said Ryan.
“And what might that be?”
“What is the wind warning us about?” asked Ryan.
All jubilancy gone, Arhan faced him. “I don’t know, Ryan. A change in the wind could mean anything.”
*
The stranger reached the top of the hill and was about to begin his descent into the village when he felt the gust of wind. Sweeping his wild black hair away from his face, he looked up at the sky. He smiled in understanding, and began walking toward the village below.
The stranger was not welcomed to the village.
The village, after all, was very isolated and kept to themselves. No one new had come to the village in Ryan’s memory, which, Ryan only being fifteen years old, wasn’t saying much. But Elder Arhan couldn’t remember the last time anyone had visited them either, which certainly said something.
So it came as a shock to everyone when a man with wild black hair and wearing a coat that was once white came strolling down the hill. Since no one could remember their last visitor, no one was sure how to act. The stranger, therefore, did not receive a very warm welcome.
The stranger walked through the village gates as if he was accustomed to traveling to remote villages and barging in on their daily lives. He strode with confidence and purpose. It was clear that he had come for a reason.
“My name is Augustine Sycamore,” he said to Dalton, extending his hand. Dalton, being the oldest man present in the crowd that had gathered to witness this stranger’s arrival, was not at all a poor guess at the identity of the elder. “How do you fare on this fine day?”
“I’m fine,” said Dalton cautiously. “But you’re looking for Arhan. I’m not the elder.”
“Ah, but I was asking you, good sir,” said Augustine Sycamore. “How do you fare on this fine day?”
Taken aback, Dalton opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. Of course, it would be rude not to answer Augustine Sycamore, so Dalton managed to say, “I am well. And yourself?”
“I fare surprisingly well, considering I have journeyed from Lumiose City,” replied Augustine Sycamore, who did not seem remotely perturbed at Dalton’s less-than-perfect response. “May I have the pleasure of knowing your name, and the name of this village?”
“I?” asked Dalton. “I’m the miller, Dalton, and the village is Windier Town.”
“Thank you, Dalton,” said Augustine Sycamore. “However, despite what I said earlier, I actually do need to see the elder. I bring him news and a request. Would you please show me the way?”
“Of course,” said Dalton, still flustered at being addressed as though he were a leader. “Please follow me.”
*
Arhan leaned back in his chair. Ryan had gone back to his house a few hours earlier, but the elder had been pondering the subject of the wind’s warning since he had left.
It’s bound to come soon, he thought. The wind seemed very insistent, almost urgent. That could only mean that whatever it is will happen soon.
When Arhan did his thinking, he entered a sort of trancelike state, where everything else disappeared to him. If he was suddenly interrupted, he would be so startled he would likely jump out of his chair. This is precisely what happened when a knock came at the door. Arhan leapt up, and upon realizing that it was only the door, hastened to open it.
When he opened the door, he found Dalton accompanied by someone he had never seen before. This was strange in and of itself, since Arhan couldn’t remember the last time anyone had come to the village. But the strangeness only intensified when Arhan took in the visitor’s wild hair and filthy coat.
Despite his appearance, however, the man, who introduced himself as Augustine Sycamore, was very polite and gracious, although he wasted no time getting down to business.
“Elder Arhan, I have come from Lumiose City,” said Augustine Sycamore. “There, I am a professor, studying the creatures you call spirits and I call Pokémon.”
“Pokémon?” asked Arhan. This term was new to him.
“Originally, they were called Pocket Monsters,” explained the professor. “The reason for that name is that there is a technology that allows them to be contained in small spheres, which can then be carried in one’s pocket. The name was eventually shortened. The spheres are called Poké Balls, which creates a sort of paradox. If the name Pokémon came about because of the spheres, how can the spheres be named after the Pokémon? I can only conclude that Poké Balls were once called something else.
“But that’s irrelevant. I have discovered a plot in Lumiose City to overthrow the Pokémon League, which is sort of the nobility among Pokémon Trainers.”
“Stop there,” said Elder Arhan. “Pokémon Trainers? The wind spirits - Pokémon - whatever you want to call them, are extremely powerful and dangerous. How can you have trainers for them?”
“I will explain that, but first, I would like to finish what I was going to say,” said Augustine Sycamore. “The Pokémon League is very unstable right now, has been ever since the disaster ten years ago, for reasons we need not go into at the moment, and any revolt against them would succeed without effort. I need Pokémon Trainers to end this revolt, which brings me to my main point. Do you know of any children who would be willing to embark on this journey?”
“Why can’t you end the revolt?” asked Elder Arhan suspiciously. “And why do you need children? And why from this village?”
“First, I am doing all in my power to end the revolt. However, the perpetrators are strong and numerous. I need help.
“Second, Pokémon Trainers traditionally start at age ten. They are meant to follow the path of a Pokémon Trainer all their lives. Also, adults tend to be very strong-minded and have very specific opinions.
“Third, I have traveled all around Kalos. Fifteen Trainers have joined me. I need eighteen. So, it is not just this village, it is everywhere.
“To answer your last question, there are no more Pokémon Trainers besides the fifteen who have joined me. When the Pokémon League began to crumble, there was no longer a path for new Trainers to take,” finished Augustine Sycamore. “So, I ask you again, do you know of three children who would be willing to stop the revolt?”
“Well,” said Arhan, “I know of one. His name is Roc.”
“Can you think of two more?” asked the professor.
“For the most part, people here are very content with their everyday lives,” Arhan replied. “Roc is apprenticed to the painter, who has been trying with increasing difficulty to get him out of the house lately. See, he - the painter - is working on a big project, and he doesn’t think Roc is…”
“Capable of helping him?” said the professor. “Say no more; I understand. I would like to meet Roc. Would you please send for him?”
“There’s not exactly anyone at the moment I can send to get him,” said Arhan. “I can take you to him, if you like.”
“That would be splendid, thank you,” said Augustine Sycamore.
*
Roc was sitting in a patch of grass outside Master Hunlad’s shop, lost deep in thought, when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Elder Arhan and a man with wild black hair he had never seen before striding up the dirt path toward him. This was a surprise to him. Elder Arhan rarely came out of his house except for official Council debates and whatnot. What was so important as to bring Elder Arhan not just out of his house, but into Roc’s neighborhood?
“Ah, you must be Roc,” said the man with wild black hair. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Augustine Sycamore. Pleasure to meet you.”
He accompanied this with a slight inclination of his head and an extended hand. Roc stood up, shook his hand, and said, “I’m Roc...but I guess you knew that.”
“I did, but it was a polite gesture nevertheless,” said the professor. “Elder Arhan tells me you are not quite happy with your apprenticeship to Master Hunlad. I have a proposal for you, that you should wait to hear until we are back in Elder Arhan’s home. It is not exactly a public matter.”
“Sure,” said Roc.
“Splendid,” said Augustine Sycamore. “Then off to the elder’s house we go.”
“As I have told Elder Arhan already, the spirits of his stories are real,” said Augustine Sycamore.
“Of course they are!” protested Arhan. “They never weren’t. Just because you have a different name for them doesn’t make them less real.”
“Certainly, Elder,” said the professor, remaining amiable despite Arhan’s outburst. “It was not my intention to imply the contrary.
“Anyway, Roc, the spirits are known to me as Pokémon. The history of the name we need not go into now, although I’m sure Elder Arhan could explain it to you if you like.”
“Hmph,” muttered Arhan. He still hadn’t quite forgiven Augustine Sycamore.
“Yes, at any rate,” continued the professor, “Pokémon were far better known before the disaster in Geosenge Town ten years ago - you know the one?”
“Sure.”
“It was caused by an organization calling themselves Team Flare,” said Professor Sycamore. “I have discovered a plot against the Pokémon League, and I believe Team Flare are the culprits.”
“Wait a moment,” said Roc. “What’s the Pokémon League?”
“Of course, forgive me,” said the professor, shaking his head. “I had told Elder Arhan about them; I had forgotten that I had not told you as well.
“The Pokémon League is, as I told your elder, a sort of nobility among Pokémon Trainers.”
“Pokémon Trainers?” asked Roc.
“Ah, my apologies again,” said Professor Sycamore. “Perhaps I had better start at the beginning.
“Pokémon, what you call spirits, are creatures with special powers, but not just over the wind. Some have power over fire, or plants, or electricity. Like Elder Arhan says, they are dangerous.
“However, they can be tamed, domesticated, even befriended. People who befriend them are called Pokémon Trainers. The Pokémon League, as I have mentioned, is the best of the best. The path for any aspiring Pokémon Trainer is to challenge the Pokémon League and emerge victorious.
“The League consists - or consisted, before the Geosenge disaster - of eight Gym Leaders, the Elite Four, and the Champion, and Trainers would challenge them in that order. It’s pretty self-explanatory. Gym Leaders are the top Trainers in Pokémon Gyms. Once, Gyms were common. There was one in almost every major city. Now, many of the Gym Leaders are in hiding. They are ashamed that they were not there to prevent the Geosenge disaster. Because they are not there to lead the Gyms, they - the Gyms - have fallen into disorder. Some remain leaderless, although they are not recognized by the League as official Gyms. Some have found a new Leader. Some have completely shut down.”
“What exactly is a Pokémon Gym, Mr. Sycamore?” asked Roc.
“Professor or Augustine is fine, Roc,” said Professor Sycamore. “A Pokémon Gym is, simply put, a building in which a Trainer battles his way through multiple underlings before challenging the Gym Leader. Often, but not always, a Pokémon Gym specializes in a single Pokémon type.”
“What are--”
“Types,” said the professor, accurately predicting Roc’s question, “are how Pokémon Trainers and Professors classify Pokémon based on their elemental powers. There are 18 known types at the moment. If one has a team of every single type of Pokémon acting together in perfect harmony, it is said that they can defeat any opponent. Although this has only ever been theoretical, the team is called an Elemental Spectrum.
“That is my aim. That is how I plan to defeat Team Flare. I have amassed a team of fifteen Pokémon Trainers, each one a specialist in a different type.”
“So that’s why you need me?” asked Roc.
“Correct,” answered Professor Sycamore. “I have journeyed all over the Kalos region to find fifteen young men and women who were willing to take on the path of a Pokémon Trainer. This is the last village I have been to. As I’m sure you have figured out, I am still three Trainers short of a full Elemental Spectrum. Therefore, I desperately need three young people from this village who would be willing to take on this challenge. First, are you willing to do this?”
“Yes,” said Roc without hesitation. “If the Kalos region needs protection, I will protect it. What must I do?”
“Good, that’s settled, then,” said the professor happily.
“No, it most certainly isn’t!” blustered Elder Arhan. Roc jumped; he had forgotten the elder was there. “You can’t just barge into this village and risk our children’s lives for some Spectrum!”
“Elder Arhan, I’m fifteen,” said Roc. “That’s not exactly a child.”
“Furthermore,” said the professor, “it is for the good of the Kalos region. If you would prefer the entire region obliterated, that is your choice. Roc, on the other hand, has decided to take up this duty, and I don’t believe you have the right to stop him.”
“I’m the elder of this village!” said Elder Arhan. “I can stop him if I don’t want him risking his neck to help you defeat Team Flare.”
“Actually, Elder Arhan,” said Roc, “with all due respect, the fact that I came of age at thirteen means that I do have the right to make my own decisions. My decision is that I want to help Professor Sycamore.”
“Roc, please reconsider,” said Arhan, a note of pleading in his voice. “It’s for your own good.”
“Elder, it won’t be for anyone’s good if Team Flare destroys life as we know it,” said Roc.
Elder Arhan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I can see there’s no stopping you. If that’s the case, Roc, leave and join Professor Sycamore’s Elemental Spectrum with my blessing. May luck favor you, Roc Araduin.”
Roc bowed to Elder Arhan and said, “Thank you, Elder. May luck favor you as well.” Then, turning to Professor Sycamore, he said, “Should we be leaving, then?”
“Actually, there’s still one small problem I was hoping you could help me solve,” said the Professor. “You may remember that, even with you joining the Spectrum, I am still in need of two more Trainers. Have you any suggestions?”
Roc closed his eyes and thought. It was difficult; there were not many people he could think of who would rather join some life-risking mission than stay safely in the village. Finally, he came to a pair of names. “How about Ryan Iridan and Ani Carrick?”
“Ryan and Ani?” said Arhan thoughtfully. “I suppose…”
“Who are Ryan and Ani?” asked Professor Sycamore.
“They’re about Roc’s age,” answered Arhan. “They’re both apprenticed to their families: Ryan as a farmer, Ani as a librarian. They’re hard-working, but they’re both very committed to and content with their current jobs. I’m not sure you’d be able to convince them to leave.”
“No, Elder, I think they would,” said Roc. “You said yourself that they’re committed. I think they both have a strong sense of duty, and I think they would believe that saving Kalos is a good commitment.”
“That’s a good point, Roc,” said the elder thoughtfully. “Very well. Let’s pay Ryan and Ani a visit, shall we?"
The village, after all, was very isolated and kept to themselves. No one new had come to the village in Ryan’s memory, which, Ryan only being fifteen years old, wasn’t saying much. But Elder Arhan couldn’t remember the last time anyone had visited them either, which certainly said something.
So it came as a shock to everyone when a man with wild black hair and wearing a coat that was once white came strolling down the hill. Since no one could remember their last visitor, no one was sure how to act. The stranger, therefore, did not receive a very warm welcome.
The stranger walked through the village gates as if he was accustomed to traveling to remote villages and barging in on their daily lives. He strode with confidence and purpose. It was clear that he had come for a reason.
“My name is Augustine Sycamore,” he said to Dalton, extending his hand. Dalton, being the oldest man present in the crowd that had gathered to witness this stranger’s arrival, was not at all a poor guess at the identity of the elder. “How do you fare on this fine day?”
“I’m fine,” said Dalton cautiously. “But you’re looking for Arhan. I’m not the elder.”
“Ah, but I was asking you, good sir,” said Augustine Sycamore. “How do you fare on this fine day?”
Taken aback, Dalton opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. Of course, it would be rude not to answer Augustine Sycamore, so Dalton managed to say, “I am well. And yourself?”
“I fare surprisingly well, considering I have journeyed from Lumiose City,” replied Augustine Sycamore, who did not seem remotely perturbed at Dalton’s less-than-perfect response. “May I have the pleasure of knowing your name, and the name of this village?”
“I?” asked Dalton. “I’m the miller, Dalton, and the village is Windier Town.”
“Thank you, Dalton,” said Augustine Sycamore. “However, despite what I said earlier, I actually do need to see the elder. I bring him news and a request. Would you please show me the way?”
“Of course,” said Dalton, still flustered at being addressed as though he were a leader. “Please follow me.”
*
Arhan leaned back in his chair. Ryan had gone back to his house a few hours earlier, but the elder had been pondering the subject of the wind’s warning since he had left.
It’s bound to come soon, he thought. The wind seemed very insistent, almost urgent. That could only mean that whatever it is will happen soon.
When Arhan did his thinking, he entered a sort of trancelike state, where everything else disappeared to him. If he was suddenly interrupted, he would be so startled he would likely jump out of his chair. This is precisely what happened when a knock came at the door. Arhan leapt up, and upon realizing that it was only the door, hastened to open it.
When he opened the door, he found Dalton accompanied by someone he had never seen before. This was strange in and of itself, since Arhan couldn’t remember the last time anyone had come to the village. But the strangeness only intensified when Arhan took in the visitor’s wild hair and filthy coat.
Despite his appearance, however, the man, who introduced himself as Augustine Sycamore, was very polite and gracious, although he wasted no time getting down to business.
“Elder Arhan, I have come from Lumiose City,” said Augustine Sycamore. “There, I am a professor, studying the creatures you call spirits and I call Pokémon.”
“Pokémon?” asked Arhan. This term was new to him.
“Originally, they were called Pocket Monsters,” explained the professor. “The reason for that name is that there is a technology that allows them to be contained in small spheres, which can then be carried in one’s pocket. The name was eventually shortened. The spheres are called Poké Balls, which creates a sort of paradox. If the name Pokémon came about because of the spheres, how can the spheres be named after the Pokémon? I can only conclude that Poké Balls were once called something else.
“But that’s irrelevant. I have discovered a plot in Lumiose City to overthrow the Pokémon League, which is sort of the nobility among Pokémon Trainers.”
“Stop there,” said Elder Arhan. “Pokémon Trainers? The wind spirits - Pokémon - whatever you want to call them, are extremely powerful and dangerous. How can you have trainers for them?”
“I will explain that, but first, I would like to finish what I was going to say,” said Augustine Sycamore. “The Pokémon League is very unstable right now, has been ever since the disaster ten years ago, for reasons we need not go into at the moment, and any revolt against them would succeed without effort. I need Pokémon Trainers to end this revolt, which brings me to my main point. Do you know of any children who would be willing to embark on this journey?”
“Why can’t you end the revolt?” asked Elder Arhan suspiciously. “And why do you need children? And why from this village?”
“First, I am doing all in my power to end the revolt. However, the perpetrators are strong and numerous. I need help.
“Second, Pokémon Trainers traditionally start at age ten. They are meant to follow the path of a Pokémon Trainer all their lives. Also, adults tend to be very strong-minded and have very specific opinions.
“Third, I have traveled all around Kalos. Fifteen Trainers have joined me. I need eighteen. So, it is not just this village, it is everywhere.
“To answer your last question, there are no more Pokémon Trainers besides the fifteen who have joined me. When the Pokémon League began to crumble, there was no longer a path for new Trainers to take,” finished Augustine Sycamore. “So, I ask you again, do you know of three children who would be willing to stop the revolt?”
“Well,” said Arhan, “I know of one. His name is Roc.”
“Can you think of two more?” asked the professor.
“For the most part, people here are very content with their everyday lives,” Arhan replied. “Roc is apprenticed to the painter, who has been trying with increasing difficulty to get him out of the house lately. See, he - the painter - is working on a big project, and he doesn’t think Roc is…”
“Capable of helping him?” said the professor. “Say no more; I understand. I would like to meet Roc. Would you please send for him?”
“There’s not exactly anyone at the moment I can send to get him,” said Arhan. “I can take you to him, if you like.”
“That would be splendid, thank you,” said Augustine Sycamore.
*
Roc was sitting in a patch of grass outside Master Hunlad’s shop, lost deep in thought, when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Elder Arhan and a man with wild black hair he had never seen before striding up the dirt path toward him. This was a surprise to him. Elder Arhan rarely came out of his house except for official Council debates and whatnot. What was so important as to bring Elder Arhan not just out of his house, but into Roc’s neighborhood?
“Ah, you must be Roc,” said the man with wild black hair. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Augustine Sycamore. Pleasure to meet you.”
He accompanied this with a slight inclination of his head and an extended hand. Roc stood up, shook his hand, and said, “I’m Roc...but I guess you knew that.”
“I did, but it was a polite gesture nevertheless,” said the professor. “Elder Arhan tells me you are not quite happy with your apprenticeship to Master Hunlad. I have a proposal for you, that you should wait to hear until we are back in Elder Arhan’s home. It is not exactly a public matter.”
“Sure,” said Roc.
“Splendid,” said Augustine Sycamore. “Then off to the elder’s house we go.”
“As I have told Elder Arhan already, the spirits of his stories are real,” said Augustine Sycamore.
“Of course they are!” protested Arhan. “They never weren’t. Just because you have a different name for them doesn’t make them less real.”
“Certainly, Elder,” said the professor, remaining amiable despite Arhan’s outburst. “It was not my intention to imply the contrary.
“Anyway, Roc, the spirits are known to me as Pokémon. The history of the name we need not go into now, although I’m sure Elder Arhan could explain it to you if you like.”
“Hmph,” muttered Arhan. He still hadn’t quite forgiven Augustine Sycamore.
“Yes, at any rate,” continued the professor, “Pokémon were far better known before the disaster in Geosenge Town ten years ago - you know the one?”
“Sure.”
“It was caused by an organization calling themselves Team Flare,” said Professor Sycamore. “I have discovered a plot against the Pokémon League, and I believe Team Flare are the culprits.”
“Wait a moment,” said Roc. “What’s the Pokémon League?”
“Of course, forgive me,” said the professor, shaking his head. “I had told Elder Arhan about them; I had forgotten that I had not told you as well.
“The Pokémon League is, as I told your elder, a sort of nobility among Pokémon Trainers.”
“Pokémon Trainers?” asked Roc.
“Ah, my apologies again,” said Professor Sycamore. “Perhaps I had better start at the beginning.
“Pokémon, what you call spirits, are creatures with special powers, but not just over the wind. Some have power over fire, or plants, or electricity. Like Elder Arhan says, they are dangerous.
“However, they can be tamed, domesticated, even befriended. People who befriend them are called Pokémon Trainers. The Pokémon League, as I have mentioned, is the best of the best. The path for any aspiring Pokémon Trainer is to challenge the Pokémon League and emerge victorious.
“The League consists - or consisted, before the Geosenge disaster - of eight Gym Leaders, the Elite Four, and the Champion, and Trainers would challenge them in that order. It’s pretty self-explanatory. Gym Leaders are the top Trainers in Pokémon Gyms. Once, Gyms were common. There was one in almost every major city. Now, many of the Gym Leaders are in hiding. They are ashamed that they were not there to prevent the Geosenge disaster. Because they are not there to lead the Gyms, they - the Gyms - have fallen into disorder. Some remain leaderless, although they are not recognized by the League as official Gyms. Some have found a new Leader. Some have completely shut down.”
“What exactly is a Pokémon Gym, Mr. Sycamore?” asked Roc.
“Professor or Augustine is fine, Roc,” said Professor Sycamore. “A Pokémon Gym is, simply put, a building in which a Trainer battles his way through multiple underlings before challenging the Gym Leader. Often, but not always, a Pokémon Gym specializes in a single Pokémon type.”
“What are--”
“Types,” said the professor, accurately predicting Roc’s question, “are how Pokémon Trainers and Professors classify Pokémon based on their elemental powers. There are 18 known types at the moment. If one has a team of every single type of Pokémon acting together in perfect harmony, it is said that they can defeat any opponent. Although this has only ever been theoretical, the team is called an Elemental Spectrum.
“That is my aim. That is how I plan to defeat Team Flare. I have amassed a team of fifteen Pokémon Trainers, each one a specialist in a different type.”
“So that’s why you need me?” asked Roc.
“Correct,” answered Professor Sycamore. “I have journeyed all over the Kalos region to find fifteen young men and women who were willing to take on the path of a Pokémon Trainer. This is the last village I have been to. As I’m sure you have figured out, I am still three Trainers short of a full Elemental Spectrum. Therefore, I desperately need three young people from this village who would be willing to take on this challenge. First, are you willing to do this?”
“Yes,” said Roc without hesitation. “If the Kalos region needs protection, I will protect it. What must I do?”
“Good, that’s settled, then,” said the professor happily.
“No, it most certainly isn’t!” blustered Elder Arhan. Roc jumped; he had forgotten the elder was there. “You can’t just barge into this village and risk our children’s lives for some Spectrum!”
“Elder Arhan, I’m fifteen,” said Roc. “That’s not exactly a child.”
“Furthermore,” said the professor, “it is for the good of the Kalos region. If you would prefer the entire region obliterated, that is your choice. Roc, on the other hand, has decided to take up this duty, and I don’t believe you have the right to stop him.”
“I’m the elder of this village!” said Elder Arhan. “I can stop him if I don’t want him risking his neck to help you defeat Team Flare.”
“Actually, Elder Arhan,” said Roc, “with all due respect, the fact that I came of age at thirteen means that I do have the right to make my own decisions. My decision is that I want to help Professor Sycamore.”
“Roc, please reconsider,” said Arhan, a note of pleading in his voice. “It’s for your own good.”
“Elder, it won’t be for anyone’s good if Team Flare destroys life as we know it,” said Roc.
Elder Arhan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I can see there’s no stopping you. If that’s the case, Roc, leave and join Professor Sycamore’s Elemental Spectrum with my blessing. May luck favor you, Roc Araduin.”
Roc bowed to Elder Arhan and said, “Thank you, Elder. May luck favor you as well.” Then, turning to Professor Sycamore, he said, “Should we be leaving, then?”
“Actually, there’s still one small problem I was hoping you could help me solve,” said the Professor. “You may remember that, even with you joining the Spectrum, I am still in need of two more Trainers. Have you any suggestions?”
Roc closed his eyes and thought. It was difficult; there were not many people he could think of who would rather join some life-risking mission than stay safely in the village. Finally, he came to a pair of names. “How about Ryan Iridan and Ani Carrick?”
“Ryan and Ani?” said Arhan thoughtfully. “I suppose…”
“Who are Ryan and Ani?” asked Professor Sycamore.
“They’re about Roc’s age,” answered Arhan. “They’re both apprenticed to their families: Ryan as a farmer, Ani as a librarian. They’re hard-working, but they’re both very committed to and content with their current jobs. I’m not sure you’d be able to convince them to leave.”
“No, Elder, I think they would,” said Roc. “You said yourself that they’re committed. I think they both have a strong sense of duty, and I think they would believe that saving Kalos is a good commitment.”
“That’s a good point, Roc,” said the elder thoughtfully. “Very well. Let’s pay Ryan and Ani a visit, shall we?"
Roc walked in front of Professor Sycamore, leading the way to where Ryan lived. Elder Arhan had decided to stay behind, figuring that the matter of the Type Spectrum had stopped being his concern when Roc agreed to assist the professor. So Roc led the way himself.
When they neared the start of Ryan’s family’s farm, Roc breathed deeply. He had always loved the smell of earthy vegetables such as the ones Ryan planted. Roc had always thought that farming would be a nice apprenticeship. Of course, since there were barely enough people in the village for one person at each job, Roc and Ryan couldn’t both have the apprenticeship. And Ryan took priority because he was the farmer’s son.
Roc didn’t resent Ryan for this. It was just the way things were. It had always been that way in the village, and that was that. Besides, Roc had found other ways to satisfy his love for plants. In his apprenticeship to Master Hunlad, he preferred to use plant-based paints, rather than those made from oils or beetles.
No. He used to prefer to use plant-based paints. He was not Master Hunlad’s apprentice anymore. He inhaled again, and resumed walking.
*
Professor Sycamore walked briskly with Roc through Ryan’s farm. He breathed in and out. He registered the smell of freshly turned earth, along with the distinctive scent of root vegetables. But while he liked the smell, he realized that Roc loved the smell. The professor wondered why Roc was apprenticed to a painter rather than to a farmer or herbalist.
“Roc,” he said, “why did you not choose to work on this farm? You clearly love plants. Any farmer would have given you an apprenticeship.”
Roc closed his eyes and breathed in again before answering. “The farmer is Ryan’s father,” he said. “In this village, one may take on an apprentice only if one does not have a son or daughter who wishes to continue the trade.”
“Do you feel a rivalry toward Ryan because of that?” asked the professor, worried. From what Roc and Elder Arhan had said, it sounded as though Ryan and Ani were the only other potential candidates in the village who would be willing to be part of the Elemental Spectrum. If there was any animosity within the Spectrum, there would be no acting in perfect harmony, and therefore no chance of completing it fully.
“No,” said Roc immediately. “Ryan and I are good friends. It’s not his fault that I never had a chance at the job, and I don’t blame him for it. Besides, if I had been the farmer’s apprentice, Ryan would never have designed the ingenious irrigation system.”
“The irrigation system?” asked Professor Sycamore.
“Yes,” said Roc. “It’s a vast network of pipes and pumps that transports water not only around this farm, but to all the other farms in the village. It really is a mechanical wonder.”
“It is indeed,” murmured the professor.
*
“And you need my help for what?” asked Ryan incredulously. “You want eighteen children to join your Spectrum and stop this Team Flare from destroying life as we know it? No offense, but that sounds like something fresh out of Elder Arhan’s stories.”
“I assure you, the threat is real,” said Professor Sycamore. “Team Flare will stop at nothing to assume control of the Pokémon League. They don’t particularly care how much destruction they cause along the way.”
“Roc?” said Ryan, turning to the former painter. “You believe this?”
“I’m not sure,” said Roc. “But we can’t really take the risk, can we? Even if Professor Sycamore isn’t telling the truth, we wouldn’t be worse off, would we? And if he’s right, we can’t stand by and let Team Flare lay waste to Kalos.”
It wasn’t an easy decision for Ryan. Every instinct of his screamed denial. It wasn’t possible for an organization that had been extinct for ten years to suddenly revive again, and even less likely, that they would so quickly threaten Kalos. Their plans would have to take years to set in motion, wouldn’t they? They couldn’t be so close to their goal already. Besides, they would only try to take over the Pokémon League. Ryan and all the other villagers probably wouldn’t be in danger.
But on the other hand, Ryan knew Roc was right. They couldn’t take the chance that Team Flare did exist. They couldn’t stand by and let it happen. So he made his decision.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re right, Roc. Professor Sycamore, I’ll help you and your Elemental Spectrum. But if my calculations are correct, you’ll be needing one more person?”
“Indeed,” confirmed the professor. “Roc has suggested Ani Carrick. Elder Arhan seconded this idea. Do you have an opinion?”
“Hmph,” Ryan snorted. “You’ll need some luck convincing Ani. She’s perfectly happy being the librarian. She won’t leave it.”
Roc looked troubled. “That’s true,” he said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Ah, but Ryan,” said the professor, “I believe you were convinced by your sense of duty to the Kalos region. Perhaps Ani will feel the same way.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Ryan. “I was neutral about my work, so I would have taken less convincing to leave it. Ani loves her job. It’ll take a lot of persuading to get her to join you.”
“Fair enough,” said Professor Sycamore. “It wouldn’t hurt to try, though, would it?”
*
“How may I help--” Ani cut off the end of her greeting in surprise as she took in the appearance of the trio standing at her desk. Ryan and Roc were there, but that wasn’t inherently unusual; they knew each other and could be considered friends. No, what really surprised Ani was the man accompanying them. For a start, she had never seen him before. That was strange, she knew everyone in the village. He must not have been a villager, then. His wild hair and messy clothing confirmed that he was from out of the village.
“I can only assume that you intended to finish that sentence with ‘you’, correct?” said the man kindly. “Well, before we arrive at how you may help me, introductions are in order.
“As you have no doubt guessed, I am not from around this village or even from the north. I came here from Lumiose City, where I am a professor. My name is Augustine Sycamore. How do you fare this fine day?”
“Oh,” said Ani, startled by Professor Sycamore’s politeness. “My name is Ani Carrick, and I am well today. How do you do?”
“Quite well, thank you,” replied the professor. “And now comes how you may help me. I am a professor of Pokémon. Pokémon are--”
“Oh, I know what Pokémon are,” said Ani.
“Of course,” said the professor, who looked taken aback. “But, if you don’t mind my asking, how is it that you know what Pokémon are and Elder Arhan does not?”
In answer, Ani held up the book she had been reading before the professor had walked in. The title, as Professor Sycamore could now see, was Pokémon and Their Natural Habitats.
Professor Sycamore no longer looked surprised, on the contrary, he laughed as if in understanding. “I should have known!” he said. “I have been told of your love of reading. I should have guessed you would have read that book.”
“Pardon, sir, but what exactly do you mean by ‘that book’?” asked Ani.
“Ah,” said the professor. “Check the cover.”
Ani did so, and saw in small print, below the title, the author’s name: Augustine Sycamore.
“You wrote this book?” she said in disbelief.
“I did indeed,” said Professor Sycamore. “And if you’ve read it, you’ll already know most of what I had intended to explain to you. That shortens our meeting by a good twenty minutes.”
“Our meeting?” asked Ani. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“Of course, Ani,” said the professor with a slight bow. “My apologies. You see, I have recently uncovered evidence that a believed-extinct organization that once wreaked havoc all across the region may not be extinct. The organization I speak of, of course, is Team Flare.”
Ani let out a gasp of surprise. “Team Flare? But that’s--”
“It is indeed the same organization that caused the Geosenge disaster ten years ago. We - that is to say, the other Pokémon researchers and I - believed they had disbanded following the disaster. It seems they have not.
“Do you know of a concept called the Elemental Spectrum?” asked the professor.
“The joining of all eighteen Pokémon types?” said Ani. “Sure, I’ve read about it.”
“Good,” said the professor. “Although the concept has only ever been that - a concept - I plan to create one. This is how I plan to stop Team Flare once and for all.”
“You would need eighteen Pokémon Trainers for that,” said Ani. “And there aren’t any of those anymore.”
“Quite right, Ani,” said the professor. “I have journeyed all over the region, recruiting children who are willing to become Trainers.”
“Children?” asked Ani disbelievingly.
“The youngest is twelve, the oldest is eighteen,” amended the professor. “Windier Town is my last stop. So far seventeen have joined me. You, if you are willing, shall be the eighteenth.”
“You want me to be the eighteenth in a Spectrum?” asked Ani.
“That’s what I said!” Ryan exclaimed. “I told you she wouldn’t want to come.”
“No, I’ll do it,” said Ani. “But are you sure you want me to be in a Spectrum? I have no experience in Pokémon battles.”
“No one in the Spectrum is experienced,” said Professor Sycamore. “Like you said yourself, there are no more Pokémon Trainers. Or at least, there weren’t before I started the Elemental Spectrum.”
“All right, then!” said Ani in excitement. “When do we start?”
“Excellent,” said the professor. Ani could tell he was relieved. He hadn’t expected her to agree this readily. No wonder, she supposed, if he had gone all over Kalos and had only found fifteen Trainers before Windier Town. “The Spectrum is currently located in my laboratory in Lumiose City. We’ll leave at once.”
*
The leader of Team Flare was getting agitated. It had been a week since Alma and Eldan had been sent to assist Bertram and Jarret, and they had still only found three new Pokémon. At this rate, they wouldn’t be prepared to storm the Pokémon League for months. To make matters worse, Alma and Eldan had carelessly let themselves be spotted leaving the city. Whoever the witness was, the leader was certain that he or she would waste no time warning the authorities, which meant Professor Augustine Sycamore.
There was no doubt that Sycamore would know exactly what was transpiring. Alma and Eldan had been wearing the red suits signature to Team Flare, and though they had not been seen in ten years, Sycamore would remember. The leader’s lip curled. This was not good at all. Now Sycamore knew what was happening, he would surely take measures against it.
The leader told himself to be calm. Sycamore would need a long time to prepare anything. His plans would be far enough along by then to be unstoppable. Hopefully.
But if his plans were going to be far enough along by the time Sycamore was ready to move against him, he would need more competent agents than the four he had sent. He would need someone capable, someone powerful, but someone loyal to the organization. It wouldn’t do to have his most important agent turn against him.
“Gaston!” he barked into a mouthpiece. “I need a list of all the agents who have ever worked for us.”
Gaston’s voice, made crackly by the poor connection, came through the earpiece. “Yes, sir. I’m sending the list to your PC, sir.”
The leader ended the call without another word. He wished Gaston had just read off the names - it couldn’t have been a very long list - so he wouldn’t have to go to his study, but he supposed he might have misheard a name or two due to the poor connection.
He realized that he was doing this more and more lately - thinking about trivial things that cost him only a minute or two, but a minute or two that could have been spent furthering his plans. If that had gone differently, he would not have to make the trip to his study, and he would have been able to use the two minutes the trip would have taken him to dispatch more agents to the field.
He also realized that this kind of thinking was getting him nowhere, so he set off toward his study.
*
The leader came to the last right turn in the corridor where his study was located, and looked both ways to make sure no agents were around. The door to the study was cleverly concealed. Unlike all the other metallic doors in the laboratory, which were made to be decorative and to stand out to agents, this door was painted the same way as the walls around it. All the walls on this corridor had vertical grooves at three-foot intervals, too, so the cracks between the door and the walls would be indistinguishable.
The reason for this camouflage was so that in the event of a betrayal, no false agent would be able to find it. The leader alone knew the exact location. He counted the grooves.
One, two, three… he counted. The door was the fifty-first groove to the right. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty... This really wasn’t very efficient. Unfortunately, neither he nor anyone else in Team Flare had been able to devise a better solution. Thirty-five..forty...forty-five...fifty...aha. He arrived at the fifty-first groove. He fished an access key out of his pocket and slid it down the crack.
The door to his study swung open. The leader entered the room, taking great care to close the door behind him. He then strode over to his desk and shook the mouse gently to start up the computer.
Immediately the mail app opened up, and a faint bell chimed to indicate the arrival of a new message. The leader clicked it. Gaston’s letter opened up with the list of names attached. Fingers trembling with excitement, the leader scrolled through the names. They were listed alphabetically, starting with Alma Devou. A few names stood out to him, especially those of the top Team Flare Pokémon scientists, but none were familiar with Pokémon battling. He paused for a moment on one name - Essentia - but then he shook his head. Essentia had never truly been on their side.
Finally, he arrived at the last name. He stopped there, a smile creeping to his lips. Of course, why didn’t he think of him before? Shaking his head in amazement, he pressed a button on his headset. “Gaston. I think we have a new development. Send me the file on Xerosic.”
*
“Alma.”
Alma heard the scratchy voice coming from the Holo Caster in her pocket and audibly groaned. The Holo Caster, a device created by the leader’s laboratories before the disaster, was once used by every Pokémon Trainer. It could transmit, not only a voice, but also a digital image of the sender. That’s where the Holo part of the name came from. Unfortunately, until you activated it, you could hear the sender’s voice, which was not necessarily a good thing when you were trying to silently sneak up on a Pokémon.
“Alma. Come in, Alma.”
Alma watched as the Pokémon, hearing the Holo Caster, scurried away. Reluctantly, she pulled out the Holo Caster and activated it. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Good,” said Gaston. “You’re being reassigned. Eldan too. The leader believes it is in our interests to free a former Team Flare member from prison.”
“Who?” asked Alma, interested.
“His name’s Xerosic,” said Gaston. “Once, he was a top scientist in Team Flare. He was arrested by a police officer by the codename of Looker when he was caught experimenting with an illegal device.”
“Never heard of him,” said Alma. “What illegal device?”
“That’s irrelevant, Alma,” said Gaston. “Your mission objective is to go to the prison, free Xerosic, and bring him back to headquarters. Understood?”
Alma sighed. She’d just gotten good at this Pokémon-catching thing. “Yes, sir.”
*
Eldan recalled his Pokémon into its Poké Ball. He put the Poké Ball into his pocket and started walking briskly and stylishly toward the Pokémon Center. He and Alma had agreed previously that should they be reassigned in the middle of their mission, they would meet at the Pokémon Center before beginning their new mission.
He wasn’t very far into Route 6, so it took him less than five minutes to reach the Pokémon Center. He knew that Alma was a little further away - she had said that she would be in Connecting Cave, the linear cavern that connected Route 7 to Ambrette Town and Cyllage City. He had no idea what Pokémon she intended to find there. If he remembered correctly, the most interesting Pokémon in the cave was Zubat, and honestly, what use did Team Flare have for Zubat? At least Route 6 was home to a colony of Honedge, swordlike Pokémon that were very stylish.
Eldan spotted a vacant chair immediately. Pokémon Centers were never crowded. Of course, since no one was a Pokémon Trainer, no one would need Pokémon tended. Pokémon Centers also had rooms for humans to stay, but who would use a Pokémon Center when you could have a stylish hotel instead?
Eldan had just taken a seat and pulled out a book when he heard the door open. He knew it was Alma without looking up; who else would walk into a Pokémon Center five minutes after he did? He put his book away and stood up. “You received Gaston’s message?”
“Mm-hmm,” said Alma. “Ready to go to the prison?”
Eldan turned around quickly. Fortunately, the Nurse was absorbed in a book of her own and hadn’t heard Alma. He turned back to her. “Careful,” he warned. “Do you want anyone to hear about the plan?”
Alma shook her head. “So you’re ready, then?”
Eldan sighed. Alma was so...unstylishly careless. “Yes.”
*
Alma gazed up at the looming building. It was an impressive sight. The lower part of the building was built of bricks, once red, that were now faded to a dull dusty brown. The entire building was surrounded by a wall made of the same bricks. The bricks in the building sloped upward, supported by steel beams, and then gave way to a large metal structure on the very top. The metal structure, Alma noticed, looked almost like a giant musical instrument, like a church organ.
Surrounding the building, but inside the wall, was a park that was once full of life, but was now untended and barren. As Alma walked through this part of the prison, she felt a pang of sadness for what the park had become. She could still remember the vibrant colors and orderly trees, from before the building was a prison.
What had it been before a prison? Alma struggled to remember. It seemed that it had always been this way. Unable to come up with an answer, she turned to Eldan. “What was this place before the Geosenge disaster?”
Eldan looked at her with an expression of contempt. “The Tower of Mastery? It was a sacred place for the citizens of Shalour City.”
Alma nodded, satisfied. As another question occurred to her, however, she said, “Why did it become a prison?”
“The Kalos region didn’t have a prison before this,” replied Eldan. “The officials decided one was necessary to house certain” - here he made air quotations with the first and second finger of each hand - “‘dangerous criminals.’ Namely Xerosic.”
“The guy we’re here to rescue?” asked Alma.
“Yes, the ‘guy we’re here to rescue.’ Anyway, it’s not hard to see why they chose the Tower of Mastery to be the prison.”
He was right. Alma realized that it was surrounded on three sides by water, and the fourth by a narrow land bridge. The wall would make escaping difficult. And the height would make top-floor cells even harder to escape from. Alma was willing to bet that’s where they would find Xerosic.
“Now, there’s a guard at the gate,” said Eldan. “We’ll have to find another way in. The steel beams look good to me, wouldn't you say?”
When they neared the start of Ryan’s family’s farm, Roc breathed deeply. He had always loved the smell of earthy vegetables such as the ones Ryan planted. Roc had always thought that farming would be a nice apprenticeship. Of course, since there were barely enough people in the village for one person at each job, Roc and Ryan couldn’t both have the apprenticeship. And Ryan took priority because he was the farmer’s son.
Roc didn’t resent Ryan for this. It was just the way things were. It had always been that way in the village, and that was that. Besides, Roc had found other ways to satisfy his love for plants. In his apprenticeship to Master Hunlad, he preferred to use plant-based paints, rather than those made from oils or beetles.
No. He used to prefer to use plant-based paints. He was not Master Hunlad’s apprentice anymore. He inhaled again, and resumed walking.
*
Professor Sycamore walked briskly with Roc through Ryan’s farm. He breathed in and out. He registered the smell of freshly turned earth, along with the distinctive scent of root vegetables. But while he liked the smell, he realized that Roc loved the smell. The professor wondered why Roc was apprenticed to a painter rather than to a farmer or herbalist.
“Roc,” he said, “why did you not choose to work on this farm? You clearly love plants. Any farmer would have given you an apprenticeship.”
Roc closed his eyes and breathed in again before answering. “The farmer is Ryan’s father,” he said. “In this village, one may take on an apprentice only if one does not have a son or daughter who wishes to continue the trade.”
“Do you feel a rivalry toward Ryan because of that?” asked the professor, worried. From what Roc and Elder Arhan had said, it sounded as though Ryan and Ani were the only other potential candidates in the village who would be willing to be part of the Elemental Spectrum. If there was any animosity within the Spectrum, there would be no acting in perfect harmony, and therefore no chance of completing it fully.
“No,” said Roc immediately. “Ryan and I are good friends. It’s not his fault that I never had a chance at the job, and I don’t blame him for it. Besides, if I had been the farmer’s apprentice, Ryan would never have designed the ingenious irrigation system.”
“The irrigation system?” asked Professor Sycamore.
“Yes,” said Roc. “It’s a vast network of pipes and pumps that transports water not only around this farm, but to all the other farms in the village. It really is a mechanical wonder.”
“It is indeed,” murmured the professor.
*
“And you need my help for what?” asked Ryan incredulously. “You want eighteen children to join your Spectrum and stop this Team Flare from destroying life as we know it? No offense, but that sounds like something fresh out of Elder Arhan’s stories.”
“I assure you, the threat is real,” said Professor Sycamore. “Team Flare will stop at nothing to assume control of the Pokémon League. They don’t particularly care how much destruction they cause along the way.”
“Roc?” said Ryan, turning to the former painter. “You believe this?”
“I’m not sure,” said Roc. “But we can’t really take the risk, can we? Even if Professor Sycamore isn’t telling the truth, we wouldn’t be worse off, would we? And if he’s right, we can’t stand by and let Team Flare lay waste to Kalos.”
It wasn’t an easy decision for Ryan. Every instinct of his screamed denial. It wasn’t possible for an organization that had been extinct for ten years to suddenly revive again, and even less likely, that they would so quickly threaten Kalos. Their plans would have to take years to set in motion, wouldn’t they? They couldn’t be so close to their goal already. Besides, they would only try to take over the Pokémon League. Ryan and all the other villagers probably wouldn’t be in danger.
But on the other hand, Ryan knew Roc was right. They couldn’t take the chance that Team Flare did exist. They couldn’t stand by and let it happen. So he made his decision.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re right, Roc. Professor Sycamore, I’ll help you and your Elemental Spectrum. But if my calculations are correct, you’ll be needing one more person?”
“Indeed,” confirmed the professor. “Roc has suggested Ani Carrick. Elder Arhan seconded this idea. Do you have an opinion?”
“Hmph,” Ryan snorted. “You’ll need some luck convincing Ani. She’s perfectly happy being the librarian. She won’t leave it.”
Roc looked troubled. “That’s true,” he said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Ah, but Ryan,” said the professor, “I believe you were convinced by your sense of duty to the Kalos region. Perhaps Ani will feel the same way.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Ryan. “I was neutral about my work, so I would have taken less convincing to leave it. Ani loves her job. It’ll take a lot of persuading to get her to join you.”
“Fair enough,” said Professor Sycamore. “It wouldn’t hurt to try, though, would it?”
*
“How may I help--” Ani cut off the end of her greeting in surprise as she took in the appearance of the trio standing at her desk. Ryan and Roc were there, but that wasn’t inherently unusual; they knew each other and could be considered friends. No, what really surprised Ani was the man accompanying them. For a start, she had never seen him before. That was strange, she knew everyone in the village. He must not have been a villager, then. His wild hair and messy clothing confirmed that he was from out of the village.
“I can only assume that you intended to finish that sentence with ‘you’, correct?” said the man kindly. “Well, before we arrive at how you may help me, introductions are in order.
“As you have no doubt guessed, I am not from around this village or even from the north. I came here from Lumiose City, where I am a professor. My name is Augustine Sycamore. How do you fare this fine day?”
“Oh,” said Ani, startled by Professor Sycamore’s politeness. “My name is Ani Carrick, and I am well today. How do you do?”
“Quite well, thank you,” replied the professor. “And now comes how you may help me. I am a professor of Pokémon. Pokémon are--”
“Oh, I know what Pokémon are,” said Ani.
“Of course,” said the professor, who looked taken aback. “But, if you don’t mind my asking, how is it that you know what Pokémon are and Elder Arhan does not?”
In answer, Ani held up the book she had been reading before the professor had walked in. The title, as Professor Sycamore could now see, was Pokémon and Their Natural Habitats.
Professor Sycamore no longer looked surprised, on the contrary, he laughed as if in understanding. “I should have known!” he said. “I have been told of your love of reading. I should have guessed you would have read that book.”
“Pardon, sir, but what exactly do you mean by ‘that book’?” asked Ani.
“Ah,” said the professor. “Check the cover.”
Ani did so, and saw in small print, below the title, the author’s name: Augustine Sycamore.
“You wrote this book?” she said in disbelief.
“I did indeed,” said Professor Sycamore. “And if you’ve read it, you’ll already know most of what I had intended to explain to you. That shortens our meeting by a good twenty minutes.”
“Our meeting?” asked Ani. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“Of course, Ani,” said the professor with a slight bow. “My apologies. You see, I have recently uncovered evidence that a believed-extinct organization that once wreaked havoc all across the region may not be extinct. The organization I speak of, of course, is Team Flare.”
Ani let out a gasp of surprise. “Team Flare? But that’s--”
“It is indeed the same organization that caused the Geosenge disaster ten years ago. We - that is to say, the other Pokémon researchers and I - believed they had disbanded following the disaster. It seems they have not.
“Do you know of a concept called the Elemental Spectrum?” asked the professor.
“The joining of all eighteen Pokémon types?” said Ani. “Sure, I’ve read about it.”
“Good,” said the professor. “Although the concept has only ever been that - a concept - I plan to create one. This is how I plan to stop Team Flare once and for all.”
“You would need eighteen Pokémon Trainers for that,” said Ani. “And there aren’t any of those anymore.”
“Quite right, Ani,” said the professor. “I have journeyed all over the region, recruiting children who are willing to become Trainers.”
“Children?” asked Ani disbelievingly.
“The youngest is twelve, the oldest is eighteen,” amended the professor. “Windier Town is my last stop. So far seventeen have joined me. You, if you are willing, shall be the eighteenth.”
“You want me to be the eighteenth in a Spectrum?” asked Ani.
“That’s what I said!” Ryan exclaimed. “I told you she wouldn’t want to come.”
“No, I’ll do it,” said Ani. “But are you sure you want me to be in a Spectrum? I have no experience in Pokémon battles.”
“No one in the Spectrum is experienced,” said Professor Sycamore. “Like you said yourself, there are no more Pokémon Trainers. Or at least, there weren’t before I started the Elemental Spectrum.”
“All right, then!” said Ani in excitement. “When do we start?”
“Excellent,” said the professor. Ani could tell he was relieved. He hadn’t expected her to agree this readily. No wonder, she supposed, if he had gone all over Kalos and had only found fifteen Trainers before Windier Town. “The Spectrum is currently located in my laboratory in Lumiose City. We’ll leave at once.”
*
The leader of Team Flare was getting agitated. It had been a week since Alma and Eldan had been sent to assist Bertram and Jarret, and they had still only found three new Pokémon. At this rate, they wouldn’t be prepared to storm the Pokémon League for months. To make matters worse, Alma and Eldan had carelessly let themselves be spotted leaving the city. Whoever the witness was, the leader was certain that he or she would waste no time warning the authorities, which meant Professor Augustine Sycamore.
There was no doubt that Sycamore would know exactly what was transpiring. Alma and Eldan had been wearing the red suits signature to Team Flare, and though they had not been seen in ten years, Sycamore would remember. The leader’s lip curled. This was not good at all. Now Sycamore knew what was happening, he would surely take measures against it.
The leader told himself to be calm. Sycamore would need a long time to prepare anything. His plans would be far enough along by then to be unstoppable. Hopefully.
But if his plans were going to be far enough along by the time Sycamore was ready to move against him, he would need more competent agents than the four he had sent. He would need someone capable, someone powerful, but someone loyal to the organization. It wouldn’t do to have his most important agent turn against him.
“Gaston!” he barked into a mouthpiece. “I need a list of all the agents who have ever worked for us.”
Gaston’s voice, made crackly by the poor connection, came through the earpiece. “Yes, sir. I’m sending the list to your PC, sir.”
The leader ended the call without another word. He wished Gaston had just read off the names - it couldn’t have been a very long list - so he wouldn’t have to go to his study, but he supposed he might have misheard a name or two due to the poor connection.
He realized that he was doing this more and more lately - thinking about trivial things that cost him only a minute or two, but a minute or two that could have been spent furthering his plans. If that had gone differently, he would not have to make the trip to his study, and he would have been able to use the two minutes the trip would have taken him to dispatch more agents to the field.
He also realized that this kind of thinking was getting him nowhere, so he set off toward his study.
*
The leader came to the last right turn in the corridor where his study was located, and looked both ways to make sure no agents were around. The door to the study was cleverly concealed. Unlike all the other metallic doors in the laboratory, which were made to be decorative and to stand out to agents, this door was painted the same way as the walls around it. All the walls on this corridor had vertical grooves at three-foot intervals, too, so the cracks between the door and the walls would be indistinguishable.
The reason for this camouflage was so that in the event of a betrayal, no false agent would be able to find it. The leader alone knew the exact location. He counted the grooves.
One, two, three… he counted. The door was the fifty-first groove to the right. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty... This really wasn’t very efficient. Unfortunately, neither he nor anyone else in Team Flare had been able to devise a better solution. Thirty-five..forty...forty-five...fifty...aha. He arrived at the fifty-first groove. He fished an access key out of his pocket and slid it down the crack.
The door to his study swung open. The leader entered the room, taking great care to close the door behind him. He then strode over to his desk and shook the mouse gently to start up the computer.
Immediately the mail app opened up, and a faint bell chimed to indicate the arrival of a new message. The leader clicked it. Gaston’s letter opened up with the list of names attached. Fingers trembling with excitement, the leader scrolled through the names. They were listed alphabetically, starting with Alma Devou. A few names stood out to him, especially those of the top Team Flare Pokémon scientists, but none were familiar with Pokémon battling. He paused for a moment on one name - Essentia - but then he shook his head. Essentia had never truly been on their side.
Finally, he arrived at the last name. He stopped there, a smile creeping to his lips. Of course, why didn’t he think of him before? Shaking his head in amazement, he pressed a button on his headset. “Gaston. I think we have a new development. Send me the file on Xerosic.”
*
“Alma.”
Alma heard the scratchy voice coming from the Holo Caster in her pocket and audibly groaned. The Holo Caster, a device created by the leader’s laboratories before the disaster, was once used by every Pokémon Trainer. It could transmit, not only a voice, but also a digital image of the sender. That’s where the Holo part of the name came from. Unfortunately, until you activated it, you could hear the sender’s voice, which was not necessarily a good thing when you were trying to silently sneak up on a Pokémon.
“Alma. Come in, Alma.”
Alma watched as the Pokémon, hearing the Holo Caster, scurried away. Reluctantly, she pulled out the Holo Caster and activated it. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Good,” said Gaston. “You’re being reassigned. Eldan too. The leader believes it is in our interests to free a former Team Flare member from prison.”
“Who?” asked Alma, interested.
“His name’s Xerosic,” said Gaston. “Once, he was a top scientist in Team Flare. He was arrested by a police officer by the codename of Looker when he was caught experimenting with an illegal device.”
“Never heard of him,” said Alma. “What illegal device?”
“That’s irrelevant, Alma,” said Gaston. “Your mission objective is to go to the prison, free Xerosic, and bring him back to headquarters. Understood?”
Alma sighed. She’d just gotten good at this Pokémon-catching thing. “Yes, sir.”
*
Eldan recalled his Pokémon into its Poké Ball. He put the Poké Ball into his pocket and started walking briskly and stylishly toward the Pokémon Center. He and Alma had agreed previously that should they be reassigned in the middle of their mission, they would meet at the Pokémon Center before beginning their new mission.
He wasn’t very far into Route 6, so it took him less than five minutes to reach the Pokémon Center. He knew that Alma was a little further away - she had said that she would be in Connecting Cave, the linear cavern that connected Route 7 to Ambrette Town and Cyllage City. He had no idea what Pokémon she intended to find there. If he remembered correctly, the most interesting Pokémon in the cave was Zubat, and honestly, what use did Team Flare have for Zubat? At least Route 6 was home to a colony of Honedge, swordlike Pokémon that were very stylish.
Eldan spotted a vacant chair immediately. Pokémon Centers were never crowded. Of course, since no one was a Pokémon Trainer, no one would need Pokémon tended. Pokémon Centers also had rooms for humans to stay, but who would use a Pokémon Center when you could have a stylish hotel instead?
Eldan had just taken a seat and pulled out a book when he heard the door open. He knew it was Alma without looking up; who else would walk into a Pokémon Center five minutes after he did? He put his book away and stood up. “You received Gaston’s message?”
“Mm-hmm,” said Alma. “Ready to go to the prison?”
Eldan turned around quickly. Fortunately, the Nurse was absorbed in a book of her own and hadn’t heard Alma. He turned back to her. “Careful,” he warned. “Do you want anyone to hear about the plan?”
Alma shook her head. “So you’re ready, then?”
Eldan sighed. Alma was so...unstylishly careless. “Yes.”
*
Alma gazed up at the looming building. It was an impressive sight. The lower part of the building was built of bricks, once red, that were now faded to a dull dusty brown. The entire building was surrounded by a wall made of the same bricks. The bricks in the building sloped upward, supported by steel beams, and then gave way to a large metal structure on the very top. The metal structure, Alma noticed, looked almost like a giant musical instrument, like a church organ.
Surrounding the building, but inside the wall, was a park that was once full of life, but was now untended and barren. As Alma walked through this part of the prison, she felt a pang of sadness for what the park had become. She could still remember the vibrant colors and orderly trees, from before the building was a prison.
What had it been before a prison? Alma struggled to remember. It seemed that it had always been this way. Unable to come up with an answer, she turned to Eldan. “What was this place before the Geosenge disaster?”
Eldan looked at her with an expression of contempt. “The Tower of Mastery? It was a sacred place for the citizens of Shalour City.”
Alma nodded, satisfied. As another question occurred to her, however, she said, “Why did it become a prison?”
“The Kalos region didn’t have a prison before this,” replied Eldan. “The officials decided one was necessary to house certain” - here he made air quotations with the first and second finger of each hand - “‘dangerous criminals.’ Namely Xerosic.”
“The guy we’re here to rescue?” asked Alma.
“Yes, the ‘guy we’re here to rescue.’ Anyway, it’s not hard to see why they chose the Tower of Mastery to be the prison.”
He was right. Alma realized that it was surrounded on three sides by water, and the fourth by a narrow land bridge. The wall would make escaping difficult. And the height would make top-floor cells even harder to escape from. Alma was willing to bet that’s where they would find Xerosic.
“Now, there’s a guard at the gate,” said Eldan. “We’ll have to find another way in. The steel beams look good to me, wouldn't you say?”
Eldan walked over to the nearest steel beam, sizing it up critically as he went. It wouldn’t be stylish to fall. And it would hurt. The bricks were weathered enough to provide good traction, and using the beam as a handhold, it shouldn’t be too difficult to make their way up. However, if the beam was too hot or too cold, or too slippery, or the bricks weren’t stable all the way up, this could all be pointless.
He pulled off one of the gloves he was wearing and put his hand gingerly on the beam. Immediately he let out a curse and jerked his hand back. “It’s too hot. We’ll have to find another way.”
Alma looked doubtful. “The only other way would be up would be through the building, which would be too risky. Unless you have a flying Pokémon?”
Eldan shook his head. A flying Pokémon would certainly be stylish, but his Pokémon was Houndour, a small black canine, which, as far as he knew, had no flying capabilities, and he wasn’t anxious to test it. “We’ll have to go through.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” said Alma. “It’s too risky! When Gaston said he wanted us to free Xerosic, I don’t think he meant to put us in his place!”
“Alma, keep your voice down,” said Eldan worriedly. “We really will be caught if you go on like that. Anyway, I don’t think it’ll be that difficult. There’s a guard at the gate, but only one. We can overpower him fairly easily.”
Alma still looked doubtful, but eventually she nodded. She held up a Poké Ball. “On three?”
Eldan nodded. “One…”
“Two…”
“Three!” Eldan threw his Poké Ball and Houndour burst out in a flash of light. He saw a similar flash out of the corner of his eye and knew Alma had done the same. He caught a quick glimpse of Alma’s Pokémon running by in a streak of green before he and Houndour attacked.
The guard noticed the threat only a moment before it was too late; he threw a Poké Ball of his own and, in a flash of light, his Pokémon appeared. It was small and grey, and floated a couple feet above the ground, and in two thin appendages, it grasped several keys. Strangely, the Pokémon itself looked not unlike a key, or rather a key ring.
“Klefki,” the guard shouted, “ward off the intruders!”
The small key ring Pokémon - Klefki - obeyed. It twisted in midair, angling itself toward the sun. Eldan realized what was about to happen a split second before it did. He whipped out a pair of stylish red sunglasses from the pocket of his equally stylish suit and put them on. He gestured to Alma to do the same.
The sun’s light reflected off Klefki’s metallic body and hit Eldan squarely in the face. Even with the sunglasses, the light was blinding. Houndour and Alma’s Pokémon were momentarily stunned, but it seemed they too had had the foresight to close their eyes. When the initial shock had faded, Houndour shook its head and resumed its charge. Klefki gave a fierce rattle of its keys and flew toward the doglike Pokémon.
Eldan blinked the afterimage from his eyes and saw the Pokémon racing at each other. It looked as though Houndour fully intended to bite Klefki. Eldan thought back to the steel beam and suddenly shouted, “Houndour, no!”
Houndour came to a stop and turned toward its master, perplexed.
Eldan was about to call out that the sun, if it had warmed the steel beams, would certainly heat Klefki’s dazzling metallic skin to unbearable levels, making it impossible for Houndour to bite it without burning its jaws. But Klefki had continued its attack, and explaining the situation to Houndour would be no good. So Eldan instead simply shouted, “Houndour, run!”
It was a mark of Houndour’s loyalty that it obeyed Eldan without question. Another Pokémon, seeing no good reason to hold back, would have ignored him and charged Klefki. Instead, Houndour spun on the spot and raced back toward its Trainer.
Eldan recalled it into its Poké Ball and faced Alma. "Anything that can reflect a sunbeam that strongly will conduct the heat and burn your Pokémon. Don't use a direct attack."
Alma nodded. She too remembered the steel beams. She called to her Pokémon, "Electrike, use your Thunderbolt attack!"
The small green Pokémon, which now that it had stopped running, Eldan could see resembled a lithe dog with a yellow mane, shook itself as if shrugging off water. Its fur crackled, static electricity building, until it unleashed a ferocious bolt of lightning that engulfed Klefki. Eldan figured the keyring Pokémon must surely be defeated - nothing could withstand an attack like that, but Klefki made the same twisting movement as it had to reflect the sun. The electricity crackled around the Pokémon, but appeared not to harm it. Klefki twisted again, thin grey ribbons flying, and the electricity shot back at Alma's Pokémon. Electrike made no attempt to run, however, and as the lightning bolt streaked toward it, the electricity was drawn in by Electrike's fur. It dispersed through the hairs and was absorbed completely.
Eldan had no time to wonder, however, for he realized that if Thunderbolt did nothing, then he had better use Houndour to stylishly defeat Klefki. He tossed Houndour's Poké Ball, and when the Pokémon appeared in a flash of light, he said, "Houndour! Use your Ember attack on Klefki - with style!"
Houndour's fur glowed, and it opened its mouth, and a flurry of red-hot embers spewed forth and flew at Klefki. The keyring Pokémon attempted to use the same twisting maneuver it had employed to redirect Electrike's attack, but it was either too slow or the embers too hot, and it stopped mid-twist and fell to the ground, dazed and defeated.
Klefki's owner fumbled with a Poké Ball. It was evident he hadn't expected Klefki to lose so easily. He finally got it firmly in his hand and pressed a button, opening the Poké Ball and recalling Klefki. He tried to get another Poké Ball from his belt, but Houndour was too fast for him. The canine Pokémon tackled him to the ground, where he lay unmoving.
"Is he dead?" asked Alma, walking over to where the guard lay.
"No," answered Eldan. "Houndour knows its strength and would never aim to kill. He's knocked out. Hopefully he'll come to after we leave, but just in case, we should lock him up. Do you see a guard tower anywhere?"
Alma gave him a withering look. "We are in a prison, Eldan. Pick a cell, any cell."
"Oh. Good point," said Eldan grudgingly.
*
Alma staggered through the gate of the prison, supporting the guard's legs. Eldan wasn't faring much better carrying the head, but Alma felt it was an insult that she had to carry the feet. "Can we just leave him in the first cell?" she called to Eldan. "I'm tired of carrying him."
Eldan grunted. "I don't like it any more than you do, but we can't leave him on the first floor. Anyone could just walk in, see him, free him, and then he'd come after us and we'd have no warning."
Technically, no one could see him, because the doors to the cells were all solid. But Alma supposed it would be possible for the guard to be heard. Resigned to it by now, she hefted the feet and kept walking.
Alma was relieved to see the stairs. She all but ran up them, passing Eldan, who was forced to run to keep up. When she finally reached the top, she immediately ran to the closest cell (the guard was yanked out of Eldan's hands), and thrusted the unconscious guard onto the bed. Relieved of her burden, she sighed with contentment.
Eldan, panting slightly, came up and doubled over, gasping for breath. When he was able to talk again, he asked, "Is there a lock?"
A lock. On the door. Right. Alma scrambled over to the cell door and checked it for signs of a lock. It seemed to have a self-locking latch mechanism. She reported this to Eldan, who looked pleased. "Good," he said. "This means we won't have to go to the trouble of stealing a key to free Xerosic."
This hadn't occurred to Alma, but after Eldan mentioned it, she realized it was good. It made their mission much easier.
After that, the path to the top went without incident. Alma guessed this was because the guard at the bottom would have been sufficient for the entire prison, since Xerosic appeared to be the only prisoner. When they reached the top, they saw that there was only one cell on the topmost floor. It could only be that of Xerosic, so Alma stepped up and knocked.
"Go away," came a muffled voice from inside.
"Mr. Xerosic?" said Alma timidly.
"Who are you and what do you want?" asked the voice.
"We're from Team Flare," said Alma. "We're here to rescue you by order of the leader."
The voice paused, then growled. "I'm not having this conversation through a cell door. Unless the leader's now employing only complete fools, you've noticed that the door's only locked with a latch. Open it."
Alma flipped open the latch, and she and Eldan stepped into the room. A burly, pale-skinned man sat with his back to them on his knees on the bed in the middle of the room. His red hair, which was gathered at the back of his neck, was long and shaggy, the result of ten years in prison. He wore a faded red suit, much like the ones Alma and Eldan wore, but Xerosic's was far more elaborate. Alma gasped as she realized that the suit Xerosic wore was exactly like those she had seen on the top Team Flare scientists months ago during her initiation, only his was sized for someone much bigger. This must have meant that Xerosic was once at the very top of the Team Flare hierarchy.
As she took in his appearance, Xerosic spoke, still with his back to her. "Impossible. You cannot have come from Team Flare. The organization fell apart ten years ago. The leader was killed in the explosion. He cannot have sent you. He is dead."
"He is not dead, Mr. Xerosic," said Eldan, "nor is Team Flare disbanded. No one knows of our continued existence. The leader is plotting to overthrow the Pokémon League, and he reaches out to you for assistance."
"Even if I believe what you say is true, how is it possible that - never mind, I suppose he's still not telling anyone his real name - the leader isn't dead? said Xerosic scornfully.
"I don't know, Mr. Xerosic," said Eldan. "I don't believe he knows himself. But that is not the point. We need your help. Will you rejoin Team Flare?"
Now Xerosic stood and turned to face Alma and Eldan. His face was hard and creased. His expression, which had been one of contempt, now became one of surprise. "It's true, then. No one else would force his underlings to wear bright red suits.
"No, I will not help you," he said, holding up a hand at Alma's and Eldan's cries of protest. "The time is long past when I was a scientist of Team Flare. The leader will not succeed as long as Augustine Sycamore is alive, nor will the League crumble so easily. It may not be the League I once knew, but it is still strong.
"Additionally, my time in this accursed tower is almost at an end. When I am released, I will have no desire to return. Nor should you, as you undoubtedly will when the leader fails.
"No," Xerosic finished. "Never again. I will never again be a part of Team Flare. Goodbye."
"Mr. Xerosic, please-" Eldan began.
"My final decision is no. Leave. Goodbye."
*
Alma and Eldan left the tower sadly. Eldan pulled out his Holo Caster and entered the code for Gaston. He held it out in front of him and said, "We've failed, Mr. Gaston. Xerosic refuses to join us."
Gaston looked momentarily taken aback, but then he nodded. "I will inform the leader. In the meantime, you are reassigned back to the Route 6 area to continue your previous mission."
And with that, Gaston ended the call.
*
Professor Sycamore had just left the village, Ryan, Ani, and Roc in tow, when he saw a small speck in the sky that was growing larger by the second. Not larger. Closer. He knew even before he could clearly see the speck who it must be.
And it was. The speck turned out to be a raven-haired youth riding on the back of a large birdlike Pokémon. The Pokémon's blue and red plumage stood out against the otherwise barren landscape. When the Pokémon landed, the youth climbed off its back and walked up to the professor.
"Fylon," said Professor Sycamore "what brings you to Windier Town?"
The youth bowed. "Professor, Team Flare has moved up their plans."
"I keep telling you, Fylon, you don't have to bow to me. And what do you mean, they've moved up their plans?"
"Two Team Flare agents have infiltrated the prison near Shalour City," said Fylon. "We can only assume they intended to free Xerosic."
"They 'intended?'" asked the professor. "They didn't succeed?"
"Xerosic is still in his cell. We can only hope this was a setback for them."
The professor shook his head. "How is it you know this?"
"A guard and his Klefki attempted to stop them, but were knocked unconscious. He was found in a second-floor cell, and he recounted the battle."
"This is not good," said Professor Sycamore. "If they're far enough ahead to free a dangerous criminal from a top-security prison..."
"I know, sir," said Fylon. "Shall I return to Lumiose City?"
"Ah, I nearly forgot!" said the professor, clapping a hand to his forehead. "Fylon, this is Ryan, Roc, and Ani. They're the new recruits for the Spectrum. Children-" Roc cleared his throat and the professor hastily said, "Ryan, Roc and Ani, this is Fylon. He is one of the Spectrum."
Fylon inclined his head and shook each of their hands. "I can give you a ride back to the Laboratory. Braviary is strong enough to carry the five of us."
"Thank you, Fylon, that would be most welcome," said the professor.
Ani, Roc, and Ryan climbed onto the Pokémon's back. Professor Sycamore clambered on after them, and Fylon gracefully took a position just behind the Pokémon's wings. Ryan gaped in awe and whispered, "A real wind spirit!"
Fylon patted the Pokémon's neck and whispered in its ear, and the Pokémon took off.
He pulled off one of the gloves he was wearing and put his hand gingerly on the beam. Immediately he let out a curse and jerked his hand back. “It’s too hot. We’ll have to find another way.”
Alma looked doubtful. “The only other way would be up would be through the building, which would be too risky. Unless you have a flying Pokémon?”
Eldan shook his head. A flying Pokémon would certainly be stylish, but his Pokémon was Houndour, a small black canine, which, as far as he knew, had no flying capabilities, and he wasn’t anxious to test it. “We’ll have to go through.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” said Alma. “It’s too risky! When Gaston said he wanted us to free Xerosic, I don’t think he meant to put us in his place!”
“Alma, keep your voice down,” said Eldan worriedly. “We really will be caught if you go on like that. Anyway, I don’t think it’ll be that difficult. There’s a guard at the gate, but only one. We can overpower him fairly easily.”
Alma still looked doubtful, but eventually she nodded. She held up a Poké Ball. “On three?”
Eldan nodded. “One…”
“Two…”
“Three!” Eldan threw his Poké Ball and Houndour burst out in a flash of light. He saw a similar flash out of the corner of his eye and knew Alma had done the same. He caught a quick glimpse of Alma’s Pokémon running by in a streak of green before he and Houndour attacked.
The guard noticed the threat only a moment before it was too late; he threw a Poké Ball of his own and, in a flash of light, his Pokémon appeared. It was small and grey, and floated a couple feet above the ground, and in two thin appendages, it grasped several keys. Strangely, the Pokémon itself looked not unlike a key, or rather a key ring.
“Klefki,” the guard shouted, “ward off the intruders!”
The small key ring Pokémon - Klefki - obeyed. It twisted in midair, angling itself toward the sun. Eldan realized what was about to happen a split second before it did. He whipped out a pair of stylish red sunglasses from the pocket of his equally stylish suit and put them on. He gestured to Alma to do the same.
The sun’s light reflected off Klefki’s metallic body and hit Eldan squarely in the face. Even with the sunglasses, the light was blinding. Houndour and Alma’s Pokémon were momentarily stunned, but it seemed they too had had the foresight to close their eyes. When the initial shock had faded, Houndour shook its head and resumed its charge. Klefki gave a fierce rattle of its keys and flew toward the doglike Pokémon.
Eldan blinked the afterimage from his eyes and saw the Pokémon racing at each other. It looked as though Houndour fully intended to bite Klefki. Eldan thought back to the steel beam and suddenly shouted, “Houndour, no!”
Houndour came to a stop and turned toward its master, perplexed.
Eldan was about to call out that the sun, if it had warmed the steel beams, would certainly heat Klefki’s dazzling metallic skin to unbearable levels, making it impossible for Houndour to bite it without burning its jaws. But Klefki had continued its attack, and explaining the situation to Houndour would be no good. So Eldan instead simply shouted, “Houndour, run!”
It was a mark of Houndour’s loyalty that it obeyed Eldan without question. Another Pokémon, seeing no good reason to hold back, would have ignored him and charged Klefki. Instead, Houndour spun on the spot and raced back toward its Trainer.
Eldan recalled it into its Poké Ball and faced Alma. "Anything that can reflect a sunbeam that strongly will conduct the heat and burn your Pokémon. Don't use a direct attack."
Alma nodded. She too remembered the steel beams. She called to her Pokémon, "Electrike, use your Thunderbolt attack!"
The small green Pokémon, which now that it had stopped running, Eldan could see resembled a lithe dog with a yellow mane, shook itself as if shrugging off water. Its fur crackled, static electricity building, until it unleashed a ferocious bolt of lightning that engulfed Klefki. Eldan figured the keyring Pokémon must surely be defeated - nothing could withstand an attack like that, but Klefki made the same twisting movement as it had to reflect the sun. The electricity crackled around the Pokémon, but appeared not to harm it. Klefki twisted again, thin grey ribbons flying, and the electricity shot back at Alma's Pokémon. Electrike made no attempt to run, however, and as the lightning bolt streaked toward it, the electricity was drawn in by Electrike's fur. It dispersed through the hairs and was absorbed completely.
Eldan had no time to wonder, however, for he realized that if Thunderbolt did nothing, then he had better use Houndour to stylishly defeat Klefki. He tossed Houndour's Poké Ball, and when the Pokémon appeared in a flash of light, he said, "Houndour! Use your Ember attack on Klefki - with style!"
Houndour's fur glowed, and it opened its mouth, and a flurry of red-hot embers spewed forth and flew at Klefki. The keyring Pokémon attempted to use the same twisting maneuver it had employed to redirect Electrike's attack, but it was either too slow or the embers too hot, and it stopped mid-twist and fell to the ground, dazed and defeated.
Klefki's owner fumbled with a Poké Ball. It was evident he hadn't expected Klefki to lose so easily. He finally got it firmly in his hand and pressed a button, opening the Poké Ball and recalling Klefki. He tried to get another Poké Ball from his belt, but Houndour was too fast for him. The canine Pokémon tackled him to the ground, where he lay unmoving.
"Is he dead?" asked Alma, walking over to where the guard lay.
"No," answered Eldan. "Houndour knows its strength and would never aim to kill. He's knocked out. Hopefully he'll come to after we leave, but just in case, we should lock him up. Do you see a guard tower anywhere?"
Alma gave him a withering look. "We are in a prison, Eldan. Pick a cell, any cell."
"Oh. Good point," said Eldan grudgingly.
*
Alma staggered through the gate of the prison, supporting the guard's legs. Eldan wasn't faring much better carrying the head, but Alma felt it was an insult that she had to carry the feet. "Can we just leave him in the first cell?" she called to Eldan. "I'm tired of carrying him."
Eldan grunted. "I don't like it any more than you do, but we can't leave him on the first floor. Anyone could just walk in, see him, free him, and then he'd come after us and we'd have no warning."
Technically, no one could see him, because the doors to the cells were all solid. But Alma supposed it would be possible for the guard to be heard. Resigned to it by now, she hefted the feet and kept walking.
Alma was relieved to see the stairs. She all but ran up them, passing Eldan, who was forced to run to keep up. When she finally reached the top, she immediately ran to the closest cell (the guard was yanked out of Eldan's hands), and thrusted the unconscious guard onto the bed. Relieved of her burden, she sighed with contentment.
Eldan, panting slightly, came up and doubled over, gasping for breath. When he was able to talk again, he asked, "Is there a lock?"
A lock. On the door. Right. Alma scrambled over to the cell door and checked it for signs of a lock. It seemed to have a self-locking latch mechanism. She reported this to Eldan, who looked pleased. "Good," he said. "This means we won't have to go to the trouble of stealing a key to free Xerosic."
This hadn't occurred to Alma, but after Eldan mentioned it, she realized it was good. It made their mission much easier.
After that, the path to the top went without incident. Alma guessed this was because the guard at the bottom would have been sufficient for the entire prison, since Xerosic appeared to be the only prisoner. When they reached the top, they saw that there was only one cell on the topmost floor. It could only be that of Xerosic, so Alma stepped up and knocked.
"Go away," came a muffled voice from inside.
"Mr. Xerosic?" said Alma timidly.
"Who are you and what do you want?" asked the voice.
"We're from Team Flare," said Alma. "We're here to rescue you by order of the leader."
The voice paused, then growled. "I'm not having this conversation through a cell door. Unless the leader's now employing only complete fools, you've noticed that the door's only locked with a latch. Open it."
Alma flipped open the latch, and she and Eldan stepped into the room. A burly, pale-skinned man sat with his back to them on his knees on the bed in the middle of the room. His red hair, which was gathered at the back of his neck, was long and shaggy, the result of ten years in prison. He wore a faded red suit, much like the ones Alma and Eldan wore, but Xerosic's was far more elaborate. Alma gasped as she realized that the suit Xerosic wore was exactly like those she had seen on the top Team Flare scientists months ago during her initiation, only his was sized for someone much bigger. This must have meant that Xerosic was once at the very top of the Team Flare hierarchy.
As she took in his appearance, Xerosic spoke, still with his back to her. "Impossible. You cannot have come from Team Flare. The organization fell apart ten years ago. The leader was killed in the explosion. He cannot have sent you. He is dead."
"He is not dead, Mr. Xerosic," said Eldan, "nor is Team Flare disbanded. No one knows of our continued existence. The leader is plotting to overthrow the Pokémon League, and he reaches out to you for assistance."
"Even if I believe what you say is true, how is it possible that - never mind, I suppose he's still not telling anyone his real name - the leader isn't dead? said Xerosic scornfully.
"I don't know, Mr. Xerosic," said Eldan. "I don't believe he knows himself. But that is not the point. We need your help. Will you rejoin Team Flare?"
Now Xerosic stood and turned to face Alma and Eldan. His face was hard and creased. His expression, which had been one of contempt, now became one of surprise. "It's true, then. No one else would force his underlings to wear bright red suits.
"No, I will not help you," he said, holding up a hand at Alma's and Eldan's cries of protest. "The time is long past when I was a scientist of Team Flare. The leader will not succeed as long as Augustine Sycamore is alive, nor will the League crumble so easily. It may not be the League I once knew, but it is still strong.
"Additionally, my time in this accursed tower is almost at an end. When I am released, I will have no desire to return. Nor should you, as you undoubtedly will when the leader fails.
"No," Xerosic finished. "Never again. I will never again be a part of Team Flare. Goodbye."
"Mr. Xerosic, please-" Eldan began.
"My final decision is no. Leave. Goodbye."
*
Alma and Eldan left the tower sadly. Eldan pulled out his Holo Caster and entered the code for Gaston. He held it out in front of him and said, "We've failed, Mr. Gaston. Xerosic refuses to join us."
Gaston looked momentarily taken aback, but then he nodded. "I will inform the leader. In the meantime, you are reassigned back to the Route 6 area to continue your previous mission."
And with that, Gaston ended the call.
*
Professor Sycamore had just left the village, Ryan, Ani, and Roc in tow, when he saw a small speck in the sky that was growing larger by the second. Not larger. Closer. He knew even before he could clearly see the speck who it must be.
And it was. The speck turned out to be a raven-haired youth riding on the back of a large birdlike Pokémon. The Pokémon's blue and red plumage stood out against the otherwise barren landscape. When the Pokémon landed, the youth climbed off its back and walked up to the professor.
"Fylon," said Professor Sycamore "what brings you to Windier Town?"
The youth bowed. "Professor, Team Flare has moved up their plans."
"I keep telling you, Fylon, you don't have to bow to me. And what do you mean, they've moved up their plans?"
"Two Team Flare agents have infiltrated the prison near Shalour City," said Fylon. "We can only assume they intended to free Xerosic."
"They 'intended?'" asked the professor. "They didn't succeed?"
"Xerosic is still in his cell. We can only hope this was a setback for them."
The professor shook his head. "How is it you know this?"
"A guard and his Klefki attempted to stop them, but were knocked unconscious. He was found in a second-floor cell, and he recounted the battle."
"This is not good," said Professor Sycamore. "If they're far enough ahead to free a dangerous criminal from a top-security prison..."
"I know, sir," said Fylon. "Shall I return to Lumiose City?"
"Ah, I nearly forgot!" said the professor, clapping a hand to his forehead. "Fylon, this is Ryan, Roc, and Ani. They're the new recruits for the Spectrum. Children-" Roc cleared his throat and the professor hastily said, "Ryan, Roc and Ani, this is Fylon. He is one of the Spectrum."
Fylon inclined his head and shook each of their hands. "I can give you a ride back to the Laboratory. Braviary is strong enough to carry the five of us."
"Thank you, Fylon, that would be most welcome," said the professor.
Ani, Roc, and Ryan climbed onto the Pokémon's back. Professor Sycamore clambered on after them, and Fylon gracefully took a position just behind the Pokémon's wings. Ryan gaped in awe and whispered, "A real wind spirit!"
Fylon patted the Pokémon's neck and whispered in its ear, and the Pokémon took off.
As the group soared over Kalos, Ani began to appreciate the sheer vastness of the region. Since she had lived in the village, far to the east, all her life, she had never seen the effects of the disaster, which had occurred in the western Geosenge Town. While they were still far to the east, she could just see the faint outline of the ruins of Geosenge Town, like an ugly smudge on the horizon. Below her, all she could see was wilderness. As they flew west, the snow and ice gave way to grass-covered plains, which were crisscrossed by rivers that, from this distance, looked like scarcely more than blue worms.
All the while, she could see Lumiose City, a shining beacon that stood out against the green plains. The stories said Lumiose City would be visible from anywhere in the world. At the time, she hadn’t believed them. Now, it didn’t seem so impossible.
At the center of it all was Prism Tower, an impossibly tall skyscraper with lights covering every inch of the exterior. It was easily the most impressive building in the city.
Ani turned to Professor Sycamore and pointed. She had to shout to make herself heard over the roaring winds. “Is that where we’re going?”
“Sadly, no,” the professor called back. “Prism Tower is - or was - home to a Pokémon Gym. My laboratory is a different building.”
Disappointed, Ani turned back. As Lumiose City came close enough for her to discern the individual buildings, she noticed that the city had a pattern to it that probably made navigation easier for the residents. At the center was a circular plaza, at the heart of which was Prism Tower. From the plaza, five streets branched out, forming a sort of star. Each street connected to a smaller plaza, each of which, as they descended, Ani could see was of a different color. The streets continued through the smaller plazas until they reached an outer ring. Surrounding the entire city was a wall, with five gates as continuations of the original star, each of which opened onto a road. The entire city was circular, a fact Ani found interesting.
Professor Sycamore tapped her shoulder. When she turned, he pointed to a low, flat building with a gate and a walkway leading to the door, a feature that was not all too common in an urban area such as this. “That’s my laboratory.”
It didn’t look big enough for nineteen people - the Spectrum and the professor couldn’t all fit on one floor. When Ani voiced this concern, Professor Sycamore said, “You only see the top two floors. Most of it is underground.”
She nodded; it made sense. She supposed the ground floor would serve as a training center, with battlefields and such for Pokémon battles. The underground floors would probably be the living area.
Suddenly, Fylon whispered in the Pokémon’s ear, and the group descended to land on the roof of Professor Sycamore’s Pokémon Laboratory.
*
As Fylon, Professor Sycamore, and the former residents of Windier Town walked through the door of the laboratory, Ryan’s first thought was that this couldn’t be a training center for eighteen people. He recalled what Professor Sycamore had said during the descent, that most of the building was underground. Apparently, the underground part was the living quarters, but the ground floor seemed to be the lobby of an ordinary office building.
There were no people except the five who had just walked in on the ground floor. Ryan wondered about this, for it was very unlikely that in a building with nineteen residents, there would be no one on any given floor.
Professor Sycamore stepped to the front of the group and turned to face them. “There are a little more than three hours left before sundown. You will be given a tour of the building by one of the Spectrum in a half hour. In the meantime, Fylon will escort you to your rooms. If you need me for anything, my office is on the second floor.”
He turned around and walked off to the elevator that undoubtedly led to the second floor. As he left, Fylon took his place before the other three.
“We have not been properly introduced,” he said as he extended a hand. “My name is Fylon, Flying-type user in the Elemental Spectrum.”
“Ryan,” said Ryan cautiously as he shook Fylon’s hand. Ani and Roc murmured their names and in turn shook Fylon’s hand.
“I’m pleased to meet all of you,” said Fylon. “I was one of the first to join the Spectrum, so I know how nervous you must feel. Please remember, I will help you in any way I can.”
Ryan nodded, and Fylon inclined his head.
“Please follow me to your rooms,” said Fylon, turning to the elevator and waving a hand, beckoning them onward.
Ani and Roc both stepped forward eagerly at once, but Ryan hesitated. Fylon seemed just a little too nice. Fylon noticed his hesitation and landed on the problem at once. “I mean you no harm, Ryan.”
Not altogether reassured, but finally deciding it would be no use delaying further, Ryan followed him to the elevator.
*
As the metal doors of the elevator clanged shut, Fylon scanned the buttons (A2, G, B1, B2, and B3) and pressed the one marked B2. He heard the familiar rumbling noise that signaled the beginning of the elevator’s descent, and leaned back against the wall. Out of the corner of one eye, he could see that Ryan was the only one who had not done the same. Instead, Ryan was visibly on edge. Inwardly, Fylon smiled. He could recall his first day in the laboratory. He had been just as wary as Ryan was now. Wariness was understandable; from what Fylon had heard, Windier Town was incredibly rural and secluded from the rest of the world. He doubted whether the villagers had had any inkling of Team Flare’s reputation.
Far more intriguing to Fylon was the behavior of the other two - Roc and Ani. Neither seemed nervous or wary in the least. This was very strange. Perhaps this was all a big adventure for them, and their excitement blinded them to the danger of the situation? Yes, that would fit. If Windier Town was truly as secluded as he had heard, perhaps this was their first time outside, and these two were simply less cautious and more adventurous than Ryan.
The screen above the door to the elevator changed from G to B1. Ryan tensed further, apparently anxious to get off. Fylon noticed that the other two also tensed, but clearly in anticipation, not anxiety. Really, Fylon thought, you could tell so much about a person through subtle shifts in muscle tension.
The screen changed again, now to B2. The elevator came to a grinding halt, and the metal doors slid open. Ryan was the first one off, predictably. Roc was second, and like Ryan, it was easy for Fylon to tell that he, Roc, wished to be off the elevator. Ani looked around the elevator for a moment before she walked out, an action that may have gone unnoticed by some, but not by Fylon. Now it was evident to Fylon that they did not have the same purpose in joining the Spectrum, nor were their attitudes about it identical. Roc, who got off the lift almost immediately, seemed to want to finish the tour and be initiated as soon as possible. Fylon deduced from this that Roc came for the purpose of leaving Windier Town, and his life there, behind. Briefly, Fylon wondered what had happened to make Roc want to leave his home. Ani, who took in every detail before getting off, apparently came for the adventure, the excitement of being part of an Elemental Spectrum. This would mean, of course, that Ani knew what an Elemental Spectrum was before the professor visited Winder Town. That suggested to Fylon that Ani’s occupation before leaving was a record keeper or librarian - someone with access to information regarding events outside of the village. Ryan’s purpose in joining seemed to be to protect the region from Team Flare, since his wariness ruled out most other possibilities.
A smile flickered across Fylon’s face. He believed he knew every member of the Spectrum better than anyone else. His ability to spot small details was the reason for his choice of the Flying type - no one else would have the capability to discern events on the ground from the sky.
Fylon walked off the elevator and gestured to the corridor before them. “Shall we proceed?”
The villagers nodded. Fylon strode down the corridor, the other three closely behind. As he walked, he took note of the emptiness of the corridor. This would not be entirely unusual normally, but there were three initiations tomorrow. Everyone would have been recalled from missions as soon as Professor Sycamore had sent word that he was returning.
Fylon glanced at Ryan and observed, from the way his eyes darted at the door, and straight ahead when they rounded a bend, that Ryan, too, had noticed the lack of people in the corridor.
"Why isn't there anyone here?" asked Ryan suspiciously.
"I’m not exactly sure," said Fylon. “It’s usually pretty empty, since most of the Spectrum are usually out on missions, but this is the day before your initiations. Everyone should be here. Since I train the Flying type and am therefore able to perform aerial reconnaissance, the professor has assigned me the role of a sort of spy."
"What exactly does the Flying type mean?" asked Roc. "Professor Sycamore told us there are eighteen types, but he didn't tell us anything about them."
"The full explanation of the eighteen types will occur at your initiation," Fylon explained. "Until then, suffice it to say that the Flying type is exactly what it sounds like: a category of Pokémon with the ability to take to the skies."
Ryan didn't seem satisfied with either answer, but decided not to press the point further. Instead, they walked in silence for a while.
They rounded another bend in the corridor, and Fylon saw a flash of material at the far end that disappeared around the next turn. A quick look at the other three told him that no one else had seen it. He mentally scrolled through each member of the Spectrum and finally matched the fabric to Nika, the Electric-type user. Figuring it would be ideal for Roc, Ani, and Ryan to meet another of the Spectrum before the initiation, so they didn't feel too intimidated, Fylon quickened his stride.
When they turned the corner, Fylon called out. Hearing him, Nika turned and saw them. Her expression, which had been one of seriousness, now brightened as she walked toward them.
"Nika," said Fylon, "this is Ryan, Ani, and Roc. They are the final three members of the Spectrum. Ryan, Ani, Roc, this is Nika, the Electric-type user of the Elemental Spectrum."
Nika shook each of their hands and said "Pleased to meet you" three times. She looked at Fylon. "They're from that village the professor just went to?"
"Windier Town," supplied Fylon. "And yes, they are."
"How did the elder take it?"
"You know Elder Arhan?" asked Ani in surprise.
"I don't know him, but I scouted out the village a few weeks ago and reported back to the professor," said Nika. "From what I saw, the elder - Arhan, you called him? - is very stubborn.”
Roc and Ani nodded, while Ryan grunted. Nika looked at him sharply. Hastily, Ani asked, “Why are you a scout?”
Nika turned to her and smiled again. “Fylon, Clair and I are the primary scouts and spies. Clair’s the Ground-type user. Obviously, it’s helpful to be able to travel underground so Team Flare can’t see us. Fylon can see things from long distances better than anyone in the Spectrum. My reflexes are good enough to avoid capture. We all have our own jobs. I expect you’ll get yours tomorrow.”
“What types will we get?” asked Roc.
“I’m not allowed to tell you that,” said Nika. “I know which three are left, but I don’t know which each of you will choose.”
“Choose?” inquired Ryan sharply. Nika started; she had apparently forgotten he was there.
“Yes, choose,” she said quickly. “You didn’t think Professor Sycamore assigns the types, did you? No, we all chose our own.”
“Nika,” said Fylon as he remembered the emptiness of the corridor, “why isn’t anyone here? They should have returned from their missions by now.”
“Actually, I was just on my way to the Control Room now,” said Nika. “Want to come?”
Fylon agreed immediately. He didn’t know yet what the problem was, to require every member of the Spectrum, but he wasn’t going to stand by and let it happen.
*
The leader of Team Flare spoke into his headpiece. “Gaston! Are our forces in position?”
The garbled reply came through, affirming that they were ready to strike.
“Good,” said the leader. “Send in four Grunts first - the team we agreed on. Wait for their signal.”
The team they had agreed on consisted of Alma, Eldan, Bertram, and Jarret. While they weren’t particularly capable, they would hopefully be able to scout out the building before being detected. Once they had confirmed the location of the laboratory residents, they would signal Gaston, who would then contact the Scientists. The Scientists, a team of four high-ranking Team Flare members, were more than capable of securing the laboratory. He had a Plan B, of course, but he would rather not have it come to that, not when it was so convenient for the entire world to be convinced of his death.
*
Eldan stood with the other three Team Flare scouts in the Hangar, waiting for Gaston’s signal to infiltrate the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory. He checked his watch - red and black, to stylishly match his uniform. There were still five minutes before Gaston would call. He turned to Alma and voiced the question that had bothered him for some time now. “Which Pokémon did you use to battle that Klefki?”
“Oh, now you’re interested in my Pokémon?” Alma teased.
Ugh, Eldan thought, she has to bring that up now? For he remembered when they had first left Lumiose City a week ago to help Bertram and Jarret, when Alma had asked him about his Pokémon, and he hadn’t answered.
“Fine,” he said grudgingly. “My Pokémon is Houndour.” He took the Poké Ball from his belt and pressed the button, releasing Houndour. The canine Pokémon rubbed its head against Alma’s leg. Alma knelt down unstylishly to pet it.
“It’s so cute!” she said. “It’s a Fire-type?”
“Dark- and Fire-type,” corrected Eldan. “So, your Pokémon?”
Alma looked irritated at Eldan’s abrupt change of subject away from Houndour, but she reluctantly look a Poké Ball from her own belt and pressed the button, and her Pokémon appeared. “This is Electrike.”
At that moment Jarret came over. Eldan was startled; he had completely forgotten that Bertram and Jarret were there. “That’s an Electrike?” said Jarret disbelievingly. “They’re supposed to be really rare.”
“What makes them rare?” asked Bertram, who also approached them and looked at Electrike.
“They used to inhabit Route 10 near Geosenge Town,” answered Jarret. “But the disaster scared them all away.”
“I’ve had Electrike since I was five, a few years before the disaster,” said Alma. “It’s been my best friend since then.”
At that moment, a buzzing sound came from Eldan’s pocket. He pulled out his Holo Caster and stopped the sound. Then he turned to the others. “It’s time.”
All the while, she could see Lumiose City, a shining beacon that stood out against the green plains. The stories said Lumiose City would be visible from anywhere in the world. At the time, she hadn’t believed them. Now, it didn’t seem so impossible.
At the center of it all was Prism Tower, an impossibly tall skyscraper with lights covering every inch of the exterior. It was easily the most impressive building in the city.
Ani turned to Professor Sycamore and pointed. She had to shout to make herself heard over the roaring winds. “Is that where we’re going?”
“Sadly, no,” the professor called back. “Prism Tower is - or was - home to a Pokémon Gym. My laboratory is a different building.”
Disappointed, Ani turned back. As Lumiose City came close enough for her to discern the individual buildings, she noticed that the city had a pattern to it that probably made navigation easier for the residents. At the center was a circular plaza, at the heart of which was Prism Tower. From the plaza, five streets branched out, forming a sort of star. Each street connected to a smaller plaza, each of which, as they descended, Ani could see was of a different color. The streets continued through the smaller plazas until they reached an outer ring. Surrounding the entire city was a wall, with five gates as continuations of the original star, each of which opened onto a road. The entire city was circular, a fact Ani found interesting.
Professor Sycamore tapped her shoulder. When she turned, he pointed to a low, flat building with a gate and a walkway leading to the door, a feature that was not all too common in an urban area such as this. “That’s my laboratory.”
It didn’t look big enough for nineteen people - the Spectrum and the professor couldn’t all fit on one floor. When Ani voiced this concern, Professor Sycamore said, “You only see the top two floors. Most of it is underground.”
She nodded; it made sense. She supposed the ground floor would serve as a training center, with battlefields and such for Pokémon battles. The underground floors would probably be the living area.
Suddenly, Fylon whispered in the Pokémon’s ear, and the group descended to land on the roof of Professor Sycamore’s Pokémon Laboratory.
*
As Fylon, Professor Sycamore, and the former residents of Windier Town walked through the door of the laboratory, Ryan’s first thought was that this couldn’t be a training center for eighteen people. He recalled what Professor Sycamore had said during the descent, that most of the building was underground. Apparently, the underground part was the living quarters, but the ground floor seemed to be the lobby of an ordinary office building.
There were no people except the five who had just walked in on the ground floor. Ryan wondered about this, for it was very unlikely that in a building with nineteen residents, there would be no one on any given floor.
Professor Sycamore stepped to the front of the group and turned to face them. “There are a little more than three hours left before sundown. You will be given a tour of the building by one of the Spectrum in a half hour. In the meantime, Fylon will escort you to your rooms. If you need me for anything, my office is on the second floor.”
He turned around and walked off to the elevator that undoubtedly led to the second floor. As he left, Fylon took his place before the other three.
“We have not been properly introduced,” he said as he extended a hand. “My name is Fylon, Flying-type user in the Elemental Spectrum.”
“Ryan,” said Ryan cautiously as he shook Fylon’s hand. Ani and Roc murmured their names and in turn shook Fylon’s hand.
“I’m pleased to meet all of you,” said Fylon. “I was one of the first to join the Spectrum, so I know how nervous you must feel. Please remember, I will help you in any way I can.”
Ryan nodded, and Fylon inclined his head.
“Please follow me to your rooms,” said Fylon, turning to the elevator and waving a hand, beckoning them onward.
Ani and Roc both stepped forward eagerly at once, but Ryan hesitated. Fylon seemed just a little too nice. Fylon noticed his hesitation and landed on the problem at once. “I mean you no harm, Ryan.”
Not altogether reassured, but finally deciding it would be no use delaying further, Ryan followed him to the elevator.
*
As the metal doors of the elevator clanged shut, Fylon scanned the buttons (A2, G, B1, B2, and B3) and pressed the one marked B2. He heard the familiar rumbling noise that signaled the beginning of the elevator’s descent, and leaned back against the wall. Out of the corner of one eye, he could see that Ryan was the only one who had not done the same. Instead, Ryan was visibly on edge. Inwardly, Fylon smiled. He could recall his first day in the laboratory. He had been just as wary as Ryan was now. Wariness was understandable; from what Fylon had heard, Windier Town was incredibly rural and secluded from the rest of the world. He doubted whether the villagers had had any inkling of Team Flare’s reputation.
Far more intriguing to Fylon was the behavior of the other two - Roc and Ani. Neither seemed nervous or wary in the least. This was very strange. Perhaps this was all a big adventure for them, and their excitement blinded them to the danger of the situation? Yes, that would fit. If Windier Town was truly as secluded as he had heard, perhaps this was their first time outside, and these two were simply less cautious and more adventurous than Ryan.
The screen above the door to the elevator changed from G to B1. Ryan tensed further, apparently anxious to get off. Fylon noticed that the other two also tensed, but clearly in anticipation, not anxiety. Really, Fylon thought, you could tell so much about a person through subtle shifts in muscle tension.
The screen changed again, now to B2. The elevator came to a grinding halt, and the metal doors slid open. Ryan was the first one off, predictably. Roc was second, and like Ryan, it was easy for Fylon to tell that he, Roc, wished to be off the elevator. Ani looked around the elevator for a moment before she walked out, an action that may have gone unnoticed by some, but not by Fylon. Now it was evident to Fylon that they did not have the same purpose in joining the Spectrum, nor were their attitudes about it identical. Roc, who got off the lift almost immediately, seemed to want to finish the tour and be initiated as soon as possible. Fylon deduced from this that Roc came for the purpose of leaving Windier Town, and his life there, behind. Briefly, Fylon wondered what had happened to make Roc want to leave his home. Ani, who took in every detail before getting off, apparently came for the adventure, the excitement of being part of an Elemental Spectrum. This would mean, of course, that Ani knew what an Elemental Spectrum was before the professor visited Winder Town. That suggested to Fylon that Ani’s occupation before leaving was a record keeper or librarian - someone with access to information regarding events outside of the village. Ryan’s purpose in joining seemed to be to protect the region from Team Flare, since his wariness ruled out most other possibilities.
A smile flickered across Fylon’s face. He believed he knew every member of the Spectrum better than anyone else. His ability to spot small details was the reason for his choice of the Flying type - no one else would have the capability to discern events on the ground from the sky.
Fylon walked off the elevator and gestured to the corridor before them. “Shall we proceed?”
The villagers nodded. Fylon strode down the corridor, the other three closely behind. As he walked, he took note of the emptiness of the corridor. This would not be entirely unusual normally, but there were three initiations tomorrow. Everyone would have been recalled from missions as soon as Professor Sycamore had sent word that he was returning.
Fylon glanced at Ryan and observed, from the way his eyes darted at the door, and straight ahead when they rounded a bend, that Ryan, too, had noticed the lack of people in the corridor.
"Why isn't there anyone here?" asked Ryan suspiciously.
"I’m not exactly sure," said Fylon. “It’s usually pretty empty, since most of the Spectrum are usually out on missions, but this is the day before your initiations. Everyone should be here. Since I train the Flying type and am therefore able to perform aerial reconnaissance, the professor has assigned me the role of a sort of spy."
"What exactly does the Flying type mean?" asked Roc. "Professor Sycamore told us there are eighteen types, but he didn't tell us anything about them."
"The full explanation of the eighteen types will occur at your initiation," Fylon explained. "Until then, suffice it to say that the Flying type is exactly what it sounds like: a category of Pokémon with the ability to take to the skies."
Ryan didn't seem satisfied with either answer, but decided not to press the point further. Instead, they walked in silence for a while.
They rounded another bend in the corridor, and Fylon saw a flash of material at the far end that disappeared around the next turn. A quick look at the other three told him that no one else had seen it. He mentally scrolled through each member of the Spectrum and finally matched the fabric to Nika, the Electric-type user. Figuring it would be ideal for Roc, Ani, and Ryan to meet another of the Spectrum before the initiation, so they didn't feel too intimidated, Fylon quickened his stride.
When they turned the corner, Fylon called out. Hearing him, Nika turned and saw them. Her expression, which had been one of seriousness, now brightened as she walked toward them.
"Nika," said Fylon, "this is Ryan, Ani, and Roc. They are the final three members of the Spectrum. Ryan, Ani, Roc, this is Nika, the Electric-type user of the Elemental Spectrum."
Nika shook each of their hands and said "Pleased to meet you" three times. She looked at Fylon. "They're from that village the professor just went to?"
"Windier Town," supplied Fylon. "And yes, they are."
"How did the elder take it?"
"You know Elder Arhan?" asked Ani in surprise.
"I don't know him, but I scouted out the village a few weeks ago and reported back to the professor," said Nika. "From what I saw, the elder - Arhan, you called him? - is very stubborn.”
Roc and Ani nodded, while Ryan grunted. Nika looked at him sharply. Hastily, Ani asked, “Why are you a scout?”
Nika turned to her and smiled again. “Fylon, Clair and I are the primary scouts and spies. Clair’s the Ground-type user. Obviously, it’s helpful to be able to travel underground so Team Flare can’t see us. Fylon can see things from long distances better than anyone in the Spectrum. My reflexes are good enough to avoid capture. We all have our own jobs. I expect you’ll get yours tomorrow.”
“What types will we get?” asked Roc.
“I’m not allowed to tell you that,” said Nika. “I know which three are left, but I don’t know which each of you will choose.”
“Choose?” inquired Ryan sharply. Nika started; she had apparently forgotten he was there.
“Yes, choose,” she said quickly. “You didn’t think Professor Sycamore assigns the types, did you? No, we all chose our own.”
“Nika,” said Fylon as he remembered the emptiness of the corridor, “why isn’t anyone here? They should have returned from their missions by now.”
“Actually, I was just on my way to the Control Room now,” said Nika. “Want to come?”
Fylon agreed immediately. He didn’t know yet what the problem was, to require every member of the Spectrum, but he wasn’t going to stand by and let it happen.
*
The leader of Team Flare spoke into his headpiece. “Gaston! Are our forces in position?”
The garbled reply came through, affirming that they were ready to strike.
“Good,” said the leader. “Send in four Grunts first - the team we agreed on. Wait for their signal.”
The team they had agreed on consisted of Alma, Eldan, Bertram, and Jarret. While they weren’t particularly capable, they would hopefully be able to scout out the building before being detected. Once they had confirmed the location of the laboratory residents, they would signal Gaston, who would then contact the Scientists. The Scientists, a team of four high-ranking Team Flare members, were more than capable of securing the laboratory. He had a Plan B, of course, but he would rather not have it come to that, not when it was so convenient for the entire world to be convinced of his death.
*
Eldan stood with the other three Team Flare scouts in the Hangar, waiting for Gaston’s signal to infiltrate the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory. He checked his watch - red and black, to stylishly match his uniform. There were still five minutes before Gaston would call. He turned to Alma and voiced the question that had bothered him for some time now. “Which Pokémon did you use to battle that Klefki?”
“Oh, now you’re interested in my Pokémon?” Alma teased.
Ugh, Eldan thought, she has to bring that up now? For he remembered when they had first left Lumiose City a week ago to help Bertram and Jarret, when Alma had asked him about his Pokémon, and he hadn’t answered.
“Fine,” he said grudgingly. “My Pokémon is Houndour.” He took the Poké Ball from his belt and pressed the button, releasing Houndour. The canine Pokémon rubbed its head against Alma’s leg. Alma knelt down unstylishly to pet it.
“It’s so cute!” she said. “It’s a Fire-type?”
“Dark- and Fire-type,” corrected Eldan. “So, your Pokémon?”
Alma looked irritated at Eldan’s abrupt change of subject away from Houndour, but she reluctantly look a Poké Ball from her own belt and pressed the button, and her Pokémon appeared. “This is Electrike.”
At that moment Jarret came over. Eldan was startled; he had completely forgotten that Bertram and Jarret were there. “That’s an Electrike?” said Jarret disbelievingly. “They’re supposed to be really rare.”
“What makes them rare?” asked Bertram, who also approached them and looked at Electrike.
“They used to inhabit Route 10 near Geosenge Town,” answered Jarret. “But the disaster scared them all away.”
“I’ve had Electrike since I was five, a few years before the disaster,” said Alma. “It’s been my best friend since then.”
At that moment, a buzzing sound came from Eldan’s pocket. He pulled out his Holo Caster and stopped the sound. Then he turned to the others. “It’s time.”
Alma stood by with Eldan, Bertram, and Jarret as the doors slid open. None of them had keyed in the command for the doors to open; Gaston had apparently done so. The four members of Team Flare raced out the doors and down the narrow alley connecting Magenta Plaza, the location of Team Flare’s headquarters, to Centrico Plaza, the largest plaza in Lumiose City. In the center of Centrico Plaza was Prism Tower, visible from any point in the city, which served as a landmark for those whose objective it was to navigate the busy metropolis. As that was the objective of the group now, Eldan had decided it would be best to reach the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory by way of Centrico Plaza.
The tower, although Alma had lived near it all her life, never ceased to amaze her. She could barely remember its days as a Pokémon Gym. The Gym Leader - she couldn’t think of the name - had once been, in addition to his duty to take on the challenge of young Trainers, a brilliant inventor, who had designed the complicated light system on the tower, as well as numerous other devices. From what Alma had heard, the Gym Leader of Lumiose City was one of the first to go into exile following the Geosenge disaster.
Alma had long since stopped questioning the leader’s motives in the Geosenge disaster. The administrators and Scientists of Team Flare had always taught that the leader had been trying to create a perfect world by strengthening the perfect aspects of this world through the energies radiated by the spirit of Life, a Pokémon whose very name was legend. The imperfect aspects would be obliterated by the power of the spirit of Death. Both energies would be harnessed by a three thousand-year-old machine, called by many the ultimate weapon, which would be fired to restore balance and perfection to the world. He had been very near his goal when the two legendary Pokémon were captured and the machine wrested from his control. The one who did it, Calem, was still spoken of with hatred in by the administrators, Scientists, and by the leader himself. No one was quite sure what happened then. Had Calem fired it? Had the leader, out of desperation, lunged for the remote and hit the wrong button? Had it simply fallen, and the button pressed to fire the ultimate weapon vertically? Either way, the fact of the matter was that the weapon had fired on itself, and Geosenge Town was destroyed. It was a miracle that the leader had survived.
In Centrico Plaza, Eldan led the way, three alleys over, to Vernal Avenue, the street at the end of which lay the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory. Alma, Bertram, and Jarret followed as he darted down the street. Under different circumstances, Alma would have loved to explore Vernal Avenue. Its many shops made it a popular destination in Lumiose City. On the left side of the street were a café and Boutique Couture. Cafés were very common in the city; it would be easy to find one on any major street. Estival Avenue even had two. Many had a theme; Shutterbug Café, for example, was frequented by photographers. Boutique Couture was a very (Alma smiled as she imagined how Eldan would say it) stylish place that sold only the most fashionable and most expensive clothing. Of all the many boutiques in the Kalos region - Alma had been to the ones in Cyllage City, Santalune City, and Laverre City - Boutique Couture was the most stylish and fashionable, and consequently the most expensive.
The right side of Vernal Avenue played host to four shops - the Herboriste, Stone Emporium, Friseur Furfrou, and Café Woof. The Herboriste was a shop that specialized in herbal medicines for Pokémon. Alma was a little surprised that it hadn’t yet closed down, since lack of Pokémon Trainers meant lack of business for a shop such as this. She found it easier to believe that the Stone Emporium was still open, for, although the stones imbued with energy they sold were specifically meant to make certain Pokémon evolve, they were also popular among rock collectors. Alma had heard that the Champion of a far-off land was very interested in stones. Perhaps he had visited the Stone Emporium. Friseur Furfrou’s specialty was grooming a specific doglike Pokémon, Furfrou, and trimming its coat in a certain way. Normally, Furfrou’s fur was white and grew in an unkempt fashion, but its many trims, as they were called, added highlights of color in addition to stylizing the fur to make it appear as if the Pokémon had a hat, or wore a jacket, or had a star at the end of its tail. Café Woof was one of the themed cafés, themed after Furfrou. Alma had never visited it; she had heard they looked down on other canine Pokémon, and she didn’t want Electrike to be criticized.
At the far end of Vernal Avenue, Alma could see the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory. Its columns topped with a statue of a Poké Ball loomed, even though she wasn’t yet at the end of the street. Abruptly Eldan yanked her sleeve. She whipped around. She hadn’t even realized that Eldan, Bertram, and Jarret had stopped. Eldan motioned for her to follow down a side alley on the right side of the street.
“What are we doing?” she whispered to Eldan as the group made their way down the alley.
“We can’t just walk up to the front, they’ll be on the lookout,” Eldan whispered back. “We have to find another way in. A couple of months ago, Jarret found an entrance to the network of sewage pipes under the city. We can get in that way.”
“That’s not our job,” protested Alma. “We’re supposed to clear a way for the administrators. Then they’ll come in and do their job. Then we’ll all leave, and let the leader take control of the laboratory.”
“I know the plan, Alma,” said Eldan impatiently, “but our job is to scout as much as we can before letting the administrators in.”
Alma sighed. “Fine. The sewage it is.”
The alley opened onto a square, the blue obelisk in the center marking it as Bleu Plaza. Four streets branched out from it: the one Alma, Eldan, Bertram, and Jarret had just come through, one to their left that led to Southern Boulevard, one directly across from the group that led to Estival Avenue, and one on their right that led back to Centrico Plaza. Near the blue obelisk in the middle of the plaza, Alma could see a metal disk set in the ground. Bertram and Jarret immediately knelt beside it. Jarret took out a small metal tool, one end of which tapered to a wedge. He slid this end between the edge of the metal disk and the surrounding cobblestones and pushed on the other end, using the leverage to pry up the disk. Once it came up, Bertram slipped his fingers underneath and pushed the disk up further, revealing a hole that ended in a tube running parallel to the ground - the sewage pipe. While Bertram propped up the disk, Jarret slid feet-first into the hole. Eldan and Alma followed, and then Bertram carefully jumped in, replacing the disk over his head as he did so.
The sewage pipe wasn’t pleasant. Water - or at least Alma hoped it was water - swirled around the group’s feet. Fortunately, the pipe was big enough for them all to stand upright. Alma was glad for this, as she really didn’t want to get down on her hands and knees in this filthy...water. It was completely dark. Alma couldn’t see the others, so she took Electrike’s Poké Ball from her belt and pressed the button. A brief flash of light illuminated the pipe, enough for Alma to see that each of her companions had been looking in a different direction, clearly just as disoriented as she was. When Electrike appeared, Alma replaced the Poké Ball at her belt and said, “Electrike, please give us some light.”
Electrike’s mane glowed. Occasionally a bolt of electricity could be seen crackling in its fur. It provided enough light for the group to see for a few yards in either direction. Eldan, who had apparently not lost his sense of direction in the momentary darkness, set off at a brisk pace. Alma, Bertram, and Jarret hastened to keep up.
They soon came to a crossing point. There was no more pipe ahead to continue on; only to the left and right. Alma supposed this was the intersection where an alley from Bleu Plaza met the Southern Boulevard. They turned left on the Southern Boulevard pipe.
At the next metal disk, which Alma could see thanks to Electrike’s light, Eldan stopped and motioned to Bertram and Jarret. Bertram knelt down (Alma grimaced), putting his hands on the ground in front of him (Alma grimaced further), making his back a flat horizontal surface. Jarret stood on Bertram’s back, so he could reach the top of the pipe, and pushed the metal disk upward. He planted his hands firmly on the ground above the pipe and pushed down, elevating himself far enough to jump out. Alma and Eldan did the same, and then Jarret held his hand out to Bertram, who clasped it and allowed Jarret to haul him out.
Once they were all out, Alma took her first good look at their surroundings. It appeared they were in the middle of a dusty field. The low building that was the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory stood at one end of the field. White lines were drawn on the field in a rectangle.
“It’s a battle field,” said Jarret. “Apparently Sycamore has a private one. Makes you wonder what he uses it for.”
“I have a feeling we’re about to find out,” said Eldan.
Alma, Eldan, Bertram, and Jarret walked across the field to the building. The back doors opened automatically as they approached. They stepped in and immediately darted to hide behind a desk on their right, but no alarm blared. Cautiously, Eldan stepped out and motioned for them to follow to the elevator. Alma knew that elevators were risky - there was no telling if Sycamore had any way of knowing when the elevator was being used - but there were no stairs. They entered the elevator, and Eldan pressed the button marked A2.
“Why A2?” asked Alma.
Eldan gave her a withering look. “Are you going to question everything I do on this mission?”
“Sorry.”
Eldan sighed. “Might as well start at the top and work our way down.”
The doors closed and gears whirred, and the elevator began to move.
*
The only room on floor A2 of the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory was very large, taking up the entire floor on its own. The elevator was at the southernmost part of the room, the only door in the room. Of course, since there were no other rooms, there was no need for other doors. A wall divided the room, stopping a couple of yards short of the northern wall, which it otherwise would have intersected. Bookshelves lined every wall until one could hardly see the faded blue plaster behind them, piled with books regarding everything about Pokémon. The western part of the room, the part where the elevator was, also played host to a pile of cardboard boxes with various electrical appliances in them. On each of the boxes was printed ROTOM in capital letters.
On the eastern part of the room, Professor Sycamore was sitting in a revolving chair at his desk, penning a letter to the former Champion of Kalos, Diantha. The professor had been writing this letter for about a week before his trip to Windier Town. He scribbled his signature at the bottom of the page and looked it over. It said,
Diantha,
I have recently uncovered evidence of the possibility that Team Flare has reformed. As you know, they were believed disbanded following the disaster in Geosenge Town ten years ago. The rumors of their disbandment are apparently false. Two of their Grunts were sighted (you remember their trademark red uniforms) leaving Lumiose City by way of the Route 4 Gate two weeks ago. Whether these were merely former Grunts attempting to single-handedly revive the organization, or current agents of a secretly-active Team Flare, I did not know until I performed rudimentary reconnaissance and discovered that the café they were using for their headquarters last time is still operational, though they seem to be making every effort to conceal that fact.
After discovering this secret, I have successfully found, by journeying to the farthest reaches of the Kalos region, eighteen young men and women who I have been training to become Pokémon Trainers. The newest, Ryan, Ani, and Roc, from Windier Town on the outskirts of Dendemille Town, have yet to receive any training, as I have only returned from this journey today. I fear that since there are no more Pokémon Trainers - or weren’t, I should say - an Elemental Spectrum is the only way to stop Team Flare. I do not know what their numbers are, but it is reasonable to assume that they have all the numbers they did last time, and more.
I write this to you to plead for help. I do not wish to take any chances. If I am unable to train Ryan, Ani, and Roc in time to stop Team Flare, the Elemental Spectrum will be incomplete. I especially fear that this will occur, for Fylon, my Flying-type specialist, has recently informed me that Team Flare is further ahead in their plans than we had thought. They have recently infiltrated the prison in Shalour City, trying to free Xerosic. This must not, as you know, be allowed to happen. Xerosic was an enormous asset to them last time. I ask that you journey to Lumiose City to assist us. You know I would not ask if it were not desperate.
Best regards,
Augustine Sycamore
As Professor Sycamore sealed the letter, he heard a beeping sound. He immediately identified it as the security system. He inhaled sharply. The system was programmed to go off whenever someone entered the building without first keying in a passcode. All the Spectrum knew to enter the passcode first, and the Windier Towners were already inside. There was only one other possibility: Team Flare had infiltrated the laboratory. The professor reached across the desk to the intercom button. He held down the button and spoke, “Intruders. Spectrum, prepare for battle.”
A soft whir penetrated the silence after Professor Sycamore lifted his finger from the intercom. Knowing it could only be the elevator, and that the only reason for the elevator to be moving would be for the intruders to be coming, he pushed back his sleeves, stood up from the chair, pulled a Poké Ball from a pocket of his lab coat, and readied himself for the fight that would come as soon as the elevator doors opened.
*
“Intruders. Spectrum, prepare for battle.”
The words boomed from every intercom in the building. Fylon was instantly on his guard. He took a Poké Ball from his belt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nika do the same. Ryan, Ani, and Roc looked nervous, but not scared.
The Control Room was just down the hall. Nika caught Fylon’s eye and nodded, and she sprinted to the door. Fylon nudged the villagers and whispered, “Go. Follow Nika.”
As Ryan, Ani, and Roc ran down the corridor, Fylon ran in the opposite direction. He reached the elevator in only a couple of minutes. He pressed the button. The familiar whirring came, and then the doors opened. This was worrying. It meant that the intruders has already exited the elevator. When Fylon got inside, he jammed the G button, which would take him to the ground floor to see what sort of havoc Team Flare had already wreaked.
When the doors slid open, Fylon stepped out and surveyed the room. There was no damage done that he could see. Apparently the intruders had made straight for the elevator. At that moment, he heard doors sliding. He turned, but it was not the elevator doors, but the ones that led to Southern Boulevard outside. Hastily, Fylon stepped back inside the elevator and frantically scrabbled at the button marked B2. The doors slid shut, but not fast enough. He could just see a person with purple hair wearing a red jacket and black pants walking through the doors before the elevator started to whir.
Once the elevator doors closed, Fylon sighed with relief. That had been too close. As it was, he wasn’t entirely convinced that the person with purple hair hadn’t seen him. No time to worry about that, though. He would have to get back to the Control Room to warn Nika and the rest of the Spectrum. A thought occurred to him, and he opened a hatch on the wall, and entered in the passcode for the building and pressed the button marked “DEACTIVATE”.
When the doors of the elevator opened on B2, Fylon set off at a dash through the halls to the Control Room. Unfortunately, his training until this point hadn’t included long-distance running. He was winded by the time he came to the correct door. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before pushing the door.
The room was in utter chaos when he entered. Nika and a few other people were trying to calm everyone down, but it seemed most people believed that they, and only they, had the best strategy. Fylon sighed, pressed a button on a Poké Ball at his belt, and his red-and-blue feathered bird Pokémon appeared. He whispered in its ear. He put his fingers in his own ears, but they barely blocked out the splitting screech. He took his fingers out of his ears, recalled the Pokémon, and saw that the room was silent.
“Thank you,” he said with a trace of irony. “Team Flare has infiltrated the building. There are some of them on the ground floor, but I’ve deactivated the elevator, so they aren’t going anywhere. There are others loose in the building as well. They could be on A2, in which case the professor is in trouble, or B1 or B3, neither of which are any concern to us at the moment, as, like I’ve said, the elevator is deactivated.
“We should assume, however, that they are indeed on A2, so half of us should go there. The other half will go to the ground floor and hold off the intruders there. Agreed?”
There was a general murmur of assent throughout the group.
“Good,” said Fylon. “Ryan, Ani, Roc, Nika, Peter, Sera, Arin, Blake, and Amaline: go to the ground floor. Meet the intruders there. Do anything you can to hold them off and drive them out of the building. Julian, Rosuke, Clair, Erell, Liam, Mica, Warren, Morgan, come with me to A2 to help the professor.”
Everyone nodded, and at Fylon’s command the group charged out of the Control Room, heading for the elevator. Once they reached it, Fylon reactivated it and pressed the G button. The doors closed, the machine whirred, and in a few seconds they opened again on the ground floor. Fylon stepped out of the elevator with the other eight, wished those still in the elevator good luck, and readied himself for the imminent fight.
*
The elevator doors slid shut. Ryan watched as Nika pressed A2. The elevator whirred, and the doors opened again. Ryan walked out of the elevator. All he could see to his right was a wall. He guessed the fight would be on the other side. He took a deep breath and braced himself.
The tower, although Alma had lived near it all her life, never ceased to amaze her. She could barely remember its days as a Pokémon Gym. The Gym Leader - she couldn’t think of the name - had once been, in addition to his duty to take on the challenge of young Trainers, a brilliant inventor, who had designed the complicated light system on the tower, as well as numerous other devices. From what Alma had heard, the Gym Leader of Lumiose City was one of the first to go into exile following the Geosenge disaster.
Alma had long since stopped questioning the leader’s motives in the Geosenge disaster. The administrators and Scientists of Team Flare had always taught that the leader had been trying to create a perfect world by strengthening the perfect aspects of this world through the energies radiated by the spirit of Life, a Pokémon whose very name was legend. The imperfect aspects would be obliterated by the power of the spirit of Death. Both energies would be harnessed by a three thousand-year-old machine, called by many the ultimate weapon, which would be fired to restore balance and perfection to the world. He had been very near his goal when the two legendary Pokémon were captured and the machine wrested from his control. The one who did it, Calem, was still spoken of with hatred in by the administrators, Scientists, and by the leader himself. No one was quite sure what happened then. Had Calem fired it? Had the leader, out of desperation, lunged for the remote and hit the wrong button? Had it simply fallen, and the button pressed to fire the ultimate weapon vertically? Either way, the fact of the matter was that the weapon had fired on itself, and Geosenge Town was destroyed. It was a miracle that the leader had survived.
In Centrico Plaza, Eldan led the way, three alleys over, to Vernal Avenue, the street at the end of which lay the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory. Alma, Bertram, and Jarret followed as he darted down the street. Under different circumstances, Alma would have loved to explore Vernal Avenue. Its many shops made it a popular destination in Lumiose City. On the left side of the street were a café and Boutique Couture. Cafés were very common in the city; it would be easy to find one on any major street. Estival Avenue even had two. Many had a theme; Shutterbug Café, for example, was frequented by photographers. Boutique Couture was a very (Alma smiled as she imagined how Eldan would say it) stylish place that sold only the most fashionable and most expensive clothing. Of all the many boutiques in the Kalos region - Alma had been to the ones in Cyllage City, Santalune City, and Laverre City - Boutique Couture was the most stylish and fashionable, and consequently the most expensive.
The right side of Vernal Avenue played host to four shops - the Herboriste, Stone Emporium, Friseur Furfrou, and Café Woof. The Herboriste was a shop that specialized in herbal medicines for Pokémon. Alma was a little surprised that it hadn’t yet closed down, since lack of Pokémon Trainers meant lack of business for a shop such as this. She found it easier to believe that the Stone Emporium was still open, for, although the stones imbued with energy they sold were specifically meant to make certain Pokémon evolve, they were also popular among rock collectors. Alma had heard that the Champion of a far-off land was very interested in stones. Perhaps he had visited the Stone Emporium. Friseur Furfrou’s specialty was grooming a specific doglike Pokémon, Furfrou, and trimming its coat in a certain way. Normally, Furfrou’s fur was white and grew in an unkempt fashion, but its many trims, as they were called, added highlights of color in addition to stylizing the fur to make it appear as if the Pokémon had a hat, or wore a jacket, or had a star at the end of its tail. Café Woof was one of the themed cafés, themed after Furfrou. Alma had never visited it; she had heard they looked down on other canine Pokémon, and she didn’t want Electrike to be criticized.
At the far end of Vernal Avenue, Alma could see the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory. Its columns topped with a statue of a Poké Ball loomed, even though she wasn’t yet at the end of the street. Abruptly Eldan yanked her sleeve. She whipped around. She hadn’t even realized that Eldan, Bertram, and Jarret had stopped. Eldan motioned for her to follow down a side alley on the right side of the street.
“What are we doing?” she whispered to Eldan as the group made their way down the alley.
“We can’t just walk up to the front, they’ll be on the lookout,” Eldan whispered back. “We have to find another way in. A couple of months ago, Jarret found an entrance to the network of sewage pipes under the city. We can get in that way.”
“That’s not our job,” protested Alma. “We’re supposed to clear a way for the administrators. Then they’ll come in and do their job. Then we’ll all leave, and let the leader take control of the laboratory.”
“I know the plan, Alma,” said Eldan impatiently, “but our job is to scout as much as we can before letting the administrators in.”
Alma sighed. “Fine. The sewage it is.”
The alley opened onto a square, the blue obelisk in the center marking it as Bleu Plaza. Four streets branched out from it: the one Alma, Eldan, Bertram, and Jarret had just come through, one to their left that led to Southern Boulevard, one directly across from the group that led to Estival Avenue, and one on their right that led back to Centrico Plaza. Near the blue obelisk in the middle of the plaza, Alma could see a metal disk set in the ground. Bertram and Jarret immediately knelt beside it. Jarret took out a small metal tool, one end of which tapered to a wedge. He slid this end between the edge of the metal disk and the surrounding cobblestones and pushed on the other end, using the leverage to pry up the disk. Once it came up, Bertram slipped his fingers underneath and pushed the disk up further, revealing a hole that ended in a tube running parallel to the ground - the sewage pipe. While Bertram propped up the disk, Jarret slid feet-first into the hole. Eldan and Alma followed, and then Bertram carefully jumped in, replacing the disk over his head as he did so.
The sewage pipe wasn’t pleasant. Water - or at least Alma hoped it was water - swirled around the group’s feet. Fortunately, the pipe was big enough for them all to stand upright. Alma was glad for this, as she really didn’t want to get down on her hands and knees in this filthy...water. It was completely dark. Alma couldn’t see the others, so she took Electrike’s Poké Ball from her belt and pressed the button. A brief flash of light illuminated the pipe, enough for Alma to see that each of her companions had been looking in a different direction, clearly just as disoriented as she was. When Electrike appeared, Alma replaced the Poké Ball at her belt and said, “Electrike, please give us some light.”
Electrike’s mane glowed. Occasionally a bolt of electricity could be seen crackling in its fur. It provided enough light for the group to see for a few yards in either direction. Eldan, who had apparently not lost his sense of direction in the momentary darkness, set off at a brisk pace. Alma, Bertram, and Jarret hastened to keep up.
They soon came to a crossing point. There was no more pipe ahead to continue on; only to the left and right. Alma supposed this was the intersection where an alley from Bleu Plaza met the Southern Boulevard. They turned left on the Southern Boulevard pipe.
At the next metal disk, which Alma could see thanks to Electrike’s light, Eldan stopped and motioned to Bertram and Jarret. Bertram knelt down (Alma grimaced), putting his hands on the ground in front of him (Alma grimaced further), making his back a flat horizontal surface. Jarret stood on Bertram’s back, so he could reach the top of the pipe, and pushed the metal disk upward. He planted his hands firmly on the ground above the pipe and pushed down, elevating himself far enough to jump out. Alma and Eldan did the same, and then Jarret held his hand out to Bertram, who clasped it and allowed Jarret to haul him out.
Once they were all out, Alma took her first good look at their surroundings. It appeared they were in the middle of a dusty field. The low building that was the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory stood at one end of the field. White lines were drawn on the field in a rectangle.
“It’s a battle field,” said Jarret. “Apparently Sycamore has a private one. Makes you wonder what he uses it for.”
“I have a feeling we’re about to find out,” said Eldan.
Alma, Eldan, Bertram, and Jarret walked across the field to the building. The back doors opened automatically as they approached. They stepped in and immediately darted to hide behind a desk on their right, but no alarm blared. Cautiously, Eldan stepped out and motioned for them to follow to the elevator. Alma knew that elevators were risky - there was no telling if Sycamore had any way of knowing when the elevator was being used - but there were no stairs. They entered the elevator, and Eldan pressed the button marked A2.
“Why A2?” asked Alma.
Eldan gave her a withering look. “Are you going to question everything I do on this mission?”
“Sorry.”
Eldan sighed. “Might as well start at the top and work our way down.”
The doors closed and gears whirred, and the elevator began to move.
*
The only room on floor A2 of the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory was very large, taking up the entire floor on its own. The elevator was at the southernmost part of the room, the only door in the room. Of course, since there were no other rooms, there was no need for other doors. A wall divided the room, stopping a couple of yards short of the northern wall, which it otherwise would have intersected. Bookshelves lined every wall until one could hardly see the faded blue plaster behind them, piled with books regarding everything about Pokémon. The western part of the room, the part where the elevator was, also played host to a pile of cardboard boxes with various electrical appliances in them. On each of the boxes was printed ROTOM in capital letters.
On the eastern part of the room, Professor Sycamore was sitting in a revolving chair at his desk, penning a letter to the former Champion of Kalos, Diantha. The professor had been writing this letter for about a week before his trip to Windier Town. He scribbled his signature at the bottom of the page and looked it over. It said,
Diantha,
I have recently uncovered evidence of the possibility that Team Flare has reformed. As you know, they were believed disbanded following the disaster in Geosenge Town ten years ago. The rumors of their disbandment are apparently false. Two of their Grunts were sighted (you remember their trademark red uniforms) leaving Lumiose City by way of the Route 4 Gate two weeks ago. Whether these were merely former Grunts attempting to single-handedly revive the organization, or current agents of a secretly-active Team Flare, I did not know until I performed rudimentary reconnaissance and discovered that the café they were using for their headquarters last time is still operational, though they seem to be making every effort to conceal that fact.
After discovering this secret, I have successfully found, by journeying to the farthest reaches of the Kalos region, eighteen young men and women who I have been training to become Pokémon Trainers. The newest, Ryan, Ani, and Roc, from Windier Town on the outskirts of Dendemille Town, have yet to receive any training, as I have only returned from this journey today. I fear that since there are no more Pokémon Trainers - or weren’t, I should say - an Elemental Spectrum is the only way to stop Team Flare. I do not know what their numbers are, but it is reasonable to assume that they have all the numbers they did last time, and more.
I write this to you to plead for help. I do not wish to take any chances. If I am unable to train Ryan, Ani, and Roc in time to stop Team Flare, the Elemental Spectrum will be incomplete. I especially fear that this will occur, for Fylon, my Flying-type specialist, has recently informed me that Team Flare is further ahead in their plans than we had thought. They have recently infiltrated the prison in Shalour City, trying to free Xerosic. This must not, as you know, be allowed to happen. Xerosic was an enormous asset to them last time. I ask that you journey to Lumiose City to assist us. You know I would not ask if it were not desperate.
Best regards,
Augustine Sycamore
As Professor Sycamore sealed the letter, he heard a beeping sound. He immediately identified it as the security system. He inhaled sharply. The system was programmed to go off whenever someone entered the building without first keying in a passcode. All the Spectrum knew to enter the passcode first, and the Windier Towners were already inside. There was only one other possibility: Team Flare had infiltrated the laboratory. The professor reached across the desk to the intercom button. He held down the button and spoke, “Intruders. Spectrum, prepare for battle.”
A soft whir penetrated the silence after Professor Sycamore lifted his finger from the intercom. Knowing it could only be the elevator, and that the only reason for the elevator to be moving would be for the intruders to be coming, he pushed back his sleeves, stood up from the chair, pulled a Poké Ball from a pocket of his lab coat, and readied himself for the fight that would come as soon as the elevator doors opened.
*
“Intruders. Spectrum, prepare for battle.”
The words boomed from every intercom in the building. Fylon was instantly on his guard. He took a Poké Ball from his belt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nika do the same. Ryan, Ani, and Roc looked nervous, but not scared.
The Control Room was just down the hall. Nika caught Fylon’s eye and nodded, and she sprinted to the door. Fylon nudged the villagers and whispered, “Go. Follow Nika.”
As Ryan, Ani, and Roc ran down the corridor, Fylon ran in the opposite direction. He reached the elevator in only a couple of minutes. He pressed the button. The familiar whirring came, and then the doors opened. This was worrying. It meant that the intruders has already exited the elevator. When Fylon got inside, he jammed the G button, which would take him to the ground floor to see what sort of havoc Team Flare had already wreaked.
When the doors slid open, Fylon stepped out and surveyed the room. There was no damage done that he could see. Apparently the intruders had made straight for the elevator. At that moment, he heard doors sliding. He turned, but it was not the elevator doors, but the ones that led to Southern Boulevard outside. Hastily, Fylon stepped back inside the elevator and frantically scrabbled at the button marked B2. The doors slid shut, but not fast enough. He could just see a person with purple hair wearing a red jacket and black pants walking through the doors before the elevator started to whir.
Once the elevator doors closed, Fylon sighed with relief. That had been too close. As it was, he wasn’t entirely convinced that the person with purple hair hadn’t seen him. No time to worry about that, though. He would have to get back to the Control Room to warn Nika and the rest of the Spectrum. A thought occurred to him, and he opened a hatch on the wall, and entered in the passcode for the building and pressed the button marked “DEACTIVATE”.
When the doors of the elevator opened on B2, Fylon set off at a dash through the halls to the Control Room. Unfortunately, his training until this point hadn’t included long-distance running. He was winded by the time he came to the correct door. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before pushing the door.
The room was in utter chaos when he entered. Nika and a few other people were trying to calm everyone down, but it seemed most people believed that they, and only they, had the best strategy. Fylon sighed, pressed a button on a Poké Ball at his belt, and his red-and-blue feathered bird Pokémon appeared. He whispered in its ear. He put his fingers in his own ears, but they barely blocked out the splitting screech. He took his fingers out of his ears, recalled the Pokémon, and saw that the room was silent.
“Thank you,” he said with a trace of irony. “Team Flare has infiltrated the building. There are some of them on the ground floor, but I’ve deactivated the elevator, so they aren’t going anywhere. There are others loose in the building as well. They could be on A2, in which case the professor is in trouble, or B1 or B3, neither of which are any concern to us at the moment, as, like I’ve said, the elevator is deactivated.
“We should assume, however, that they are indeed on A2, so half of us should go there. The other half will go to the ground floor and hold off the intruders there. Agreed?”
There was a general murmur of assent throughout the group.
“Good,” said Fylon. “Ryan, Ani, Roc, Nika, Peter, Sera, Arin, Blake, and Amaline: go to the ground floor. Meet the intruders there. Do anything you can to hold them off and drive them out of the building. Julian, Rosuke, Clair, Erell, Liam, Mica, Warren, Morgan, come with me to A2 to help the professor.”
Everyone nodded, and at Fylon’s command the group charged out of the Control Room, heading for the elevator. Once they reached it, Fylon reactivated it and pressed the G button. The doors closed, the machine whirred, and in a few seconds they opened again on the ground floor. Fylon stepped out of the elevator with the other eight, wished those still in the elevator good luck, and readied himself for the imminent fight.
*
The elevator doors slid shut. Ryan watched as Nika pressed A2. The elevator whirred, and the doors opened again. Ryan walked out of the elevator. All he could see to his right was a wall. He guessed the fight would be on the other side. He took a deep breath and braced himself.
Ryan let out his breath. There was no way to prepare himself for the battle on the other side of the wall. Looking around, he saw, on the faces of the members of the Spectrum, determination, mingled with nervousness on some. They knew better than he did what a battle would look like. Ryan tried to calm himself, to tell himself that the Spectrum would handle everything, that he would be completely safe, and that Roc and Ani would be, too. But can they be trusted?
It wasn’t the first time since Professor Sycamore had left the village with them that Ryan had felt uncertain about the motives of the professor and his Spectrum. After all, how did he know that they were any better than Team Flare? He had heard about the Geosenge disaster only from Elder Arhan and from the books in the library. While he trusted Elder Arhan completely, stories were often exaggerated. The way Elder Arhan had told it, Team Flare had been trying to destroy all elements of this world so as to complete their vision of a perfect one. They had tried to use an ancient weapon to achieve this goal. The weapon was actually more destructive than anyone could have imagined, so it turned Geosenge Town and the surrounding area to rubble. But had Team Flare been in the wrong? Wouldn’t it be good to have a perfect world? It wasn’t their fault that the weapon was too powerful. They didn’t know. And if Team Flare was right to try to make a perfect world, wasn’t Professor Sycamore, who opposed them, wrong?
These unanswered questions had been in Ryan’s mind since leaving the village. He didn’t want to do anything to help the Spectrum, or to help Team Flare, because of his uncertainty over the correct side. He decided, eventually, that he would try not to be involved in the battle as much as possible. After that, he would question Professor Sycamore.
The six full members of the Spectrum each drew a Poké Ball, most from their belts, although Ryan saw one reach into a pocket, and another into a small bag. Each activated their Poké Ball, and Ryan watched as six beasts appeared in dazzling flashes of light. From the Poké Ball Nika had activated, a black equestrian creature materialized. Its mane was made of white fur, which grew unevenly, giving it the likeness of a lightning bolt. The fur, as well as the white stripes crossing its body, seemed to glow slightly. The Pokémon stood about five feet tall, about the same height as Nika.
Besides Nika, none of the Spectrum members was familiar to Ryan. One was dressed in the same shade of black as his hair, from his boots to his coat. All black should have been out of place in a room with a white floor and faded blue walls, but Ryan actually felt his eyes slide past this person, even when he tried to look straight at him. Ryan turned to the black-clothed person’s Pokémon instead, with the feeling that it was just as worth seeing the Spectrum’s Pokémon as it was seeing the Spectrum’s human members. The Pokémon, too, however, seemed impossible to look at head on. Feeling as though his head was spinning, Ryan looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could now see that the Pokémon stood less than a foot shorter than its owner, on two feet, and that it looked faintly vulpine, except its fur was black. It had a giant mane of red hair streaked with black. Ryan shook his head and blinked twice before observing the rest.
Besides the Windier Towners, Nika, and the black-clothed one, Ryan counted four other people. His gaze lingered for a moment on a woman perhaps a few years older than Ryan. He had seen all the Spectrum together in the Control Room downstairs, and he had been looking then, too, for people who looked like they could have come from the village. Of the fifteen full members, only this person had had the characteristics of one who hailed from the frozen northeast. Everyone in the village had fair skin and brown hair, with the exception of Elder Arhan, whose hair was white. This person was paler than many of the village, and her face more angular, but she nevertheless would not have been seen as an outsider if she were to visit. She wore a dress clearly woven of fur, or perhaps wool, which would have been highly valuable in the village, since the Pokémon whose fur or wool it may have been would have stayed far away from it. However, Ryan supposed that if she came from Dendemille Town or another village, the furs may not have been so rare. Her Pokémon stood about four feet tall, but nearly half of that was taken up by its long neck. It, unlike Nika’s equestrian Pokémon and the black-clothed one’s vulpine Pokémon, had leathery skin, not fur. Ice crystals had formed on the sides of its body. Its head was crested by two frills, each of which shimmered and seemed to change color even as Ryan watched.
Another wore varying shades of purple. His hair was black, but not quite the raven color of Fylon’s. His skin was pale, but his hair proved that he was from nowhere near the northeast. His posture seemed to indicate that he was not new to the Spectrum at all, and was proud of it. If any of the Windier Towners had spoken to him, Ryan was willing to bet he would answer in a condescending manner, or perhaps not at all. His Pokémon was, compared to the others, small, about three feet, but it held itself with the same arrogance as its Trainer. Its appearance was catlike, but its fur was pale purple, and its tail was forked. Ryan immediately felt dislike for this person, and made a mental note to stay away from him.
The other two were both younger than Ryan, but were otherwise completely different. One, a girl whose age Ryan guessed was around twelve years, was dressed in light grey with pink embroidery. Her hair was a light brown, but couldn’t quite be called gold or blond. Her dress looked expensive, and made of no material Ryan had ever seen before. Her Pokémon matched the light grey shade of her dress. Its head was round, but came to numerous points in the back, giving it the appearance of a crown. A long neck connected its head to its egg-shaped body, which was adorned with several triangles of blue or red. The Pokémon hovered in the air, flapping its short wings.
The last, a boy of around twelve, wore a black shirt, which was slightly ragged and frayed, and light grey-green shorts. His hair was somewhere between dark brown and black. He had a wild expression, as if he had lived in wilderness for many years. A batlike, almost dragonish Pokémon taller than he was crouched at his side. Its skin was black, except for purple streaks on its wings, the underside of which were coated in a teal membrane.
Abruptly Ryan realized that there was supposed to be a battle going on the other side of the wall, but he had heard not a sound save a clicking as the Spectrum had released their Pokémon. The black-clothed one moved forward, peering around the side of the wall. Ryan supposed this was a tactical decision agreed on by the Spectrum beforehand. The black-clothed one and his Pokémon, harder to see than the others, would make the most sense as scouts.
The black-clothed one motioned for Ryan, Ani, Roc, and the other five Spectrum members to follow. As Ryan rounded the dividing wall, he saw a gaping hole in the south wall, a jagged opening large enough for a person to stand in. He looked out and saw a battle raging on a dusty ground outside. A huge rectangle was painted on the ground, divided by a white line in the middle. Two concentric circles forming a sort of simplified Poké Ball were painted on the dividing line. Of course, Ryan thought, there would have to be some battlefield in a training center for the Spectrum.
His attention was snapped back to the battle on the field when he realized that one of the battlers was Professor Sycamore, and the others all wore red suits emblazoned with a stylized “F”. Ryan knew immediately that these were members of Team Flare.
Although the professor was outnumbered - Ryan counted four Team Flare members - he didn’t seem to be losing. Professor Sycamore’s Pokémon (at least, it was the only one not facing him, so Ryan assumed it must be his) appeared to be an orange dragon. Not a dragonish bat, like the wild Spectrum member had had, but a true, winged, lizard-like dragon. The tip of its tail was engulfed in flame, but this didn’t seem to harm it; on the contrary, it flared brighter when Professor Sycamore commanded it to launch an attack. It appeared to be about as tall as the professor, but it was hard to tell, as it hovered in midair.
The four Team Flare members each had a different Pokémon. The only girl among them directed a small, green canine Pokémon, whose mane crackled with electricity. One of the others, who seemed to be fighting more alongside the girl than the other two were, used another canine Pokémon, but it was black, not green, and it attacked with short bursts of fire instead of crackling lightning.
One of the others used a small purple Pokémon that looked froglike, except that it stood on two legs. Its hands were black, except for one orange finger on each hand. Rather than launching attacks from afar, it tried to get in close to jab the professor’s dragon Pokémon. It never succeeded in this, but its intent was plain.
The last Pokémon was no larger than any of the others, but it had a certain fierceness about it. It appeared to be a small red-and-grey-feathered bird, and it attacked with diving swoops and sharp jabs with its beak.
“The professor doesn’t need our help, does he?” remarked the black-clothed Spectrum member. “I’ve rarely seen him in battle, but if he can hold off four Team Flare Grunts singlehandedly….”
“No,” said the one who could’ve been from the village. “He’s not just holding them off. He’s winning.”
It was almost a dance, as the orange dragon Pokémon swooped and flew to evade all of the Team Flare Grunts’ attacks. They struggled in vain to land a direct hit.
“Electrike,” called the Trainer of the green canine Pokémon. “Thunderbolt!”
This was evidently some sort of command, as the green Pokémon - Electrike - shook itself, building up static electricity in its mane, until it launched a powerful lightning bolt at Professor Sycamore’s Pokémon, who attempted to swerve to dodge it, but couldn’t move faster than lightning.
The Spectrum didn’t seem to think this was a good thing.
“Charizard can’t brush off a Thunderbolt so easily,” said Nika. “I should know.”
“The type effectiveness might be too much,” said the one wearing the embroidered grey dress. “We need to help now.”
“Agreed,” said the black-clothed one, and he jumped out.
Although the hole in the wall was on the second floor of the laboratory, the black-clothed one landed gracefully, as did his fox-like Pokémon. “Zoroark,” he said, pointing at Electrike. “Night Daze.”
The vulpine Pokémon leapt into action. Its eyes momentarily flashed blue, and a faint crimson nimbus surrounded its body. It then raised its arms, and slammed them into the ground. As it did this, the crimson nimbus expanded, enveloping Electrike. The green Pokémon snarled, and then fell to the ground, exhausted.
“Electrike!” cried its Trainer. She rushed to defend it.
“Alma, no!” shouted the Trainer of the black canine Pokémon. “Recall Electrike into its Poké Ball. It can heal later.”
The black-clothed one turned and called to the Windier Towners and Spectrum members, “What are you waiting for?”
Beside Ryan, Nika grinned. She too jumped down, landing as if she had only leapt from a small boulder. Her black-and-white-striped equestrian Pokémon followed, becoming - were Ryan’s eyes deceiving him? - briefly cloaked in a bolt of lightning. When it touched the ground, the lightning disappeared as if it had never been there. The wild one followed, gliding down on the back of his batlike Pokémon. The arrogant one and the grey-dressed one each seemed to float down as if they were only marginally heavier than air. Ryan took a second look, which showed him that each was surrounded, like the black-clothed one’s fox-like Pokémon, by a faint nimbus, although these were purple and pink, respectively, rather than crimson. Ryan glanced at their Pokémon, who hadn’t yet jumped out of the gap in the wall, and saw that their eyes were glowing blue. When its Trainer landed, the pale purple feline Pokémon leaped nimbly from the gap, landing deftly on the ground. The egg-shaped grey Pokémon, still hovering, glided down gracefully.
The only ones left were then Ryan, Ani, Roc, and the Spectrum member who looked as though she could have hailed from the village. She turned to her Pokémon and said, “Amaura, please freeze the air and make a ramp so we can get to the ground safely.”
The long-necked Pokémon obeyed immediately. The crystals on the sides of its body glowed, and the frills on its head shimmered as it opened its mouth and blew gently. Suddenly, a ramp materialized, leading directly from the hole in the wall to the ground. The Pokémon stepped out onto the ramp and slid down to the ground. The Spectrum member gestured to the ramp. “After you.”
“Thanks,” said Ani as she too slid to the ground.
Roc followed, but Ryan hesitated. He was reluctant to trust any of the Spectrum with his life. The Spectrum member seemed to misinterpret his hesitation. “If you fall, Amaura will create a pile of snow for you to land on.” Ryan forced a smile, said thanks, and slid down the ice ramp.
He got up at the ground and surveyed the scene. The Team Flare Grunts were backed into a tight circle. The Spectrum, now joined by the one who could have been from the village, surrounded them. “Surrender,” said Professor Sycamore. “You are in no position to continue fighting.”
At that, the Trainer of the fierce birdlike Pokémon took a small sphere from his pocket. Fleetingly, Ryan thought it was a Poké Ball, but then he realized that it was purple and dusty. The Team Flare Grunt threw it at the ground, where it exploded in a burst of smoke. Ryan pulled the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth to prevent any smoke from getting into his lungs. Distantly, he heard a voice say, “Noivern, use Defog!”
Ryan heard a flapping sound, and the smoke began to dissipate. As it vanished entirely, he saw that the source of the flapping was the batlike Pokémon’s wings. The next thing he noticed was that the Team Flare Grunts were gone.
“Order,” growled the black-clothed one. “They got away.”
“Yes, it’s unfortunate,” said the professor. “No doubt they are returning to their headquarters to report to their superiors.”
“Should we follow them, sir?” said the wild one. “Maybe we can find out who’s behind this.”
“What do you mean, ‘who’s behind this’?” asked Ryan. “It’s Team Flare, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Ryan, it’s Team Flare,” replied Professor Sycamore. “But we don’t know who their leader is. Last time, they were led by a man called Lysandre. He was a genius, renowned as one of the world’s greatest inventors. He developed the Holo Caster in his laboratories. Unbeknownst to the world, however, the laboratories were a cover for the headquarters of Team Flare. If they are indeed still based in Lumiose City, as I believe them to be, then they are using those laboratories as headquarters even now.”
“So it can’t be Lysandre this time?” asked Roc.
To everyone’s surprise, it was Ani who answered. “No. Lysandre perished in the explosion that devastated Geosenge Town. Or at least, that’s what the books say.”
“The books are quite right, Ani,” said the professor approvingly. “Lysandre did indeed die in the destruction of Geosenge Town.”
“But the books also say that his body was never recovered,” said Ani.
“No,” agreed the professor. “The explosion vaporized everything in a few hundred feet in every direction.”
“And there’s no chance he survived?” asked Ani.
“None at all,” said the professor. “So we must ask ourselves the question, who is in charge of Team Flare now?”
*
Fylon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He deftly removed a Poké Ball from his belt, felt for the button, and pressed it. He heard the click as it opened, along with eight more like it signifying the release of the Pokémon belonging to the eight Spectrum members he had brought with him to floor G. Slowly exhaling, he opened his eyes.
He took note of everything in the room, starting with his own scarlet-plumed Pokémon, Braviary. There was no trace of the purple haired woman, but he didn’t believe for an instant that she had left. More likely she was hiding with her accomplices in the room somewhere, lying in wait for an ambush.
Fylon looked around at the part of the Spectrum he had brought. Clair and Erell were twin sisters hailing from Kiloude City, to the far southwest of the region. It was a very mountainous area, which possibly contributed to the twins’ decision of Pokémon types. Erell had chosen the Rock type, Clair the Ground. Fylon had battled each of them shortly after their initiations, and had been surprised to discover the knowledge they already possessed of Pokémon battling. It was only later that he had researched Kiloude City and learned that it was home to the famous Battle Maison, a former battle facility that had attracted Trainers from all over the region. Clair and Erell had likely picked a few things up there.
Clair’s Pokémon was Sandslash, a rodent-like Pokémon that stood about three feet tall. Its most distinguishing features were the rows of tough quills covering its back. These quills were a darker brown than the light tan shade of the Pokémon’s hide. It also had two large claws on each hand, which Fylon had seen it use for burrowing as well as slashing, an action that gave it its name.
Erell’s Pokémon, on the other hand, was very unlike Sandslash. Aerodactyl, whose hide was as tough as a rock, had a wingspan of nearly six feet, and resembled no creature Fylon had ever seen. He supposed this last part made sense. Fylon had helped Professor Sycamore obtain Aerodactyl for Erell, a mission that had taken them to the farthest reaches of the Kalos region in search of someone with the technology to restore the Pokémon from a fossil. Fylon could scarcely believe his ears when he had first heard Professor Sycamore’s revelation that the Rock-type Trainer was to train a prehistoric Pokémon brought back from times long past.
Fylon mentally shook his head. Memories would only distract him from the task at hand. The other Spectrum members he reviewed briefly. Julian, who trained Fighting-type Pokémon, was very tall, with black hair and a fair complexion. He was the older brother of Amaline, the Fairy-type Trainer of the Elemental Spectrum. Fylon had long felt that the Fighting type was misnamed. It didn’t represent so much fighting in itself, but more the spirit, the strength of will used in a fight or Pokémon battle. Julian’s Pokémon emphasized this view. Mienshao was agile, with long arms covered fur thicker and longer than that of the rest of its body. It swung its arms in fluid motions, using the fur on them as a whip in battle. Long whiskers also grew on either side of its ermine-like face.
Rosuke, prior to joining the Spectrum, had lived in a small settlement. Fylon didn’t know exactly where, and Rosuke never divulged that information, but his black hair and tanned skin seemed to suggest the southwest, around Ambrette Town and Route 8. He had been more or less a thief; without a home, stealing food and clothes to survive. He had been only too glad to join Professor Sycamore when the wild-haired man had shown up in his settlement. Fylon knew that his old life had been the reason for Rosuke’s decision of the Poison type.
“What better than the Poison type for a thief?” Rosuke had said, with the merest trace of bitterness, when Fylon had asked.
Rosuke’s Pokémon was Crobat, a Pokémon that was Poison-type, but also was of the Flying type, which was familiar to Fylon. Crobat had four purple wings, which flapped at such blinding speeds it appeared not to have any at all. Apart from its wings, its body was purple and egg-shaped. It had no legs or feet, but rather a pair of feathery tufts of fur where its legs should be.
Liam was young, but he had already known about Pokémon by the time the professor came to Santalune City. He used to catch Bug-type Pokémon in the berry-trees and hedges on Route 4, just to the north of his home city. The Bug type, of course, was now his specialty.
Like the other residents of Santalune City, Liam was brown of hair and pale of skin. He dressed in varying shades of green and brown. His Pokémon, Scyther, was very big for a Bug-type, at around five feet. When it wasn’t flying, it stood on its hind legs. Its head seemed more reptilian than insectoid to Fylon, with three ridges from its eyes to the back of its head, and two small teeth. Most notable about it, perhaps, were its scythe-like forearms, which gave it its name.
The Ghost-type Trainer, Mica, was also somewhat young, but older than Liam. His hair was jet-black, blacker than Fylon’s raven shade. Mica was very melodramatic, and always wore a long coat, though his arms were never in the sleeves, which some Spectrum members found irritating, and others found endearing. His Pokémon was Honedge, a Pokémon that was surrounded by many myths and legends. It appeared to be a sword at first glance, but a closer look showed that it had one unblinking eye on its hilt. Honedge was presently holding its sheath in the long blue sash attached to the pommel, to bare the blade for battle, but otherwise the sword would be in the sheath.
One of the legends Fylon had heard about Honedge was that it truly was a sword, imbued with the energy of a spirit. This would not be so far off, in Fylon’s opinion, as it matched up with another legend that stated that the life energy of one who came into contact with the bared blade or hilt would be drained by the Pokémon. Mica’s Honedge had never attempted to drain the life energy of anyone in the Spectrum, but Fylon nevertheless found it creepy.
Warren, the Steel-type Trainer of the Spectrum, was one of the oldest, and his mechanical knowledge was unrivaled. Rather than a belt, he had designed an arm brace to hold the Poké Ball of his Pokémon. Using the same technology that allowed a giant Pokémon to fit inside a comparatively miniscule sphere, he had been able to create it so that it fitted easily to his arm, and did not bulge unnecessarily with a Poké Ball inside.
His Pokémon was Mawile, a short bipedal Pokémon covered in fine pale yellow fur. This fur did not extend to its hands and feet, which were black. A large pair of jaws protruded from the back of its head. These jaws were the same shade of black as Mawile’s hands and feet, except for a pale yellow spot in the middle of the upper one. It used these jaws often in battle, and as such, stood with its back to its opponent.
Morgan trained the Normal type, which was frequently underestimated by inexperienced Trainers. Her Pokémon was Cinccino, which was less than two feet tall, but still a very good battler. Its large ears were very soft, but the fluffy fur surrounding its head was even more so. This amazing fur repelled dirt, and Cinccino used it for cleaning itself and the laboratory.
Morgan herself was tall, with bushy blond hair gathered at the back of her neck. She always wore only white, which she claimed reflected the colorless nature of Normal-type Pokémon.
Fylon next surveyed the room itself. He didn’t see the woman with purple hair, or any- Wait. A flash of movement caught Fylon’s eye. It vanished behind the counter to his right.
He made a few quick hand motions to the rest of the partial Spectrum. Mica and Liam, the lightest on their feet, moved over to the counter. They looked back at Fylon for confirmation. The Flying-type specialist gave the tiniest of nods, and held up a hand, putting up one finger, then two, then three.
On three, Honedge whirled through the air to the other side of the counter. Scyther’s wings buzzed, and it rose into the air, hovering next to Honedge. However, neither Pokémon attacked. From Mica’s and Liam’s expressions, they were just as confused as Fylon. In a single fluid motion, Liam put a hand on the counter and sprung over it. He looked around, and then picked up a small blue cloth. That was what had caught Fylon’s eye. So where was the purple-haired woman?
Fylon heard a sudden click from above him. He looked up, and saw the purple-haired woman, braced against the ceiling between two beams. She held an open Poké Ball. Fylon looked back at eye level, and saw a Pokémon. Standing on four legs, the Pokémon was covered in short white fur, which was much longer around its neck. On the left side of its head (as it appeared to Fylon) was a curved, sickle-like horn. The other side of its face was draped in a tuft of fur. Fylon identified the Pokémon as an Absol. Smiling, the purple-haired woman dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch. Getting up, she said, “So, you’re the Elemental Spectrum.”
Fylon worked hard to conceal his shock. She knows? That’s impossible! Apparently, however, some of it showed through, because the purple-haired woman laughed. “That’s right, we know. It wasn’t that difficult, honestly. Next time, Sycamore should really consider moving to a different city before he decides to train eighteen youths to defeat us.
“I suppose we should be introduced. If you’re killed in the upcoming fight, it won’t matter whether you know my name or not. Likewise if you’re captured. If you escape and run back to that professor of yours, he’ll tell you my name anyway, so it won’t matter in the slightest. I’m Celosia. What’s your name?”
The name Celosia meant nothing to Fylon, but he didn’t need to know the name to know that he wanted nothing to do with a woman who could speak of killing so flippantly. He decided to give her a false name. “Arden,” he said; the name of his uncle.
For a moment, Celosia seemed convinced, but then Absol let out a resounding bark. It sounded almost like a laugh. Celosia’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you know that Absol as a species can sense when natural disasters are about to occur. Long ago, I discovered that with the right training, it can also sense lies. It is not good to lie to an administrator of Team Flare. For that, you’ll be punished.”
Absol’s eyes glowed purple, and it seemed to Fylon as though it was surrounded by a violet nimbus. Blades appearing to be made of the same substance as the nimbus lashed out at Fylon as though they were whips. Fylon screamed, sinking to his knees.
It felt as though it lasted an eternity, but when the whips finally stopped, Fylon opened his eyes and saw, through tears of pain and concentration, Celosia and Absol standing exactly where they had been. “Spectrum,” said Fylon through gritted teeth, “attack.”
The partial Spectrum sprang into action. They all charged Celosia together, but out of the corner of his eye, Fylon saw three more women, blue-haired, green-haired, and orange-haired, emerge from various hiding places in the room. Each of them released a Pokémon. Fylon took note of Mightyena, a vicious black doglike Pokémon, Weavile, a bipedal Pokémon with characteristics of cats and weasels, and Liepard, a dark purple feline Pokémon. He was not the only one to see them; Julian and Morgan had seen them too, and were each warning the other Spectrum members of the newcomers. Within moments, each intruder was battling two or three Spectrum members. Fylon was battling Celosia with Rosuke and Mica. Clair and Erell, always an inseparable team, battled another. Julian and Liam challenged a third, and the last was taken on by Morgan and Warren.
“Braviary, attack with Aerial Ace!” called Fylon. The crimson-feathered Pokémon took to the air and dived at Absol, intent on slamming into it with its razor-sharp beak. Absol, however, swiftly met the attack with its sickle-like horn. Mica’s Honedge tried to slash it, but Absol batted it aside with a paw. Crobat swooped at Absol, a purple nimbus glowing around its wings, but Absol swung its head so that Braviary, whose beak was still locked on Absol’s horn, slammed into Crobat and both lay on the ground, defeated.
Honedge, undeterred, tried again and again to land a direct hit on Absol, but each time, it was either knocked away by Absol’s front paws or parried with its horn. Fylon searched Absol for anything that might help Mica defeat it, but found nothing. Absol, as far as Fylon could tell, was a flawless battler.
Or at least, Fylon found nothing that suggested that Honedge could defeat it using physical attacks. A blinding burst of light, or a controlled energy attack, couldn’t be blocked by Absol’s paws or horn.
“Mica!” called Fylon. “Hidden Power!”
Mica whirled to face Absol, and understanding dawned on his face. He repeated the command to Honedge.
A crackling green sphere of energy appeared in front of the eye on Honedge’s hilt. It twisted in midair, and the sphere slid down the sword blade and flew at Absol, whose white fur seemed to absorb the attack. Absol shuddered, but appeared otherwise unharmed.
Now Fylon gaped in astonishment. Even a Pokémon that took out Braviary and Crobat almost casually shouldn’t be able to shrug off a Hidden Power attack from Honedge that easily. Fylon had been so sure that Hidden Power was the way to defeat Absol.
He was afforded no time to think, however, for Absol lunged at Honedge. One of its paws became cloaked in shadow, and it struck out at the sword Pokémon. Honedge was briefly surrounded by the same shadow, and then it fell to the ground.
Looking around the room, Fylon saw that the rest of the Spectrum was faring no better than he was. They were almost overwhelmed. To make matters worse, the main doors of the building slid open, and in came a score of people wearing red suits. Fylon knew it was time to go. He called, “Spectrum, retreat!”
The partial Spectrum followed him as he ran outside through the back doors, only slowing when he saw Professor Sycamore and the others. Drawing near, he saw them engaged in conversation. He caught only a few words about Team Flare before interrupting. “Professor Sycamore!”
The professor turned. “Fylon, it is rude to inter-”
“Team Flare’s in the laboratory!” said Fylon, interrupting again. “They’ve brought reinforcements. We tried to beat them, but we couldn’t. We have to leave now!”
Professor Sycamore’s expression became one of urgency. “Yes,” he said, “we must leave at once! We will escape through the sewage.”
This was met by cries of disbelief from those Spectrum members wearing the most expensive clothes. Professor Sycamore quieted them all with a stern look.
“Quickly,” said the professor. “Blake, Peter, will you please lift the grate?”
Blake, in the black coat that made him nearly invisible, and Peter, in various shades of purple, walked over to the sewage grate. Blake took a short pocketknife from his coat and slipped the blade under the grate, prying it up. Peter caught it. Pocketing the knife, Blake lifted the other side. The Spectrum began to jump through the hole and into the sewage pipe.
“Ah, Fylon, I almost forgot,” said Professor Sycamore. “I’m afraid I left an important letter in my office. Would you please fly up on Braviary and retrieve it?”
Fylon hesitated, then sighed. “I’m sorry, Professor. I can’t. I won’t go anywhere near any of those people again if I can help it.”
Professor Sycamore looked momentarily worried, but then nodded. “Very well, Fylon. As you wish. Arin, would you please retrieve the letter?” he said, turning to the wild-eyed Dragon-type Trainer of the Spectrum.
Fylon turned away and sighed again. It was true, he didn’t want to be anywhere near Celosia and her Absol ever again, but he hated to refuse the professor. He shook his head and climbed into the sewage pipe.
*
Celosia pulled out a Holo Caster from her pocket. The leader of Team Flare had developed it, back when he was a world-renowned inventor. Back when Pokémon Trainers were common, nearly everyone had owned one as a convenient means of communication. Since then, everyone except Team Flare had disposed of theirs.
She contacted the leader. Those with lower ranks would only be allowed to call Gaston, who would then report to the leader, but Celosia, as a Scientist and an administrator, had special privileges.
A hologram of the leader appeared. Celosia spoke to it. “The Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory is secured, sir. Sycamore and his Elemental Spectrum have fled.”
“Excellent,” said the leader, his voice distorted by the connection. “Station two Grunts there as guards. Report back to headquarters with the rest. We will maintain a constant watch on the building to ensure they don’t come back.”
“Yes, sir,” said Celosia. The leader ended the call, and his hologram vanished.
Celosia turned to her sisters, the other Scientists of Team Flare. “The leader wants us back at headquarters immediately. Two Grunts have to stay here.”
Mable, Bryony, and Aliana nodded. Orange-haired Aliana pointed at two Team Flare Grunts and said, “You heard Celosia?”
The Grunts nodded. “Good,” said Aliana. “Guard the laboratory. Let no one but Team Flare in. Understood?”
They nodded again. Satisfied, Aliana turned back to her sisters.
“We must leave,” said Celosia. “The leader is not to be kept waiting.”
It wasn’t the first time since Professor Sycamore had left the village with them that Ryan had felt uncertain about the motives of the professor and his Spectrum. After all, how did he know that they were any better than Team Flare? He had heard about the Geosenge disaster only from Elder Arhan and from the books in the library. While he trusted Elder Arhan completely, stories were often exaggerated. The way Elder Arhan had told it, Team Flare had been trying to destroy all elements of this world so as to complete their vision of a perfect one. They had tried to use an ancient weapon to achieve this goal. The weapon was actually more destructive than anyone could have imagined, so it turned Geosenge Town and the surrounding area to rubble. But had Team Flare been in the wrong? Wouldn’t it be good to have a perfect world? It wasn’t their fault that the weapon was too powerful. They didn’t know. And if Team Flare was right to try to make a perfect world, wasn’t Professor Sycamore, who opposed them, wrong?
These unanswered questions had been in Ryan’s mind since leaving the village. He didn’t want to do anything to help the Spectrum, or to help Team Flare, because of his uncertainty over the correct side. He decided, eventually, that he would try not to be involved in the battle as much as possible. After that, he would question Professor Sycamore.
The six full members of the Spectrum each drew a Poké Ball, most from their belts, although Ryan saw one reach into a pocket, and another into a small bag. Each activated their Poké Ball, and Ryan watched as six beasts appeared in dazzling flashes of light. From the Poké Ball Nika had activated, a black equestrian creature materialized. Its mane was made of white fur, which grew unevenly, giving it the likeness of a lightning bolt. The fur, as well as the white stripes crossing its body, seemed to glow slightly. The Pokémon stood about five feet tall, about the same height as Nika.
Besides Nika, none of the Spectrum members was familiar to Ryan. One was dressed in the same shade of black as his hair, from his boots to his coat. All black should have been out of place in a room with a white floor and faded blue walls, but Ryan actually felt his eyes slide past this person, even when he tried to look straight at him. Ryan turned to the black-clothed person’s Pokémon instead, with the feeling that it was just as worth seeing the Spectrum’s Pokémon as it was seeing the Spectrum’s human members. The Pokémon, too, however, seemed impossible to look at head on. Feeling as though his head was spinning, Ryan looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could now see that the Pokémon stood less than a foot shorter than its owner, on two feet, and that it looked faintly vulpine, except its fur was black. It had a giant mane of red hair streaked with black. Ryan shook his head and blinked twice before observing the rest.
Besides the Windier Towners, Nika, and the black-clothed one, Ryan counted four other people. His gaze lingered for a moment on a woman perhaps a few years older than Ryan. He had seen all the Spectrum together in the Control Room downstairs, and he had been looking then, too, for people who looked like they could have come from the village. Of the fifteen full members, only this person had had the characteristics of one who hailed from the frozen northeast. Everyone in the village had fair skin and brown hair, with the exception of Elder Arhan, whose hair was white. This person was paler than many of the village, and her face more angular, but she nevertheless would not have been seen as an outsider if she were to visit. She wore a dress clearly woven of fur, or perhaps wool, which would have been highly valuable in the village, since the Pokémon whose fur or wool it may have been would have stayed far away from it. However, Ryan supposed that if she came from Dendemille Town or another village, the furs may not have been so rare. Her Pokémon stood about four feet tall, but nearly half of that was taken up by its long neck. It, unlike Nika’s equestrian Pokémon and the black-clothed one’s vulpine Pokémon, had leathery skin, not fur. Ice crystals had formed on the sides of its body. Its head was crested by two frills, each of which shimmered and seemed to change color even as Ryan watched.
Another wore varying shades of purple. His hair was black, but not quite the raven color of Fylon’s. His skin was pale, but his hair proved that he was from nowhere near the northeast. His posture seemed to indicate that he was not new to the Spectrum at all, and was proud of it. If any of the Windier Towners had spoken to him, Ryan was willing to bet he would answer in a condescending manner, or perhaps not at all. His Pokémon was, compared to the others, small, about three feet, but it held itself with the same arrogance as its Trainer. Its appearance was catlike, but its fur was pale purple, and its tail was forked. Ryan immediately felt dislike for this person, and made a mental note to stay away from him.
The other two were both younger than Ryan, but were otherwise completely different. One, a girl whose age Ryan guessed was around twelve years, was dressed in light grey with pink embroidery. Her hair was a light brown, but couldn’t quite be called gold or blond. Her dress looked expensive, and made of no material Ryan had ever seen before. Her Pokémon matched the light grey shade of her dress. Its head was round, but came to numerous points in the back, giving it the appearance of a crown. A long neck connected its head to its egg-shaped body, which was adorned with several triangles of blue or red. The Pokémon hovered in the air, flapping its short wings.
The last, a boy of around twelve, wore a black shirt, which was slightly ragged and frayed, and light grey-green shorts. His hair was somewhere between dark brown and black. He had a wild expression, as if he had lived in wilderness for many years. A batlike, almost dragonish Pokémon taller than he was crouched at his side. Its skin was black, except for purple streaks on its wings, the underside of which were coated in a teal membrane.
Abruptly Ryan realized that there was supposed to be a battle going on the other side of the wall, but he had heard not a sound save a clicking as the Spectrum had released their Pokémon. The black-clothed one moved forward, peering around the side of the wall. Ryan supposed this was a tactical decision agreed on by the Spectrum beforehand. The black-clothed one and his Pokémon, harder to see than the others, would make the most sense as scouts.
The black-clothed one motioned for Ryan, Ani, Roc, and the other five Spectrum members to follow. As Ryan rounded the dividing wall, he saw a gaping hole in the south wall, a jagged opening large enough for a person to stand in. He looked out and saw a battle raging on a dusty ground outside. A huge rectangle was painted on the ground, divided by a white line in the middle. Two concentric circles forming a sort of simplified Poké Ball were painted on the dividing line. Of course, Ryan thought, there would have to be some battlefield in a training center for the Spectrum.
His attention was snapped back to the battle on the field when he realized that one of the battlers was Professor Sycamore, and the others all wore red suits emblazoned with a stylized “F”. Ryan knew immediately that these were members of Team Flare.
Although the professor was outnumbered - Ryan counted four Team Flare members - he didn’t seem to be losing. Professor Sycamore’s Pokémon (at least, it was the only one not facing him, so Ryan assumed it must be his) appeared to be an orange dragon. Not a dragonish bat, like the wild Spectrum member had had, but a true, winged, lizard-like dragon. The tip of its tail was engulfed in flame, but this didn’t seem to harm it; on the contrary, it flared brighter when Professor Sycamore commanded it to launch an attack. It appeared to be about as tall as the professor, but it was hard to tell, as it hovered in midair.
The four Team Flare members each had a different Pokémon. The only girl among them directed a small, green canine Pokémon, whose mane crackled with electricity. One of the others, who seemed to be fighting more alongside the girl than the other two were, used another canine Pokémon, but it was black, not green, and it attacked with short bursts of fire instead of crackling lightning.
One of the others used a small purple Pokémon that looked froglike, except that it stood on two legs. Its hands were black, except for one orange finger on each hand. Rather than launching attacks from afar, it tried to get in close to jab the professor’s dragon Pokémon. It never succeeded in this, but its intent was plain.
The last Pokémon was no larger than any of the others, but it had a certain fierceness about it. It appeared to be a small red-and-grey-feathered bird, and it attacked with diving swoops and sharp jabs with its beak.
“The professor doesn’t need our help, does he?” remarked the black-clothed Spectrum member. “I’ve rarely seen him in battle, but if he can hold off four Team Flare Grunts singlehandedly….”
“No,” said the one who could’ve been from the village. “He’s not just holding them off. He’s winning.”
It was almost a dance, as the orange dragon Pokémon swooped and flew to evade all of the Team Flare Grunts’ attacks. They struggled in vain to land a direct hit.
“Electrike,” called the Trainer of the green canine Pokémon. “Thunderbolt!”
This was evidently some sort of command, as the green Pokémon - Electrike - shook itself, building up static electricity in its mane, until it launched a powerful lightning bolt at Professor Sycamore’s Pokémon, who attempted to swerve to dodge it, but couldn’t move faster than lightning.
The Spectrum didn’t seem to think this was a good thing.
“Charizard can’t brush off a Thunderbolt so easily,” said Nika. “I should know.”
“The type effectiveness might be too much,” said the one wearing the embroidered grey dress. “We need to help now.”
“Agreed,” said the black-clothed one, and he jumped out.
Although the hole in the wall was on the second floor of the laboratory, the black-clothed one landed gracefully, as did his fox-like Pokémon. “Zoroark,” he said, pointing at Electrike. “Night Daze.”
The vulpine Pokémon leapt into action. Its eyes momentarily flashed blue, and a faint crimson nimbus surrounded its body. It then raised its arms, and slammed them into the ground. As it did this, the crimson nimbus expanded, enveloping Electrike. The green Pokémon snarled, and then fell to the ground, exhausted.
“Electrike!” cried its Trainer. She rushed to defend it.
“Alma, no!” shouted the Trainer of the black canine Pokémon. “Recall Electrike into its Poké Ball. It can heal later.”
The black-clothed one turned and called to the Windier Towners and Spectrum members, “What are you waiting for?”
Beside Ryan, Nika grinned. She too jumped down, landing as if she had only leapt from a small boulder. Her black-and-white-striped equestrian Pokémon followed, becoming - were Ryan’s eyes deceiving him? - briefly cloaked in a bolt of lightning. When it touched the ground, the lightning disappeared as if it had never been there. The wild one followed, gliding down on the back of his batlike Pokémon. The arrogant one and the grey-dressed one each seemed to float down as if they were only marginally heavier than air. Ryan took a second look, which showed him that each was surrounded, like the black-clothed one’s fox-like Pokémon, by a faint nimbus, although these were purple and pink, respectively, rather than crimson. Ryan glanced at their Pokémon, who hadn’t yet jumped out of the gap in the wall, and saw that their eyes were glowing blue. When its Trainer landed, the pale purple feline Pokémon leaped nimbly from the gap, landing deftly on the ground. The egg-shaped grey Pokémon, still hovering, glided down gracefully.
The only ones left were then Ryan, Ani, Roc, and the Spectrum member who looked as though she could have hailed from the village. She turned to her Pokémon and said, “Amaura, please freeze the air and make a ramp so we can get to the ground safely.”
The long-necked Pokémon obeyed immediately. The crystals on the sides of its body glowed, and the frills on its head shimmered as it opened its mouth and blew gently. Suddenly, a ramp materialized, leading directly from the hole in the wall to the ground. The Pokémon stepped out onto the ramp and slid down to the ground. The Spectrum member gestured to the ramp. “After you.”
“Thanks,” said Ani as she too slid to the ground.
Roc followed, but Ryan hesitated. He was reluctant to trust any of the Spectrum with his life. The Spectrum member seemed to misinterpret his hesitation. “If you fall, Amaura will create a pile of snow for you to land on.” Ryan forced a smile, said thanks, and slid down the ice ramp.
He got up at the ground and surveyed the scene. The Team Flare Grunts were backed into a tight circle. The Spectrum, now joined by the one who could have been from the village, surrounded them. “Surrender,” said Professor Sycamore. “You are in no position to continue fighting.”
At that, the Trainer of the fierce birdlike Pokémon took a small sphere from his pocket. Fleetingly, Ryan thought it was a Poké Ball, but then he realized that it was purple and dusty. The Team Flare Grunt threw it at the ground, where it exploded in a burst of smoke. Ryan pulled the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth to prevent any smoke from getting into his lungs. Distantly, he heard a voice say, “Noivern, use Defog!”
Ryan heard a flapping sound, and the smoke began to dissipate. As it vanished entirely, he saw that the source of the flapping was the batlike Pokémon’s wings. The next thing he noticed was that the Team Flare Grunts were gone.
“Order,” growled the black-clothed one. “They got away.”
“Yes, it’s unfortunate,” said the professor. “No doubt they are returning to their headquarters to report to their superiors.”
“Should we follow them, sir?” said the wild one. “Maybe we can find out who’s behind this.”
“What do you mean, ‘who’s behind this’?” asked Ryan. “It’s Team Flare, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Ryan, it’s Team Flare,” replied Professor Sycamore. “But we don’t know who their leader is. Last time, they were led by a man called Lysandre. He was a genius, renowned as one of the world’s greatest inventors. He developed the Holo Caster in his laboratories. Unbeknownst to the world, however, the laboratories were a cover for the headquarters of Team Flare. If they are indeed still based in Lumiose City, as I believe them to be, then they are using those laboratories as headquarters even now.”
“So it can’t be Lysandre this time?” asked Roc.
To everyone’s surprise, it was Ani who answered. “No. Lysandre perished in the explosion that devastated Geosenge Town. Or at least, that’s what the books say.”
“The books are quite right, Ani,” said the professor approvingly. “Lysandre did indeed die in the destruction of Geosenge Town.”
“But the books also say that his body was never recovered,” said Ani.
“No,” agreed the professor. “The explosion vaporized everything in a few hundred feet in every direction.”
“And there’s no chance he survived?” asked Ani.
“None at all,” said the professor. “So we must ask ourselves the question, who is in charge of Team Flare now?”
*
Fylon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He deftly removed a Poké Ball from his belt, felt for the button, and pressed it. He heard the click as it opened, along with eight more like it signifying the release of the Pokémon belonging to the eight Spectrum members he had brought with him to floor G. Slowly exhaling, he opened his eyes.
He took note of everything in the room, starting with his own scarlet-plumed Pokémon, Braviary. There was no trace of the purple haired woman, but he didn’t believe for an instant that she had left. More likely she was hiding with her accomplices in the room somewhere, lying in wait for an ambush.
Fylon looked around at the part of the Spectrum he had brought. Clair and Erell were twin sisters hailing from Kiloude City, to the far southwest of the region. It was a very mountainous area, which possibly contributed to the twins’ decision of Pokémon types. Erell had chosen the Rock type, Clair the Ground. Fylon had battled each of them shortly after their initiations, and had been surprised to discover the knowledge they already possessed of Pokémon battling. It was only later that he had researched Kiloude City and learned that it was home to the famous Battle Maison, a former battle facility that had attracted Trainers from all over the region. Clair and Erell had likely picked a few things up there.
Clair’s Pokémon was Sandslash, a rodent-like Pokémon that stood about three feet tall. Its most distinguishing features were the rows of tough quills covering its back. These quills were a darker brown than the light tan shade of the Pokémon’s hide. It also had two large claws on each hand, which Fylon had seen it use for burrowing as well as slashing, an action that gave it its name.
Erell’s Pokémon, on the other hand, was very unlike Sandslash. Aerodactyl, whose hide was as tough as a rock, had a wingspan of nearly six feet, and resembled no creature Fylon had ever seen. He supposed this last part made sense. Fylon had helped Professor Sycamore obtain Aerodactyl for Erell, a mission that had taken them to the farthest reaches of the Kalos region in search of someone with the technology to restore the Pokémon from a fossil. Fylon could scarcely believe his ears when he had first heard Professor Sycamore’s revelation that the Rock-type Trainer was to train a prehistoric Pokémon brought back from times long past.
Fylon mentally shook his head. Memories would only distract him from the task at hand. The other Spectrum members he reviewed briefly. Julian, who trained Fighting-type Pokémon, was very tall, with black hair and a fair complexion. He was the older brother of Amaline, the Fairy-type Trainer of the Elemental Spectrum. Fylon had long felt that the Fighting type was misnamed. It didn’t represent so much fighting in itself, but more the spirit, the strength of will used in a fight or Pokémon battle. Julian’s Pokémon emphasized this view. Mienshao was agile, with long arms covered fur thicker and longer than that of the rest of its body. It swung its arms in fluid motions, using the fur on them as a whip in battle. Long whiskers also grew on either side of its ermine-like face.
Rosuke, prior to joining the Spectrum, had lived in a small settlement. Fylon didn’t know exactly where, and Rosuke never divulged that information, but his black hair and tanned skin seemed to suggest the southwest, around Ambrette Town and Route 8. He had been more or less a thief; without a home, stealing food and clothes to survive. He had been only too glad to join Professor Sycamore when the wild-haired man had shown up in his settlement. Fylon knew that his old life had been the reason for Rosuke’s decision of the Poison type.
“What better than the Poison type for a thief?” Rosuke had said, with the merest trace of bitterness, when Fylon had asked.
Rosuke’s Pokémon was Crobat, a Pokémon that was Poison-type, but also was of the Flying type, which was familiar to Fylon. Crobat had four purple wings, which flapped at such blinding speeds it appeared not to have any at all. Apart from its wings, its body was purple and egg-shaped. It had no legs or feet, but rather a pair of feathery tufts of fur where its legs should be.
Liam was young, but he had already known about Pokémon by the time the professor came to Santalune City. He used to catch Bug-type Pokémon in the berry-trees and hedges on Route 4, just to the north of his home city. The Bug type, of course, was now his specialty.
Like the other residents of Santalune City, Liam was brown of hair and pale of skin. He dressed in varying shades of green and brown. His Pokémon, Scyther, was very big for a Bug-type, at around five feet. When it wasn’t flying, it stood on its hind legs. Its head seemed more reptilian than insectoid to Fylon, with three ridges from its eyes to the back of its head, and two small teeth. Most notable about it, perhaps, were its scythe-like forearms, which gave it its name.
The Ghost-type Trainer, Mica, was also somewhat young, but older than Liam. His hair was jet-black, blacker than Fylon’s raven shade. Mica was very melodramatic, and always wore a long coat, though his arms were never in the sleeves, which some Spectrum members found irritating, and others found endearing. His Pokémon was Honedge, a Pokémon that was surrounded by many myths and legends. It appeared to be a sword at first glance, but a closer look showed that it had one unblinking eye on its hilt. Honedge was presently holding its sheath in the long blue sash attached to the pommel, to bare the blade for battle, but otherwise the sword would be in the sheath.
One of the legends Fylon had heard about Honedge was that it truly was a sword, imbued with the energy of a spirit. This would not be so far off, in Fylon’s opinion, as it matched up with another legend that stated that the life energy of one who came into contact with the bared blade or hilt would be drained by the Pokémon. Mica’s Honedge had never attempted to drain the life energy of anyone in the Spectrum, but Fylon nevertheless found it creepy.
Warren, the Steel-type Trainer of the Spectrum, was one of the oldest, and his mechanical knowledge was unrivaled. Rather than a belt, he had designed an arm brace to hold the Poké Ball of his Pokémon. Using the same technology that allowed a giant Pokémon to fit inside a comparatively miniscule sphere, he had been able to create it so that it fitted easily to his arm, and did not bulge unnecessarily with a Poké Ball inside.
His Pokémon was Mawile, a short bipedal Pokémon covered in fine pale yellow fur. This fur did not extend to its hands and feet, which were black. A large pair of jaws protruded from the back of its head. These jaws were the same shade of black as Mawile’s hands and feet, except for a pale yellow spot in the middle of the upper one. It used these jaws often in battle, and as such, stood with its back to its opponent.
Morgan trained the Normal type, which was frequently underestimated by inexperienced Trainers. Her Pokémon was Cinccino, which was less than two feet tall, but still a very good battler. Its large ears were very soft, but the fluffy fur surrounding its head was even more so. This amazing fur repelled dirt, and Cinccino used it for cleaning itself and the laboratory.
Morgan herself was tall, with bushy blond hair gathered at the back of her neck. She always wore only white, which she claimed reflected the colorless nature of Normal-type Pokémon.
Fylon next surveyed the room itself. He didn’t see the woman with purple hair, or any- Wait. A flash of movement caught Fylon’s eye. It vanished behind the counter to his right.
He made a few quick hand motions to the rest of the partial Spectrum. Mica and Liam, the lightest on their feet, moved over to the counter. They looked back at Fylon for confirmation. The Flying-type specialist gave the tiniest of nods, and held up a hand, putting up one finger, then two, then three.
On three, Honedge whirled through the air to the other side of the counter. Scyther’s wings buzzed, and it rose into the air, hovering next to Honedge. However, neither Pokémon attacked. From Mica’s and Liam’s expressions, they were just as confused as Fylon. In a single fluid motion, Liam put a hand on the counter and sprung over it. He looked around, and then picked up a small blue cloth. That was what had caught Fylon’s eye. So where was the purple-haired woman?
Fylon heard a sudden click from above him. He looked up, and saw the purple-haired woman, braced against the ceiling between two beams. She held an open Poké Ball. Fylon looked back at eye level, and saw a Pokémon. Standing on four legs, the Pokémon was covered in short white fur, which was much longer around its neck. On the left side of its head (as it appeared to Fylon) was a curved, sickle-like horn. The other side of its face was draped in a tuft of fur. Fylon identified the Pokémon as an Absol. Smiling, the purple-haired woman dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch. Getting up, she said, “So, you’re the Elemental Spectrum.”
Fylon worked hard to conceal his shock. She knows? That’s impossible! Apparently, however, some of it showed through, because the purple-haired woman laughed. “That’s right, we know. It wasn’t that difficult, honestly. Next time, Sycamore should really consider moving to a different city before he decides to train eighteen youths to defeat us.
“I suppose we should be introduced. If you’re killed in the upcoming fight, it won’t matter whether you know my name or not. Likewise if you’re captured. If you escape and run back to that professor of yours, he’ll tell you my name anyway, so it won’t matter in the slightest. I’m Celosia. What’s your name?”
The name Celosia meant nothing to Fylon, but he didn’t need to know the name to know that he wanted nothing to do with a woman who could speak of killing so flippantly. He decided to give her a false name. “Arden,” he said; the name of his uncle.
For a moment, Celosia seemed convinced, but then Absol let out a resounding bark. It sounded almost like a laugh. Celosia’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you know that Absol as a species can sense when natural disasters are about to occur. Long ago, I discovered that with the right training, it can also sense lies. It is not good to lie to an administrator of Team Flare. For that, you’ll be punished.”
Absol’s eyes glowed purple, and it seemed to Fylon as though it was surrounded by a violet nimbus. Blades appearing to be made of the same substance as the nimbus lashed out at Fylon as though they were whips. Fylon screamed, sinking to his knees.
It felt as though it lasted an eternity, but when the whips finally stopped, Fylon opened his eyes and saw, through tears of pain and concentration, Celosia and Absol standing exactly where they had been. “Spectrum,” said Fylon through gritted teeth, “attack.”
The partial Spectrum sprang into action. They all charged Celosia together, but out of the corner of his eye, Fylon saw three more women, blue-haired, green-haired, and orange-haired, emerge from various hiding places in the room. Each of them released a Pokémon. Fylon took note of Mightyena, a vicious black doglike Pokémon, Weavile, a bipedal Pokémon with characteristics of cats and weasels, and Liepard, a dark purple feline Pokémon. He was not the only one to see them; Julian and Morgan had seen them too, and were each warning the other Spectrum members of the newcomers. Within moments, each intruder was battling two or three Spectrum members. Fylon was battling Celosia with Rosuke and Mica. Clair and Erell, always an inseparable team, battled another. Julian and Liam challenged a third, and the last was taken on by Morgan and Warren.
“Braviary, attack with Aerial Ace!” called Fylon. The crimson-feathered Pokémon took to the air and dived at Absol, intent on slamming into it with its razor-sharp beak. Absol, however, swiftly met the attack with its sickle-like horn. Mica’s Honedge tried to slash it, but Absol batted it aside with a paw. Crobat swooped at Absol, a purple nimbus glowing around its wings, but Absol swung its head so that Braviary, whose beak was still locked on Absol’s horn, slammed into Crobat and both lay on the ground, defeated.
Honedge, undeterred, tried again and again to land a direct hit on Absol, but each time, it was either knocked away by Absol’s front paws or parried with its horn. Fylon searched Absol for anything that might help Mica defeat it, but found nothing. Absol, as far as Fylon could tell, was a flawless battler.
Or at least, Fylon found nothing that suggested that Honedge could defeat it using physical attacks. A blinding burst of light, or a controlled energy attack, couldn’t be blocked by Absol’s paws or horn.
“Mica!” called Fylon. “Hidden Power!”
Mica whirled to face Absol, and understanding dawned on his face. He repeated the command to Honedge.
A crackling green sphere of energy appeared in front of the eye on Honedge’s hilt. It twisted in midair, and the sphere slid down the sword blade and flew at Absol, whose white fur seemed to absorb the attack. Absol shuddered, but appeared otherwise unharmed.
Now Fylon gaped in astonishment. Even a Pokémon that took out Braviary and Crobat almost casually shouldn’t be able to shrug off a Hidden Power attack from Honedge that easily. Fylon had been so sure that Hidden Power was the way to defeat Absol.
He was afforded no time to think, however, for Absol lunged at Honedge. One of its paws became cloaked in shadow, and it struck out at the sword Pokémon. Honedge was briefly surrounded by the same shadow, and then it fell to the ground.
Looking around the room, Fylon saw that the rest of the Spectrum was faring no better than he was. They were almost overwhelmed. To make matters worse, the main doors of the building slid open, and in came a score of people wearing red suits. Fylon knew it was time to go. He called, “Spectrum, retreat!”
The partial Spectrum followed him as he ran outside through the back doors, only slowing when he saw Professor Sycamore and the others. Drawing near, he saw them engaged in conversation. He caught only a few words about Team Flare before interrupting. “Professor Sycamore!”
The professor turned. “Fylon, it is rude to inter-”
“Team Flare’s in the laboratory!” said Fylon, interrupting again. “They’ve brought reinforcements. We tried to beat them, but we couldn’t. We have to leave now!”
Professor Sycamore’s expression became one of urgency. “Yes,” he said, “we must leave at once! We will escape through the sewage.”
This was met by cries of disbelief from those Spectrum members wearing the most expensive clothes. Professor Sycamore quieted them all with a stern look.
“Quickly,” said the professor. “Blake, Peter, will you please lift the grate?”
Blake, in the black coat that made him nearly invisible, and Peter, in various shades of purple, walked over to the sewage grate. Blake took a short pocketknife from his coat and slipped the blade under the grate, prying it up. Peter caught it. Pocketing the knife, Blake lifted the other side. The Spectrum began to jump through the hole and into the sewage pipe.
“Ah, Fylon, I almost forgot,” said Professor Sycamore. “I’m afraid I left an important letter in my office. Would you please fly up on Braviary and retrieve it?”
Fylon hesitated, then sighed. “I’m sorry, Professor. I can’t. I won’t go anywhere near any of those people again if I can help it.”
Professor Sycamore looked momentarily worried, but then nodded. “Very well, Fylon. As you wish. Arin, would you please retrieve the letter?” he said, turning to the wild-eyed Dragon-type Trainer of the Spectrum.
Fylon turned away and sighed again. It was true, he didn’t want to be anywhere near Celosia and her Absol ever again, but he hated to refuse the professor. He shook his head and climbed into the sewage pipe.
*
Celosia pulled out a Holo Caster from her pocket. The leader of Team Flare had developed it, back when he was a world-renowned inventor. Back when Pokémon Trainers were common, nearly everyone had owned one as a convenient means of communication. Since then, everyone except Team Flare had disposed of theirs.
She contacted the leader. Those with lower ranks would only be allowed to call Gaston, who would then report to the leader, but Celosia, as a Scientist and an administrator, had special privileges.
A hologram of the leader appeared. Celosia spoke to it. “The Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory is secured, sir. Sycamore and his Elemental Spectrum have fled.”
“Excellent,” said the leader, his voice distorted by the connection. “Station two Grunts there as guards. Report back to headquarters with the rest. We will maintain a constant watch on the building to ensure they don’t come back.”
“Yes, sir,” said Celosia. The leader ended the call, and his hologram vanished.
Celosia turned to her sisters, the other Scientists of Team Flare. “The leader wants us back at headquarters immediately. Two Grunts have to stay here.”
Mable, Bryony, and Aliana nodded. Orange-haired Aliana pointed at two Team Flare Grunts and said, “You heard Celosia?”
The Grunts nodded. “Good,” said Aliana. “Guard the laboratory. Let no one but Team Flare in. Understood?”
They nodded again. Satisfied, Aliana turned back to her sisters.
“We must leave,” said Celosia. “The leader is not to be kept waiting.”
On the surface, Lumiose City was magnificent, built long ago by the region’s greatest architects working together with Pokémon. Prism Tower, at the center of the city, was a resplendent shining beacon, every inch dotted with lights. It was not yet the hour of darkness that would normally accompany the lights being turned on, but when it came time for that, the tower would illuminate the entire city.
Lumiose City, however, was somewhat less beautiful in the sewers. Professor Sycamore had spared only a moment’s regret for his pristine lab coat before lowering himself through the grate. Fortunately, the pipe was large enough in diameter for all of the Spectrum to comfortably walk through.
They moved in a clump, with Nika at the front. At her side was her equestrian Pokémon with black-and-white stripes, Zebstrika, who illuminated the pipe with its flashing mane, and was the only Pokémon outside of its Poké Ball; it would be too cramped in the sewage pipe with nineteen people and almost the same number of Pokémon. Professor Sycamore trudged through the filth close behind her, leading the rest of the Elemental Spectrum.
The professor needed to mail his letter to Diantha as soon as he could. He had a contact at the Lumiose Press, the news building, who could ensure that his letter reached the Champion without being intercepted by Team Flare. The Spectrum would go there first, and then to the Pokémon Center on South Boulevard, that being the one farthest from the building he believed Team Flare to be using as headquarters.
Lumiose Press was a little out of their way, on Estival Avenue near Bleu Plaza, while the South Boulevard Pokémon Center was across the street from the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory, which was the professor’s reason for navigating the city by way of the sewers. He knew the way, but nevertheless kept checking the map in his pocket.
After a while, he said, “Nika, we’re turning right up here.”
“Professor, where are we?” asked Nika. “If you just want a place to stay for the night, the Pokémon Center’s right across the street.”
“I’m aware,” replied the professor, not unkindly, but did not offer further explanation.
Nika fell silent, and turned right at the intersection. There was nothing to mark that the Spectrum had just crossed into the pipe under Estival Avenue, so Professor Sycamore continued checking the map to make sure that they surfaced at the right grate. Counting under his breath, he stopped at four. The rest of the Spectrum stopped behind him.
“Zebstrika,” Nika’s voice rang out, “give us light!”
The equestrian Pokémon’s mane flashed once, and Professor Sycamore perceived a dim glow surrounding it. Gradually, this glow grew, until it illuminated the pipe from the floor to the ceiling, and about a hundred feet in each direction.
The professor looked up and saw a grate like the one Peter and Blake had pulled away from the battlefield back at the laboratory. He motioned to them again now, directing them to remove this one as well. Peter hastened to a spot just beneath the grate, cupping his hands to allow Blake to reach the grate. Blake stepped up and, with a grunt, heaved the grate up and onto the ground above.
Stepping down, Blake mirrored Peter’s stance, cupping his hands as well. Professor Sycamore said, “Wait here. It will look suspicious if I bring eighteen Pokémon Trainers into the Lumiose Press. I’ll be back shortly.”
He hoisted himself through the grate and above the ground. Getting to his feet, the professor found that he was in the middle of Estival Avenue. The Lumiose Press was to his left. He strode toward the building, letting himself in through the front door.
The Lumiose Press was not a large building. There was only one room, in which all the editors and reporters worked. Professor Sycamore had come to see the editor-in-chief, a tall woman with black hair working at a desk in the far right of the room.
At his arrival, the editor-in-chief stood. “Professor Sycamore. What brings you to Lumiose Press?”
“Aya,” said the professor. “It’s been too long.”
“Indeed, Professor,” said Aya. “I hope you’re well? I heard rumors that Team Flare is active again.”
“The rumors are true,” said the professor. “I’m doing all I can to stop them, believe me. Which brings me, incidentally, to why I am here.
“I’m sure you remember Diantha, former and acting Champion of Kalos?”
“Sure I do,” said Aya. “You want us to contact her for you?”
“Exactly,” said the professor. “I will need Diantha’s help in the coming battle. I have written a letter; I need you to ensure it reaches her safely.”
Aya sighed. “I returned from my journey pursuing the Mythical Pokémon less than a month ago. I still have not finished my report on it. I’m sorry, Professor, but in this I cannot help you.”
Ah yes, thought Professor Sycamore. The Mythical Pokémon. Aya had been traveling over the last ten years, trying to locate a Pokémon of legendary power. It was not either of the forces of life and death that Lysandre had tried to unleash on the world ten years ago. No one had a clue what it might be. Professor Sycamore was not even sure that the Pokémon lived in Kalos. Aya was certainly not a Kalosian name; it sounded more Kantonese, to the professor’s ear. Could Aya have gone back to her homeland of the Kanto region searching for a Pokémon that had never been seen or heard of in Kalos? Either way, Aya had spent years searching for it, and she had returned from her travels only weeks ago.
A woman with brown hair, nearly Aya’s height, stood and hurried over from her desk. Professor Sycamore identified this person as Alexa, a reporter for the Lumiose Press and the sister of Viola, a Gym Leader.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” said Alexa, “but I can take the letter. It’s been ages since I’ve been able to write a piece outside of the city, maybe I can find something on the way back.”
Although Aya was the editor-in-chief, Professor Sycamore knew that while she had been away for ten years chasing the Mythical Pokémon, Alexa had more or less taken on her role. “Very well,” said the professor, drawing the letter out of a pocket. “You can ensure that this letter reaches the Kalos Pokémon League safely?”
“I can, sir,” said Alexa with a slight bow. “I will be off within an hour of your departure.”
Professor Sycamore smiled and handed her the letter. “Thank you,” he said, and then turning to Aya: “I’m sorry I must rush off abruptly, but I must make it to the South Boulevard Pokémon Center before sundown.”
“No need to be sorry, Professor,” said Aya. “Until we meet again.”
“So shall it be,” said Professor Sycamore, and took his leave.
*
Alexa watched Professor Sycamore leave the building, and then she turned to her superior. “I must finish this report. May I leave when I’m done?”
Aya took a moment to think. “No,” she said. “No, I think you had better leave now, Alexa. This battle the professor speaks of….We’ll need all the help we can get, I’m sure. Leave now, and deliver the letter to Diantha at the Pokémon League with all haste.”
Alexa bowed. Aya was right, of course. The report could wait, especially for what could potentially be the biggest battle the Kalos region had ever seen. Aya made a dismissive gesture, and Alexa turned to leave.
“Wait, Alexa,” said Aya from behind her. She turned around. Aya was offering her a Poké Ball. “You can’t make it to the Pokémon League fast enough on foot. You’ll need air transport. Take Talonflame.”
Alexa bowed again, taking the Poké Ball. She said thanks, and walked out of the building.
Outside, she pressed the release button on the Poké Ball, and Aya’s Talonflame appeared. An avian Pokémon large enough to carry Alexa on its back, Talonflame had been Aya’s sole companion on her ten-year journey. Its feathers were warmed by the natural fire inside its body. It could expel this fire in short blasts in a Pokémon battle. Alexa doubted, however, that this Pokémon had ever seen battle, at least in the Kalos region.
“Talonflame,” said Alexa firmly and confidently. The way with a new Pokémon, especially that of another Trainer, was to be confident. Pokémon could detect emotions in a person’s voice, and wouldn’t respond respectfully if they felt nervousness. Talonflame inclined its feathered head; it had met Alexa before, and although Alexa didn’t remember much of the encounter, Pokémon of Talonflame’s caliber had long memories.
“Talonflame,” she said again,” please fly me to the Pokémon League.”
Talonflame nodded and lowered a wing for Alexa to climb on. When she had situated herself between Talonflame’s neck and wing joints, the avian Pokémon took off.
For all her work in the field, Alexa had never flown before. It was a wonderful experience, feeling the wind blow through her hair. Talonflame seemed to be aware of this being Alexa’s first time, as it never swerved or dived too swiftly. Its heated feathers warmed her, counteracting the chill of the wind.
As Talonflame flew over the region, Alexa took note of various places she had traveled to for the Lumiose Press. To the north, her left, she saw Route 16, known locally as Mélancolie Path, a winding road through the mountains next to a river. Fishermen frequented this river, on which a dock had been built for easy access to good fishing spots. Route 16 was also home to one of the entrances to the Lost Hotel, an underground building that, as its name suggested, had once been a famous hotel. It had since fallen into ruin, although no one seemed to know exactly how or why. The Lost Hotel had been the subject of Alexa’s research there.
Further ahead, to the east of Route 16, was Dendemille Town, one of the only major settlements in the frozen wasteland to the far east of the region. Alexa’s article had been on the Frost Cavern, to the north: an icy cave home to a huge mountainous Pokémon. This Pokémon guarded the deepest reaches of the cave fiercely, allowing no human to enter.
To the south, Alexa could barely see the far-off Santalune City, where her sister Viola had once been the Gym Leader. Viola, with the rest of the Gym Leaders, had gone into a self-imposed banishment following the desolation of Geosenge Town. Alexa hadn’t heard from her since then, and had no idea where she might be.
Directly ahead of her, Alexa could see the building of the Pokémon League, a building that some said had survived from before a devastating war three thousand years ago. It was shaped like a castle, with beige stone, blue roofs, and red turrets. Inside the building, the Kalos Elite Four and Champion dwelled, taking on any challengers who had won against eight Pokémon Gyms.
Or at least, they used to. Alexa doubted whether the Elite Four had had any new challengers in ten years. They had not exiled themselves as the Gym Leaders had; there was no point, when they lived in a castle and rarely came out anyway. Alexa worried for the first time that they might not let her in. She could only hope that they would trust that she bore a message from Professor Sycamore.
Talonflame began to descend to the ground. In moments more, its claws had touched the grass over which the castle loomed. Alexa dismounted the Pokémon and returned it to its Poké Ball. She then looked up at the castle, sighed, and strode to the door.
There was no point in knocking. The door was rough stone; knocking would achieve nothing but a bloody hand. Alexa wondered briefly how she was to open the door. Then it came to her that the Elite Four would have once been watching for challengers, and therefore would have been able to open the door when they saw one approaching. However, she doubted that they would be as alert now. Sighing again, Alexa decided that there was no better course of action that to wait for someone to appear and open the door.
She sat, and waited for a few minutes, but shortly the door gave a rumble and began to slide open. Alexa stood up and tried to look past the door, but found that she could not. The walls of the interior of the Pokémon League building were so sparkling and reflective that she couldn’t immediately gaze at them without quickly becoming disoriented. She was aware of a figure standing in the doorway, rushing toward her, before she collapsed from dizziness.
*
The first thing Alexa was aware of when she returned to consciousness was water trickling down her throat. If she had not still been somewhat bewildered, she might have supposed that it was the water that had awakened her. She then noticed that she was lying on a soft couch in a very warm room. There were four people huddled around her, one holding the glass that had held the water that had been poured down Alexa’s throat.
It was a very strange group of people, but Alexa felt as if she should know them. One was very old, with dark grey hair streaked with white. She wore maroon robes, and a necklace of...were those bones? Alexa blinked. Another was in his middle years, about fifty or so, wearing what appeared to be a suit of armor. His hair was graying and unruly, and he wore a circlet with an ornamental star on his forehead. Another was tall with blond hair, wearing a suit of white, with a frill about the neck. The last, a young woman with brown hair, crouched at Alexa’s side. She was the one holding the glass.
Now that Alexa had had time to orient herself, she knew that this was the Elite Four. Drasna was the elderly lady with the bone necklace. Wikstrom, the man dressed as a knight. The young man dressed in the white suit was Siebold. The last, a young woman with short brown hair, she knew to be Serena, though Alexa had never known her to be of the Elite Four.
“She’s awake,” said Siebold. “I told you it would work.”
Serena cast a stern glance at him. Then, she turned back to Alexa and her face softened. “Who are you, and why have you come to the Pokémon League?”
Alexa shook her head to clear her thoughts. “I came from Lumiose City, with a message from Professor Augustine Sycamore for Diantha, Champion of Kalos. My name is Alexa. I’m a reporter for the Lumiose Press.”
“You’ve come for Diantha?” asked Serena. “I’m sorry to disappoint you after you’ve come all this way, but Diantha’s not here. She left about a week ago on an urgent mission and has yet to return. We don’t know where she is.”
“Diantha’s...gone?” said Alexa, suddenly tired again. “I have to deliver this letter to Diantha. Can you ensure that she receives it?”
Serena hesitated, looking back at Drasna, Wikstrom, and Siebold. After a long pause, Wikstrom spoke. “You should stay here for a while. The entry hall of the castle can have this effect on people. It’s meant as a defense system for intruders, but it seems that it works too well. You’re in no state to travel right now, so you might as well wait here until Diantha returns.”
“When will that be?” asked Alexa.
“I don’t know,” Wikstrom rumbled. “It could be until the season changes, or longer. We’ve taken the liberty of allowing your Talonflame to stretch its wings outside. You can send a message with it to your superiors at the Press.”
“I….Thank you,” said Alexa. “You’re right, I’ll send a message. Do you have a pen and paper?”
At this, Wikstrom and Drasna both laughed. “There’s no hurry, Alexa,” said Drasna. “Rest a bit more, and write a letter when you feel up to it.”
“They’re right, Alexa,” said Serena. “Rest awhile. There’s always more time.”
Alexa hesitated, then nodded. As the Elite Four rose, however, she remembered. “No!” she said with such vehemence that Serena jumped and Siebold raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Team Flare has returned! That’s what the professor’s letter is; he needs Diantha’s help! We don’t have more time.”
Serena looked startled. She looked to Drasna, perhaps for guidance. Drasna visibly calmed her face, and then said, “We shall correspond with Professor Sycamore. You, however, must rest.”
And with that, the Elite Four walked out of the room, leaving Alexa to nod off to sleep.
*
Professor Sycamore led the way into the lobby of the South Boulevard, accompanied by the entire Spectrum. Under different circumstances, he might have told them to wait outside, because nineteen people in a Pokémon Center’s lobby would attract too much attention. Now, however, he had decided that the risk was greater for the Spectrum to be outside than in.
There were a few people sitting in chairs, reading books, when he walked in, but no one at the desk, so he rang a small bell he had seen by the door. “Coming!” yelled a muffled voice from somewhere upstairs.
A Nurse descended the stairs, carrying a large box, which she set down by the desk. All Pokémon Center Nurses had the same unique hair color: a red so pale it could be called pink. They were all sisters with the surname Joy, part of the same family who had founded the first Pokémon Center. This sister’s name, as the professor remembered, was Aira. “How can I help you, Professor Sycamore?” she said, recognizing his lab coat and wild black hair.
“We need seven rooms for the night,” said the professor. “Each with three beds, please.”
“Sure,” said Aira, entering the order in a computer at her desk. “It’s strange, I’ve had more guests than usual lately. Normally, about as many people stay here as in each of the other Pokémon Centers in the city, but my sisters have told me that they’ve had next to no guests whatsoever.”
Professor Sycamore knew perfectly well, of course, why Aira had had more visitors than her sisters: rumors of Team Flare had frightened away all the tourists from that area of the city. He hoped the numerous guests wouldn’t disturb their stay tonight.
Aira led them upstairs to a set of seven rooms, all in the same stretch of hallway. Professor Sycamore took one room for himself, and then the rest of the Spectrum divided into groups of three. Ryan, Ani and Roc took the same room.
After Aira had gone back downstairs, Professor Sycamore knocked on each door in turn and advised each of them to get a good night’s sleep; they would need to be well rested for a long day tomorrow. After he had said this to the three behind the last door, he returned to his room and stretched out on the bed. Within minutes, he was asleep.
*
After Professor Sycamore had closed the door, Ryan started pacing. Ani and Roc sat on their respective beds. “Ryan, what is it?” asked Ani. “You’ve been on edge since we left the village.”
“Doesn’t it seem strange to you?” said Ryan. “That one day, a stranger comes to the village, when we haven’t had any strangers in years, and claims that he’s working to save the world, but that he needs our help?”
“You mean you don’t believe him?” said Roc. “Ryan, you saw Team Flare in the battlefield outside the laboratory. They’re definitely real. And the Spectrum is, too.”
“No, I believe that part,” said Ryan. “But how do I know that he’s right and Team Flare’s wrong? They’re obviously against each other, but we’ve seen nothing to suggest that Professor Sycamore is really working to save the world, and that Team Flare isn’t.”
“Come on, Ryan,” said Ani. “You really believe Fylon is evil? And Nika?”
Ryan looked doubtful, but Roc said, “We should get some sleep. We’ll need it.”
Ryan noticed that Roc had carefully avoided using Professor Sycamore’s name in his last sentences, perhaps for fear of provoking more rants. But exhaustion won out, and Ryan got into his bed.
*
Professor Sycamore woke some time later to a loud crash and the smell of smoke. Even in his half-conscious state, he immediately suspected Team Flare. He leapt out of the bed, nearly breaking down the door in his efforts to open it. He looked down the hallway, and saw the yellow-and-orange tongues of fire.
He knocked frantically on each of the six other doors, although he doubted whether any of them was still asleep. Seconds after his knocks, the Spectrum burst out of the doors.
“Get as many people out of the building as you can!” Professor Sycamore cried.
Each of them nodded once, and began tearing off into various rooms, attempting to evacuate anyone still left inside. Some were groggy - whether because they were still half-asleep or because of the smoke Professor Sycamore did not know - and had to be practically dragged by the Spectrum outside. Some believed they could put out the fire, and had to be convinced otherwise. It seemed, however, for the most part, that Aira had had enough warning to usher most of the guests outside before things became too difficult.
Suddenly, from behind a crumbling wall, a Team Flare Grunt stepped out, Poké Ball in hand raised to throw. Professor Sycamore whirled around and had only a second’s warning before a small grey-and-red-feathered birdlike Pokémon - a Fletchinder - collided with the wall the professor had been in front of. Professor Sycamore took his own Poké Ball from his pocket and pressed the button, releasing Charizard, his draconian Pokémon, in a dazzling burst of light.
“Charizard, Slash!” the professor called.
“Fletchinder, Wing Attack!” came the voice of the Team Flare Grunt.
While the birdlike Pokémon was fast, Charizard was faster. It avoided Fletchinder’s glowing wing, and struck with its sharp claws. Fletchinder crashed to the ground in a faint.
As the professor recalled Charizard into its Poké Ball, he became aware that the rest of the Spectrum was fighting against two dozen or more Grunts, all in the cleared, yet burning, space where their rooms had been minutes before. The Spectrum was in a tight circle, facing outward, their Pokémon before them, facing a larger outer circle formed by the Team Flare Grunts. Professor Sycamore backed into the Spectrum circle and said, “Where are Ryan, Ani and Roc?”
“They’re helping the rest of the guests evacuate the building,” Fylon called. “Care to give us a hand?”
“Oh, I doubt you need it,” said the professor, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. “I want to see how you do on your own. Besides, what could Charizard do but make the building crumble faster?”
Fylon made a grunt of exasperation. “Braviary, Aerial Ace!” he yelled, and his Pokémon swooped and dived, evading the strikes of its opponents, and jabbing them sharply with its beak. The Pokémon of the Team Flare Grunts tried in vain to land a direct blow, and Braviary soon finished them off. They slumped to the ground in a faint.
Fylon turned back to the professor, who gave him a nod and another smile. “Hmph,” said Fylon. “I suppose you think now you can just sit this out? We’re not a full Spectrum, Professor. There are a lot of Grunts here.”
“Remember what I said about making the building crumble faster?” said the professor, still smiling. “I’m going outside to help with the evacuation. I must say, however, that you did very well.”
Fylon sighed and turned to face the other Grunts, calling orders to Braviary. Professor Sycamore watched for a few moments before turning and walking through the debris to the stairs, and down them to what remained of the door.
Outside, the chill night air was refreshing, though Professor Sycamore knew that he must not relax just yet. He surveyed the evacuated guests, estimating between thirty and forty. He saw Ani bringing water to a few of them, though he had no idea where she may have found it, and Roc helping injured people walk to a place where they might sit down. The professor did not see Ryan, but he did not give too much thought to this matter, for Aira came then hurrying over to him, clutching her laptop computer.
“Professor!” she said. “We’ve received a message from the Elite Four. Can you speak to them? I have the connection now.”
Professor Sycamore wondered for a moment what the Elite Four, whom he had not spoken to in nearly ten years, would be contacting him about. Then he remembered leaving the letter in Alexa’s hands at the Lumiose Press; the fire in the Pokémon Center had eclipsed the few hours before it. He marvelled at the speed at which Alexa had arrived at the Pokémon League, even being under fifty miles away - she must have left immediately after he had. He nodded to Aira, and she opened her computer. The screen flickered for a moment, and then Drasna’s face appeared. The professor could see three silhouettes behind her - presumably the rest of the Elite Four.
“Professor Sycamore,” said Drasna, inclining her head. The professor bowed. “Drasna.”
Aira passed the computer to Professor Sycamore and went back to help the guests. He sat down.
“You know we would not contact you were it not important,” continued Drasna. “A reporter from the Lumiose Press has just come to the castle, calling herself Alexa. We want firstly to confirm that you sent her.”
“I did,” said the professor. “But that was not the only reason you called?”
“No. We understand Team Flare has returned. We want to know what you are doing about it.”
“An Elemental Spectrum,” said the professor. “A circle of eighteen can--”
“Defeat any opponent, yes,” said Drasna. “Very well. If you have truly managed to form a theoretical concept…, well, I suppose it doesn’t surprise me. You’ve always been confident. Perhaps too much so. But why do you need Diantha? If you have a circle of eighteen, you shouldn’t need anyone else.”
“A fully trained circle of eighteen can defeat any opponent,” said Professor Sycamore. “I’ve had time only to train fifteen. I have the last three, but I am not sure I will have the time before to battle to teach them.”
To his surprise, Drasna laughed. “So you are not overconfident! Good. But I am afraid Diantha is not here right now. She has not been here for a week now.”
“She has?” said the professor. “That is unfortunate. Perhaps, then, you can help me. The Elite Four - I see that you are four, though you were not nearly ten years ago - are the strongest Pokémon Trainers in the region, second only to Diantha herself. If I know you, you have not been idle this last decade. You have been honing your skills further. If I may ask, however, who is your fourth member?”
Drasna turned to one of the silhouettes and said something Professor Sycamore could not hear. Then, she stepped aside and a new face came into view.
“Serena?” said the professor, surprised. “How did you come by this position? Not that you don’t deserve it, you understand.”
Now Drasna spoke again, though Serena was still on the screen. “You may remember that Serena was instrumental in helping us to expose Malva, her predecessor, as part of Team Flare. She showed her talent with Pokémon, which as far as I know has been surpassed only by Calem and Diantha herself, and as such she has been initiated as one of the four strongest in the region.”
“Ah yes,” said the professor. “Congratulations, Serena! I have no doubt that you will live to be a far better Trainer than Malva ever was. But what happened to Malva?”
“She escaped after we revealed to the world her identity,” said Drasna. “As far as we know, she has been wandering this region, or another, in disguise for ten years.”
“Hmm,” said the professor thoughtfully. “Perhaps she is the new head of Team Flare? It seems plausible. But that brings me back to my other question: Will you help me in the struggle against Team Flare? It is time for the Elite Four to be known again.”
Now Serena left the screen, and Drasna came back. She sighed. “Yes,” she said at length. “If it comes to that, we will help you. I daresay you’ll need it.”
Professor Sycamore inclined his head. “Thank you. Until we meet again,” he said, using the honorary farewell.
“So shall it be,” said Drasna in response.
The screen went black. Professor Sycamore sat a few minutes longer in deep thought. He did not notice when Aira came back over. At length, he came out of his trance. “My apologies, Aira,” he said. “I was lost in thought.”
“Your apology need not be for that, Professor Sycamore,” said Aira, “but for the Pokémon Center! I trust you’ll pay for the damage?”
“Of course,” said the professor. “Better, when this is all over, we shall assist you in the rebuilding.”
Aira sniffed, took back her computer, and walked away. At that moment, Fylon and the rest of the Spectrum came out of the burning Pokémon Center. A few of them bore abrasions and bruises, but they seemed otherwise unharmed.
“Everything went well?” said the professor, standing up.
“Yeah,” said Fylon, panting. “It took a while, and we’re exhausted, and the building’s almost collapsed, but we defeated them and made it out. They escaped.”
Professor Sycamore smiled. “You’ve done well, Fylon. Sit, rest a moment. I’ll bring you water.”
Fylon sank to his knees with the rest of the Spectrum, sitting in the middle of South Boulevard, away from the guests. Professor Sycamore strode tiredly to the group, where Ani was still distributing water. Roc was now sitting, wiping his brow with a damp cloth.
“Ani,” said the professor, “where’s Ryan?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, also noticing this for the first time. “I haven’t seen him since...I guess since before we all went to sleep. Where is he?”
“I don’t know, either,” said the professor. “But I need to find out.”
He almost ran back over to the Spectrum. “Morgan! Julian!” he called. “I need you to go back inside. I can’t find Ryan.”
Both Morgan and Julina were tired, but they nodded and got up, running back into the building. After they went in, Professor Sycamore remained rooted to the spot, too anxious to do anything. He waited like this for many more minutes, until Morgan and Julian came back out of the building. “We didn’t find him, Professor,” said Morgan. “He’s not in there.”
“Oh, no,” breathed the professor, his fears confirmed. “Team Flare has captured Ryan.”
Lumiose City, however, was somewhat less beautiful in the sewers. Professor Sycamore had spared only a moment’s regret for his pristine lab coat before lowering himself through the grate. Fortunately, the pipe was large enough in diameter for all of the Spectrum to comfortably walk through.
They moved in a clump, with Nika at the front. At her side was her equestrian Pokémon with black-and-white stripes, Zebstrika, who illuminated the pipe with its flashing mane, and was the only Pokémon outside of its Poké Ball; it would be too cramped in the sewage pipe with nineteen people and almost the same number of Pokémon. Professor Sycamore trudged through the filth close behind her, leading the rest of the Elemental Spectrum.
The professor needed to mail his letter to Diantha as soon as he could. He had a contact at the Lumiose Press, the news building, who could ensure that his letter reached the Champion without being intercepted by Team Flare. The Spectrum would go there first, and then to the Pokémon Center on South Boulevard, that being the one farthest from the building he believed Team Flare to be using as headquarters.
Lumiose Press was a little out of their way, on Estival Avenue near Bleu Plaza, while the South Boulevard Pokémon Center was across the street from the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory, which was the professor’s reason for navigating the city by way of the sewers. He knew the way, but nevertheless kept checking the map in his pocket.
After a while, he said, “Nika, we’re turning right up here.”
“Professor, where are we?” asked Nika. “If you just want a place to stay for the night, the Pokémon Center’s right across the street.”
“I’m aware,” replied the professor, not unkindly, but did not offer further explanation.
Nika fell silent, and turned right at the intersection. There was nothing to mark that the Spectrum had just crossed into the pipe under Estival Avenue, so Professor Sycamore continued checking the map to make sure that they surfaced at the right grate. Counting under his breath, he stopped at four. The rest of the Spectrum stopped behind him.
“Zebstrika,” Nika’s voice rang out, “give us light!”
The equestrian Pokémon’s mane flashed once, and Professor Sycamore perceived a dim glow surrounding it. Gradually, this glow grew, until it illuminated the pipe from the floor to the ceiling, and about a hundred feet in each direction.
The professor looked up and saw a grate like the one Peter and Blake had pulled away from the battlefield back at the laboratory. He motioned to them again now, directing them to remove this one as well. Peter hastened to a spot just beneath the grate, cupping his hands to allow Blake to reach the grate. Blake stepped up and, with a grunt, heaved the grate up and onto the ground above.
Stepping down, Blake mirrored Peter’s stance, cupping his hands as well. Professor Sycamore said, “Wait here. It will look suspicious if I bring eighteen Pokémon Trainers into the Lumiose Press. I’ll be back shortly.”
He hoisted himself through the grate and above the ground. Getting to his feet, the professor found that he was in the middle of Estival Avenue. The Lumiose Press was to his left. He strode toward the building, letting himself in through the front door.
The Lumiose Press was not a large building. There was only one room, in which all the editors and reporters worked. Professor Sycamore had come to see the editor-in-chief, a tall woman with black hair working at a desk in the far right of the room.
At his arrival, the editor-in-chief stood. “Professor Sycamore. What brings you to Lumiose Press?”
“Aya,” said the professor. “It’s been too long.”
“Indeed, Professor,” said Aya. “I hope you’re well? I heard rumors that Team Flare is active again.”
“The rumors are true,” said the professor. “I’m doing all I can to stop them, believe me. Which brings me, incidentally, to why I am here.
“I’m sure you remember Diantha, former and acting Champion of Kalos?”
“Sure I do,” said Aya. “You want us to contact her for you?”
“Exactly,” said the professor. “I will need Diantha’s help in the coming battle. I have written a letter; I need you to ensure it reaches her safely.”
Aya sighed. “I returned from my journey pursuing the Mythical Pokémon less than a month ago. I still have not finished my report on it. I’m sorry, Professor, but in this I cannot help you.”
Ah yes, thought Professor Sycamore. The Mythical Pokémon. Aya had been traveling over the last ten years, trying to locate a Pokémon of legendary power. It was not either of the forces of life and death that Lysandre had tried to unleash on the world ten years ago. No one had a clue what it might be. Professor Sycamore was not even sure that the Pokémon lived in Kalos. Aya was certainly not a Kalosian name; it sounded more Kantonese, to the professor’s ear. Could Aya have gone back to her homeland of the Kanto region searching for a Pokémon that had never been seen or heard of in Kalos? Either way, Aya had spent years searching for it, and she had returned from her travels only weeks ago.
A woman with brown hair, nearly Aya’s height, stood and hurried over from her desk. Professor Sycamore identified this person as Alexa, a reporter for the Lumiose Press and the sister of Viola, a Gym Leader.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” said Alexa, “but I can take the letter. It’s been ages since I’ve been able to write a piece outside of the city, maybe I can find something on the way back.”
Although Aya was the editor-in-chief, Professor Sycamore knew that while she had been away for ten years chasing the Mythical Pokémon, Alexa had more or less taken on her role. “Very well,” said the professor, drawing the letter out of a pocket. “You can ensure that this letter reaches the Kalos Pokémon League safely?”
“I can, sir,” said Alexa with a slight bow. “I will be off within an hour of your departure.”
Professor Sycamore smiled and handed her the letter. “Thank you,” he said, and then turning to Aya: “I’m sorry I must rush off abruptly, but I must make it to the South Boulevard Pokémon Center before sundown.”
“No need to be sorry, Professor,” said Aya. “Until we meet again.”
“So shall it be,” said Professor Sycamore, and took his leave.
*
Alexa watched Professor Sycamore leave the building, and then she turned to her superior. “I must finish this report. May I leave when I’m done?”
Aya took a moment to think. “No,” she said. “No, I think you had better leave now, Alexa. This battle the professor speaks of….We’ll need all the help we can get, I’m sure. Leave now, and deliver the letter to Diantha at the Pokémon League with all haste.”
Alexa bowed. Aya was right, of course. The report could wait, especially for what could potentially be the biggest battle the Kalos region had ever seen. Aya made a dismissive gesture, and Alexa turned to leave.
“Wait, Alexa,” said Aya from behind her. She turned around. Aya was offering her a Poké Ball. “You can’t make it to the Pokémon League fast enough on foot. You’ll need air transport. Take Talonflame.”
Alexa bowed again, taking the Poké Ball. She said thanks, and walked out of the building.
Outside, she pressed the release button on the Poké Ball, and Aya’s Talonflame appeared. An avian Pokémon large enough to carry Alexa on its back, Talonflame had been Aya’s sole companion on her ten-year journey. Its feathers were warmed by the natural fire inside its body. It could expel this fire in short blasts in a Pokémon battle. Alexa doubted, however, that this Pokémon had ever seen battle, at least in the Kalos region.
“Talonflame,” said Alexa firmly and confidently. The way with a new Pokémon, especially that of another Trainer, was to be confident. Pokémon could detect emotions in a person’s voice, and wouldn’t respond respectfully if they felt nervousness. Talonflame inclined its feathered head; it had met Alexa before, and although Alexa didn’t remember much of the encounter, Pokémon of Talonflame’s caliber had long memories.
“Talonflame,” she said again,” please fly me to the Pokémon League.”
Talonflame nodded and lowered a wing for Alexa to climb on. When she had situated herself between Talonflame’s neck and wing joints, the avian Pokémon took off.
For all her work in the field, Alexa had never flown before. It was a wonderful experience, feeling the wind blow through her hair. Talonflame seemed to be aware of this being Alexa’s first time, as it never swerved or dived too swiftly. Its heated feathers warmed her, counteracting the chill of the wind.
As Talonflame flew over the region, Alexa took note of various places she had traveled to for the Lumiose Press. To the north, her left, she saw Route 16, known locally as Mélancolie Path, a winding road through the mountains next to a river. Fishermen frequented this river, on which a dock had been built for easy access to good fishing spots. Route 16 was also home to one of the entrances to the Lost Hotel, an underground building that, as its name suggested, had once been a famous hotel. It had since fallen into ruin, although no one seemed to know exactly how or why. The Lost Hotel had been the subject of Alexa’s research there.
Further ahead, to the east of Route 16, was Dendemille Town, one of the only major settlements in the frozen wasteland to the far east of the region. Alexa’s article had been on the Frost Cavern, to the north: an icy cave home to a huge mountainous Pokémon. This Pokémon guarded the deepest reaches of the cave fiercely, allowing no human to enter.
To the south, Alexa could barely see the far-off Santalune City, where her sister Viola had once been the Gym Leader. Viola, with the rest of the Gym Leaders, had gone into a self-imposed banishment following the desolation of Geosenge Town. Alexa hadn’t heard from her since then, and had no idea where she might be.
Directly ahead of her, Alexa could see the building of the Pokémon League, a building that some said had survived from before a devastating war three thousand years ago. It was shaped like a castle, with beige stone, blue roofs, and red turrets. Inside the building, the Kalos Elite Four and Champion dwelled, taking on any challengers who had won against eight Pokémon Gyms.
Or at least, they used to. Alexa doubted whether the Elite Four had had any new challengers in ten years. They had not exiled themselves as the Gym Leaders had; there was no point, when they lived in a castle and rarely came out anyway. Alexa worried for the first time that they might not let her in. She could only hope that they would trust that she bore a message from Professor Sycamore.
Talonflame began to descend to the ground. In moments more, its claws had touched the grass over which the castle loomed. Alexa dismounted the Pokémon and returned it to its Poké Ball. She then looked up at the castle, sighed, and strode to the door.
There was no point in knocking. The door was rough stone; knocking would achieve nothing but a bloody hand. Alexa wondered briefly how she was to open the door. Then it came to her that the Elite Four would have once been watching for challengers, and therefore would have been able to open the door when they saw one approaching. However, she doubted that they would be as alert now. Sighing again, Alexa decided that there was no better course of action that to wait for someone to appear and open the door.
She sat, and waited for a few minutes, but shortly the door gave a rumble and began to slide open. Alexa stood up and tried to look past the door, but found that she could not. The walls of the interior of the Pokémon League building were so sparkling and reflective that she couldn’t immediately gaze at them without quickly becoming disoriented. She was aware of a figure standing in the doorway, rushing toward her, before she collapsed from dizziness.
*
The first thing Alexa was aware of when she returned to consciousness was water trickling down her throat. If she had not still been somewhat bewildered, she might have supposed that it was the water that had awakened her. She then noticed that she was lying on a soft couch in a very warm room. There were four people huddled around her, one holding the glass that had held the water that had been poured down Alexa’s throat.
It was a very strange group of people, but Alexa felt as if she should know them. One was very old, with dark grey hair streaked with white. She wore maroon robes, and a necklace of...were those bones? Alexa blinked. Another was in his middle years, about fifty or so, wearing what appeared to be a suit of armor. His hair was graying and unruly, and he wore a circlet with an ornamental star on his forehead. Another was tall with blond hair, wearing a suit of white, with a frill about the neck. The last, a young woman with brown hair, crouched at Alexa’s side. She was the one holding the glass.
Now that Alexa had had time to orient herself, she knew that this was the Elite Four. Drasna was the elderly lady with the bone necklace. Wikstrom, the man dressed as a knight. The young man dressed in the white suit was Siebold. The last, a young woman with short brown hair, she knew to be Serena, though Alexa had never known her to be of the Elite Four.
“She’s awake,” said Siebold. “I told you it would work.”
Serena cast a stern glance at him. Then, she turned back to Alexa and her face softened. “Who are you, and why have you come to the Pokémon League?”
Alexa shook her head to clear her thoughts. “I came from Lumiose City, with a message from Professor Augustine Sycamore for Diantha, Champion of Kalos. My name is Alexa. I’m a reporter for the Lumiose Press.”
“You’ve come for Diantha?” asked Serena. “I’m sorry to disappoint you after you’ve come all this way, but Diantha’s not here. She left about a week ago on an urgent mission and has yet to return. We don’t know where she is.”
“Diantha’s...gone?” said Alexa, suddenly tired again. “I have to deliver this letter to Diantha. Can you ensure that she receives it?”
Serena hesitated, looking back at Drasna, Wikstrom, and Siebold. After a long pause, Wikstrom spoke. “You should stay here for a while. The entry hall of the castle can have this effect on people. It’s meant as a defense system for intruders, but it seems that it works too well. You’re in no state to travel right now, so you might as well wait here until Diantha returns.”
“When will that be?” asked Alexa.
“I don’t know,” Wikstrom rumbled. “It could be until the season changes, or longer. We’ve taken the liberty of allowing your Talonflame to stretch its wings outside. You can send a message with it to your superiors at the Press.”
“I….Thank you,” said Alexa. “You’re right, I’ll send a message. Do you have a pen and paper?”
At this, Wikstrom and Drasna both laughed. “There’s no hurry, Alexa,” said Drasna. “Rest a bit more, and write a letter when you feel up to it.”
“They’re right, Alexa,” said Serena. “Rest awhile. There’s always more time.”
Alexa hesitated, then nodded. As the Elite Four rose, however, she remembered. “No!” she said with such vehemence that Serena jumped and Siebold raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Team Flare has returned! That’s what the professor’s letter is; he needs Diantha’s help! We don’t have more time.”
Serena looked startled. She looked to Drasna, perhaps for guidance. Drasna visibly calmed her face, and then said, “We shall correspond with Professor Sycamore. You, however, must rest.”
And with that, the Elite Four walked out of the room, leaving Alexa to nod off to sleep.
*
Professor Sycamore led the way into the lobby of the South Boulevard, accompanied by the entire Spectrum. Under different circumstances, he might have told them to wait outside, because nineteen people in a Pokémon Center’s lobby would attract too much attention. Now, however, he had decided that the risk was greater for the Spectrum to be outside than in.
There were a few people sitting in chairs, reading books, when he walked in, but no one at the desk, so he rang a small bell he had seen by the door. “Coming!” yelled a muffled voice from somewhere upstairs.
A Nurse descended the stairs, carrying a large box, which she set down by the desk. All Pokémon Center Nurses had the same unique hair color: a red so pale it could be called pink. They were all sisters with the surname Joy, part of the same family who had founded the first Pokémon Center. This sister’s name, as the professor remembered, was Aira. “How can I help you, Professor Sycamore?” she said, recognizing his lab coat and wild black hair.
“We need seven rooms for the night,” said the professor. “Each with three beds, please.”
“Sure,” said Aira, entering the order in a computer at her desk. “It’s strange, I’ve had more guests than usual lately. Normally, about as many people stay here as in each of the other Pokémon Centers in the city, but my sisters have told me that they’ve had next to no guests whatsoever.”
Professor Sycamore knew perfectly well, of course, why Aira had had more visitors than her sisters: rumors of Team Flare had frightened away all the tourists from that area of the city. He hoped the numerous guests wouldn’t disturb their stay tonight.
Aira led them upstairs to a set of seven rooms, all in the same stretch of hallway. Professor Sycamore took one room for himself, and then the rest of the Spectrum divided into groups of three. Ryan, Ani and Roc took the same room.
After Aira had gone back downstairs, Professor Sycamore knocked on each door in turn and advised each of them to get a good night’s sleep; they would need to be well rested for a long day tomorrow. After he had said this to the three behind the last door, he returned to his room and stretched out on the bed. Within minutes, he was asleep.
*
After Professor Sycamore had closed the door, Ryan started pacing. Ani and Roc sat on their respective beds. “Ryan, what is it?” asked Ani. “You’ve been on edge since we left the village.”
“Doesn’t it seem strange to you?” said Ryan. “That one day, a stranger comes to the village, when we haven’t had any strangers in years, and claims that he’s working to save the world, but that he needs our help?”
“You mean you don’t believe him?” said Roc. “Ryan, you saw Team Flare in the battlefield outside the laboratory. They’re definitely real. And the Spectrum is, too.”
“No, I believe that part,” said Ryan. “But how do I know that he’s right and Team Flare’s wrong? They’re obviously against each other, but we’ve seen nothing to suggest that Professor Sycamore is really working to save the world, and that Team Flare isn’t.”
“Come on, Ryan,” said Ani. “You really believe Fylon is evil? And Nika?”
Ryan looked doubtful, but Roc said, “We should get some sleep. We’ll need it.”
Ryan noticed that Roc had carefully avoided using Professor Sycamore’s name in his last sentences, perhaps for fear of provoking more rants. But exhaustion won out, and Ryan got into his bed.
*
Professor Sycamore woke some time later to a loud crash and the smell of smoke. Even in his half-conscious state, he immediately suspected Team Flare. He leapt out of the bed, nearly breaking down the door in his efforts to open it. He looked down the hallway, and saw the yellow-and-orange tongues of fire.
He knocked frantically on each of the six other doors, although he doubted whether any of them was still asleep. Seconds after his knocks, the Spectrum burst out of the doors.
“Get as many people out of the building as you can!” Professor Sycamore cried.
Each of them nodded once, and began tearing off into various rooms, attempting to evacuate anyone still left inside. Some were groggy - whether because they were still half-asleep or because of the smoke Professor Sycamore did not know - and had to be practically dragged by the Spectrum outside. Some believed they could put out the fire, and had to be convinced otherwise. It seemed, however, for the most part, that Aira had had enough warning to usher most of the guests outside before things became too difficult.
Suddenly, from behind a crumbling wall, a Team Flare Grunt stepped out, Poké Ball in hand raised to throw. Professor Sycamore whirled around and had only a second’s warning before a small grey-and-red-feathered birdlike Pokémon - a Fletchinder - collided with the wall the professor had been in front of. Professor Sycamore took his own Poké Ball from his pocket and pressed the button, releasing Charizard, his draconian Pokémon, in a dazzling burst of light.
“Charizard, Slash!” the professor called.
“Fletchinder, Wing Attack!” came the voice of the Team Flare Grunt.
While the birdlike Pokémon was fast, Charizard was faster. It avoided Fletchinder’s glowing wing, and struck with its sharp claws. Fletchinder crashed to the ground in a faint.
As the professor recalled Charizard into its Poké Ball, he became aware that the rest of the Spectrum was fighting against two dozen or more Grunts, all in the cleared, yet burning, space where their rooms had been minutes before. The Spectrum was in a tight circle, facing outward, their Pokémon before them, facing a larger outer circle formed by the Team Flare Grunts. Professor Sycamore backed into the Spectrum circle and said, “Where are Ryan, Ani and Roc?”
“They’re helping the rest of the guests evacuate the building,” Fylon called. “Care to give us a hand?”
“Oh, I doubt you need it,” said the professor, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. “I want to see how you do on your own. Besides, what could Charizard do but make the building crumble faster?”
Fylon made a grunt of exasperation. “Braviary, Aerial Ace!” he yelled, and his Pokémon swooped and dived, evading the strikes of its opponents, and jabbing them sharply with its beak. The Pokémon of the Team Flare Grunts tried in vain to land a direct blow, and Braviary soon finished them off. They slumped to the ground in a faint.
Fylon turned back to the professor, who gave him a nod and another smile. “Hmph,” said Fylon. “I suppose you think now you can just sit this out? We’re not a full Spectrum, Professor. There are a lot of Grunts here.”
“Remember what I said about making the building crumble faster?” said the professor, still smiling. “I’m going outside to help with the evacuation. I must say, however, that you did very well.”
Fylon sighed and turned to face the other Grunts, calling orders to Braviary. Professor Sycamore watched for a few moments before turning and walking through the debris to the stairs, and down them to what remained of the door.
Outside, the chill night air was refreshing, though Professor Sycamore knew that he must not relax just yet. He surveyed the evacuated guests, estimating between thirty and forty. He saw Ani bringing water to a few of them, though he had no idea where she may have found it, and Roc helping injured people walk to a place where they might sit down. The professor did not see Ryan, but he did not give too much thought to this matter, for Aira came then hurrying over to him, clutching her laptop computer.
“Professor!” she said. “We’ve received a message from the Elite Four. Can you speak to them? I have the connection now.”
Professor Sycamore wondered for a moment what the Elite Four, whom he had not spoken to in nearly ten years, would be contacting him about. Then he remembered leaving the letter in Alexa’s hands at the Lumiose Press; the fire in the Pokémon Center had eclipsed the few hours before it. He marvelled at the speed at which Alexa had arrived at the Pokémon League, even being under fifty miles away - she must have left immediately after he had. He nodded to Aira, and she opened her computer. The screen flickered for a moment, and then Drasna’s face appeared. The professor could see three silhouettes behind her - presumably the rest of the Elite Four.
“Professor Sycamore,” said Drasna, inclining her head. The professor bowed. “Drasna.”
Aira passed the computer to Professor Sycamore and went back to help the guests. He sat down.
“You know we would not contact you were it not important,” continued Drasna. “A reporter from the Lumiose Press has just come to the castle, calling herself Alexa. We want firstly to confirm that you sent her.”
“I did,” said the professor. “But that was not the only reason you called?”
“No. We understand Team Flare has returned. We want to know what you are doing about it.”
“An Elemental Spectrum,” said the professor. “A circle of eighteen can--”
“Defeat any opponent, yes,” said Drasna. “Very well. If you have truly managed to form a theoretical concept…, well, I suppose it doesn’t surprise me. You’ve always been confident. Perhaps too much so. But why do you need Diantha? If you have a circle of eighteen, you shouldn’t need anyone else.”
“A fully trained circle of eighteen can defeat any opponent,” said Professor Sycamore. “I’ve had time only to train fifteen. I have the last three, but I am not sure I will have the time before to battle to teach them.”
To his surprise, Drasna laughed. “So you are not overconfident! Good. But I am afraid Diantha is not here right now. She has not been here for a week now.”
“She has?” said the professor. “That is unfortunate. Perhaps, then, you can help me. The Elite Four - I see that you are four, though you were not nearly ten years ago - are the strongest Pokémon Trainers in the region, second only to Diantha herself. If I know you, you have not been idle this last decade. You have been honing your skills further. If I may ask, however, who is your fourth member?”
Drasna turned to one of the silhouettes and said something Professor Sycamore could not hear. Then, she stepped aside and a new face came into view.
“Serena?” said the professor, surprised. “How did you come by this position? Not that you don’t deserve it, you understand.”
Now Drasna spoke again, though Serena was still on the screen. “You may remember that Serena was instrumental in helping us to expose Malva, her predecessor, as part of Team Flare. She showed her talent with Pokémon, which as far as I know has been surpassed only by Calem and Diantha herself, and as such she has been initiated as one of the four strongest in the region.”
“Ah yes,” said the professor. “Congratulations, Serena! I have no doubt that you will live to be a far better Trainer than Malva ever was. But what happened to Malva?”
“She escaped after we revealed to the world her identity,” said Drasna. “As far as we know, she has been wandering this region, or another, in disguise for ten years.”
“Hmm,” said the professor thoughtfully. “Perhaps she is the new head of Team Flare? It seems plausible. But that brings me back to my other question: Will you help me in the struggle against Team Flare? It is time for the Elite Four to be known again.”
Now Serena left the screen, and Drasna came back. She sighed. “Yes,” she said at length. “If it comes to that, we will help you. I daresay you’ll need it.”
Professor Sycamore inclined his head. “Thank you. Until we meet again,” he said, using the honorary farewell.
“So shall it be,” said Drasna in response.
The screen went black. Professor Sycamore sat a few minutes longer in deep thought. He did not notice when Aira came back over. At length, he came out of his trance. “My apologies, Aira,” he said. “I was lost in thought.”
“Your apology need not be for that, Professor Sycamore,” said Aira, “but for the Pokémon Center! I trust you’ll pay for the damage?”
“Of course,” said the professor. “Better, when this is all over, we shall assist you in the rebuilding.”
Aira sniffed, took back her computer, and walked away. At that moment, Fylon and the rest of the Spectrum came out of the burning Pokémon Center. A few of them bore abrasions and bruises, but they seemed otherwise unharmed.
“Everything went well?” said the professor, standing up.
“Yeah,” said Fylon, panting. “It took a while, and we’re exhausted, and the building’s almost collapsed, but we defeated them and made it out. They escaped.”
Professor Sycamore smiled. “You’ve done well, Fylon. Sit, rest a moment. I’ll bring you water.”
Fylon sank to his knees with the rest of the Spectrum, sitting in the middle of South Boulevard, away from the guests. Professor Sycamore strode tiredly to the group, where Ani was still distributing water. Roc was now sitting, wiping his brow with a damp cloth.
“Ani,” said the professor, “where’s Ryan?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, also noticing this for the first time. “I haven’t seen him since...I guess since before we all went to sleep. Where is he?”
“I don’t know, either,” said the professor. “But I need to find out.”
He almost ran back over to the Spectrum. “Morgan! Julian!” he called. “I need you to go back inside. I can’t find Ryan.”
Both Morgan and Julina were tired, but they nodded and got up, running back into the building. After they went in, Professor Sycamore remained rooted to the spot, too anxious to do anything. He waited like this for many more minutes, until Morgan and Julian came back out of the building. “We didn’t find him, Professor,” said Morgan. “He’s not in there.”
“Oh, no,” breathed the professor, his fears confirmed. “Team Flare has captured Ryan.”
Julian raised his eyebrows. “What makes you certain of that?”
Professor Sycamore began to pace. “What, you think he left while no one was looking, without bothering to tell anyone where he had gone?”
“It’s not a possibility we can ignore, is it?” said Julian. “Fylon said he had noticed that Ryan was suspicious.”
“Suspicious enough to desert us?” said the professor, getting more and more agitated. “In the village, he was perfectly ready to help me. Even if he had misgivings then, he followed me. Why stop now?”
“Perhaps he decided that in the face of Team Flare, he wasn’t as ready to help after all?” said Julian, now crossing his arms.
Professor Sycamore stopped pacing. “Do not accuse him of such a thing as cowardice, Julian. Do you truly believe that one who, like only seventeen others in the region, agreed to help me stop an organization as evil as this would not be brave? No, he did not leave under his own power. And besides that, there’s only one way out of the Pokémon Center, unless he jumped, which is unlikely. Aira or one of the guests would have seen him leave.”
Julian nodded. “So he’s captured. What do we do now?”
Professor Sycamore sighed and ran a hand through his wild hair. “I don’t know. I need time to think. Put out the fire, would you?”
Julian nodded again. He and Morgan ran back to the rest of the Spectrum. The professor watched them exchange a few words with Fylon. Seconds later, Fylon sprang to his feet, and gestured to the others to do the same. They called out their Pokémon and set to work extinguishing the flames.
Professor Sycamore sat and rubbed his forehead. He had to work under the assumption that Team Flare was still using Lysandre’s laboratories for their headquarters. He still did not know the identity of their leader, but that didn’t matter for Ryan.
The professor tried to recall what he could of Team Flare and their workings. He had never been inside Lysandre’s laboratories, and the whereabouts of the only one who had - Calem - were unknown. Their hierarchy consisted - or had consisted, before the Geosenge disaster - of the leader, who was advised by the four Scientists, who were also the topmost administrators. There were also perhaps ten lesser administrators, the names of whom Professor Sycamore didn’t know. The rest of Team Flare was made up of Grunts, maybe fifty or so. And, of course, two enigmas. Malva, once part of the Kalos Elite Four, and a famous news reporter for the Holo Caster. Her role in Team Flare had been exposed nearly ten years ago, and from what Drasna had said, she hadn’t been seen since. The other mystery was Xerosic, who had been one of Team Flare’s most powerful executives. He had been largely in control of the restoration and activation of the weapon that had destroyed Geosenge Town. After Lysandre’s defeat at Calem’s hands, Xerosic had gone into hiding, only emerging a year later with a new project he had been secretly working on. He had called it the Expansion Suit, a suit that literally expanded all the capabilities and functions of the wearer. He hadn’t worn it himself - it was still just a prototype - so he had used Emma, a sixteen-year-old orphan, as a test subject. Unconscious inside the suit while Xerosic controlled it remotely, Emma, under the code name Essentia, had committed various crimes throughout the city, eventually being stopped by a member of the International Police. Xerosic was captured and brought to the Shalour prison. According to Fylon, however, Team Flare was trying to recruit Xerosic, but had failed. Professor Sycamore was still mystified as to how they had failed. Could it be that Xerosic felt remorse for his actions?
At any rate, that was irrelevant, and would not help save Ryan. Professor Sycamore shook his head to clear it. Even if he worked under the assumption that Malva was now the leader, it wouldn’t make a difference; he had no idea how Malva operated. He would have to determine where prisoners were kept, and break in there, without attracting the attention of the leader, whoever that may be.
But where were prisoners kept? Professor Sycamore’s eyes closed and his brow furrowed in concentration. He considered for a few more minutes before deciding that it was no use; he couldn’t figure out on his own without sending Fylon, Nika or Erell for reconnaissance, and that was too risky. He didn’t want to lose two members of the Spectrum.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. Of course. Calem wasn’t the only one who might help him that had been inside Lysandre’s laboratories. Serena had, too. While Calem had actually taken down Lysandre and the ultimate weapon, Serena had helped him get inside, defeat the administrators, and navigate the twists and turns of the laboratories.
The decision from here was obvious. Professor Sycamore stood up quickly and hastened over to Aira, where she still was passing water out to the guests. “Aira,” he said. “May I borrow your computer a few minutes more? I fear it’s urgent.”
Aira looked to see who was talking, and then sniffed. “Fine,” she said, handing it to him.
Professor Sycamore bowed and went back to where he had sat before as he debated how best to rescue Ryan. He opened the laptop and called the Pokémon League.
Siebold answered. “Professor? What happened?”
“Siebold,” said the professor. “Please call Serena. I must speak with her.”
The Water specialist looked at him searchingly a moment or two longer, and then turned his head and called, “Serena!”
Professor Sycamore heard a muffled shout from some part of the castle, and moments later, Serena came into view. “Professor Sycamore? What is it?”
“Serena. Ten years ago, when Calem stopped Lysandre’s weapon from destroying the world, you helped him find the way through the laboratories,” said Professor Sycamore.
“Yes,” said Serena cautiously.
“Do you think you can find the way again?” said Professor Sycamore.
Serena looked doubtful. “I could … yes, I’m sure I could. But Professor, I don’t ever want to see that place again. It was horrible.”
“I know, Serena,” said Professor Sycamore soothingly. “But tonight, Team Flare attacked the Pokémon Center and kidnapped one of the members of my Elemental Spectrum. I need to navigate the laboratories and rescue him. Will you please help?”
Serena sighed. She seemed to harden her resolve, and then said, “Alright. I’ll help you.”
“Thank you, Serena,” said the professor, inclining his head. “Please meet us at the Magenta Plaza Pokémon Center in Lumiose City.”
Serena nodded, her face still set resolutely, and ended the call.
Professor Sycamore closed the computer and sighed with relief. With Serena’s help, this mission was as good as completed.
He went over to where the Elemental Spectrum sat, still recovering from the toughest fight they had ever been in. As he approached, a few of them - the least exhausted - stood. Julian was among them. Fylon, curiously, was not.
“I know you’re all tired,” began Professor Sycamore, but Fylon cut him off.
“What happened?” he asked sharply.
Professor Sycamore sighed. Had Julian and Morgan really not told them? “Ryan has been captured by Team Flare. We need to–”
“We know that,” said Fylon, cutting him off again. “Even if Morgan hadn’t told us, it’s obvious from the length and quantity of your calls to the Pokémon League, and the…”
Fylon trailed off, looking around at the others: clearly it hadn’t been obvious to all of them. “Never mind,” he said. “I mean, why have you come over, Professor? Shouldn’t you be helping the guests from the Pokémon Center?”
“At the moment, my priority is Ryan,” said the professor, now mildly annoyed. “If he is not there to help us against Team Flare when this conflict comes to a head, or if - Order forbid it - he is against us, all will be lost, and I don’t mean just the Kalos region.”
“We’re exhausted, sir,” said Fylon. “I–”
Now Nika interrupted, “We’re fit for travel, if not for a battle, Professor.” She shot Fylon a warning glare.
“That’s good,” said Professor Sycamore. “Especially because travel’s what we need right now. We’re going to Magenta Plaza. There’s another Pokémon Center there.”
“With all due respect, Professor,” said Julian, his deep, clear voice resonating, “what makes you think we’ll be safer at that Pokémon Center than we were at this one? We don’t want to lay waste to Lumiose City.”
Fylon looked up expectantly, and a bit defiantly, as if to say, “There. Answer that.”
“They can’t burn down that Pokémon Center,” said the professor with a smile; he had already thought of this. “Not unless they want the flames to spread, building by building, to their headquarters. And it puts us in perfect position to infiltrate the laboratories whenever we see fit, as they won’t have the warning of fifteen Pokémon Trainers running down North Boulevard.
“And,” he added significantly, “Serena of the Elite Four is meeting us there.”
This met with general approval from the Spectrum. Even Fylon finally relaxed, put at ease by the knowledge that they would have an expert Pokémon Trainer assisting them.
Nika jumped up. “What are we waiting for, then?”
*
At the Magenta Plaza Pokémon Center, Fylon sat back in a comfortable chair in the largest room the Center had. The Spectrum and Professor Sycamore had arrived less than an hour before, and had proceeded directly to the room to discuss their plan to rescue Ryan. Serena had not yet arrived, and Professor Sycamore was reluctant to start speaking until she had.
Fylon was just about to fall asleep - according to his watch, it was nearly eleven o’clock, and they had already had a trying day - when the door opened and Serena of the Elite Four walked in. Fylon knew her by reputation only; the Elite Four lived a secluded life. She was nearly as tall as the professor, and wore mostly black and red. Her hair was somewhere between blond and brown, not unlike Morgan’s. She had an air of confidence, and even Fylon, exhausted as he was, felt sure of their success in the mission to come.
“Serena, good,” said the professor. “Now we can begin.”
And he went to the center of the room, where, in place of the bed that had been moved by Julian and Peter earlier, stood a short, wide table. He sat on a wooden chair, pulled up to the table.
“Our plan,” he said, “is essentially to divide into two groups. One will create some sort of diversion, the details of which we will work out later, and the other will, with Serena, navigate through the laboratories to the prison cells, and free Ryan. Are there any objections to this?”
Fylon, who had used the last few moments to mentally divide the entire Spectrum into the two groups and run them through Professor Sycamore’s plan, suddenly noticed a flaw. “How does the diversion group get back out?”
Professor Sycamore sighed. “To be honest,” he said, “I’m counting on your nearly perfect memory, Fylon. If you don’t think you can memorize a series of perhaps a dozen or so warp panels, now is the time to tell me.”
Fylon had no idea what a warp panel was, but he figured it was reasonable enough to assume that Professor Sycamore meant he would have to choose the correct object out of an assortment of identical ones, and do that at least ten times. He was hesitant about agreeing to this, because a single mistake could likely send his half of the Spectrum even further into the depths of Team Flare’s laboratories. Some of his hesitation must have shown in his expression, because Serena hurriedly said, “And if you can’t find the way back out, I’m sure the leader won’t mind a gaping hole in his roof.”
The rest of the Spectrum roared with laughter, and even Fylon was amused. When this had subsided, the professor held up a red suit and tossed it to Fylon. “I have a few of those,” he said. “You’ll need that to get far enough for the diversion.”
Fylon stared at the suit for a moment. He didn’t want any part of anything that smacked of Team Flare. But he nodded grimly, accepting it.
“What if the diversion doesn’t work?” asked Nika. “Aren’t there enough Grunts for the leader to send a few to see to the diversion, and the rest intercept the rescue team?”
Now Fylon saw, for the first time, a flash of uncertainty cross Professor Sycamore’s face. “I don’t know how big Team Flare is,” he said, “but I doubt there would be so many that half the Spectrum can’t hold off half of them.”
“It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” said Serena. “Now, before I left, I searched the archives in the Pokémon League for any building plans for the laboratories. I found this.”
And she brought out a device from her pocket, which she put on the table before pressing a button. The device projected a three-dimensional model of what Fylon assumed was Team Flare’s headquarters. The model was translucent, but color was still evident - the walls and floor were red on each of the three stories. The top one appeared to be primarily a maze of walls and small floor tiles in different colors. Perhaps they were warp panels?
At the entrance to the top floor was an elevator, which also seemed to be the only way to access the lower floors. The middle floor was apparently made up of the prison cells that Ryan would likely be contained in, but there weren’t a lot of them. In fact, this floor and the floor below it, which seemed to be just an engine room, were positively small. It didn’t look nearly big enough to house all the Grunts Team Flare would need to take over the region.
Professor Sycamore had clearly noticed this, too, as he said, “Is this the entire laboratory? There’s no way a hundred people could fit in there.”
“There’s a hidden floor, too, that doesn’t appear on any map, and of course they’ve branched out a bit since then,” said Serena. “But Lysandre had another laboratory, too.”
Professor Sycamore looked puzzled for only a moment before understanding dawned. “Ah, of course.”
“Geosenge Town,” Serena confirmed. “Where the ultimate weapon used to stand. I’ve guessed for years that the two laboratories have some kind of passageway between them. It didn’t fit that Lysandre was able to get to Geosenge Town so quickly.”
“But even secret passageways would have to … unless …” said the professor, pacing now, as he always did when agitated. “You don’t think … warp panels?”
“That’s exactly what I think,” said Serena. “Warp panels aren’t meant for long distances - only for travel within a building. But Lysandre had five of the most brilliant scientific minds in the world at his disposal. Who knows what they may have come up with?
“Geosenge Town,” Serena continued in a murmur. “Where no one would ever go to look … It’s brilliant.”
“But then,” said the professor, becoming increasingly frantic, “how do we know Ryan isn’t under Geosenge Town at this very moment? This changes everything!”
“Professor Sycamore, please calm yourself,” said Serena. “I don’t believe Ryan is in that laboratory, for the same reason that AZ was not imprisoned there when Lysandre needed his key ten years ago. There are no cells in the Geosenge laboratory. Rather hard to be imprisoned without a prison, professor.”
Professor Sycamore took a deep breath and sat down again.
“Now then,” said Serena, “when do we intend to do this?”
“As soon as we possibly can,” said the professor immediately. “Team Flare could attack at any moment. Ryan must become a Pokémon Trainer before that happens.”
Serena’s hands flew to her mouth. “He’s untrained?” she cried. “Why in the name of Order didn’t you mention that before! I thought it was a full Trainer they had kidnapped!”
“Yes, he’s untrained, but there’s no point in shouting about it now,” said Professor Sycamore. Fylon suppressed a smile; the professor himself had been shouting just moments before. “It just means we need to rescue him quickly.”
“Be that as it may, you need an alternative plan,” said Serena. “I know what the legends say, but an untrained Spectrum is no better than eighteen inexperienced ordinary Pokémon Trainers.”
“I contacted Diantha–”
“No, you didn’t,” Serena contradicted him. “Diantha hasn’t been seen for nearly a month. The reporter from the Lumiose Press came straight to the castle, but the letter reached no one but us.”
“Well, then how about the Elite Four?” said the professor. “Could you join us against Team Flare?”
“Not easily,” said Serena. “We’ve kept up the art of battle, but only practiced against each other. None of us have seen a real opponent in years. I think in our present state, we could barely hold off the Team Flare Scientists, let alone whoever the leader is.”
Professor Sycamore sighed in exasperation. “Do you have other ideas?”
“Only one,” said Serena. “The Gym Leaders. They haven’t been in practice either, but each could likely take on ten Team Flare Grunts in combat and come out ahead. The problem is finding them. They’ve been in exile for ten years. Who knows where they are now?”
“We could find them,” Fylon spoke up. “There are seventeen of us, plus the professor. We could track down the Gym Leaders.”
“That raises a problem,” said the professor. “Are we tracking down the Gym Leaders, or are we rescuing Ryan?”
“We can do both,” said Fylon. “I’ll take Arin and whoever else wants to go to find the Gym Leaders, and then once you’ve rescued Ryan, you’ll join us.”
“I admire your optimism, Fylon,” said Professor Sycamore, “but we’ll need all the help we can get to infiltrate Team Flare’s base. I’m not sure it’s good to divide like this.”
“But we don’t mean to fight them,” said Fylon. “It won’t be like it was back at the laboratory. We just need to hold them off long enough to free Ryan, then escape.”
Professor Sycamore looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “All right, then, Fylon. In the morning, you and Arin shall leave to track down the Gym Leaders and persuade them to join us.”
Arin clapped his hands from his spot on the floor. He had always been the sort of wild one in the Spectrum. He hadn’t had a home in the town where Professor Sycamore had found him. Now, he trained Dragon-type Pokémon, and his Noivern would be second fastest only to Fylon’s own Braviary in flight.
“Where would we go first?” asked Arin, practically jumping. “There are eight Gym Leaders, right? And we don’t know where they would be.”
“Well, a good place to start would probably be the Gym they had once led,” said Professor Sycamore, amused by Arin’s enthusiasm. “As for which to locate first …”
Now Ani spoke up. She and the other one from the village had been very quiet since Team Flare’s attack on the Pokémon Center. Fylon had nearly forgotten that she was there. “How about Korrina?” she said. “The books I’ve read say that Korrina knew about a special kind of transformation that some Pokémon could undergo to push the bounds of their power. That power would probably help against Team Flare.”
“The books speak of Mega Evolution,” said Serena, a faraway, reminiscent look in her eyes. “An evolution that transcends all other evolution.”
“Many Pokémon can evolve, enhancing their physical attributes and raw power,” explained Professor Sycamore for the benefit of the ones from the village. Fylon, naturally, knew about all this; it was one of the basic lessons Professor Sycamore taught all the members of the Spectrum upon their initiation.
“Yes,” continued Serena, “but Mega Evolution goes beyond that. It is a special kind of evolution that can only be obtained from an exceptionally strong bond between Trainer and Pokémon. There are also stones involved - a Key Stone, worn by the Trainer, and a Mega Stone, held by the Pokémon.”
“You sound like you know a lot about it,” said Ani.
“I used it myself, once,” said Serena. “But Korrina knows much more about it than I do. She is the Successor, the one who inherited the vast stores of knowledge from her grandfather when he passed away. She is probably the only practitioner left in Kalos today, save perhaps Diantha, and Calem, if he’s still in the region.”
“Korrina’s the one we have to find, then?” asked Arin.
Professor Sycamore nodded. “Her Gym was in Shalour City. That should give you a chance to check on Xerosic in the prison, too. Make sure he’s still behind bars and that Team Flare hasn’t come to call again.
“The fastest way there would be through the Lumiose Badlands, to the west. They lead to Coumarine City, and from there you can cross the river to Shalour City. I would caution you from flying too much, however - I know that was your reason for bringing Arin, but we can’t have Team Flare knowing what you’re up to.”
“Understood,” said Fylon. “And I will still bring Arin.”
“Fair enough,” said the professor, “but we have another problem, now. You were supposed to memorize the way through the headquarters. What do we do without you?”
“Well,” said Fylon, “the leader’s not going to mind a gaping hole in his roof, will he?”
*
The next morning, Fylon awoke early. The rest of the previous night had passed without incident, from Team Flare or otherwise. It seemed that the professor had been right: Team Flare had no desire to attack them this close to their base.
Fylon hadn’t bothered to change his clothes before falling asleep. He figured he had better get used to a lack of comforts and luxuries in preparation for the journey ahead of him. Looking out the window, he saw that the sun was already up, despite the short daylight of winter. Even so, he threw on a coat and grabbed his bag before leaving the room.
He found Arin already awake and full of energy as usual. They ate a quick meal in silence in the Pokémon Center lobby, and then went to find the professor, who proved to be still asleep. Arin promptly found a cup, filled it with water from a sink in the bathroom, and emptied it over the professor’s head. He woke immediately, sitting bolt upright with a shout.
“What was that for?” he demanded.
“We needed to talk with you,” said Arin with a shrug.
“You didn’t have to drown me!”
“Professor, it was a cup of water,” said Arin. “You weren’t drowning. And we needed your focus.”
The professor nodded grudgingly and waved a hand for Fylon to speak.
“We intend to leave today. We seek your counsel before we depart,” said Fylon.
Professor Sycamore stood, and, fetching a towel from the bathroom, dried his face. “Very well,” he said. “Perhaps we had better take this downstairs.”
“I don’t fancy being overheard,” said Arin. “We should stay here.”
Professor Sycamore paused, then nodded. “What do you wish to speak about?”
“You said last night that we would take the route through the Lumiose Badlands until we reach Coumarine City,” said Fylon, “and then from there to Shalour. But we also can’t fly, or Team Flare will know what we’re up to.”
“Yes,” said the professor. “You should be able to make it through the Badlands safely. If a sandstorm whips up, you can shelter in the power plant until it subsides. They should let you in. Hopefully.
“As for food,” he went on, “we can get enough from the Pokémon Center to last you a day or two if you need it, until you get to Coumarine. There you’ll be able to get more.”
Fylon nodded, mentally recording the information.
“And one last thing,” said the professor. “Coumarine used to have a Gym Leader by the name of Ramos. See if you can learn anything about his whereabouts while you’re at it.”
Fylon nodded again. Professor Sycamore smiled, and, walking over to the door, he held it open, gesturing for Fylon and Arin to follow him. They walked down the stairs at the end of the corridor, and through the lobby to the entrance. Coming out into the sunshine, Fylon blinked.
Professor Sycamore turned to them, bowed, and held out a bag. “This,” he said, “is all the food you’ll need to get you to Coumarine City. Farewell, Fylon and Arin. Until we meet again.”
Fylon bowed in return, and used the customary response. “So shall it be.”
He and Arin turned and, without another word, began their journey through the streets of Lumiose City, leaving the professor waving a hand in farewell.
*
It was nearly midday by the time Fylon and Arin made it to the Route 13 gate. After having traversed half the city in less than an hour by way of the sewers, Fylon was surprised that it had taken them so long to reach the gate. But then, he hadn’t known what time it was when they had left.
Arin barely came up to his shoulder, and he was several years younger than Fylon, and yet he spoke with confidence, not subservience. That was as it should be. An Elemental Spectrum left no room for a hierarchy of any sort, even an unspoken one. All the Spectrum members were equal.
“Are we going to reach Coumarine City by dark?” asked Arin. Fylon noted the questioning tone, but Arin had merely been asking Fylon’s opinion, not looking to him for a decision.
“It’s possible,” said Fylon. “But we’ll not get used to the idea.”
Arin nodded. They passed through the Route 13 gate and into Route 13.
Route 13 ran straight through the Lumiose Badlands, a wide desert with no evident life save a complex network of structures that Fylon knew made up the power plant. The plant had fallen to Team Flare ten years ago, which would likely make the workers more accommodating to Fylon and Arin, who intended to stop the villainous organization.
Fylon knew of a pit of molten rock near the power plant, which supposedly they got some of their power from. He knew its existence to be true; he had seen it while flying over the desert on reconnaissance, but he hadn’t any idea how electricity could be harnessed from magma.
Arin started making his way down the sandy road, and Fylon quickly fell into step beside him. The badlands were truly vast – Fylon couldn’t see beyond it. He now began to doubt the possibility of reaching Coumarine before dark.
Arin drew a Poké Ball from his belt. Fylon quickly put his hand over Arin’s, keeping him from opening it. “We can’t fly,” said Fylon. “Team Flare can’t know what we’re up to.”
“I wasn’t going to,” replied Arin. “I think it would be good to have Noivern – and Braviary – if we are attacked.”
Do you really expect to be attacked out here? thought Fylon, but something kept him from saying it. Team Flare had been extinct for ten years and was now active again. Pokémon Trainers were all but gone for the same time, but then Professor Sycamore had recruited eighteen. Anything was possible. He lifted his hand from Arin’s.
Arin opened the Poké Ball, Noivern appearing immediately. Its huge batlike wings were a dark purple that was nearly indistinguishable from black, but the undersides were a bright shade of teal. Noivern shaded its sensitive eyes with a wingtip in an almost human gesture until Arin pulled out a cloth and tied it around its head, protecting its eyes. Fylon noticed that he was careful not to double-wrap it, at least not around the eyes.
“Noivern’s natural habitat is caves and other dark places,” explained Arin in response to Fylon’s questioning look. “It doesn’t need the cloth if there’s a cloud cover, but the sun in the badlands hurts it.”
Fylon nodded. He pulled Braviary’s Poké Ball from his own belt and pressed the button to open it. Braviary appeared an instant later. Fylon up with a hand shading his eyes and saw that the sun had reached its zenith.
“Eat now, or keep walking for a while?” he asked Arin.
“I think we should go as far as we can before we eat,” said Arin. “I’m not very hungry anyway.”
Fylon nodded again, and the two set off down Route 13. The sandy earth rose in some places, forming small dunes and hills. These Braviary used to hop from one to the other – its feet weren’t made for walking. Noivern, however, was content to pad on feet and wingtips next to Fylon and Arin.
The road wound through the dunes and hills, never going over one. Here and there they saw some sparse vegetation, but nothing that would nourish them should their food run out before they got to Coumarine City, and certainly nothing that would give them a bit of shady respite from the hot sun.
Eventually, this began to worry Fylon, for their Pokémon would need to eat and rest as well as long as they were kept outside of a Poké Ball, and the desert still stretched as far as they could see. Only one thing had changed since the start of their journey, and that was that they could now see the power plant, spanning huge areas of the badlands to both their left and right. It seemed to be getting hotter, if such a thing was possible, and Fylon had taken off his coat and stowed it in his bag. He supposed that the extreme heat could be coming from the fabled lake of magma, if they were getting nearer to that. All the while, Fylon collected long sticks when he found them, so that they could eat under a makeshift tent when the time came. The sticks’ origin he could not guess, for there were no trees in sight, but he was glad to have them all the same.
It had been nearly two hours when Arin, panting, finally collapsed and asked for lunch. Fylon agreed, and hastened to form his makeshift tent out of the sticks he had found and a large cloth, nearly a blanket, that he had brought in his bags. While he did this, Arin rummaged in another bag for the food they had brought from the Pokémon Center. In less than a minute, they were sitting under Fylon’s tent and eating their lunch – bread, cheese, berries, and water. It was meager fare, but it would suffice. Braviary and Noivern – the latter still blindfolded – munched happily on oran berries and small squares of Pokémon food made from grain and berries.
Berries, while a good source of fruit for humans, did something else entirely for Pokémon. Different berries has different effects, and some scientists dedicated their life to finding new ones. The most common ones, like oran berries, were easily found and kept well, so most establishments had a few on hand even if they weren’t Pokémon Centers. An oran berry, when consumed by a Pokémon, would wipe away a bit of its fatigue, so that it could continue traveling or battling longer. By the end of their meal, Noivern and Braviary were in top form again and ready for travel. However, since Arin and Fylon were still eating, the two Pokémon lay down and rested.
“Do you know anything about any of the Gym Leaders?” asked Arin between bites of bread.
“A bit,” Fylon admitted. “I was eight when the Geosenge disaster struck. I lived in the southeast, around Kiloude City. The closest Gym Leader to Kiloude was Wulfric, the Leader of Snowbelle City.”
“What type did he train?” asked Arin eagerly.
“Ice,” said Fylon. “Fitting, for the Leader of Snowbelle. I don’t know much about him, though. Kiloude’s very isolated–”
“Ice-olated?” asked Arin, raising one eyebrow and smirking. “Fylon, that was almost a joke!”
Fylon shook his head. In the light of what had happened yesterday, he had nearly forgotten Arin’s tendency to play with words. “Kiloude is rather cut off from the rest of the world. There are a few surrounding villages, and Kiloude’s pretty big itself, but the only real way in or out without a flying Pokémon is by train. I’ve been on the train a few times – going to Lumiose City for food, or supplies, or just to see the city, but I used to go a lot more. Before the disaster.
“Lumiose City’s Gym Leader was Clemont. He trained the Electric type, before you ask. I knew him much better than I knew Wulfric – he was only about twelve before the disaster, so he didn’t feel quite as distant. He was a brilliant inventor.”
“What did he invent?” asked Arin.
“All sorts of things,” said Fylon. “He had this device that he always wore on his back that functioned as a mechanical arm. And he designed a robot to lead the Gym in his stead while he traveled the region.”
“It sounds amazing,” said Arin. “I’d have liked to meet him.”
“That’s our goal,” said Fylon. “But Shalour first. Then we’ll find Clemont.”
Arin nodded as he piled the rest of his cheese and berries on a slice of bread and shoved it into his mouth. Swallowing with effort, he stood up. Fylon finished his meal and stood as well, disassembling the tent and stowing the blanket in his bag. He passed Arin two of the sticks and they set off again down the road, Noivern and Braviary padding behind.
Shortly, they came to a small building, part of the network of the power plant. It was scarcely more than a guardhouse, but it had the only door they had seen thus far.
“Should we go in?” asked Arin. “They might know something about the Gym Leaders.”
Fylon looked doubtful, but he reasoned that it would be dark in a few hours, and they would need a place to stay for the night if they didn’t come out of the desert soon. He nodded, and they went up to the small building. They returned Noivern and Braviary to their Poké Balls, and then knocked.
“What?” called an irritable voice from inside.
“May we come in?” asked Fylon. “The sun descends in the sky, and we seek shelter for the night.”
There was a long silence, and then the door opened. There stood a tall man, grey of hair and short, scruffy beard, dressed in a worker’s uniform. “Who are you?” he said suspiciously.
“My name is Fylon, and this is Arin,” said Fylon, bowing, “and we are simple travelers, crossing the Lumiose Badlands. We only want a roof for the night.”
He hadn’t told the guard about their true objective in crossing the desert, not wanting to give away too much in case the information reached unfriendly ears, but he did use their names, wanting to give the suspicious guard some truth.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” said the guard. “I’m sorry – you seem like decent enough people – but I can’t let you in.” And he shut the door.
Arin sniffed. “That was positively rude. Positive, get it, Fylon? Because electricity can be positive, and it’s a power plant, and …”
He trailed off. Fylon was looking sadly at the door. Now what were they to do about shelter for the night? He sighed and turned away. He continued making his way down the route, Arin at his side. Time passed in silence for a few more minutes, until ahead, Fylon realized he could see nothing at all. It was just a huge wall of sand. And it was heading right at them.
*
In one of the rooms at the Pokémon Center, Roc sat on one of the beds. He shared the room with Blake, a young man of perhaps eighteen who seemed to flicker in and out of sight at Roc looked at him, and Rosuke, who was tall and bulky, but not fat. He hadn’t spoken a word to either of them except to introduce himself before they left the room, out on some errand or another.
Roc sighed. It was no good worrying about the plan himself. He needed to talk with someone. He stood, and made his way out of his room, and over to the door of the one Ani shared with Nika and another Spectrum member Roc didn’t know.
He knocked, and was immediately answered by a “Come in!” from somewhere inside the room. He opened the door, and, unsurprisingly, saw Ani sitting in a chair, a book in her hands. Nika was sprawled on one of the beds, but was obviously not asleep.
Ani looked up. “Ryan?” she said.
Roc nodded. Ani sighed, set down her book, and folded her hands in her lap. “You’ve told me your views on the matter of the plan, Roc. You’ve pointed out the flaws.”
“But there’s so much that could go wrong,” Roc insisted. “What if they see this coming? What if we all get imprisoned instead?”
“Nothing will go wrong,” said Nika, sitting up, “and that’s not just to boost your confidence. Professor Sycamore is never wrong. He’ll have thought of everything.”
“But, he let Ryan get captured in the first place,” said Roc.
“Don’t lose faith in the professor,” said Nika. “Everything will turn out alright. We’ll rescue Ryan tomorrow and leave the laboratories before Team Flare realizes that Ryan is gone.”
Roc sighed. He had seen the professor defeat four Team Flare Grunts at once with minimal effort, but there would be a lot more than four in the laboratories tomorrow. And from what he had heard from Fylon’s end of the battle, the Scientists were too good. The best hope they had was to lure them away with the diversion. And who knew if that was going to work.
“Thanks,” said Roc, and he turned to go. Ani and Nika nodded as he left the room, Ani returning to her book. Roc sighed again. He didn’t like this at all.
*
“Just what we need,” said Arin grumpily. “A sandstorm.”
The wall of sand was still a ways off, but Fylon could already feel the winds blowing through his hair. “We have two options,” he said. “One, we could try to fight our way through it. We have two powerful Pokémon that could possibly create a gust of wind strong enough to drive away the sandstorm. Or two, we could go back to the power plant and ask them again to let us in.”
Arin looked at him exasperatedly. “Is it really that tough a decision?”
And they bolted for the power plant, Noivern, Braviary, and the sandstorm on their heels.
They hadn’t gone very far when the sandstorm struck, so running, they made it back to the power plant in less than a minute. After they had each recalled their Pokémon into their Poké Balls, Arin knocked frantically on the door until it opened. There stood the same scruffy-bearded guard, looking at them with an expression of mild annoyance. “I told you kids,” he said, “you can’t–”
He stopped, open-mouthed, as he saw the sandstorm. “Inside, quickly,” he said, waving them in. He shut the door behind them.
The small guard building was dimly lit by a lamp on a table. Every other surface was covered with pages and pages of notes, and several computer monitors, some of which displayed security footage; others showed graphs and charts Fylon did not understand. The guard closed one of the monitors showing graphs before Fylon could get too good a look at it, and turned to them. “Name’s Matt,” he grunted, sticking out a hand.
Fylon and Arin each shook his hand, and introduced themselves again. Matt seemed a bit unsure of what to do with them. He clearly didn’t want them in the small guard building, but Fylon guessed he would also get in trouble if the Spectrum members were found. Eventually, Matt picked up a small phone receiver and spoke into it quietly. He hung up and made his way over to a door at the back of the room that Fylon supposed entered onto a corridor that would take them to the rest of the power plant. Matt opened the door, and gestured into the hallway beyond. Fylon and Arin hastily went into it.
The small corridor sloped downward – apparently most of the plant was underground. As they walked through it, Matt made conversation, though Fylon could tell he was still suspicious.
“You were heading west,” Matt said. “That means you came from Lumiose City. And you’re Pokémon Trainers, which haven’t existed for ten years. I was one myself once. I joined the guard at this power plant after the disaster. No one wanted to train Pokémon anymore. Why shouldn’t I count myself among them?”
“You didn’t have to,” said Fylon. “You could have continued to train Pokémon. It was a way of life for a lot of people. I’d guess it was for you, too.”
Matt looked at him askance. “You’re perceptive, I’ll give you that. Anyway, how is it two Pokémon Trainers are heading down the Lumiose Badlands? It’s a dangerous road you travel.”
“We’re going to find–” said Arin, but he was cut off by a sharp look from Fylon.
“Others who will become Trainers,” said Fylon. Arin nodded vigorously.
“You’re recruiting, then?” said Matt, his eyes narrowing. “You ever hear of an organization called Team Flare? They came recruiting a while back, too. They had some notion we’d want to overthrow the Champion.”
“You can’t possibly believe that we’re part of Team Flare!” Arin cried. “We’re working against them! We’re–”
But apparently Matt didn’t want to hear any more of this conversation, for just then they came to a door, which he opened without waiting for the end of Arin’s sentence.
The door opened onto what appeared to be a sort of conference room. A few people sat around a table, working on computers or in notebooks. They all looked up as Fylon and Arin entered with Matt.
“There’s a sandstorm outside,” said Matt. “I had to let them in.”
The other power plant workers seemed to accept this without further comment. They went back to their notebooks and computers. Matt found a pair of blankets and cushions in a closet, and laid them out on the floor of the conference room. “We’d like you to sleep in here if you’re staying the night,” he said. “We don’t mean offense, but if you’re untrustworthy, we want to keep an eye on you.”
“None taken,” said Fylon. He sat on one of the blankets, while Arin sat on the other. They talked quietly, about their plans for the mission, about the battle against Team Flare, and on and on, for what felt like hours, until the power plant workers finally, one by one, got up and left. At that point, it was late, and Fylon was tired. He yawned, stretched out on the blanket Matt had provided and fell asleep.
*
Matt silently opened the door of the conference room and crept inside, followed by a pair of fellow guards. He noted the two lumps on the floor that were Fylon and Arin, and listened carefully to their breathing to make sure they were asleep. He located their bags and unzipped Fylon’s quietly. He rummaged through it while the other guards checked Arin’s. He found a blanket, some food, a water bottle, and some Pokémon medicine, as well as a few clothes, but nothing out of the ordinary. Except the Pokémon medicine, but that was to be expected in a Trainer’s bag. He was just beginning to feel relieved – these kids weren’t Team Flare after all – when he saw a bright red fabric at the bottom of the bag. He pulled it out, and nearly let out a scream when he saw it.
The uniform of Team Flare.
Professor Sycamore began to pace. “What, you think he left while no one was looking, without bothering to tell anyone where he had gone?”
“It’s not a possibility we can ignore, is it?” said Julian. “Fylon said he had noticed that Ryan was suspicious.”
“Suspicious enough to desert us?” said the professor, getting more and more agitated. “In the village, he was perfectly ready to help me. Even if he had misgivings then, he followed me. Why stop now?”
“Perhaps he decided that in the face of Team Flare, he wasn’t as ready to help after all?” said Julian, now crossing his arms.
Professor Sycamore stopped pacing. “Do not accuse him of such a thing as cowardice, Julian. Do you truly believe that one who, like only seventeen others in the region, agreed to help me stop an organization as evil as this would not be brave? No, he did not leave under his own power. And besides that, there’s only one way out of the Pokémon Center, unless he jumped, which is unlikely. Aira or one of the guests would have seen him leave.”
Julian nodded. “So he’s captured. What do we do now?”
Professor Sycamore sighed and ran a hand through his wild hair. “I don’t know. I need time to think. Put out the fire, would you?”
Julian nodded again. He and Morgan ran back to the rest of the Spectrum. The professor watched them exchange a few words with Fylon. Seconds later, Fylon sprang to his feet, and gestured to the others to do the same. They called out their Pokémon and set to work extinguishing the flames.
Professor Sycamore sat and rubbed his forehead. He had to work under the assumption that Team Flare was still using Lysandre’s laboratories for their headquarters. He still did not know the identity of their leader, but that didn’t matter for Ryan.
The professor tried to recall what he could of Team Flare and their workings. He had never been inside Lysandre’s laboratories, and the whereabouts of the only one who had - Calem - were unknown. Their hierarchy consisted - or had consisted, before the Geosenge disaster - of the leader, who was advised by the four Scientists, who were also the topmost administrators. There were also perhaps ten lesser administrators, the names of whom Professor Sycamore didn’t know. The rest of Team Flare was made up of Grunts, maybe fifty or so. And, of course, two enigmas. Malva, once part of the Kalos Elite Four, and a famous news reporter for the Holo Caster. Her role in Team Flare had been exposed nearly ten years ago, and from what Drasna had said, she hadn’t been seen since. The other mystery was Xerosic, who had been one of Team Flare’s most powerful executives. He had been largely in control of the restoration and activation of the weapon that had destroyed Geosenge Town. After Lysandre’s defeat at Calem’s hands, Xerosic had gone into hiding, only emerging a year later with a new project he had been secretly working on. He had called it the Expansion Suit, a suit that literally expanded all the capabilities and functions of the wearer. He hadn’t worn it himself - it was still just a prototype - so he had used Emma, a sixteen-year-old orphan, as a test subject. Unconscious inside the suit while Xerosic controlled it remotely, Emma, under the code name Essentia, had committed various crimes throughout the city, eventually being stopped by a member of the International Police. Xerosic was captured and brought to the Shalour prison. According to Fylon, however, Team Flare was trying to recruit Xerosic, but had failed. Professor Sycamore was still mystified as to how they had failed. Could it be that Xerosic felt remorse for his actions?
At any rate, that was irrelevant, and would not help save Ryan. Professor Sycamore shook his head to clear it. Even if he worked under the assumption that Malva was now the leader, it wouldn’t make a difference; he had no idea how Malva operated. He would have to determine where prisoners were kept, and break in there, without attracting the attention of the leader, whoever that may be.
But where were prisoners kept? Professor Sycamore’s eyes closed and his brow furrowed in concentration. He considered for a few more minutes before deciding that it was no use; he couldn’t figure out on his own without sending Fylon, Nika or Erell for reconnaissance, and that was too risky. He didn’t want to lose two members of the Spectrum.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. Of course. Calem wasn’t the only one who might help him that had been inside Lysandre’s laboratories. Serena had, too. While Calem had actually taken down Lysandre and the ultimate weapon, Serena had helped him get inside, defeat the administrators, and navigate the twists and turns of the laboratories.
The decision from here was obvious. Professor Sycamore stood up quickly and hastened over to Aira, where she still was passing water out to the guests. “Aira,” he said. “May I borrow your computer a few minutes more? I fear it’s urgent.”
Aira looked to see who was talking, and then sniffed. “Fine,” she said, handing it to him.
Professor Sycamore bowed and went back to where he had sat before as he debated how best to rescue Ryan. He opened the laptop and called the Pokémon League.
Siebold answered. “Professor? What happened?”
“Siebold,” said the professor. “Please call Serena. I must speak with her.”
The Water specialist looked at him searchingly a moment or two longer, and then turned his head and called, “Serena!”
Professor Sycamore heard a muffled shout from some part of the castle, and moments later, Serena came into view. “Professor Sycamore? What is it?”
“Serena. Ten years ago, when Calem stopped Lysandre’s weapon from destroying the world, you helped him find the way through the laboratories,” said Professor Sycamore.
“Yes,” said Serena cautiously.
“Do you think you can find the way again?” said Professor Sycamore.
Serena looked doubtful. “I could … yes, I’m sure I could. But Professor, I don’t ever want to see that place again. It was horrible.”
“I know, Serena,” said Professor Sycamore soothingly. “But tonight, Team Flare attacked the Pokémon Center and kidnapped one of the members of my Elemental Spectrum. I need to navigate the laboratories and rescue him. Will you please help?”
Serena sighed. She seemed to harden her resolve, and then said, “Alright. I’ll help you.”
“Thank you, Serena,” said the professor, inclining his head. “Please meet us at the Magenta Plaza Pokémon Center in Lumiose City.”
Serena nodded, her face still set resolutely, and ended the call.
Professor Sycamore closed the computer and sighed with relief. With Serena’s help, this mission was as good as completed.
He went over to where the Elemental Spectrum sat, still recovering from the toughest fight they had ever been in. As he approached, a few of them - the least exhausted - stood. Julian was among them. Fylon, curiously, was not.
“I know you’re all tired,” began Professor Sycamore, but Fylon cut him off.
“What happened?” he asked sharply.
Professor Sycamore sighed. Had Julian and Morgan really not told them? “Ryan has been captured by Team Flare. We need to–”
“We know that,” said Fylon, cutting him off again. “Even if Morgan hadn’t told us, it’s obvious from the length and quantity of your calls to the Pokémon League, and the…”
Fylon trailed off, looking around at the others: clearly it hadn’t been obvious to all of them. “Never mind,” he said. “I mean, why have you come over, Professor? Shouldn’t you be helping the guests from the Pokémon Center?”
“At the moment, my priority is Ryan,” said the professor, now mildly annoyed. “If he is not there to help us against Team Flare when this conflict comes to a head, or if - Order forbid it - he is against us, all will be lost, and I don’t mean just the Kalos region.”
“We’re exhausted, sir,” said Fylon. “I–”
Now Nika interrupted, “We’re fit for travel, if not for a battle, Professor.” She shot Fylon a warning glare.
“That’s good,” said Professor Sycamore. “Especially because travel’s what we need right now. We’re going to Magenta Plaza. There’s another Pokémon Center there.”
“With all due respect, Professor,” said Julian, his deep, clear voice resonating, “what makes you think we’ll be safer at that Pokémon Center than we were at this one? We don’t want to lay waste to Lumiose City.”
Fylon looked up expectantly, and a bit defiantly, as if to say, “There. Answer that.”
“They can’t burn down that Pokémon Center,” said the professor with a smile; he had already thought of this. “Not unless they want the flames to spread, building by building, to their headquarters. And it puts us in perfect position to infiltrate the laboratories whenever we see fit, as they won’t have the warning of fifteen Pokémon Trainers running down North Boulevard.
“And,” he added significantly, “Serena of the Elite Four is meeting us there.”
This met with general approval from the Spectrum. Even Fylon finally relaxed, put at ease by the knowledge that they would have an expert Pokémon Trainer assisting them.
Nika jumped up. “What are we waiting for, then?”
*
At the Magenta Plaza Pokémon Center, Fylon sat back in a comfortable chair in the largest room the Center had. The Spectrum and Professor Sycamore had arrived less than an hour before, and had proceeded directly to the room to discuss their plan to rescue Ryan. Serena had not yet arrived, and Professor Sycamore was reluctant to start speaking until she had.
Fylon was just about to fall asleep - according to his watch, it was nearly eleven o’clock, and they had already had a trying day - when the door opened and Serena of the Elite Four walked in. Fylon knew her by reputation only; the Elite Four lived a secluded life. She was nearly as tall as the professor, and wore mostly black and red. Her hair was somewhere between blond and brown, not unlike Morgan’s. She had an air of confidence, and even Fylon, exhausted as he was, felt sure of their success in the mission to come.
“Serena, good,” said the professor. “Now we can begin.”
And he went to the center of the room, where, in place of the bed that had been moved by Julian and Peter earlier, stood a short, wide table. He sat on a wooden chair, pulled up to the table.
“Our plan,” he said, “is essentially to divide into two groups. One will create some sort of diversion, the details of which we will work out later, and the other will, with Serena, navigate through the laboratories to the prison cells, and free Ryan. Are there any objections to this?”
Fylon, who had used the last few moments to mentally divide the entire Spectrum into the two groups and run them through Professor Sycamore’s plan, suddenly noticed a flaw. “How does the diversion group get back out?”
Professor Sycamore sighed. “To be honest,” he said, “I’m counting on your nearly perfect memory, Fylon. If you don’t think you can memorize a series of perhaps a dozen or so warp panels, now is the time to tell me.”
Fylon had no idea what a warp panel was, but he figured it was reasonable enough to assume that Professor Sycamore meant he would have to choose the correct object out of an assortment of identical ones, and do that at least ten times. He was hesitant about agreeing to this, because a single mistake could likely send his half of the Spectrum even further into the depths of Team Flare’s laboratories. Some of his hesitation must have shown in his expression, because Serena hurriedly said, “And if you can’t find the way back out, I’m sure the leader won’t mind a gaping hole in his roof.”
The rest of the Spectrum roared with laughter, and even Fylon was amused. When this had subsided, the professor held up a red suit and tossed it to Fylon. “I have a few of those,” he said. “You’ll need that to get far enough for the diversion.”
Fylon stared at the suit for a moment. He didn’t want any part of anything that smacked of Team Flare. But he nodded grimly, accepting it.
“What if the diversion doesn’t work?” asked Nika. “Aren’t there enough Grunts for the leader to send a few to see to the diversion, and the rest intercept the rescue team?”
Now Fylon saw, for the first time, a flash of uncertainty cross Professor Sycamore’s face. “I don’t know how big Team Flare is,” he said, “but I doubt there would be so many that half the Spectrum can’t hold off half of them.”
“It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” said Serena. “Now, before I left, I searched the archives in the Pokémon League for any building plans for the laboratories. I found this.”
And she brought out a device from her pocket, which she put on the table before pressing a button. The device projected a three-dimensional model of what Fylon assumed was Team Flare’s headquarters. The model was translucent, but color was still evident - the walls and floor were red on each of the three stories. The top one appeared to be primarily a maze of walls and small floor tiles in different colors. Perhaps they were warp panels?
At the entrance to the top floor was an elevator, which also seemed to be the only way to access the lower floors. The middle floor was apparently made up of the prison cells that Ryan would likely be contained in, but there weren’t a lot of them. In fact, this floor and the floor below it, which seemed to be just an engine room, were positively small. It didn’t look nearly big enough to house all the Grunts Team Flare would need to take over the region.
Professor Sycamore had clearly noticed this, too, as he said, “Is this the entire laboratory? There’s no way a hundred people could fit in there.”
“There’s a hidden floor, too, that doesn’t appear on any map, and of course they’ve branched out a bit since then,” said Serena. “But Lysandre had another laboratory, too.”
Professor Sycamore looked puzzled for only a moment before understanding dawned. “Ah, of course.”
“Geosenge Town,” Serena confirmed. “Where the ultimate weapon used to stand. I’ve guessed for years that the two laboratories have some kind of passageway between them. It didn’t fit that Lysandre was able to get to Geosenge Town so quickly.”
“But even secret passageways would have to … unless …” said the professor, pacing now, as he always did when agitated. “You don’t think … warp panels?”
“That’s exactly what I think,” said Serena. “Warp panels aren’t meant for long distances - only for travel within a building. But Lysandre had five of the most brilliant scientific minds in the world at his disposal. Who knows what they may have come up with?
“Geosenge Town,” Serena continued in a murmur. “Where no one would ever go to look … It’s brilliant.”
“But then,” said the professor, becoming increasingly frantic, “how do we know Ryan isn’t under Geosenge Town at this very moment? This changes everything!”
“Professor Sycamore, please calm yourself,” said Serena. “I don’t believe Ryan is in that laboratory, for the same reason that AZ was not imprisoned there when Lysandre needed his key ten years ago. There are no cells in the Geosenge laboratory. Rather hard to be imprisoned without a prison, professor.”
Professor Sycamore took a deep breath and sat down again.
“Now then,” said Serena, “when do we intend to do this?”
“As soon as we possibly can,” said the professor immediately. “Team Flare could attack at any moment. Ryan must become a Pokémon Trainer before that happens.”
Serena’s hands flew to her mouth. “He’s untrained?” she cried. “Why in the name of Order didn’t you mention that before! I thought it was a full Trainer they had kidnapped!”
“Yes, he’s untrained, but there’s no point in shouting about it now,” said Professor Sycamore. Fylon suppressed a smile; the professor himself had been shouting just moments before. “It just means we need to rescue him quickly.”
“Be that as it may, you need an alternative plan,” said Serena. “I know what the legends say, but an untrained Spectrum is no better than eighteen inexperienced ordinary Pokémon Trainers.”
“I contacted Diantha–”
“No, you didn’t,” Serena contradicted him. “Diantha hasn’t been seen for nearly a month. The reporter from the Lumiose Press came straight to the castle, but the letter reached no one but us.”
“Well, then how about the Elite Four?” said the professor. “Could you join us against Team Flare?”
“Not easily,” said Serena. “We’ve kept up the art of battle, but only practiced against each other. None of us have seen a real opponent in years. I think in our present state, we could barely hold off the Team Flare Scientists, let alone whoever the leader is.”
Professor Sycamore sighed in exasperation. “Do you have other ideas?”
“Only one,” said Serena. “The Gym Leaders. They haven’t been in practice either, but each could likely take on ten Team Flare Grunts in combat and come out ahead. The problem is finding them. They’ve been in exile for ten years. Who knows where they are now?”
“We could find them,” Fylon spoke up. “There are seventeen of us, plus the professor. We could track down the Gym Leaders.”
“That raises a problem,” said the professor. “Are we tracking down the Gym Leaders, or are we rescuing Ryan?”
“We can do both,” said Fylon. “I’ll take Arin and whoever else wants to go to find the Gym Leaders, and then once you’ve rescued Ryan, you’ll join us.”
“I admire your optimism, Fylon,” said Professor Sycamore, “but we’ll need all the help we can get to infiltrate Team Flare’s base. I’m not sure it’s good to divide like this.”
“But we don’t mean to fight them,” said Fylon. “It won’t be like it was back at the laboratory. We just need to hold them off long enough to free Ryan, then escape.”
Professor Sycamore looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “All right, then, Fylon. In the morning, you and Arin shall leave to track down the Gym Leaders and persuade them to join us.”
Arin clapped his hands from his spot on the floor. He had always been the sort of wild one in the Spectrum. He hadn’t had a home in the town where Professor Sycamore had found him. Now, he trained Dragon-type Pokémon, and his Noivern would be second fastest only to Fylon’s own Braviary in flight.
“Where would we go first?” asked Arin, practically jumping. “There are eight Gym Leaders, right? And we don’t know where they would be.”
“Well, a good place to start would probably be the Gym they had once led,” said Professor Sycamore, amused by Arin’s enthusiasm. “As for which to locate first …”
Now Ani spoke up. She and the other one from the village had been very quiet since Team Flare’s attack on the Pokémon Center. Fylon had nearly forgotten that she was there. “How about Korrina?” she said. “The books I’ve read say that Korrina knew about a special kind of transformation that some Pokémon could undergo to push the bounds of their power. That power would probably help against Team Flare.”
“The books speak of Mega Evolution,” said Serena, a faraway, reminiscent look in her eyes. “An evolution that transcends all other evolution.”
“Many Pokémon can evolve, enhancing their physical attributes and raw power,” explained Professor Sycamore for the benefit of the ones from the village. Fylon, naturally, knew about all this; it was one of the basic lessons Professor Sycamore taught all the members of the Spectrum upon their initiation.
“Yes,” continued Serena, “but Mega Evolution goes beyond that. It is a special kind of evolution that can only be obtained from an exceptionally strong bond between Trainer and Pokémon. There are also stones involved - a Key Stone, worn by the Trainer, and a Mega Stone, held by the Pokémon.”
“You sound like you know a lot about it,” said Ani.
“I used it myself, once,” said Serena. “But Korrina knows much more about it than I do. She is the Successor, the one who inherited the vast stores of knowledge from her grandfather when he passed away. She is probably the only practitioner left in Kalos today, save perhaps Diantha, and Calem, if he’s still in the region.”
“Korrina’s the one we have to find, then?” asked Arin.
Professor Sycamore nodded. “Her Gym was in Shalour City. That should give you a chance to check on Xerosic in the prison, too. Make sure he’s still behind bars and that Team Flare hasn’t come to call again.
“The fastest way there would be through the Lumiose Badlands, to the west. They lead to Coumarine City, and from there you can cross the river to Shalour City. I would caution you from flying too much, however - I know that was your reason for bringing Arin, but we can’t have Team Flare knowing what you’re up to.”
“Understood,” said Fylon. “And I will still bring Arin.”
“Fair enough,” said the professor, “but we have another problem, now. You were supposed to memorize the way through the headquarters. What do we do without you?”
“Well,” said Fylon, “the leader’s not going to mind a gaping hole in his roof, will he?”
*
The next morning, Fylon awoke early. The rest of the previous night had passed without incident, from Team Flare or otherwise. It seemed that the professor had been right: Team Flare had no desire to attack them this close to their base.
Fylon hadn’t bothered to change his clothes before falling asleep. He figured he had better get used to a lack of comforts and luxuries in preparation for the journey ahead of him. Looking out the window, he saw that the sun was already up, despite the short daylight of winter. Even so, he threw on a coat and grabbed his bag before leaving the room.
He found Arin already awake and full of energy as usual. They ate a quick meal in silence in the Pokémon Center lobby, and then went to find the professor, who proved to be still asleep. Arin promptly found a cup, filled it with water from a sink in the bathroom, and emptied it over the professor’s head. He woke immediately, sitting bolt upright with a shout.
“What was that for?” he demanded.
“We needed to talk with you,” said Arin with a shrug.
“You didn’t have to drown me!”
“Professor, it was a cup of water,” said Arin. “You weren’t drowning. And we needed your focus.”
The professor nodded grudgingly and waved a hand for Fylon to speak.
“We intend to leave today. We seek your counsel before we depart,” said Fylon.
Professor Sycamore stood, and, fetching a towel from the bathroom, dried his face. “Very well,” he said. “Perhaps we had better take this downstairs.”
“I don’t fancy being overheard,” said Arin. “We should stay here.”
Professor Sycamore paused, then nodded. “What do you wish to speak about?”
“You said last night that we would take the route through the Lumiose Badlands until we reach Coumarine City,” said Fylon, “and then from there to Shalour. But we also can’t fly, or Team Flare will know what we’re up to.”
“Yes,” said the professor. “You should be able to make it through the Badlands safely. If a sandstorm whips up, you can shelter in the power plant until it subsides. They should let you in. Hopefully.
“As for food,” he went on, “we can get enough from the Pokémon Center to last you a day or two if you need it, until you get to Coumarine. There you’ll be able to get more.”
Fylon nodded, mentally recording the information.
“And one last thing,” said the professor. “Coumarine used to have a Gym Leader by the name of Ramos. See if you can learn anything about his whereabouts while you’re at it.”
Fylon nodded again. Professor Sycamore smiled, and, walking over to the door, he held it open, gesturing for Fylon and Arin to follow him. They walked down the stairs at the end of the corridor, and through the lobby to the entrance. Coming out into the sunshine, Fylon blinked.
Professor Sycamore turned to them, bowed, and held out a bag. “This,” he said, “is all the food you’ll need to get you to Coumarine City. Farewell, Fylon and Arin. Until we meet again.”
Fylon bowed in return, and used the customary response. “So shall it be.”
He and Arin turned and, without another word, began their journey through the streets of Lumiose City, leaving the professor waving a hand in farewell.
*
It was nearly midday by the time Fylon and Arin made it to the Route 13 gate. After having traversed half the city in less than an hour by way of the sewers, Fylon was surprised that it had taken them so long to reach the gate. But then, he hadn’t known what time it was when they had left.
Arin barely came up to his shoulder, and he was several years younger than Fylon, and yet he spoke with confidence, not subservience. That was as it should be. An Elemental Spectrum left no room for a hierarchy of any sort, even an unspoken one. All the Spectrum members were equal.
“Are we going to reach Coumarine City by dark?” asked Arin. Fylon noted the questioning tone, but Arin had merely been asking Fylon’s opinion, not looking to him for a decision.
“It’s possible,” said Fylon. “But we’ll not get used to the idea.”
Arin nodded. They passed through the Route 13 gate and into Route 13.
Route 13 ran straight through the Lumiose Badlands, a wide desert with no evident life save a complex network of structures that Fylon knew made up the power plant. The plant had fallen to Team Flare ten years ago, which would likely make the workers more accommodating to Fylon and Arin, who intended to stop the villainous organization.
Fylon knew of a pit of molten rock near the power plant, which supposedly they got some of their power from. He knew its existence to be true; he had seen it while flying over the desert on reconnaissance, but he hadn’t any idea how electricity could be harnessed from magma.
Arin started making his way down the sandy road, and Fylon quickly fell into step beside him. The badlands were truly vast – Fylon couldn’t see beyond it. He now began to doubt the possibility of reaching Coumarine before dark.
Arin drew a Poké Ball from his belt. Fylon quickly put his hand over Arin’s, keeping him from opening it. “We can’t fly,” said Fylon. “Team Flare can’t know what we’re up to.”
“I wasn’t going to,” replied Arin. “I think it would be good to have Noivern – and Braviary – if we are attacked.”
Do you really expect to be attacked out here? thought Fylon, but something kept him from saying it. Team Flare had been extinct for ten years and was now active again. Pokémon Trainers were all but gone for the same time, but then Professor Sycamore had recruited eighteen. Anything was possible. He lifted his hand from Arin’s.
Arin opened the Poké Ball, Noivern appearing immediately. Its huge batlike wings were a dark purple that was nearly indistinguishable from black, but the undersides were a bright shade of teal. Noivern shaded its sensitive eyes with a wingtip in an almost human gesture until Arin pulled out a cloth and tied it around its head, protecting its eyes. Fylon noticed that he was careful not to double-wrap it, at least not around the eyes.
“Noivern’s natural habitat is caves and other dark places,” explained Arin in response to Fylon’s questioning look. “It doesn’t need the cloth if there’s a cloud cover, but the sun in the badlands hurts it.”
Fylon nodded. He pulled Braviary’s Poké Ball from his own belt and pressed the button to open it. Braviary appeared an instant later. Fylon up with a hand shading his eyes and saw that the sun had reached its zenith.
“Eat now, or keep walking for a while?” he asked Arin.
“I think we should go as far as we can before we eat,” said Arin. “I’m not very hungry anyway.”
Fylon nodded again, and the two set off down Route 13. The sandy earth rose in some places, forming small dunes and hills. These Braviary used to hop from one to the other – its feet weren’t made for walking. Noivern, however, was content to pad on feet and wingtips next to Fylon and Arin.
The road wound through the dunes and hills, never going over one. Here and there they saw some sparse vegetation, but nothing that would nourish them should their food run out before they got to Coumarine City, and certainly nothing that would give them a bit of shady respite from the hot sun.
Eventually, this began to worry Fylon, for their Pokémon would need to eat and rest as well as long as they were kept outside of a Poké Ball, and the desert still stretched as far as they could see. Only one thing had changed since the start of their journey, and that was that they could now see the power plant, spanning huge areas of the badlands to both their left and right. It seemed to be getting hotter, if such a thing was possible, and Fylon had taken off his coat and stowed it in his bag. He supposed that the extreme heat could be coming from the fabled lake of magma, if they were getting nearer to that. All the while, Fylon collected long sticks when he found them, so that they could eat under a makeshift tent when the time came. The sticks’ origin he could not guess, for there were no trees in sight, but he was glad to have them all the same.
It had been nearly two hours when Arin, panting, finally collapsed and asked for lunch. Fylon agreed, and hastened to form his makeshift tent out of the sticks he had found and a large cloth, nearly a blanket, that he had brought in his bags. While he did this, Arin rummaged in another bag for the food they had brought from the Pokémon Center. In less than a minute, they were sitting under Fylon’s tent and eating their lunch – bread, cheese, berries, and water. It was meager fare, but it would suffice. Braviary and Noivern – the latter still blindfolded – munched happily on oran berries and small squares of Pokémon food made from grain and berries.
Berries, while a good source of fruit for humans, did something else entirely for Pokémon. Different berries has different effects, and some scientists dedicated their life to finding new ones. The most common ones, like oran berries, were easily found and kept well, so most establishments had a few on hand even if they weren’t Pokémon Centers. An oran berry, when consumed by a Pokémon, would wipe away a bit of its fatigue, so that it could continue traveling or battling longer. By the end of their meal, Noivern and Braviary were in top form again and ready for travel. However, since Arin and Fylon were still eating, the two Pokémon lay down and rested.
“Do you know anything about any of the Gym Leaders?” asked Arin between bites of bread.
“A bit,” Fylon admitted. “I was eight when the Geosenge disaster struck. I lived in the southeast, around Kiloude City. The closest Gym Leader to Kiloude was Wulfric, the Leader of Snowbelle City.”
“What type did he train?” asked Arin eagerly.
“Ice,” said Fylon. “Fitting, for the Leader of Snowbelle. I don’t know much about him, though. Kiloude’s very isolated–”
“Ice-olated?” asked Arin, raising one eyebrow and smirking. “Fylon, that was almost a joke!”
Fylon shook his head. In the light of what had happened yesterday, he had nearly forgotten Arin’s tendency to play with words. “Kiloude is rather cut off from the rest of the world. There are a few surrounding villages, and Kiloude’s pretty big itself, but the only real way in or out without a flying Pokémon is by train. I’ve been on the train a few times – going to Lumiose City for food, or supplies, or just to see the city, but I used to go a lot more. Before the disaster.
“Lumiose City’s Gym Leader was Clemont. He trained the Electric type, before you ask. I knew him much better than I knew Wulfric – he was only about twelve before the disaster, so he didn’t feel quite as distant. He was a brilliant inventor.”
“What did he invent?” asked Arin.
“All sorts of things,” said Fylon. “He had this device that he always wore on his back that functioned as a mechanical arm. And he designed a robot to lead the Gym in his stead while he traveled the region.”
“It sounds amazing,” said Arin. “I’d have liked to meet him.”
“That’s our goal,” said Fylon. “But Shalour first. Then we’ll find Clemont.”
Arin nodded as he piled the rest of his cheese and berries on a slice of bread and shoved it into his mouth. Swallowing with effort, he stood up. Fylon finished his meal and stood as well, disassembling the tent and stowing the blanket in his bag. He passed Arin two of the sticks and they set off again down the road, Noivern and Braviary padding behind.
Shortly, they came to a small building, part of the network of the power plant. It was scarcely more than a guardhouse, but it had the only door they had seen thus far.
“Should we go in?” asked Arin. “They might know something about the Gym Leaders.”
Fylon looked doubtful, but he reasoned that it would be dark in a few hours, and they would need a place to stay for the night if they didn’t come out of the desert soon. He nodded, and they went up to the small building. They returned Noivern and Braviary to their Poké Balls, and then knocked.
“What?” called an irritable voice from inside.
“May we come in?” asked Fylon. “The sun descends in the sky, and we seek shelter for the night.”
There was a long silence, and then the door opened. There stood a tall man, grey of hair and short, scruffy beard, dressed in a worker’s uniform. “Who are you?” he said suspiciously.
“My name is Fylon, and this is Arin,” said Fylon, bowing, “and we are simple travelers, crossing the Lumiose Badlands. We only want a roof for the night.”
He hadn’t told the guard about their true objective in crossing the desert, not wanting to give away too much in case the information reached unfriendly ears, but he did use their names, wanting to give the suspicious guard some truth.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” said the guard. “I’m sorry – you seem like decent enough people – but I can’t let you in.” And he shut the door.
Arin sniffed. “That was positively rude. Positive, get it, Fylon? Because electricity can be positive, and it’s a power plant, and …”
He trailed off. Fylon was looking sadly at the door. Now what were they to do about shelter for the night? He sighed and turned away. He continued making his way down the route, Arin at his side. Time passed in silence for a few more minutes, until ahead, Fylon realized he could see nothing at all. It was just a huge wall of sand. And it was heading right at them.
*
In one of the rooms at the Pokémon Center, Roc sat on one of the beds. He shared the room with Blake, a young man of perhaps eighteen who seemed to flicker in and out of sight at Roc looked at him, and Rosuke, who was tall and bulky, but not fat. He hadn’t spoken a word to either of them except to introduce himself before they left the room, out on some errand or another.
Roc sighed. It was no good worrying about the plan himself. He needed to talk with someone. He stood, and made his way out of his room, and over to the door of the one Ani shared with Nika and another Spectrum member Roc didn’t know.
He knocked, and was immediately answered by a “Come in!” from somewhere inside the room. He opened the door, and, unsurprisingly, saw Ani sitting in a chair, a book in her hands. Nika was sprawled on one of the beds, but was obviously not asleep.
Ani looked up. “Ryan?” she said.
Roc nodded. Ani sighed, set down her book, and folded her hands in her lap. “You’ve told me your views on the matter of the plan, Roc. You’ve pointed out the flaws.”
“But there’s so much that could go wrong,” Roc insisted. “What if they see this coming? What if we all get imprisoned instead?”
“Nothing will go wrong,” said Nika, sitting up, “and that’s not just to boost your confidence. Professor Sycamore is never wrong. He’ll have thought of everything.”
“But, he let Ryan get captured in the first place,” said Roc.
“Don’t lose faith in the professor,” said Nika. “Everything will turn out alright. We’ll rescue Ryan tomorrow and leave the laboratories before Team Flare realizes that Ryan is gone.”
Roc sighed. He had seen the professor defeat four Team Flare Grunts at once with minimal effort, but there would be a lot more than four in the laboratories tomorrow. And from what he had heard from Fylon’s end of the battle, the Scientists were too good. The best hope they had was to lure them away with the diversion. And who knew if that was going to work.
“Thanks,” said Roc, and he turned to go. Ani and Nika nodded as he left the room, Ani returning to her book. Roc sighed again. He didn’t like this at all.
*
“Just what we need,” said Arin grumpily. “A sandstorm.”
The wall of sand was still a ways off, but Fylon could already feel the winds blowing through his hair. “We have two options,” he said. “One, we could try to fight our way through it. We have two powerful Pokémon that could possibly create a gust of wind strong enough to drive away the sandstorm. Or two, we could go back to the power plant and ask them again to let us in.”
Arin looked at him exasperatedly. “Is it really that tough a decision?”
And they bolted for the power plant, Noivern, Braviary, and the sandstorm on their heels.
They hadn’t gone very far when the sandstorm struck, so running, they made it back to the power plant in less than a minute. After they had each recalled their Pokémon into their Poké Balls, Arin knocked frantically on the door until it opened. There stood the same scruffy-bearded guard, looking at them with an expression of mild annoyance. “I told you kids,” he said, “you can’t–”
He stopped, open-mouthed, as he saw the sandstorm. “Inside, quickly,” he said, waving them in. He shut the door behind them.
The small guard building was dimly lit by a lamp on a table. Every other surface was covered with pages and pages of notes, and several computer monitors, some of which displayed security footage; others showed graphs and charts Fylon did not understand. The guard closed one of the monitors showing graphs before Fylon could get too good a look at it, and turned to them. “Name’s Matt,” he grunted, sticking out a hand.
Fylon and Arin each shook his hand, and introduced themselves again. Matt seemed a bit unsure of what to do with them. He clearly didn’t want them in the small guard building, but Fylon guessed he would also get in trouble if the Spectrum members were found. Eventually, Matt picked up a small phone receiver and spoke into it quietly. He hung up and made his way over to a door at the back of the room that Fylon supposed entered onto a corridor that would take them to the rest of the power plant. Matt opened the door, and gestured into the hallway beyond. Fylon and Arin hastily went into it.
The small corridor sloped downward – apparently most of the plant was underground. As they walked through it, Matt made conversation, though Fylon could tell he was still suspicious.
“You were heading west,” Matt said. “That means you came from Lumiose City. And you’re Pokémon Trainers, which haven’t existed for ten years. I was one myself once. I joined the guard at this power plant after the disaster. No one wanted to train Pokémon anymore. Why shouldn’t I count myself among them?”
“You didn’t have to,” said Fylon. “You could have continued to train Pokémon. It was a way of life for a lot of people. I’d guess it was for you, too.”
Matt looked at him askance. “You’re perceptive, I’ll give you that. Anyway, how is it two Pokémon Trainers are heading down the Lumiose Badlands? It’s a dangerous road you travel.”
“We’re going to find–” said Arin, but he was cut off by a sharp look from Fylon.
“Others who will become Trainers,” said Fylon. Arin nodded vigorously.
“You’re recruiting, then?” said Matt, his eyes narrowing. “You ever hear of an organization called Team Flare? They came recruiting a while back, too. They had some notion we’d want to overthrow the Champion.”
“You can’t possibly believe that we’re part of Team Flare!” Arin cried. “We’re working against them! We’re–”
But apparently Matt didn’t want to hear any more of this conversation, for just then they came to a door, which he opened without waiting for the end of Arin’s sentence.
The door opened onto what appeared to be a sort of conference room. A few people sat around a table, working on computers or in notebooks. They all looked up as Fylon and Arin entered with Matt.
“There’s a sandstorm outside,” said Matt. “I had to let them in.”
The other power plant workers seemed to accept this without further comment. They went back to their notebooks and computers. Matt found a pair of blankets and cushions in a closet, and laid them out on the floor of the conference room. “We’d like you to sleep in here if you’re staying the night,” he said. “We don’t mean offense, but if you’re untrustworthy, we want to keep an eye on you.”
“None taken,” said Fylon. He sat on one of the blankets, while Arin sat on the other. They talked quietly, about their plans for the mission, about the battle against Team Flare, and on and on, for what felt like hours, until the power plant workers finally, one by one, got up and left. At that point, it was late, and Fylon was tired. He yawned, stretched out on the blanket Matt had provided and fell asleep.
*
Matt silently opened the door of the conference room and crept inside, followed by a pair of fellow guards. He noted the two lumps on the floor that were Fylon and Arin, and listened carefully to their breathing to make sure they were asleep. He located their bags and unzipped Fylon’s quietly. He rummaged through it while the other guards checked Arin’s. He found a blanket, some food, a water bottle, and some Pokémon medicine, as well as a few clothes, but nothing out of the ordinary. Except the Pokémon medicine, but that was to be expected in a Trainer’s bag. He was just beginning to feel relieved – these kids weren’t Team Flare after all – when he saw a bright red fabric at the bottom of the bag. He pulled it out, and nearly let out a scream when he saw it.
The uniform of Team Flare.
In the burning Pokémon Center, Ryan had been caught unawares by Team Flare. A pair of them knocked him unconscious, dragging him along as they made their escape. He had been thrown into the back of some vehicle, and had only come to after a particularly large bump in the road startled him awake.
Dimly, he registered his surroundings. The back of the vehicle was empty but for one crate on which a guard sat, his face in shadow. It was too dark to tell, but Ryan thought that the guard’s eyes might have widened when he saw that Ryan was conscious. However, he made no move to call anyone else.
A short time later, the vehicle stopped. Ryan noted the briefness of the journey; apparently Professor Sycamore had been right about the proximity of Team Flare’s base. The back of the vehicle opened, and three other Team Flare Grunts looked in.
“We’ve arrived,” said one, rather unnecessarily. Ryan’s guard gave him a withering look before hopping out of the vehicle. They looked back at Ryan expectantly, and he realized that he was not bound. He held his hands out in front of him and gave the guards a questioning look.
“We’re not cruel,” said one of them in response. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, this is not a kidnapping. The Scientists wish to speak with you.”
Ryan remembered Fylon’s look of fear after the skirmish at the laboratory. Were these the same Scientists? His initial reaction was that he didn’t want anything to do with them, and he considered making a break for it, but then he stopped to consider. He still wasn’t sure that Team Flare was bad. And if Fylon was on the wrong side, wouldn’t it make sense that Team Flare wanted to stop him? They were taking it to extremes, in Ryan’s opinion, but that didn’t prove anything.
So he decided to go with the Grunts to speak with the Scientists, with the thought that if they were going to harm him, they would have done so already.
The Grunts led him down many flights of stairs, and up many more, so that by the time they stopped, Ryan had no idea where he was. They had came to a halt at a pair of tall doors, inlaid with numerous precious metals. The doors were an imposing sight, such that Ryan felt even more nervous than before. It was as if the mysterious leader wanted to show off his absolute power by displaying these metals, without a care for thieves. Ryan supposed that the show of power alone was enough to frighten most rogues away.
He was just bracing himself to enter to speak with the Scientists when a faint ring came from behind him. One of his captors sighed, bringing out a Holo Caster. Ryan had never seen one, but he knew it from Professor Sycamore’s description.
“Jarret here,” said the Grunt, speaking into the Holo Caster. It was on audio mode, and so didn’t display the speaker. Whoever it was on the other end must have known that Ryan was with them, and so didn’t want to reveal anything about their identity. Whatever the Grunts had said earlier, Ryan wasn’t convinced he wasn’t a prisoner.
“Uh-huh,” said Jarret. “Yes, ma’am. Right away.”
He put away the Holo Caster and turned to Ryan and the other Grunts. “Change of plan. We’re bringing him to a cell for now. Miss Celosia is away on business, and he’ll wait there until she returns.”
The others nodded to show they understood. Ryan sighed. Yes, he was most definitely a prisoner now.
After navigating a few more twists, turns, and flights of stairs, Ryan found himself outside another door, though this was did not look nearly so impressive as the earlier ones. It was filthy in places, and exuded a pungent odor.
One of Ryan’s captors kicked the door open instead of pushing it, as if afraid of getting dirt on his red suit. The odor intensified as the door swung open, revealing a short hallway with prison cells on either side. There was only one other prisoner that Ryan could see, huddled in a corner, covered in filthy rags.
“Here,” grunted one of the Grunts, slamming a key into one of the cell doors. He opened it, and motioned for Ryan to go in. There was nothing in the cell but a small stool, a blanket, and a chamber pot, which did not look as if it had been cleaned in a while, and was probably what gave off such a foul stench.
Ryan muttered something under his breath that Elder Arhan wouldn’t have liked, but stepped into the cell anyway.
*
It was hours before anyone came into the prison room, and when the door finally opened, Ryan jerked out of a stupor and rushed to the front of the cell. A Grunt stood there; not one of the ones who had led him to the cell. The other prisoner shifted for a moment, but did not reveal his face.
“You’re to speak with the Scientists, now,” said the Grunt, unlocking Ryan’s cell. He did not open the door for Ryan, however, so Ryan pushed it open himself. He stepped out, and then followed the Grunt out of the room, leaving the other prisoner behind.
Ryan was greeted by a wave of fresh air as he left the prison room. He had grown used to the stink of the chamber pots, and so even the musty underground air of the laboratories smelled clean to him.
The Grunt led him back through the maze of hallways, until they stopped at a door that Ryan supposed was the same one he had nearly gone through earlier, although they all looked the same to him. The Grunt shoved it open.
The room in which Ryan now found himself was one of grandeur, with marble floors and walls, and gold-leaf on the ceiling. It was so unlike the dingy prison room that Ryan found it hard to believe that they were in the same building, if one could call it a building.
Four women were seated on a dais, behind a sort of podium. They all wore a uniform of red, similar to the one worn by the five Grunts Ryan had seen, but far more ornate. These uniforms were meant to show authority. In addition to this, each had a different hair color, which was very bright, but did not look dyed.
Ryan was led to a chair in the center of the room, in which he supposed he was to sit. He sat obligingly, and waited for the women to speak.
“We are the Scientists, and the topmost administrators in the organization of Team Flare,” intoned the one with purple hair. Her voice was completely devoid of boastfulness, or indeed any emotion at all. She sat in the middle, and appeared to have the most authority. Could she be the mysterious leader? Ryan dismissed the thought immediately; the leader would not reveal himself or herself so easily after going to such lengths to keep his or her identity a secret.
“There is no reason why you should not know our names,” said the purple-haired woman, as if reading Ryan’s thoughts, “especially since when we eventually release you, as we plan to, you will no doubt hear them from Sycamore. I am Celosia. To my right is Mable…” – she indicated the woman with blue hair – “...and Aliana…” – she now gestured at the one with golden hair – “...while Bryony sits on my left.” She pointed to the last one, who had green hair.
“Together,” Celosia continued, “we are the very highest authority in Team Flare, save for our honored leader. His name you will not learn from us,” she added, seeing the look on Ryan’s face.
“We have decided to speak with you regarding your part in the events to come,” said Mabel. “First, however, we would like to learn your name. And do tell the truth, for Celosia always knows when you lie.”
Ryan hesitated for a long moment, and then gave his name.
“Ryan…” said Bryony, making a quick note on a pad of paper before her. “How is it that you came to be with Sycamore and his band of Trainers?”
“He came to my hometown and offered me a chance to save the world,” said Ryan rather stiffly, provoking an amused laugh from Bryony. She jotted down his response to this as well, evidently taking notes for the duration of the meeting.
“Save the world from us, I would imagine,” said Celosia. “Sycamore has never had a talent for subtlety. And nor do you, I might add.”
This drew another round of laughter, this time from all the other Scientists. Ryan decided it was best to say nothing.
“Well, if that’s the case, we should also offer you a chance to save the world,” said Aliana.
“How’s that?” asked Ryan. “You’re the ones it’s in danger from.”
“And I wonder who told you that? I’d hazard a guess at Sycamore,” said Aliana with a raised eyebrow.
“So what if it was?” said Ryan defiantly. He was finding that he was growing to like Team Flare less and less, with their improperly maintained prison cells and their wit at his and Professor Sycamore’s expense.
“So the world is in danger from Sycamore and his idea of an Elemental Spectrum,” said Aliana. “He plans to stop us with it, but we present no danger to him or anyone. And after he stops us, what prevents the power from going to his head, and him trying to conquer Kalos with it?”
“Professor Sycamore is an honorable man, and I’m starting to think your supposedly honored leader isn’t!” said Ryan. He had to admit that it wasn’t his best retort, but it would do.
“We shall take that as an unwillingness on your part to join us?” said Celosia, almost dangerously.
“Yes,” said Ryan with defiance.
“Very well,” Celosia snarled. “Take him away!”
The Grunt motioned for Ryan to follow him, and they left the grand room.
*
A few hours later, back in his cell, Ryan was awakened from a nap on the blanket by a shuffling sound, and he realized that the other prisoner was making his way over to him. Ryan scrambled back, but the prisoner lifted the hood of his ragged coat, revealing the head of a young man not much older than Ryan. The prisoner’s hair was pure white, and his features were hawklike and sharp, though he couldn’t have been over twenty.
“Who are you?” Ryan managed to say.
“I? I might ask you the same question,” said the prisoner in a hoarse voice, as if he hadn’t used it in quite some time. “I have been the only one here for nigh on five years, and now you appear. Team Flare hasn’t taken a captive in a long while. What news of the outside world can you give me?”
Ryan thought frantically. If this young man had been imprisoned for five years, he must have done something really horrible to deserve it. Ryan relaxed a bit, however, when he recalled that Team Flare were the ones to imprison him, and an enemy of Team Flare was a friend of Ryan.
“I’m Ryan,” he said, extending a hand. The other prisoner shook it through the bars of the cell. “I was captured by Team Flare after they raided a Pokémon Center where we had stopped for the night.”
“We?” inquired the other prisoner.
“Professor Sycamore,” said Ryan, and the prisoner inhaled sharply in recognition, “and seventeen others.”
At this, the prisoner started. “Seventeen? Then you’re the eighteenth….He really means to do it, doesn’t he?”
“Do what?” asked Ryan in confusion.
“An Elemental Spectrum,” said the prisoner, as if that were obvious.
“Oh. Yes, he does.”
“I never would have thought to see it,” breathed the prisoner. He began to mutter to himself. Ryan fidgeted self-consciously, and the prisoner seemed to notice that he was there.
“Oh, excuse me,” said the prisoner. “My name is Zavier.” He pronounced the name with two syllables, and the emphasis on the second. He and Ryan shook hands again.
“Why are you a prisoner here?” asked Ryan. “Did you do something against Team Flare?”
Zavier laughed. “I guess you could say that. Or rather, my father did. He was the king of Kalos, once.”
As far as Ryan knew, the final Kalosian kings had ruled three-thousand years ago. He looked at Zavier uncomprehendingly, until the latter laughed again.
“My father was Azoth, better known in the last century or so as AZ,” said Zavier. “Let me tell you his story.
“Azoth was the last king of Kalos, over three-thousand years before now. His treacherous brother Lysson, however, wanted the kingdom for himself. Lysson’s schemes eventually escalated into a massive war, felt across more regions than this one.
“Azoth and his beloved Pokémon, Floette, fought valiantly in the war, but Floette was ultimately killed. After the war had ended, and Lysson defeated, Azoth built a machine that was intended to harness the great force of Life itself, and restore life to Floette.
“But there can be no life without death, and so it was that the machine revived Floette at the cost of the lives of many Pokémon who fought in the war. When Floette saw what Azoth had done, although it was not intentional, the Pokémon left him. Devastated, Azoth stepped down from his role as king, ended the monarchy, and began to wander the world for his beloved Floette. His wanderings took him as far as the ends of Kalos, and possibly even beyond.
“He had been wandering for three-thousand years, as he had been made immortal by the same machine that had restored Floette’s life, when he was captured by the leader of Team Flare. Lysandre is a descendant of Lysson, and he is determined to finish his ancestor’s work. Lysandre had tried to take a key that Azoth still wore, the key to the machine, which has since been renamed ‘the ultimate weapon.’
“Lysandre’s intention was to use the ultimate weapon to unleash his ancestor’s wrath upon the world. He was only stopped by the efforts of one Calem, who, with his Pokémon, battled Lysandre for control of the machine. Their clash was one of extreme power, with a special bond on each side. Eventually, Calem won both the battle and the loyalty of the forces of Life and Death. Lysandre was defeated.”
“What are the forces of Life and Death?” asked Ryan. “I’ve heard stories, but they don’t explain….”
“The Pokémon of Life and Death are legendary, such that only Lysandre, Calem, and a few others can rightly claim to have seen them,” said Zavier. “The Pokémon of Life is said to take the form of the letter X, while Death takes the shape of the letter Y. There is also said to be a third Pokémon, which takes the form of the letter Z.”
“The Breaker?” asked Ryan, remembering one of Elder Arhan’s stories.
“Aye, the Breaker. Its true name, of course, is not that, but it has never been written anywhere. I think it likely that Lysandre knows its name, as does my father.
“Anyway, the Breaker appears only when Life and Death are too imbalanced. It breaks both Pokémon’s respective auras, and so quells their fighting. Once the auras of Life and Death are broken, balance is restored, and Order reigns once again.”
“Why does it need to stop them if the Life Pokémon gets too powerful? Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
“Endless life? For all beings? No. Immortality is not the blessing it would seem. Let us leave it at that. But it is easy to see how important Order is. Kalosians even curse by its name, in such phrases as ‘by Order!’ or ‘break you!’.
“But as I was saying, Lysandre was defeated. Now, however, his dream remains in the hearts of Team Flare. They mean to exact revenge on the ones who thwarted their leader before. The Pokémon League, Calem, Professor Sycamore, and any Pokémon Trainers not loyal to Team Flare will be in danger. This includes you and your Elemental Spectrum. I see now why it was so important for Professor Sycamore to assemble you quickly.”
Ryan sat for a moment in silence, utterly dumbfounded by Zavier’s story. Then he returned to his senses, and he asked, “What became of Azoth?”
“I have not seen my father in ten years,” said Zavier. “Not since the destruction of Geosenge Town, for that was the location of the ultimate weapon. He attended a festival in Calem’s honor, battled with him, and then apparently vanished from the face of the earth, after Floette finally returned to him. I haven’t any idea where he is.
“I do know this, though. He is not dead. My father was, is, and will always be immortal. The weapon was destroyed, but that particular effect was not lifted. It did something to my father’s genetic structure, which has been passed to me.”
“So...you’re immortal?” Ryan felt just a bit dizzy. “How old are you?”
Zavier laughed again. “Only eighteen. While my father, myself, and all of our descendants are blessed – or perhaps cursed – with immortality, we still age as normal, at least until the human body reaches its limit.”
“Oh,” said Ryan. He could think of nothing else.
“It is because Team Flare thinks I hold some great secret that I am imprisoned, a secret passed down to me from my father,” said Zavier, changing the subject.
“And do you have such a secret?” asked Ryan curiously.
“Yes,” said Zavier simply. “But I cannot tell you, or their cameras would detect it.”
Ryan nodded. “Thank you.”
“For what?” asked Zavier, cocking his head quizzically.
“For talking to me. I did not expect to find anyone here at all, much less a friend.”
Zavier smiled. Another thought occurred to Ryan, however, and he asked, “Wait, why did you refer to Lysandre in the present tense? I thought he perished in the explosion of Geosenge Town.”
“Oh, no, he didn’t perish, though no one, including himself, is sure how,” said Zavier, and his smile faded. “There has only ever been one leader of Team Flare. The mysterious new leader is still none other than Lysandre.”
Dimly, he registered his surroundings. The back of the vehicle was empty but for one crate on which a guard sat, his face in shadow. It was too dark to tell, but Ryan thought that the guard’s eyes might have widened when he saw that Ryan was conscious. However, he made no move to call anyone else.
A short time later, the vehicle stopped. Ryan noted the briefness of the journey; apparently Professor Sycamore had been right about the proximity of Team Flare’s base. The back of the vehicle opened, and three other Team Flare Grunts looked in.
“We’ve arrived,” said one, rather unnecessarily. Ryan’s guard gave him a withering look before hopping out of the vehicle. They looked back at Ryan expectantly, and he realized that he was not bound. He held his hands out in front of him and gave the guards a questioning look.
“We’re not cruel,” said one of them in response. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, this is not a kidnapping. The Scientists wish to speak with you.”
Ryan remembered Fylon’s look of fear after the skirmish at the laboratory. Were these the same Scientists? His initial reaction was that he didn’t want anything to do with them, and he considered making a break for it, but then he stopped to consider. He still wasn’t sure that Team Flare was bad. And if Fylon was on the wrong side, wouldn’t it make sense that Team Flare wanted to stop him? They were taking it to extremes, in Ryan’s opinion, but that didn’t prove anything.
So he decided to go with the Grunts to speak with the Scientists, with the thought that if they were going to harm him, they would have done so already.
The Grunts led him down many flights of stairs, and up many more, so that by the time they stopped, Ryan had no idea where he was. They had came to a halt at a pair of tall doors, inlaid with numerous precious metals. The doors were an imposing sight, such that Ryan felt even more nervous than before. It was as if the mysterious leader wanted to show off his absolute power by displaying these metals, without a care for thieves. Ryan supposed that the show of power alone was enough to frighten most rogues away.
He was just bracing himself to enter to speak with the Scientists when a faint ring came from behind him. One of his captors sighed, bringing out a Holo Caster. Ryan had never seen one, but he knew it from Professor Sycamore’s description.
“Jarret here,” said the Grunt, speaking into the Holo Caster. It was on audio mode, and so didn’t display the speaker. Whoever it was on the other end must have known that Ryan was with them, and so didn’t want to reveal anything about their identity. Whatever the Grunts had said earlier, Ryan wasn’t convinced he wasn’t a prisoner.
“Uh-huh,” said Jarret. “Yes, ma’am. Right away.”
He put away the Holo Caster and turned to Ryan and the other Grunts. “Change of plan. We’re bringing him to a cell for now. Miss Celosia is away on business, and he’ll wait there until she returns.”
The others nodded to show they understood. Ryan sighed. Yes, he was most definitely a prisoner now.
After navigating a few more twists, turns, and flights of stairs, Ryan found himself outside another door, though this was did not look nearly so impressive as the earlier ones. It was filthy in places, and exuded a pungent odor.
One of Ryan’s captors kicked the door open instead of pushing it, as if afraid of getting dirt on his red suit. The odor intensified as the door swung open, revealing a short hallway with prison cells on either side. There was only one other prisoner that Ryan could see, huddled in a corner, covered in filthy rags.
“Here,” grunted one of the Grunts, slamming a key into one of the cell doors. He opened it, and motioned for Ryan to go in. There was nothing in the cell but a small stool, a blanket, and a chamber pot, which did not look as if it had been cleaned in a while, and was probably what gave off such a foul stench.
Ryan muttered something under his breath that Elder Arhan wouldn’t have liked, but stepped into the cell anyway.
*
It was hours before anyone came into the prison room, and when the door finally opened, Ryan jerked out of a stupor and rushed to the front of the cell. A Grunt stood there; not one of the ones who had led him to the cell. The other prisoner shifted for a moment, but did not reveal his face.
“You’re to speak with the Scientists, now,” said the Grunt, unlocking Ryan’s cell. He did not open the door for Ryan, however, so Ryan pushed it open himself. He stepped out, and then followed the Grunt out of the room, leaving the other prisoner behind.
Ryan was greeted by a wave of fresh air as he left the prison room. He had grown used to the stink of the chamber pots, and so even the musty underground air of the laboratories smelled clean to him.
The Grunt led him back through the maze of hallways, until they stopped at a door that Ryan supposed was the same one he had nearly gone through earlier, although they all looked the same to him. The Grunt shoved it open.
The room in which Ryan now found himself was one of grandeur, with marble floors and walls, and gold-leaf on the ceiling. It was so unlike the dingy prison room that Ryan found it hard to believe that they were in the same building, if one could call it a building.
Four women were seated on a dais, behind a sort of podium. They all wore a uniform of red, similar to the one worn by the five Grunts Ryan had seen, but far more ornate. These uniforms were meant to show authority. In addition to this, each had a different hair color, which was very bright, but did not look dyed.
Ryan was led to a chair in the center of the room, in which he supposed he was to sit. He sat obligingly, and waited for the women to speak.
“We are the Scientists, and the topmost administrators in the organization of Team Flare,” intoned the one with purple hair. Her voice was completely devoid of boastfulness, or indeed any emotion at all. She sat in the middle, and appeared to have the most authority. Could she be the mysterious leader? Ryan dismissed the thought immediately; the leader would not reveal himself or herself so easily after going to such lengths to keep his or her identity a secret.
“There is no reason why you should not know our names,” said the purple-haired woman, as if reading Ryan’s thoughts, “especially since when we eventually release you, as we plan to, you will no doubt hear them from Sycamore. I am Celosia. To my right is Mable…” – she indicated the woman with blue hair – “...and Aliana…” – she now gestured at the one with golden hair – “...while Bryony sits on my left.” She pointed to the last one, who had green hair.
“Together,” Celosia continued, “we are the very highest authority in Team Flare, save for our honored leader. His name you will not learn from us,” she added, seeing the look on Ryan’s face.
“We have decided to speak with you regarding your part in the events to come,” said Mabel. “First, however, we would like to learn your name. And do tell the truth, for Celosia always knows when you lie.”
Ryan hesitated for a long moment, and then gave his name.
“Ryan…” said Bryony, making a quick note on a pad of paper before her. “How is it that you came to be with Sycamore and his band of Trainers?”
“He came to my hometown and offered me a chance to save the world,” said Ryan rather stiffly, provoking an amused laugh from Bryony. She jotted down his response to this as well, evidently taking notes for the duration of the meeting.
“Save the world from us, I would imagine,” said Celosia. “Sycamore has never had a talent for subtlety. And nor do you, I might add.”
This drew another round of laughter, this time from all the other Scientists. Ryan decided it was best to say nothing.
“Well, if that’s the case, we should also offer you a chance to save the world,” said Aliana.
“How’s that?” asked Ryan. “You’re the ones it’s in danger from.”
“And I wonder who told you that? I’d hazard a guess at Sycamore,” said Aliana with a raised eyebrow.
“So what if it was?” said Ryan defiantly. He was finding that he was growing to like Team Flare less and less, with their improperly maintained prison cells and their wit at his and Professor Sycamore’s expense.
“So the world is in danger from Sycamore and his idea of an Elemental Spectrum,” said Aliana. “He plans to stop us with it, but we present no danger to him or anyone. And after he stops us, what prevents the power from going to his head, and him trying to conquer Kalos with it?”
“Professor Sycamore is an honorable man, and I’m starting to think your supposedly honored leader isn’t!” said Ryan. He had to admit that it wasn’t his best retort, but it would do.
“We shall take that as an unwillingness on your part to join us?” said Celosia, almost dangerously.
“Yes,” said Ryan with defiance.
“Very well,” Celosia snarled. “Take him away!”
The Grunt motioned for Ryan to follow him, and they left the grand room.
*
A few hours later, back in his cell, Ryan was awakened from a nap on the blanket by a shuffling sound, and he realized that the other prisoner was making his way over to him. Ryan scrambled back, but the prisoner lifted the hood of his ragged coat, revealing the head of a young man not much older than Ryan. The prisoner’s hair was pure white, and his features were hawklike and sharp, though he couldn’t have been over twenty.
“Who are you?” Ryan managed to say.
“I? I might ask you the same question,” said the prisoner in a hoarse voice, as if he hadn’t used it in quite some time. “I have been the only one here for nigh on five years, and now you appear. Team Flare hasn’t taken a captive in a long while. What news of the outside world can you give me?”
Ryan thought frantically. If this young man had been imprisoned for five years, he must have done something really horrible to deserve it. Ryan relaxed a bit, however, when he recalled that Team Flare were the ones to imprison him, and an enemy of Team Flare was a friend of Ryan.
“I’m Ryan,” he said, extending a hand. The other prisoner shook it through the bars of the cell. “I was captured by Team Flare after they raided a Pokémon Center where we had stopped for the night.”
“We?” inquired the other prisoner.
“Professor Sycamore,” said Ryan, and the prisoner inhaled sharply in recognition, “and seventeen others.”
At this, the prisoner started. “Seventeen? Then you’re the eighteenth….He really means to do it, doesn’t he?”
“Do what?” asked Ryan in confusion.
“An Elemental Spectrum,” said the prisoner, as if that were obvious.
“Oh. Yes, he does.”
“I never would have thought to see it,” breathed the prisoner. He began to mutter to himself. Ryan fidgeted self-consciously, and the prisoner seemed to notice that he was there.
“Oh, excuse me,” said the prisoner. “My name is Zavier.” He pronounced the name with two syllables, and the emphasis on the second. He and Ryan shook hands again.
“Why are you a prisoner here?” asked Ryan. “Did you do something against Team Flare?”
Zavier laughed. “I guess you could say that. Or rather, my father did. He was the king of Kalos, once.”
As far as Ryan knew, the final Kalosian kings had ruled three-thousand years ago. He looked at Zavier uncomprehendingly, until the latter laughed again.
“My father was Azoth, better known in the last century or so as AZ,” said Zavier. “Let me tell you his story.
“Azoth was the last king of Kalos, over three-thousand years before now. His treacherous brother Lysson, however, wanted the kingdom for himself. Lysson’s schemes eventually escalated into a massive war, felt across more regions than this one.
“Azoth and his beloved Pokémon, Floette, fought valiantly in the war, but Floette was ultimately killed. After the war had ended, and Lysson defeated, Azoth built a machine that was intended to harness the great force of Life itself, and restore life to Floette.
“But there can be no life without death, and so it was that the machine revived Floette at the cost of the lives of many Pokémon who fought in the war. When Floette saw what Azoth had done, although it was not intentional, the Pokémon left him. Devastated, Azoth stepped down from his role as king, ended the monarchy, and began to wander the world for his beloved Floette. His wanderings took him as far as the ends of Kalos, and possibly even beyond.
“He had been wandering for three-thousand years, as he had been made immortal by the same machine that had restored Floette’s life, when he was captured by the leader of Team Flare. Lysandre is a descendant of Lysson, and he is determined to finish his ancestor’s work. Lysandre had tried to take a key that Azoth still wore, the key to the machine, which has since been renamed ‘the ultimate weapon.’
“Lysandre’s intention was to use the ultimate weapon to unleash his ancestor’s wrath upon the world. He was only stopped by the efforts of one Calem, who, with his Pokémon, battled Lysandre for control of the machine. Their clash was one of extreme power, with a special bond on each side. Eventually, Calem won both the battle and the loyalty of the forces of Life and Death. Lysandre was defeated.”
“What are the forces of Life and Death?” asked Ryan. “I’ve heard stories, but they don’t explain….”
“The Pokémon of Life and Death are legendary, such that only Lysandre, Calem, and a few others can rightly claim to have seen them,” said Zavier. “The Pokémon of Life is said to take the form of the letter X, while Death takes the shape of the letter Y. There is also said to be a third Pokémon, which takes the form of the letter Z.”
“The Breaker?” asked Ryan, remembering one of Elder Arhan’s stories.
“Aye, the Breaker. Its true name, of course, is not that, but it has never been written anywhere. I think it likely that Lysandre knows its name, as does my father.
“Anyway, the Breaker appears only when Life and Death are too imbalanced. It breaks both Pokémon’s respective auras, and so quells their fighting. Once the auras of Life and Death are broken, balance is restored, and Order reigns once again.”
“Why does it need to stop them if the Life Pokémon gets too powerful? Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
“Endless life? For all beings? No. Immortality is not the blessing it would seem. Let us leave it at that. But it is easy to see how important Order is. Kalosians even curse by its name, in such phrases as ‘by Order!’ or ‘break you!’.
“But as I was saying, Lysandre was defeated. Now, however, his dream remains in the hearts of Team Flare. They mean to exact revenge on the ones who thwarted their leader before. The Pokémon League, Calem, Professor Sycamore, and any Pokémon Trainers not loyal to Team Flare will be in danger. This includes you and your Elemental Spectrum. I see now why it was so important for Professor Sycamore to assemble you quickly.”
Ryan sat for a moment in silence, utterly dumbfounded by Zavier’s story. Then he returned to his senses, and he asked, “What became of Azoth?”
“I have not seen my father in ten years,” said Zavier. “Not since the destruction of Geosenge Town, for that was the location of the ultimate weapon. He attended a festival in Calem’s honor, battled with him, and then apparently vanished from the face of the earth, after Floette finally returned to him. I haven’t any idea where he is.
“I do know this, though. He is not dead. My father was, is, and will always be immortal. The weapon was destroyed, but that particular effect was not lifted. It did something to my father’s genetic structure, which has been passed to me.”
“So...you’re immortal?” Ryan felt just a bit dizzy. “How old are you?”
Zavier laughed again. “Only eighteen. While my father, myself, and all of our descendants are blessed – or perhaps cursed – with immortality, we still age as normal, at least until the human body reaches its limit.”
“Oh,” said Ryan. He could think of nothing else.
“It is because Team Flare thinks I hold some great secret that I am imprisoned, a secret passed down to me from my father,” said Zavier, changing the subject.
“And do you have such a secret?” asked Ryan curiously.
“Yes,” said Zavier simply. “But I cannot tell you, or their cameras would detect it.”
Ryan nodded. “Thank you.”
“For what?” asked Zavier, cocking his head quizzically.
“For talking to me. I did not expect to find anyone here at all, much less a friend.”
Zavier smiled. Another thought occurred to Ryan, however, and he asked, “Wait, why did you refer to Lysandre in the present tense? I thought he perished in the explosion of Geosenge Town.”
“Oh, no, he didn’t perish, though no one, including himself, is sure how,” said Zavier, and his smile faded. “There has only ever been one leader of Team Flare. The mysterious new leader is still none other than Lysandre.”
Fylon jerked awake.
It took him only a moment to recall where he was, and only a moment more to see that his bags had been searched while he slept. He knew immediately, of course, who the culprit had been. He hadn’t trusted Matt before, and now his suspicions had been confirmed.
Fylon shook Arin, telling him to wake. Arin moaned sleepily, but sat up anyway. He rubbed his eyes, and then noticed what Fylon had seen only a minute before.
“Anything taken?” Arin asked.
Fylon spread out the contents of the bags, taking inventory, and then stopped when he came to the red suit Professor Sycamore had given him just the day before. He sighed, inwardly cursing his foolishness at holding on to the suit. Of course, the workers had seen the suit and assumed that they were part of Team Flare.
“We’ll have to leave,” said Fylon. “Immediately.”
“I think that’ll be rather hard,” said Arin. “Look.”
Matt and at least five other workers filed into the room. Fylon guessed that there was a camera in the room, and the workers had seen them wake.
“We know the truth!” said Matt, though his voice shook. “You’re Team Flare!”
“We are not!” cried Arin. “We told you that yesterday.”
“Explain the suit, then,” said Matt, and his voice shook less.
“The suit was given to us by Professor Sycamore, in the hope that we may infiltrate Team Flare and cause them to collapse,” said Fylon, though he could see that Matt didn’t believe him.
“You lie!” said Matt furiously. One of the other workers handed him a Poké Ball, which he activated at once. Fylon’s astonishment at seeing the Poké Ball lasted only a moment, before he and Arin activated their own.
Braviary and Noivern appeared in flashes of light, while a Pokémon that seemed to be comprised of a trio of silver spheres, and six magnets, came out of Matt’s.
“Magneton,” roared Matt, “Thunderbolt!”
Fylon had trained against Nika and her Zebstrika for over a year, and so he knew exactly what to do when faced with a Thunderbolt. He did not care to battle in such close quarters, but Matt was giving him no choice. “Stir up the dust, Braviary,” he said quietly.
Braviary flapped its huge wings, using the wind generated to blow up the dust lying on walls and infrequently-used tables. Fylon’s experience was that there were often enough metal particles in dust to adequately disperse a Thunderbolt. So it was that when Magneton fired off a bolt of lightning, the bolt was stopped by the near-invisible wall of dust motes in the air before Braviary.
Matt’s surprise didn’t show through, and Fylon was struck by a sudden thought. These men didn’t care whether they won or lost. They only wanted to do as much damage as possible to any whom they believed were a part of Team Flare. In that instant of understanding, Fylon brought out his Poké Ball and returned Braviary to it.
Now Matt stood dumbfounded. “Fight back, break you!” he snarled, striking a threatening position. Magneton vibrated dangerously. A look of bewilderment was on Arin’s face.
“We aren’t Team Flare,” said Fylon firmly. “And we won’t fight you. It would lead to more violence, and we can’t afford to lose anyone in the battle against Team Flare. We will leave your … hospitality … now. Do not try to stop us.”
Something changed in Matt’s expression, and while he still looked wary, he returned Magneton to its Poké Ball. “I’m still not sure I believe you. By Order, I’m not even sure I can believe you. But it’s probably best if you leave now. Better for everyone.”
Fylon nodded, and gestured to Arin, who returned Noivern to its Poké Ball. Matt jerked his head, indicating that they should follow, as he swept out of the room.
Outside, Fylon and Arin bade farewell to the power plant workers, and left without another word. Once they were out of earshot, Arin asked, “Reckon we can risk flying yet?”
“Probably not, unfortunately,” said Fylon. “I don’t want to be caught in another sandstorm, but I’d take that over Team Flare. We walk the rest of the way.”
Arin nodded reluctantly, although he started walking anyway. “I hate walking.”
Fylon closed his eyes and smiled, putting his hands behind his head as he followed Arin. “Come on, Arin, it’s not that bad. Don’t desert the mission now!”
Arin walked a few more steps, not getting the supposed joke at first. Then he whirled around to face Fylon. “You call that wit? Order! That was awful!”
Fylon smirked, opening one eye. “We’ll be there before you know it, Arin.”
Arin grumbled, shaking his head, but he resumed his pace. “As long as you don’t make any more ‘jokes’. Noivern might have to punish you if you do that.”
Fylon pretended not to hear this last part, instead walking along in silence. Arin followed, increasing his stride a bit to catch up. And so they walked, under the noonday sun, on their way to Coumarine City.
*
Ryan’s shock at hearing the identity of Team Flare’s leader has nearly vanished overnight. He awoke after a restless sleep on his ragged blanket to see Zavier huddled against the corner of his cell, in the same position as he had been in when Ryan first entered the position. Zavier looked up sleepily and saw Ryan. “Morning. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
Ryan snorted. Zavier cracked a smile, but sobered again almost immediately.
What must this man’s life have been like for the last decade? Ryan wondered. What made him so … serious?
“Zavier,” said Ryan, “tell me more about the Breaker.”
“Sure,” said Zavier, still slightly sleepily. “What do you want to know?”
“What is the Breaker, exactly?”
“Well, the thing to remember is that even though we talk about Life, Death, and the Breaker as entities or deities, they’re still Pokémon. I realize if Professor Sycamore hasn’t trained you yet, you don’t know exactly what Pokémon are. I’ll do my best to explain.
“Pokémon are creatures whose DNA, different from ours, gives them unique powers and abilities. Each Pokémon is slightly different, but there are multiple ways we – that is to say, professors – can classify them.
“The main one is by type. There are eighteen known types, like Water, or Electric, or Dragon. Likewise, in an Elemental Spectrum, there are eighteen Trainers. This is because each one is a specialist of a different type.
“Types affect a Pokémon’s role in battle as well. Some types are more powerful when matched against another. Fire, for example, is weak to Water. Just common sense. Some are a little trickier, however, and it’s important to learn them all.
“Each Pokémon also has what’s called a moveset, which is a set of four moves that the Pokémon can use. These moves are also given types for classification.
“Last, there are Abilities, with a capital A. This is like a trait the Pokémon has, which affects what happens in the battle. Some Abilities grant more power to specific types of moves, while others can directly affect another Pokémon. Does that all make sense?”
“I think so,” said Ryan, who had been hanging on every word. “Pokémon are classified by type, and moves are too. Pokémon can learn up to four moves, and each Pokémon has an Ability, which affects the battle.”
“Right,” said Zavier. “Now consider the forces of Life and Death. No one knows exactly what type they are, or what moves they can use, or really anything else. The force of Life is said to glimmer in lights of many colors, and it has an undeniably Light aura. The force of Death, on the other hand, creates a vast shadow wherever it goes, and its aura is one of Darkness. But beyond that, we know nothing.
“And then there’s the Breaker, referred to as Order by some. Whenever Life and Death get unbalanced, something about the Breaker’s aura restores order. It reverses the auras of the other two, so to speak.”
“What does it look like?” asked Ryan earnestly.
Zavier hesitated, but he said, “Even on that point, records are vague. It can take the shape of any number of creatures. It has been serpentine in some accounts, and canine in others. Sometimes it’s just a massive, shifting, pile of goo. It transforms into whatever it feels will balance the world.”
Ryan could see that this was all Zavier wanted to say on the matter. So he changed the subject: “Zavier, are there any legends about the Breaker?”
“Legends?” said Zavier uncomprehendingly.
“Stories,” said Ryan. “Surely there are stories about the Breaker. And you must’ve heard them.”
Zavier nodded slowly. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll tell you the story of how our race first came into existence.
“Long ago, the world was much simpler than it is now. Pokémon abounded, and humans did not exist at all. This world, however, was … well, it was boring. Nothing ever really happened, when the world’s only residents were Pokémon. They built some makeshift civilizations by themselves, but it never could compare to what we have today. There were no technological advancements of any kind, and this is because of one simple fact: The Pokémon lacked ingenuity. They could not make any significant advancements without innovation and new ideas.
“Tired of watching this unchanging routine, the force of Life created a new form. The first humans, built of clay and earth. The force of Life gave them breath, and implanted in their minds all the traits the Pokémon lacked. Ingenuity and innovation, yes, but also logic, and ethics, and many other things as well.
“The humans coexisted with the Pokémon wonderfully, and together, each making up for the other’s inabilities, they made many fantastic advancements. They advanced too quickly, however. With their new technology, humans began to construct devices that would allow them the same abilities as Pokémon; power over fire, and water, and many other things besides. This shifted the balance of the world.
“Seeing what Life had done, the force of Death went to the Breaker. When Order saw what had happened, it agreed with Death. Balance would have to be restored. So Order allowed Death to infuse the humans with just a little bit of destruction, so that their technology would fall into disrepair, and eventually be destroyed. The Pokémon were no longer unneeded, and balance was returned to the world.
“And that is how the world has existed ever since,” finished Zavier. “Or, at least, until the explosion of Geosenge Town….”
Ryan wasn’t sure what to make of this. He found it hard to believe that humans had once been clay, but he supposed it was just a legend. Zavier didn’t seem to want to say anything else, so Ryan sighed, and turned to the small window in the room. The noonday sun glared just overhead. He wondered how much longer it would be until the professor came for him.
*
Five hours after noon, Fylon and Arin arrived in Coumarine City. The city was huge, even if it wasn’t quite as big as Lumiose. Fylon noted that it was still a lot bigger than his hometown.
The city was built, really in two separate parts, on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Azure Bay. The disparate parts of the city weren’t far apart, but they were on opposite sides of a large hill that made pedestrian travel long and arduous. Fortunately, a monorail had been constructed some time ago, bridging the gap between the two parts of Coumarine City.
The landscape of the city was also very different from the harsh, barren terrain of the Lumiose Badlands. Being on the border of the Azure Bay meant that the land was lush and fertile, and plant life abounded. Fylon and Arin had already passed many trees and bushes that they could not name.
Their first stop in the city was the Coumarine Hotel. The hotel was a tall, wide building in the eastern part of the city. Fylon and Arin didn’t even have to ride the monorail to find it, much to Arin’s dismay.
Straightaway after checking in, Fylon and Arin found their room, and Arin flopped onto one of the two beds. Fylon put down the bags he had been carrying, set Braviary’s Poké Ball on the nightstand, and laid down on his own bed. With neither feeling up to much of anything, they silently agreed to rest for a few hours before continuing to pursue their goal.
*
Three hours later, with evening imminent, Fylon awoke with a start. He hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep. He shook Arin awake, and then began to fix a light supper from the remaining rations in their bags.
As Fylon worked, Arin started chattering again. “So now we’re in Coumarine City! It’s so big! Can we ride the monorail now?”
Fylon sighed, shaking his head. “No, Arin. We’re going to check the Shalour Prison tomorrow, to make sure Xerosic hasn’t escaped, or anything like that. Then we’ll look around for Korrina.”
“But the monorail!” protested Arin.
“We can ride the monorail tomorrow, on our way to Shalour City,” said Fylon, handing Arin a bowl of stew, which he accepted gratefully.
“Fair enough,” said Arin, now happily eating the stew.
Fylon sat on his bed, eating his own bowl of stew. It wasn’t bad, but it couldn’t compare to Morgan’s cooking. He sighed, really wishing he had a few slices of good oran bread.
Arin, having gobbled up all of his stew, now settled back against his pillow contentedly. He appeared lost in thought, so Fylon didn’t disturb him; instead finishing his stew in silence. Afterward, he took both bowls to the small sink in the room and rinsed them with cold water. He dried them with an old rag from one of the bags. When he turned back to Arin, Fylon found that his friend was already asleep. Smiling to himself, Fylon climbed into his own bed, and was drifting off to sleep in moments.
It took him only a moment to recall where he was, and only a moment more to see that his bags had been searched while he slept. He knew immediately, of course, who the culprit had been. He hadn’t trusted Matt before, and now his suspicions had been confirmed.
Fylon shook Arin, telling him to wake. Arin moaned sleepily, but sat up anyway. He rubbed his eyes, and then noticed what Fylon had seen only a minute before.
“Anything taken?” Arin asked.
Fylon spread out the contents of the bags, taking inventory, and then stopped when he came to the red suit Professor Sycamore had given him just the day before. He sighed, inwardly cursing his foolishness at holding on to the suit. Of course, the workers had seen the suit and assumed that they were part of Team Flare.
“We’ll have to leave,” said Fylon. “Immediately.”
“I think that’ll be rather hard,” said Arin. “Look.”
Matt and at least five other workers filed into the room. Fylon guessed that there was a camera in the room, and the workers had seen them wake.
“We know the truth!” said Matt, though his voice shook. “You’re Team Flare!”
“We are not!” cried Arin. “We told you that yesterday.”
“Explain the suit, then,” said Matt, and his voice shook less.
“The suit was given to us by Professor Sycamore, in the hope that we may infiltrate Team Flare and cause them to collapse,” said Fylon, though he could see that Matt didn’t believe him.
“You lie!” said Matt furiously. One of the other workers handed him a Poké Ball, which he activated at once. Fylon’s astonishment at seeing the Poké Ball lasted only a moment, before he and Arin activated their own.
Braviary and Noivern appeared in flashes of light, while a Pokémon that seemed to be comprised of a trio of silver spheres, and six magnets, came out of Matt’s.
“Magneton,” roared Matt, “Thunderbolt!”
Fylon had trained against Nika and her Zebstrika for over a year, and so he knew exactly what to do when faced with a Thunderbolt. He did not care to battle in such close quarters, but Matt was giving him no choice. “Stir up the dust, Braviary,” he said quietly.
Braviary flapped its huge wings, using the wind generated to blow up the dust lying on walls and infrequently-used tables. Fylon’s experience was that there were often enough metal particles in dust to adequately disperse a Thunderbolt. So it was that when Magneton fired off a bolt of lightning, the bolt was stopped by the near-invisible wall of dust motes in the air before Braviary.
Matt’s surprise didn’t show through, and Fylon was struck by a sudden thought. These men didn’t care whether they won or lost. They only wanted to do as much damage as possible to any whom they believed were a part of Team Flare. In that instant of understanding, Fylon brought out his Poké Ball and returned Braviary to it.
Now Matt stood dumbfounded. “Fight back, break you!” he snarled, striking a threatening position. Magneton vibrated dangerously. A look of bewilderment was on Arin’s face.
“We aren’t Team Flare,” said Fylon firmly. “And we won’t fight you. It would lead to more violence, and we can’t afford to lose anyone in the battle against Team Flare. We will leave your … hospitality … now. Do not try to stop us.”
Something changed in Matt’s expression, and while he still looked wary, he returned Magneton to its Poké Ball. “I’m still not sure I believe you. By Order, I’m not even sure I can believe you. But it’s probably best if you leave now. Better for everyone.”
Fylon nodded, and gestured to Arin, who returned Noivern to its Poké Ball. Matt jerked his head, indicating that they should follow, as he swept out of the room.
Outside, Fylon and Arin bade farewell to the power plant workers, and left without another word. Once they were out of earshot, Arin asked, “Reckon we can risk flying yet?”
“Probably not, unfortunately,” said Fylon. “I don’t want to be caught in another sandstorm, but I’d take that over Team Flare. We walk the rest of the way.”
Arin nodded reluctantly, although he started walking anyway. “I hate walking.”
Fylon closed his eyes and smiled, putting his hands behind his head as he followed Arin. “Come on, Arin, it’s not that bad. Don’t desert the mission now!”
Arin walked a few more steps, not getting the supposed joke at first. Then he whirled around to face Fylon. “You call that wit? Order! That was awful!”
Fylon smirked, opening one eye. “We’ll be there before you know it, Arin.”
Arin grumbled, shaking his head, but he resumed his pace. “As long as you don’t make any more ‘jokes’. Noivern might have to punish you if you do that.”
Fylon pretended not to hear this last part, instead walking along in silence. Arin followed, increasing his stride a bit to catch up. And so they walked, under the noonday sun, on their way to Coumarine City.
*
Ryan’s shock at hearing the identity of Team Flare’s leader has nearly vanished overnight. He awoke after a restless sleep on his ragged blanket to see Zavier huddled against the corner of his cell, in the same position as he had been in when Ryan first entered the position. Zavier looked up sleepily and saw Ryan. “Morning. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
Ryan snorted. Zavier cracked a smile, but sobered again almost immediately.
What must this man’s life have been like for the last decade? Ryan wondered. What made him so … serious?
“Zavier,” said Ryan, “tell me more about the Breaker.”
“Sure,” said Zavier, still slightly sleepily. “What do you want to know?”
“What is the Breaker, exactly?”
“Well, the thing to remember is that even though we talk about Life, Death, and the Breaker as entities or deities, they’re still Pokémon. I realize if Professor Sycamore hasn’t trained you yet, you don’t know exactly what Pokémon are. I’ll do my best to explain.
“Pokémon are creatures whose DNA, different from ours, gives them unique powers and abilities. Each Pokémon is slightly different, but there are multiple ways we – that is to say, professors – can classify them.
“The main one is by type. There are eighteen known types, like Water, or Electric, or Dragon. Likewise, in an Elemental Spectrum, there are eighteen Trainers. This is because each one is a specialist of a different type.
“Types affect a Pokémon’s role in battle as well. Some types are more powerful when matched against another. Fire, for example, is weak to Water. Just common sense. Some are a little trickier, however, and it’s important to learn them all.
“Each Pokémon also has what’s called a moveset, which is a set of four moves that the Pokémon can use. These moves are also given types for classification.
“Last, there are Abilities, with a capital A. This is like a trait the Pokémon has, which affects what happens in the battle. Some Abilities grant more power to specific types of moves, while others can directly affect another Pokémon. Does that all make sense?”
“I think so,” said Ryan, who had been hanging on every word. “Pokémon are classified by type, and moves are too. Pokémon can learn up to four moves, and each Pokémon has an Ability, which affects the battle.”
“Right,” said Zavier. “Now consider the forces of Life and Death. No one knows exactly what type they are, or what moves they can use, or really anything else. The force of Life is said to glimmer in lights of many colors, and it has an undeniably Light aura. The force of Death, on the other hand, creates a vast shadow wherever it goes, and its aura is one of Darkness. But beyond that, we know nothing.
“And then there’s the Breaker, referred to as Order by some. Whenever Life and Death get unbalanced, something about the Breaker’s aura restores order. It reverses the auras of the other two, so to speak.”
“What does it look like?” asked Ryan earnestly.
Zavier hesitated, but he said, “Even on that point, records are vague. It can take the shape of any number of creatures. It has been serpentine in some accounts, and canine in others. Sometimes it’s just a massive, shifting, pile of goo. It transforms into whatever it feels will balance the world.”
Ryan could see that this was all Zavier wanted to say on the matter. So he changed the subject: “Zavier, are there any legends about the Breaker?”
“Legends?” said Zavier uncomprehendingly.
“Stories,” said Ryan. “Surely there are stories about the Breaker. And you must’ve heard them.”
Zavier nodded slowly. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll tell you the story of how our race first came into existence.
“Long ago, the world was much simpler than it is now. Pokémon abounded, and humans did not exist at all. This world, however, was … well, it was boring. Nothing ever really happened, when the world’s only residents were Pokémon. They built some makeshift civilizations by themselves, but it never could compare to what we have today. There were no technological advancements of any kind, and this is because of one simple fact: The Pokémon lacked ingenuity. They could not make any significant advancements without innovation and new ideas.
“Tired of watching this unchanging routine, the force of Life created a new form. The first humans, built of clay and earth. The force of Life gave them breath, and implanted in their minds all the traits the Pokémon lacked. Ingenuity and innovation, yes, but also logic, and ethics, and many other things as well.
“The humans coexisted with the Pokémon wonderfully, and together, each making up for the other’s inabilities, they made many fantastic advancements. They advanced too quickly, however. With their new technology, humans began to construct devices that would allow them the same abilities as Pokémon; power over fire, and water, and many other things besides. This shifted the balance of the world.
“Seeing what Life had done, the force of Death went to the Breaker. When Order saw what had happened, it agreed with Death. Balance would have to be restored. So Order allowed Death to infuse the humans with just a little bit of destruction, so that their technology would fall into disrepair, and eventually be destroyed. The Pokémon were no longer unneeded, and balance was returned to the world.
“And that is how the world has existed ever since,” finished Zavier. “Or, at least, until the explosion of Geosenge Town….”
Ryan wasn’t sure what to make of this. He found it hard to believe that humans had once been clay, but he supposed it was just a legend. Zavier didn’t seem to want to say anything else, so Ryan sighed, and turned to the small window in the room. The noonday sun glared just overhead. He wondered how much longer it would be until the professor came for him.
*
Five hours after noon, Fylon and Arin arrived in Coumarine City. The city was huge, even if it wasn’t quite as big as Lumiose. Fylon noted that it was still a lot bigger than his hometown.
The city was built, really in two separate parts, on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Azure Bay. The disparate parts of the city weren’t far apart, but they were on opposite sides of a large hill that made pedestrian travel long and arduous. Fortunately, a monorail had been constructed some time ago, bridging the gap between the two parts of Coumarine City.
The landscape of the city was also very different from the harsh, barren terrain of the Lumiose Badlands. Being on the border of the Azure Bay meant that the land was lush and fertile, and plant life abounded. Fylon and Arin had already passed many trees and bushes that they could not name.
Their first stop in the city was the Coumarine Hotel. The hotel was a tall, wide building in the eastern part of the city. Fylon and Arin didn’t even have to ride the monorail to find it, much to Arin’s dismay.
Straightaway after checking in, Fylon and Arin found their room, and Arin flopped onto one of the two beds. Fylon put down the bags he had been carrying, set Braviary’s Poké Ball on the nightstand, and laid down on his own bed. With neither feeling up to much of anything, they silently agreed to rest for a few hours before continuing to pursue their goal.
*
Three hours later, with evening imminent, Fylon awoke with a start. He hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep. He shook Arin awake, and then began to fix a light supper from the remaining rations in their bags.
As Fylon worked, Arin started chattering again. “So now we’re in Coumarine City! It’s so big! Can we ride the monorail now?”
Fylon sighed, shaking his head. “No, Arin. We’re going to check the Shalour Prison tomorrow, to make sure Xerosic hasn’t escaped, or anything like that. Then we’ll look around for Korrina.”
“But the monorail!” protested Arin.
“We can ride the monorail tomorrow, on our way to Shalour City,” said Fylon, handing Arin a bowl of stew, which he accepted gratefully.
“Fair enough,” said Arin, now happily eating the stew.
Fylon sat on his bed, eating his own bowl of stew. It wasn’t bad, but it couldn’t compare to Morgan’s cooking. He sighed, really wishing he had a few slices of good oran bread.
Arin, having gobbled up all of his stew, now settled back against his pillow contentedly. He appeared lost in thought, so Fylon didn’t disturb him; instead finishing his stew in silence. Afterward, he took both bowls to the small sink in the room and rinsed them with cold water. He dried them with an old rag from one of the bags. When he turned back to Arin, Fylon found that his friend was already asleep. Smiling to himself, Fylon climbed into his own bed, and was drifting off to sleep in moments.
Roc sat on the edge of his bed, in a room in the Magenta Pokémon Center. Seconds earlier, Julian had poked his head into the room and said that the professor was holding a meeting in the lobby. Blake and Rosuke left with him at once, but Roc had stayed behind. He was still terribly nervous something would go wrong with the plan, despite Ani’s and Nika’s assurances to the contrary. Fists clenched and palms sweaty, he shook his head angrily. It was no good. No one would listen to him.
The door opened and Ani looked into the room. “Roc, the professor wants you to be at the meeting.”
“What if the plan doesn’t work, Ani?” said Roc, ignoring her statement. “What if something … happens?”
Ani sighed. “Roc, we’ve been over this. The professor just isn’t wrong. He never is.”
“How do you know that?” demanded Roc. “Nika?”
“Well, yes,” said Ani, somewhat defensively.
“How many escape plans do you suppose Professor Sycamore devised while Nika was with the Spectrum?” said Roc.
Now Ani looked uncomfortable. “I’m going back to the meeting,” she said finally. “I suggest you come too. You can ask the professor himself about this.”
She turned and left.
“Order,” said Roc angrily, but he rose from the bed to follow Ani down to the lobby.
Professor Sycamore was seated in a chair in the lobby, not unlike Serena and the other Spectrum members, except for his demeanor. He made it look like a throne. Roc bit off the curse he was about to mutter at Professor Sycamore’s dignified air – how could the professor act like this when Ryan’s life was in danger? – but he took a seat in a vacant chair next to Nika and Serena nonetheless. Nika nodded to him respectfully when he sat, but none of the other Spectrum members paid him any heed at all. He wished Fylon were there. It would be nice to have a more familiar face, even if he had only known Fylon a few hours more than the rest.
“Roc,” said the professor, inclining his head. “Thank you for joining us.”
Roc nodded grudgingly, still casting wary glances at everyone else seated. He noted a scruffy-looking fellow standing by himself in the corner, head bowed. Serena saw where he was looking.
“Yes, he’s a spy,” said Serena softly. “And not a very good one, either. The professor marked him as soon as he entered the room, just as you seem to have done. Pay him no mind. We leave immediately after this meeting. He’ll have no chance to let Team Flare know we’re coming.”
Roc nodded again. Professor Sycamore spoke. “We are all assembled. Let us begin the meeting. Serena?”
Serena stood and pulled out the same device she had used to display a hologram before. She placed it on the floor, this time, and everyone hastily moved their chairs away from it. Serena activated the device with the push of a button, and it expanded into the translucent model of Team Flare’s laboratory. In the corner, the spy’s eyes widened.
“Our objective, of course, is simple,” said Serena. “We infiltrate Team Flare’s underground labs and free Ryan. The means, naturally, are more complicated.
“As we discussed before, the best course of action would be to create a diversion. This will involve about half of us, while the other half locates the prison cells. The diversion will have to be far enough away from the cells to draw all the guards, leaving the cells open. Therefore, we need someone who can, either with their own mind or with their Pokémon’s assistance, memorize a series of warp panels. The professor tells me Fylon would have been good for this, but as we can’t use him….”
Roc’s eyes snapped around the room, glancing at each of the Spectrum in turn. His eyes lingered a bit longer on Ani – her memory was unmatched back home – but she did not volunteer. Eventually, a young man wearing nearly all purple spoke up. “Espeon could do that,” he said, holding up a Poké Ball.
Professor Sycamore nodded thoughtfully. “Due to Calm Mind, no doubt. Yes, I’m sure Espeon could.”
“Taunt,” muttered Blake, a man not much older than the purple-clothed one, but dressed in black. He, Roc, and Rosuke shared a room upstairs, and he stood out in Roc’s mind because he seemed to shift in and out of view, especially when Roc looked straight at him. Roc suspected it had something to do with the jacket he wore, for when Blake took it off, he appeared to solidify.
“Yes, that’s true as well,” said Professor Sycamore. Then he appeared to remember Ani and Roc, who were both staring at him with looks of bewilderment. “Calm Mind and Taunt are both Pokémon moves,” he explained. “Peter’s Espeon can use Calm Mind,” – the professor indicated the purple-clothed man – “which essentially empties its mind of all thought. Then it learns new ideas with surprising acuity. Blake noted that most of the Pokémon Team Flare use can use Taunt, which prevents moves like Calm Mind from functioning.
“It’s a good point, Blake,” he continued. “If Espeon can’t use Calm Mind, we could be stuck in here. We should probably rely on human brainpower, then. Any volunteers?”
Ani shifted uncomfortably, looking to Nika. Nika nodded back encouragingly. After a minute Ani raised a timid, trembling hand.
Professor Sycamore nodded with approval. “Perfect, Ani. You’ll lead the team creating a diversion.”
“Professor, may I go with that group as well?” asked Nika, leaving unspoken to give Ani support and familiarity. Professor Sycamore seemed to understand, however, and he nodded.
“Ani leads the diversion group, which currently consists of her and Nika,” said the professor. “Anyone else?”
Roc sighed, and raised his hand. Nika was the only one he knew aside from Ani, albeit not well. He trusted her more than the rest of them. Out of the corner of Roc’s eye, he saw two others raise their hands; a tall man of twenty or so, and a younger girl, perhaps somewhere between Arin and himself in age.
“Yes,” said the professor, nodding to each of them. “Julian and Amaline. Roc, I think not. Ryan will not want to see only strangers upon his rescue. I do think Warren and Mica…” He turned to two others, who both shrugged. Warren was one of the oldest Roc had seen in the Spectrum, in his early twenties, although his hair had a faintly greyish tinge to it. Mica was a youth, around Roc’s age. He wore a long coat, but his arms were not in the sleeves.
Roc accepted Professor Sycamore’s refusal to allow him on the diversion team with nothing more than resignation. Just get this over with. The sooner Ryan’s back, the better.
Professor Sycamore nodded again. “Good, good. And that leaves one or two more, if we’re splitting seven-eight.”
Two young women wearing different shades of brown and green looked at each other for a moment. “Why not,” said one, laughing. “We could use the challenge.”
That’s all it is to you, thought Roc, a challenge? Strangely, however, he didn’t feel any emotion about it. He just accepted it with the same resignation.
“Ani, Nika, Julian, Amaline, Warren, Mica, Clair, and Erell,” said the professor, ticking them off on his fingers. “That’s eight. Serena, would you go with that group?”
Serena inclined her head slightly. It wasn’t quite a full nod, but Professor Sycamore seemed to take it as one. “Then, to clarify, we have Roc, Blake, Rosuke, Sera, Liam, Morgan, and Peter going to the prison to free Ryan, yes?”
A general mutter of assent passed through the group.
“We have our plan,” said Professor Sycamore. “Meeting adjourned. And someone deal with that spy!”
The scruffy fellow in the corner stood up straight sharply, and tried to make a dash for the doors, but Blake – here one moment and there the next, faster than Roc’s eyes could follow – barred his way. “No you don’t,” said Blake, almost lazily, a grin on his face. Moments later, the entire Spectrum surrounded the impostor. The man snarled and pulled a small purple object from his pocket. Blake seemed to realize what was about to happen a split second before it did. A look of surprise flashed across his face as the spy threw down the object.
And then nothing. Nothing but a thick, pale purple smoke, obscuring even Roc’s hand, inches from his face. Dimly, he heard a smoke alarm going off, and water began to fall.
Before the water could even disperse the smoke, the alarms stopped, and the smoke dispersed seemingly of its own accord. Then Roc saw Rosuke, Poké Ball in hand, and his huge purple batlike Pokémon – Crobat, Rosuke had told Roc it was called, when Roc asked – waving all four of its wings incredibly fast, clearing the air. The spy, however, was gone.
“Order!” Rosuke cursed. “Should’ve known he’d have a Smoke Ball!”
“Nothing we can do about that now,” said Professor Sycamore urgently, “But we know where he went, yes? We must get to the lab now, before he warns them of our arrival!”
No one hesitated. The Spectrum sprinted out the door, Roc dashing just as fast as the rest, leaving an utterly bewildered group of Pokémon Center guests behind.
*
As he flew through the sky, bounding from rooftop to rooftop, Jarret removed his scruffy jacket and threw it behind him. It would only hinder him, and it was vital that he get back to headquarters to warn the leader as soon as possible.
He’d never been good at disguises, but Eldan and Alma were out on another mission, and there was no way he’d ever let Bertram handle a mission as important as this. So his own imperfect disguises were all he had.
His arms were above his head, grasping the feet of his small red birdlike Pokémon, Fletchinder. Fletchinder wasn’t quite big enough to carry Jarret, but it was marginally helpful in gaining a bit more height with each bound. Jarret knew he must look silly to any who saw him below, but there was no likelihood of that. It was raining again, and no one went out in the rain.
Sycamore and the children – he thought of them that way, though most were nearly as old as he was – were staying at the Magenta Plaza Pokémon Center. Jarret could see why Sycamore would have chosen there – it was much harder to attack a building so close in proximity to one’s own headquarters, or one might reveal the location of said headquarters. But it also made it easier and faster for Jarret to get back.
He reached the laboratories only a few moments later. He recalled Fletchinder into its Poké Ball, and keyed in a passcode that opened the door to the Hangar.
A guard was on duty – Emmett, Jarret thought his name was – but he was fast asleep, his legs on his desk. Jarret closed the door behind him and dashed over to the other set of doors, on the other side of the Hangar.
He ran through twisting hallways, up and down staircases, but he finally arrived at the control room, in the deepest part of headquarters. He pushed open the doors, and found Gaston at once.
“Sir,” he panted, “Sycamore is going to attack. Now! He wants to free the prisoner!”
Gaston, seated at a keyboard and monitor, turned sharply. “What? The leader must be informed at once!”
Gaston pressed a button on his headset, and Jarret heard the leader’s voice resonate. “Gaston?”
“Yes, sir. Sycamore’s attacking. He’ll likely be here in moments.”
There was a long pause, and then the leader’s voice came through again. “Ready the Scientists and whoever else we have on hand. Tell everyone to prepare for trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” said Gaston. He hung up the call, and then keyed in a command on his computer. Then he adjusted the microphone on his headset, and spoke, and Jarret heard his words sound from the intercom in the room, “All administrators to the Hangar. Intruders have been sighted. Prepare for battle.”
*
“Battle indeed,” said the leader of Team Flare, leaning back in the swiveling chair in his study, his fingertips together. “The bait has been taken. Now, they’ll be finished once and for all. Danger is imminent for you, Sycamore.”
He began to laugh madly, without any true mirth. Sycamore would rue the day he had ever crossed the descendant of ancient kings.
Lysandre.
The door opened and Ani looked into the room. “Roc, the professor wants you to be at the meeting.”
“What if the plan doesn’t work, Ani?” said Roc, ignoring her statement. “What if something … happens?”
Ani sighed. “Roc, we’ve been over this. The professor just isn’t wrong. He never is.”
“How do you know that?” demanded Roc. “Nika?”
“Well, yes,” said Ani, somewhat defensively.
“How many escape plans do you suppose Professor Sycamore devised while Nika was with the Spectrum?” said Roc.
Now Ani looked uncomfortable. “I’m going back to the meeting,” she said finally. “I suggest you come too. You can ask the professor himself about this.”
She turned and left.
“Order,” said Roc angrily, but he rose from the bed to follow Ani down to the lobby.
Professor Sycamore was seated in a chair in the lobby, not unlike Serena and the other Spectrum members, except for his demeanor. He made it look like a throne. Roc bit off the curse he was about to mutter at Professor Sycamore’s dignified air – how could the professor act like this when Ryan’s life was in danger? – but he took a seat in a vacant chair next to Nika and Serena nonetheless. Nika nodded to him respectfully when he sat, but none of the other Spectrum members paid him any heed at all. He wished Fylon were there. It would be nice to have a more familiar face, even if he had only known Fylon a few hours more than the rest.
“Roc,” said the professor, inclining his head. “Thank you for joining us.”
Roc nodded grudgingly, still casting wary glances at everyone else seated. He noted a scruffy-looking fellow standing by himself in the corner, head bowed. Serena saw where he was looking.
“Yes, he’s a spy,” said Serena softly. “And not a very good one, either. The professor marked him as soon as he entered the room, just as you seem to have done. Pay him no mind. We leave immediately after this meeting. He’ll have no chance to let Team Flare know we’re coming.”
Roc nodded again. Professor Sycamore spoke. “We are all assembled. Let us begin the meeting. Serena?”
Serena stood and pulled out the same device she had used to display a hologram before. She placed it on the floor, this time, and everyone hastily moved their chairs away from it. Serena activated the device with the push of a button, and it expanded into the translucent model of Team Flare’s laboratory. In the corner, the spy’s eyes widened.
“Our objective, of course, is simple,” said Serena. “We infiltrate Team Flare’s underground labs and free Ryan. The means, naturally, are more complicated.
“As we discussed before, the best course of action would be to create a diversion. This will involve about half of us, while the other half locates the prison cells. The diversion will have to be far enough away from the cells to draw all the guards, leaving the cells open. Therefore, we need someone who can, either with their own mind or with their Pokémon’s assistance, memorize a series of warp panels. The professor tells me Fylon would have been good for this, but as we can’t use him….”
Roc’s eyes snapped around the room, glancing at each of the Spectrum in turn. His eyes lingered a bit longer on Ani – her memory was unmatched back home – but she did not volunteer. Eventually, a young man wearing nearly all purple spoke up. “Espeon could do that,” he said, holding up a Poké Ball.
Professor Sycamore nodded thoughtfully. “Due to Calm Mind, no doubt. Yes, I’m sure Espeon could.”
“Taunt,” muttered Blake, a man not much older than the purple-clothed one, but dressed in black. He, Roc, and Rosuke shared a room upstairs, and he stood out in Roc’s mind because he seemed to shift in and out of view, especially when Roc looked straight at him. Roc suspected it had something to do with the jacket he wore, for when Blake took it off, he appeared to solidify.
“Yes, that’s true as well,” said Professor Sycamore. Then he appeared to remember Ani and Roc, who were both staring at him with looks of bewilderment. “Calm Mind and Taunt are both Pokémon moves,” he explained. “Peter’s Espeon can use Calm Mind,” – the professor indicated the purple-clothed man – “which essentially empties its mind of all thought. Then it learns new ideas with surprising acuity. Blake noted that most of the Pokémon Team Flare use can use Taunt, which prevents moves like Calm Mind from functioning.
“It’s a good point, Blake,” he continued. “If Espeon can’t use Calm Mind, we could be stuck in here. We should probably rely on human brainpower, then. Any volunteers?”
Ani shifted uncomfortably, looking to Nika. Nika nodded back encouragingly. After a minute Ani raised a timid, trembling hand.
Professor Sycamore nodded with approval. “Perfect, Ani. You’ll lead the team creating a diversion.”
“Professor, may I go with that group as well?” asked Nika, leaving unspoken to give Ani support and familiarity. Professor Sycamore seemed to understand, however, and he nodded.
“Ani leads the diversion group, which currently consists of her and Nika,” said the professor. “Anyone else?”
Roc sighed, and raised his hand. Nika was the only one he knew aside from Ani, albeit not well. He trusted her more than the rest of them. Out of the corner of Roc’s eye, he saw two others raise their hands; a tall man of twenty or so, and a younger girl, perhaps somewhere between Arin and himself in age.
“Yes,” said the professor, nodding to each of them. “Julian and Amaline. Roc, I think not. Ryan will not want to see only strangers upon his rescue. I do think Warren and Mica…” He turned to two others, who both shrugged. Warren was one of the oldest Roc had seen in the Spectrum, in his early twenties, although his hair had a faintly greyish tinge to it. Mica was a youth, around Roc’s age. He wore a long coat, but his arms were not in the sleeves.
Roc accepted Professor Sycamore’s refusal to allow him on the diversion team with nothing more than resignation. Just get this over with. The sooner Ryan’s back, the better.
Professor Sycamore nodded again. “Good, good. And that leaves one or two more, if we’re splitting seven-eight.”
Two young women wearing different shades of brown and green looked at each other for a moment. “Why not,” said one, laughing. “We could use the challenge.”
That’s all it is to you, thought Roc, a challenge? Strangely, however, he didn’t feel any emotion about it. He just accepted it with the same resignation.
“Ani, Nika, Julian, Amaline, Warren, Mica, Clair, and Erell,” said the professor, ticking them off on his fingers. “That’s eight. Serena, would you go with that group?”
Serena inclined her head slightly. It wasn’t quite a full nod, but Professor Sycamore seemed to take it as one. “Then, to clarify, we have Roc, Blake, Rosuke, Sera, Liam, Morgan, and Peter going to the prison to free Ryan, yes?”
A general mutter of assent passed through the group.
“We have our plan,” said Professor Sycamore. “Meeting adjourned. And someone deal with that spy!”
The scruffy fellow in the corner stood up straight sharply, and tried to make a dash for the doors, but Blake – here one moment and there the next, faster than Roc’s eyes could follow – barred his way. “No you don’t,” said Blake, almost lazily, a grin on his face. Moments later, the entire Spectrum surrounded the impostor. The man snarled and pulled a small purple object from his pocket. Blake seemed to realize what was about to happen a split second before it did. A look of surprise flashed across his face as the spy threw down the object.
And then nothing. Nothing but a thick, pale purple smoke, obscuring even Roc’s hand, inches from his face. Dimly, he heard a smoke alarm going off, and water began to fall.
Before the water could even disperse the smoke, the alarms stopped, and the smoke dispersed seemingly of its own accord. Then Roc saw Rosuke, Poké Ball in hand, and his huge purple batlike Pokémon – Crobat, Rosuke had told Roc it was called, when Roc asked – waving all four of its wings incredibly fast, clearing the air. The spy, however, was gone.
“Order!” Rosuke cursed. “Should’ve known he’d have a Smoke Ball!”
“Nothing we can do about that now,” said Professor Sycamore urgently, “But we know where he went, yes? We must get to the lab now, before he warns them of our arrival!”
No one hesitated. The Spectrum sprinted out the door, Roc dashing just as fast as the rest, leaving an utterly bewildered group of Pokémon Center guests behind.
*
As he flew through the sky, bounding from rooftop to rooftop, Jarret removed his scruffy jacket and threw it behind him. It would only hinder him, and it was vital that he get back to headquarters to warn the leader as soon as possible.
He’d never been good at disguises, but Eldan and Alma were out on another mission, and there was no way he’d ever let Bertram handle a mission as important as this. So his own imperfect disguises were all he had.
His arms were above his head, grasping the feet of his small red birdlike Pokémon, Fletchinder. Fletchinder wasn’t quite big enough to carry Jarret, but it was marginally helpful in gaining a bit more height with each bound. Jarret knew he must look silly to any who saw him below, but there was no likelihood of that. It was raining again, and no one went out in the rain.
Sycamore and the children – he thought of them that way, though most were nearly as old as he was – were staying at the Magenta Plaza Pokémon Center. Jarret could see why Sycamore would have chosen there – it was much harder to attack a building so close in proximity to one’s own headquarters, or one might reveal the location of said headquarters. But it also made it easier and faster for Jarret to get back.
He reached the laboratories only a few moments later. He recalled Fletchinder into its Poké Ball, and keyed in a passcode that opened the door to the Hangar.
A guard was on duty – Emmett, Jarret thought his name was – but he was fast asleep, his legs on his desk. Jarret closed the door behind him and dashed over to the other set of doors, on the other side of the Hangar.
He ran through twisting hallways, up and down staircases, but he finally arrived at the control room, in the deepest part of headquarters. He pushed open the doors, and found Gaston at once.
“Sir,” he panted, “Sycamore is going to attack. Now! He wants to free the prisoner!”
Gaston, seated at a keyboard and monitor, turned sharply. “What? The leader must be informed at once!”
Gaston pressed a button on his headset, and Jarret heard the leader’s voice resonate. “Gaston?”
“Yes, sir. Sycamore’s attacking. He’ll likely be here in moments.”
There was a long pause, and then the leader’s voice came through again. “Ready the Scientists and whoever else we have on hand. Tell everyone to prepare for trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” said Gaston. He hung up the call, and then keyed in a command on his computer. Then he adjusted the microphone on his headset, and spoke, and Jarret heard his words sound from the intercom in the room, “All administrators to the Hangar. Intruders have been sighted. Prepare for battle.”
*
“Battle indeed,” said the leader of Team Flare, leaning back in the swiveling chair in his study, his fingertips together. “The bait has been taken. Now, they’ll be finished once and for all. Danger is imminent for you, Sycamore.”
He began to laugh madly, without any true mirth. Sycamore would rue the day he had ever crossed the descendant of ancient kings.
Lysandre.
Ani sprinted as fast as she could to keep up with the others. She’d never been a very fast runner back in the village. Thank Order the headquarters of Team Flare were just a few blocks away.
Thank Order? What? Where had she gotten that expression? She supposed she must have picked it up unconsciously from Nika. Does it really matter?
The ruins of a blood-red building came into view. It must have been bigger once; at least a couple stories tall, but now it was a shambles. There was only one door, on a building the size of an outhouse.
Professor Sycamore opened the door and jumped back. When nothing appeared, he started forward cautiously, waving the Spectrum to follow.
The building’s interior was completely unfurnished. There was only one rug in the middle of the floor, which the professor looked at suspiciously.
Serena came forward and lifted an edge of the rug, revealing a wooden board underneath. She looked up at Professor Sycamore, smiling wryly. She lifted the rug the rest of the way, and then removed the board. A gaping hole in the floor lay under it, with stairs at the bottom.
Professor Sycamore gestured to the hole, and Blake slipped through it, followed by Julian, and then, one by one, everyone else. Serena climbed down last, replacing the board over her head as she did so. Now they stood in total darkness.
A brief flash of light showed Nika holding an open Poké Ball and her Pokémon appearing beside her. “Zebstrika,” Nika whispered, “illuminate the passage.”
The equestrian Pokémon’s – Zebstrika’s – mane glowed, giving enough light to see ten or so feet before them. Zebstrika started to trot down the passage, Nika running beside it with her hand on its back. The rest of the Spectrum quickly followed suit.
In minutes they came to a set of double doors, marble inlaid with gold. Julian and Rosuke heaved them open. Strangely, as they opened, there was no sound, not even the creak of a hinge.
The adjoining room was a maze of redstone walls reaching six or seven feet from the floor, and polished to prevent climbing. There were two entrances from where they stood. Serena took out the hologram device and activated it. It showed the same room, only now there was a blinking light in their precise location. She studied the hologram for a minute or two, and then deactivated it and handed it to Professor Sycamore.
“This is where we part ways. You’ll need this more than we will,” she said. “Ani can get us back out.”
“And if that doesn’t work, we can blast a hole in the roof,” someone piped up.
Serena smirked. “Or that. But it will work.”
Ani felt a surge of confidence at Serena’s words. Serena gave her a quick smile, and then pointed toward the right of the two entrances. “That leads to the cells, if you follow the map. Just make sure you get all the warp panels right.”
Professor Sycamore accepted the device, stowing it in the pocket of his lab coat. “Thank you. We’ll meet back here in an hour. If the other group isn’t here at the end of that time, the roof may need to be blasted.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth, however, than there was a flash of movement inside the maze, and a burst of light. Everyone turned uneasily toward the maze, and there was a moment of silence. Then a voice rang out. “Croagunk, Poison Jab!”
Hands went to belts, pockets, bags, or, in Warren’s case, an arm-brace, to take out the Poké Balls that would release the Spectrum’s Pokémon. Each of the Spectrum had just pressed the button, however, when Serena shouted, “Psyshock!”
Ani had been rummaging in her pocket for anything that might help against a band of Team Flare Grunts, and had come up with a paper clip, but now whipped her head around in time to see Serena’s eyes blazing with fury. She help out an open Poké Ball, having reacted faster than any of the Spectrum, and trained her gaze on the purple froglike Pokémon that had just emerged from the maze.
Then Ani saw Serena’s Pokémon. It stood on two feet, and its dark red fur grew long and shaggily, almost forming a robe. Its face - with a fox’s features - was both wise and sly, as if it knew everything there was to know in the world, and knew how to put it to its advantage. Red fur grew out of its large pointy ears, but the fur looked for all the world like fire.
At Serena’s command, the Pokémon put its small black forepaws in front of it. In the space between them, the air swirled and bent, with purple waves forming and condensing into a small sphere, which still appeared to be made of the air. The Pokémon drew one paw back and made a sharp hurling motion, and the sphere flew at Croagunk.
As the sphere struck, Croagunk jerked backward as if shocked, and fell over in a faint. Its Trainer, a Team Flare Grunt, stumbled out of the maze and recalled Croagunk into its Poké Ball. Suddenly, however, there were more Grunts flowing from the entrances, at least a dozen, and as many flashes of light as their Pokémon appeared. Serena, never turning from the scene, called through gritted teeth, “Go. I’ll hold them off.”
Professor Sycamore looked doubtful, but at cries of “Thunderbolt!” and “Dark Pulse!” he quickly ushered the Spectrum around the fight and, running, into the maze. The halves split up as planned, but Ani now found herself in a group without Serena.
“Don’t worry, Ani,” said Nika as they ran through the maze, taking turns almost without a second thought; anything to get away from the skirmish behind them. “Serena can get out safely.” She didn’t sound convinced.
Ani nodded unconsciously, even though she didn’t quite believe it either. She heard someone shout a command, and then a scream. She couldn’t be sure it wasn’t Serena.
She gulped uneasily, and ran on.
*
Roc ran with the rest of the Spectrum in his group down the twists and turns of the maze. Professor Sycamore checked the hologram device periodically to make sure they kept to the right course. Blake ran to Roc’s right, appearing to flicker in and out of existence. “Blake,” he panted, “what is that jacket made of?”
Blake glanced at him, but didn’t break stride. “Now’s hardly the time,” he said, not sounding anywhere near as winded as Roc was. “I’ll tell you later. Conserve your breath.”
Roc nodded grimly. He’d find out sooner or later what made that jacket work as it did. For now, he would just keep running.
It seemed countless turns later that Professor Sycamore called a halt, before a wide blue circle on the floor. “This is a warp panel,” said the professor. “We can only go on one at a time, but it’ll transport us to another panel in the laboratory. This one should lead right to the cells.”
Without further explanation, he stepped onto the circle. It glowed for a moment, and then Professor Sycamore began to fade. When he had disappeared entirely, Blake started forward. The circle glowed again, and Blake vanished. The others stepped on, one at a time, until only Roc was left. He stepped onto the panel, and closed his eyes. It felt as if he were falling asleep.
He jolted back into reality what seemed hours later, but also only moments at the same time. He opened his eyes, and saw the partial Spectrum gazing around at their surroundings. They were no longer in the maze, but in a passageway not unlike the one through which they had entered the laboratories. Professor Sycamore turned and saw Roc.
“We’re all here,” he said briskly. “Let’s keep moving.”
It turned out to be only a few more turns of the hallway before they came to a set of double doors, which Professor Sycamore pushed open without hesitation. A rank odor greeted them.
Roc wrinkled his nose, looking around in the room they had just entered. It was full of cells, but only one was occupied.
“Ryan?” said Roc disbelievingly, staring at the grimy lump situated on a thin blanket on the filthy floor. The lump raised its head.
“Roc? You came!” Ryan leapt up and moved to the front of the cage. He gripped the bars. “Can you get me out of here?”
Professor Sycamore made a quick motion, and Blake moved forward. He removed a paper clip from his pocket, and picked the lock in seconds. Ryan shoved open the door and sprang out, nearly tackling Roc in a rough hug. Roc grinned when Ryan pulled away. “Good to have you back, Ryan.”
The grin equal to Roc’s faded from Ryan’s face in a second. He turned to Professor Sycamore. “I’m sorry I doubted you, professor,” he said. “I never should have believed Team Flare was in the right.”
“Mistakes happen, Ryan,” said Professor Sycamore gently. “The important thing is that you’re here and safe now.”
Ryan nodded glumly, but then he seemed to remember something, and his voice took on an urgent tone. “Professor, the leader of Team Flare, it’s Lysandre! He’s not dead after all; he survived, and he’s back, and––”
“What?!” said the professor sharply. “How do you know this?”
“Another prisoner, they took him away for interrogation, but that’s not important––”
“They took him away? There’s another prisoner? Who?”
“A man named Zavier. He has white hair – but he’s not old – and features like a hawk––”
“Zavier? You said Zavier? So he’s back as well … That’s good for us. But Lysandre, you said. If he’s here, Serena’s in trouble. I have to go back and help her. No, Blake, you and the others take Ryan and Roc back to the Pokémon Center. I’ll meet you back there. Go!”
Blake hurried out of the prison room, waving a hand for Roc and the others to follow, leaving Professor Sycamore standing there, face resolutely set for the battle he would now have to fight.
*
Lysandre observed the skirmish in the maze from his study, footage from a security camera being displayed on a monitor.
He noted several things in the footage that he doubted any of his inferiors had picked up on – even Gaston, who would be watching at the same time in his own office. The first was the girl’s improvement. Serena, yes, that was her name.
She’s good enough to be … Order. He closed his eyes, inwardly furious with himself for not realizing it sooner. The girl was Elite Four. Of course. They’d have needed to find a replacement for Malva, and who better than she? Besides Calem, of course. Where was that dratted child these days, anyway?
It didn’t matter. Not right then, at least. Lysandre abruptly stood from his swivelling chair, and picked up a Poké Ball from his desk, where it was used as a paperweight. He looked at it for a long moment, and then cursed, pocketing it, and left his study.
*
Serena faced down the Team Flare Grunts surrounding her. No one moved, and there was a tense silence. Suddenly, she screamed in rage. This was not going to happen again. She wouldn’t let it.
The Grunts jumped, which gave her the split second she needed to call, “Delphox, Mystical Fire!”
Delphox sprang into action instantly. It drew a wand seemingly out of nowhere and struck it once against its shaggy red fur. The tip of the wand burst into flame. Delphox swirled the wand around its head, leaving a ring of fire in its wake. Just as it had drawn the wand from nowhere, Delphox dropped the wand, and it vanished. It then thrust out its forepaws, and the ring expanded, enveloping the Pokémon of the Team Flare Grunts. Serena felt a mild heat as it passed over her head.
The Grunts’ Pokémon stood there for a moment, seemingly in shock, but then, in unison, all crashed to the ground. The Grunts recalled their Pokémon quickly, and were about to send out more Pokémon, from the Poké Balls they held out, but the figure of a man with his hands behind his back appeared in the shadows of the maze entrance. He stepped out into the light, and now Serena was the one who stood in shock.
No! This can’t be! Not … She recognized the man now. He stood over six feet tall, with spiky red hair and beard styled to look like fire. He wore black and red, down to his boots, and a thin black jacket trimmed with fur. He looked no different than he had ten years ago, when he nearly destroyed Kalos. She remembered his face like it was yesterday. She’d never forget the face of the man whose villainy had stolen her childhood, and with it, all she loved. The face of Lysandre.
He died … He was killed in the explosion! How can he be here? Serena thought desperately. Her face twisted with fury; fury that he managed to survive to wreak his havoc on the world again, fury that he had managed to trap her so easily.
No. She was not a twelve-year-old girl any longer. She was Serena, Fire-type Master of the Elite Four. And she was not going down without a fight.
Lysandre smiled, almost mockingly. “Serena! I confess I’m surprised to see you here. It’s been too long.”
“Never would be too soon, traitor,” she snarled. Lysandre frowned disapprovingly.
“Now, now, that’s not very nice,” he said. “Perhaps you need to be taught manners.”
He brought one hand out from behind his back, revealing a Poké Ball clenched in his fist. He opened the Poké Ball, and a blinding flash of light came with the appearance of his Pokémon.
Pyroar stood on four legs, a feline Pokémon with a huge mane of red-and-yellow-streaked fur. It had been with Lysandre since before the disaster, too. Another thing that hadn’t changed.
“Pyroar,” said Lysandre, voice devoid of emotion, “Fire Blast.”
“Delphox, Mystical Fire!” shouted Serena.
The scorching, five-pronged burst of fire erupting from Pyroar’s mouth met the ring of fire from Delphox’s wand, both exploding in a shower of sparks. The entire room burned with heat from the explosion. As the sparks cleared, Serena saw Professor Sycamore standing to the side, arm outstretched with a Poké Ball.
“No!” she called. “This is my fight. You go help Ani.”
Professor Sycamore hesitated before nodding, but he eventually returned the Poké Ball to his lab coat and dashed back through the maze. Serena turned her attention back to Lysandre.
“No help from Sycamore, eh?” he taunted. “Very well. Let’s finish this. Pyroar, Hyper Voice.”
Pyroar opened its mouth and let out a piercing scream. Delphox cried out, clapping its paws to its considerably large ears. It looked thoroughly incapacitated. “Delphox!” Serena called desperately. “Psyshock!”
The foxlike Pokémon managed to shake off the harm of Pyroar’s Hyper Voice long enough to put out its forepaws in front of it. The air seemed to bend, and purple waves of Delphox’s aura appeared, condensing into a sphere. Delphox suddenly hurled the sphere at Pyroar, but the lionlike Pokémon evaded it almost lazily.
“It’s going to take more than that, Serena,” said Lysandre. He almost sounded disappointed. “Pyroar, end it. Fire Blast.”
Flames erupted once again from Pyroar’s mouth, and Serena knew with a devastating certainty that there was no blocking the attack this time. The flames crashed into Delphox, and Serena’s faithful Pokémon toppled over. The room seemed to grow unbearably hot all of a sudden. A smile slowly spread across Lysandre’s face as he said, “Goodbye, Serena.”
The last thing she heard was the sound of mad laughter before all went black.
Thank Order? What? Where had she gotten that expression? She supposed she must have picked it up unconsciously from Nika. Does it really matter?
The ruins of a blood-red building came into view. It must have been bigger once; at least a couple stories tall, but now it was a shambles. There was only one door, on a building the size of an outhouse.
Professor Sycamore opened the door and jumped back. When nothing appeared, he started forward cautiously, waving the Spectrum to follow.
The building’s interior was completely unfurnished. There was only one rug in the middle of the floor, which the professor looked at suspiciously.
Serena came forward and lifted an edge of the rug, revealing a wooden board underneath. She looked up at Professor Sycamore, smiling wryly. She lifted the rug the rest of the way, and then removed the board. A gaping hole in the floor lay under it, with stairs at the bottom.
Professor Sycamore gestured to the hole, and Blake slipped through it, followed by Julian, and then, one by one, everyone else. Serena climbed down last, replacing the board over her head as she did so. Now they stood in total darkness.
A brief flash of light showed Nika holding an open Poké Ball and her Pokémon appearing beside her. “Zebstrika,” Nika whispered, “illuminate the passage.”
The equestrian Pokémon’s – Zebstrika’s – mane glowed, giving enough light to see ten or so feet before them. Zebstrika started to trot down the passage, Nika running beside it with her hand on its back. The rest of the Spectrum quickly followed suit.
In minutes they came to a set of double doors, marble inlaid with gold. Julian and Rosuke heaved them open. Strangely, as they opened, there was no sound, not even the creak of a hinge.
The adjoining room was a maze of redstone walls reaching six or seven feet from the floor, and polished to prevent climbing. There were two entrances from where they stood. Serena took out the hologram device and activated it. It showed the same room, only now there was a blinking light in their precise location. She studied the hologram for a minute or two, and then deactivated it and handed it to Professor Sycamore.
“This is where we part ways. You’ll need this more than we will,” she said. “Ani can get us back out.”
“And if that doesn’t work, we can blast a hole in the roof,” someone piped up.
Serena smirked. “Or that. But it will work.”
Ani felt a surge of confidence at Serena’s words. Serena gave her a quick smile, and then pointed toward the right of the two entrances. “That leads to the cells, if you follow the map. Just make sure you get all the warp panels right.”
Professor Sycamore accepted the device, stowing it in the pocket of his lab coat. “Thank you. We’ll meet back here in an hour. If the other group isn’t here at the end of that time, the roof may need to be blasted.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth, however, than there was a flash of movement inside the maze, and a burst of light. Everyone turned uneasily toward the maze, and there was a moment of silence. Then a voice rang out. “Croagunk, Poison Jab!”
Hands went to belts, pockets, bags, or, in Warren’s case, an arm-brace, to take out the Poké Balls that would release the Spectrum’s Pokémon. Each of the Spectrum had just pressed the button, however, when Serena shouted, “Psyshock!”
Ani had been rummaging in her pocket for anything that might help against a band of Team Flare Grunts, and had come up with a paper clip, but now whipped her head around in time to see Serena’s eyes blazing with fury. She help out an open Poké Ball, having reacted faster than any of the Spectrum, and trained her gaze on the purple froglike Pokémon that had just emerged from the maze.
Then Ani saw Serena’s Pokémon. It stood on two feet, and its dark red fur grew long and shaggily, almost forming a robe. Its face - with a fox’s features - was both wise and sly, as if it knew everything there was to know in the world, and knew how to put it to its advantage. Red fur grew out of its large pointy ears, but the fur looked for all the world like fire.
At Serena’s command, the Pokémon put its small black forepaws in front of it. In the space between them, the air swirled and bent, with purple waves forming and condensing into a small sphere, which still appeared to be made of the air. The Pokémon drew one paw back and made a sharp hurling motion, and the sphere flew at Croagunk.
As the sphere struck, Croagunk jerked backward as if shocked, and fell over in a faint. Its Trainer, a Team Flare Grunt, stumbled out of the maze and recalled Croagunk into its Poké Ball. Suddenly, however, there were more Grunts flowing from the entrances, at least a dozen, and as many flashes of light as their Pokémon appeared. Serena, never turning from the scene, called through gritted teeth, “Go. I’ll hold them off.”
Professor Sycamore looked doubtful, but at cries of “Thunderbolt!” and “Dark Pulse!” he quickly ushered the Spectrum around the fight and, running, into the maze. The halves split up as planned, but Ani now found herself in a group without Serena.
“Don’t worry, Ani,” said Nika as they ran through the maze, taking turns almost without a second thought; anything to get away from the skirmish behind them. “Serena can get out safely.” She didn’t sound convinced.
Ani nodded unconsciously, even though she didn’t quite believe it either. She heard someone shout a command, and then a scream. She couldn’t be sure it wasn’t Serena.
She gulped uneasily, and ran on.
*
Roc ran with the rest of the Spectrum in his group down the twists and turns of the maze. Professor Sycamore checked the hologram device periodically to make sure they kept to the right course. Blake ran to Roc’s right, appearing to flicker in and out of existence. “Blake,” he panted, “what is that jacket made of?”
Blake glanced at him, but didn’t break stride. “Now’s hardly the time,” he said, not sounding anywhere near as winded as Roc was. “I’ll tell you later. Conserve your breath.”
Roc nodded grimly. He’d find out sooner or later what made that jacket work as it did. For now, he would just keep running.
It seemed countless turns later that Professor Sycamore called a halt, before a wide blue circle on the floor. “This is a warp panel,” said the professor. “We can only go on one at a time, but it’ll transport us to another panel in the laboratory. This one should lead right to the cells.”
Without further explanation, he stepped onto the circle. It glowed for a moment, and then Professor Sycamore began to fade. When he had disappeared entirely, Blake started forward. The circle glowed again, and Blake vanished. The others stepped on, one at a time, until only Roc was left. He stepped onto the panel, and closed his eyes. It felt as if he were falling asleep.
He jolted back into reality what seemed hours later, but also only moments at the same time. He opened his eyes, and saw the partial Spectrum gazing around at their surroundings. They were no longer in the maze, but in a passageway not unlike the one through which they had entered the laboratories. Professor Sycamore turned and saw Roc.
“We’re all here,” he said briskly. “Let’s keep moving.”
It turned out to be only a few more turns of the hallway before they came to a set of double doors, which Professor Sycamore pushed open without hesitation. A rank odor greeted them.
Roc wrinkled his nose, looking around in the room they had just entered. It was full of cells, but only one was occupied.
“Ryan?” said Roc disbelievingly, staring at the grimy lump situated on a thin blanket on the filthy floor. The lump raised its head.
“Roc? You came!” Ryan leapt up and moved to the front of the cage. He gripped the bars. “Can you get me out of here?”
Professor Sycamore made a quick motion, and Blake moved forward. He removed a paper clip from his pocket, and picked the lock in seconds. Ryan shoved open the door and sprang out, nearly tackling Roc in a rough hug. Roc grinned when Ryan pulled away. “Good to have you back, Ryan.”
The grin equal to Roc’s faded from Ryan’s face in a second. He turned to Professor Sycamore. “I’m sorry I doubted you, professor,” he said. “I never should have believed Team Flare was in the right.”
“Mistakes happen, Ryan,” said Professor Sycamore gently. “The important thing is that you’re here and safe now.”
Ryan nodded glumly, but then he seemed to remember something, and his voice took on an urgent tone. “Professor, the leader of Team Flare, it’s Lysandre! He’s not dead after all; he survived, and he’s back, and––”
“What?!” said the professor sharply. “How do you know this?”
“Another prisoner, they took him away for interrogation, but that’s not important––”
“They took him away? There’s another prisoner? Who?”
“A man named Zavier. He has white hair – but he’s not old – and features like a hawk––”
“Zavier? You said Zavier? So he’s back as well … That’s good for us. But Lysandre, you said. If he’s here, Serena’s in trouble. I have to go back and help her. No, Blake, you and the others take Ryan and Roc back to the Pokémon Center. I’ll meet you back there. Go!”
Blake hurried out of the prison room, waving a hand for Roc and the others to follow, leaving Professor Sycamore standing there, face resolutely set for the battle he would now have to fight.
*
Lysandre observed the skirmish in the maze from his study, footage from a security camera being displayed on a monitor.
He noted several things in the footage that he doubted any of his inferiors had picked up on – even Gaston, who would be watching at the same time in his own office. The first was the girl’s improvement. Serena, yes, that was her name.
She’s good enough to be … Order. He closed his eyes, inwardly furious with himself for not realizing it sooner. The girl was Elite Four. Of course. They’d have needed to find a replacement for Malva, and who better than she? Besides Calem, of course. Where was that dratted child these days, anyway?
It didn’t matter. Not right then, at least. Lysandre abruptly stood from his swivelling chair, and picked up a Poké Ball from his desk, where it was used as a paperweight. He looked at it for a long moment, and then cursed, pocketing it, and left his study.
*
Serena faced down the Team Flare Grunts surrounding her. No one moved, and there was a tense silence. Suddenly, she screamed in rage. This was not going to happen again. She wouldn’t let it.
The Grunts jumped, which gave her the split second she needed to call, “Delphox, Mystical Fire!”
Delphox sprang into action instantly. It drew a wand seemingly out of nowhere and struck it once against its shaggy red fur. The tip of the wand burst into flame. Delphox swirled the wand around its head, leaving a ring of fire in its wake. Just as it had drawn the wand from nowhere, Delphox dropped the wand, and it vanished. It then thrust out its forepaws, and the ring expanded, enveloping the Pokémon of the Team Flare Grunts. Serena felt a mild heat as it passed over her head.
The Grunts’ Pokémon stood there for a moment, seemingly in shock, but then, in unison, all crashed to the ground. The Grunts recalled their Pokémon quickly, and were about to send out more Pokémon, from the Poké Balls they held out, but the figure of a man with his hands behind his back appeared in the shadows of the maze entrance. He stepped out into the light, and now Serena was the one who stood in shock.
No! This can’t be! Not … She recognized the man now. He stood over six feet tall, with spiky red hair and beard styled to look like fire. He wore black and red, down to his boots, and a thin black jacket trimmed with fur. He looked no different than he had ten years ago, when he nearly destroyed Kalos. She remembered his face like it was yesterday. She’d never forget the face of the man whose villainy had stolen her childhood, and with it, all she loved. The face of Lysandre.
He died … He was killed in the explosion! How can he be here? Serena thought desperately. Her face twisted with fury; fury that he managed to survive to wreak his havoc on the world again, fury that he had managed to trap her so easily.
No. She was not a twelve-year-old girl any longer. She was Serena, Fire-type Master of the Elite Four. And she was not going down without a fight.
Lysandre smiled, almost mockingly. “Serena! I confess I’m surprised to see you here. It’s been too long.”
“Never would be too soon, traitor,” she snarled. Lysandre frowned disapprovingly.
“Now, now, that’s not very nice,” he said. “Perhaps you need to be taught manners.”
He brought one hand out from behind his back, revealing a Poké Ball clenched in his fist. He opened the Poké Ball, and a blinding flash of light came with the appearance of his Pokémon.
Pyroar stood on four legs, a feline Pokémon with a huge mane of red-and-yellow-streaked fur. It had been with Lysandre since before the disaster, too. Another thing that hadn’t changed.
“Pyroar,” said Lysandre, voice devoid of emotion, “Fire Blast.”
“Delphox, Mystical Fire!” shouted Serena.
The scorching, five-pronged burst of fire erupting from Pyroar’s mouth met the ring of fire from Delphox’s wand, both exploding in a shower of sparks. The entire room burned with heat from the explosion. As the sparks cleared, Serena saw Professor Sycamore standing to the side, arm outstretched with a Poké Ball.
“No!” she called. “This is my fight. You go help Ani.”
Professor Sycamore hesitated before nodding, but he eventually returned the Poké Ball to his lab coat and dashed back through the maze. Serena turned her attention back to Lysandre.
“No help from Sycamore, eh?” he taunted. “Very well. Let’s finish this. Pyroar, Hyper Voice.”
Pyroar opened its mouth and let out a piercing scream. Delphox cried out, clapping its paws to its considerably large ears. It looked thoroughly incapacitated. “Delphox!” Serena called desperately. “Psyshock!”
The foxlike Pokémon managed to shake off the harm of Pyroar’s Hyper Voice long enough to put out its forepaws in front of it. The air seemed to bend, and purple waves of Delphox’s aura appeared, condensing into a sphere. Delphox suddenly hurled the sphere at Pyroar, but the lionlike Pokémon evaded it almost lazily.
“It’s going to take more than that, Serena,” said Lysandre. He almost sounded disappointed. “Pyroar, end it. Fire Blast.”
Flames erupted once again from Pyroar’s mouth, and Serena knew with a devastating certainty that there was no blocking the attack this time. The flames crashed into Delphox, and Serena’s faithful Pokémon toppled over. The room seemed to grow unbearably hot all of a sudden. A smile slowly spread across Lysandre’s face as he said, “Goodbye, Serena.”
The last thing she heard was the sound of mad laughter before all went black.
The sounds of Coumarine City floated in through the window; birdcalls and human shouts, intermingled with an occasional Pokémon cry, and, even less frequently, the sound of the monorail pulling into or out of the station. Even though it was barely seven o’ clock in the morning, Coumarine City was abuzz with life.
Fylon awoke to a shaft of sunlight coming through the glass panel directly onto his face. He lay there for a moment more with his eyes closed, basking in the warmth and listening to the noises outside. These people had no idea that they, and the rest of the region, would soon be in terrible danger if Team Flare wasn’t stopped.
That thought snapped his eyes open. Team Flare most certainly wasn’t going to wait around for them. He climbed out of the bed and, yawning, crossed over to Arin’s bed, and shook Arin awake.
Arin rose eventually, bleary-eyed. He looked at Fylon with an air of incomprehension; at being woken so early, Fylon was sure. Recalling how Arin had woken Professor Sycamore when they needed his full focus, Fylon went to the bathroom sink, filled a glass with water from the faucet, and made as if to empty it over Arin’s head. Arin jumped backward, all bleariness gone from his gaze.
“No need for that, Fylon!” he said hurriedly. “I’m sure there won’t be any explosions today.”
Fylon hesitated a moment, sure there had been a joke in that, but he couldn’t decipher it. He shrugged and threw on his coat, having slept fully dressed, and left the room. Arin followed moments later, both leaving the hotel by way of the elevator.
Outside, Fylon brought out a folded map from his pocket. He unfolded it, and Arin saw a faded depiction of Coumarine City. There were numbers indicating popular tourist attractions, and a corresponding key that said what the attractions were.
“Where’d you find that?” asked Arin.
“There was a stack of them on the concierge’s desk,” replied Fylon absently. He studied the map for all of three more seconds, and then refolded it and brought it back inside. When he came out again, he said, “Come on. We’re going to the Gym.”
“The Gym?” asked Arin. “Not on to Shalour City?”
“No,” said Fylon. “Ramos was the Gym Leader of Coumarine City. We’re going to his Gym to see if we can find out what happened to him. Then we’ll go on to Shalour.”
“Alright, then,” said Arin grudgingly, and Fylon hastened to remind him that they could ride the monorail later.
Looking noticeably happier, Arin and Fylon set off down the road to the Coumarine Gym.
*
They were greeted by a stony silence when they entered the Gym through unlocked doors. Fylon didn’t think much of it; the Gym undoubtedly had stood empty these last ten years. He was sure, however, that although Ramos himself hadn’t set foot inside in a long time, they might find clues to his whereabouts.
A monstrous spire rose from the center of the one-room Gym, at least as wide around as ten trees of polished white marble. The spire was encircled by spiraling platforms, joined to the spire on one end, with ropes overhead that challengers would use to swing from platform to platform. There were also creeping vines and bushes in some areas, but Fylon couldn’t tell if Ramos had planted them or if they had simply grown there in the last decade.
Fylon couldn’t see the top of the spire, but he knew instinctively that it would be there they would find clues to where Ramos had gone, if there were any clues to find.
“View from the top must be a real treat,” murmured Arin. Then he glanced to the side to see if Fylon caught the joke. Fylon struggled to resist clapping a hand to his forehead.
He and Arin had only just reached the base of the spire when a man came from around the side. He was short and stocky, wearing a thin black shirt and grey trousers, and had well-styled black hair. Arin gave a start when he saw the man.
“Please don’t be afraid,” said the man, coming forward with his hands upraised. “My name’s Tierno. Who are you?”
Fylon and Arin nervously introduced themselves. Fylon dimly recognized the man’s name from texts he had read about the Geosenge disaster. He knew enough to be sure that this man wouldn’t try to harm enemies of Team Flare.
“Wonderful,” said Tierno, his air becoming one of joviality. “You have the look of Pokémon Trainers about you. Can’t imagine why there would be any of them anymore, but if you’re here, you must be looking for the Gym Leader.”
“Ramos,” said Arin. “You know him?”
Tierno chuckled merrily. “I know him. He was my greatest friend in the short time between the Fall and the Exile. After that … well, I don’t know where he is now.”
“You don’t?” asked Arin, sounding crestfallen.
“We had hoped to figure out where he might be,” Fylon explained. “See, Team Flare’s active again, and Professor Sycamore’s assembling an Elemental Spectrum to defend Kalos against it. But we need help.”
“Team Flare? Professor Sycamore? Now there are names I haven’t heard in a long time.” said Tierno, a reminiscent gleam in his eye.
“Right, but the professor’s not sure he can train us all in time, so we’re trying to find the Gym Leaders again,” said Arin.
“Gym Leaders?” said Tierno. “Finding Ramos will be hard enough, but all of them? That’s a challenge.” He rubbed his hands together. “Fortunately, I’ve always loved a challenge.”
“You mean you’d help us?” asked Arin, excited.
“Hang on,” said Fylon. “I know I’ve heard your name somewhere before, but I can’t think where. Who are you really? Who were you before what happened in Geosenge Town?”
The reminiscent gleam in Tierno’s eye hadn’t vanished entirely. Now it took on a sorrowful tone. “I was a Pokémon Trainer. One of Professor Sycamore’s assistants. It was I who gave Calem and Serena their first Pokémon––as well as Shauna, but her name is only rarely recorded in texts. I … I never was as good … at battling, as they were. To my shame, I wasn’t able to do much at all in the battle against Team Flare.”
A tear welled in his eye. If this is an act, thought Fylon, it’s a broken good one.
“I ask that you allow me to help you,” said Tierno, almost pleading. “I was nearly useless ten years ago. I don’t want that to mar my name forever.”
Arin looked to Fylon, leaving the decision up to him. Fylon hesitated, but then he sighed. “Fine. I suppose we could use the help.”
Tierno’s face broke into a grin. “Thank you so much,” he said. “You won’t regret it.”
Fylon nodded. He seriously doubted Tierno would betray them.
Tierno appeared to hesitate a moment. “Would you care to battle?”
“Battle?” asked Fylon, taken aback. “What?”
“Well, you said you’re part of an Elemental Spectrum,” said Tierno. “I want to see your strength. And to show you mine.”
Fylon nodded after a moment, his lips quirking in a smile. “Sure. I’d be glad to battle you.”
*
It only took a few minutes to scale the spire with Tierno’s help. He knew every inch of the Gym, or so it appeared. At the top was a battlefield, which, according to Tierno, was used by Ramos against challengers.
“It’s awfully high up,” said Arin. “What inspired him to build it so high?”
Fylon grunted.
“Gym Leaders have their styles,” said Tierno. “It’s also perfect for our battle, if you’re who I think you are.”
“And who do you think I am?” said Fylon.
“A Pokémon Trainer,” said Tierno by way of explanation. “But who do you think I am?”
“You’re also a Trainer,” said Fylon. “That much is obvious. But you want a better answer than that, no doubt.”
Tierno inclined his head, smiling.
“Very well,” said Fylon, relishing the challenge. “Beyond you being a Trainer, you also appear to know how the battle will play out. Your assessment of me being a Trainer isn’t enough to signify that the battlefield is perfect for our battle. So either you lied when you said you didn’t know who we were or you’re very observant, and you figured something out.”
“Except?” Tierno prodded.
“Except you didn’t lie,” said Fylon. “It’s ridiculously easy to tell when a person is lying––they get fidgety and sweaty, and you didn’t. So you must be observant enough to figure something out about me.”
“What might that be?” asked Tierno. Arin’s eyes flicked back and forth as if watching a tennis match.
“You know who I am, or at least who my Pokémon is,” said Fylon. “You used what you know about that to determine how exactly our battle will go.”
“Did I?” said Tierno, amused. “And what did I determine?”
“Well, you knew I would be able to figure out what you did, which gives me a clue as to what you think I am. It comes down to observation, really. You knew I’d be able to observe and deduce everything that I just did, and so you know I pay close attention to details.”
Arin looked thoroughly confused by this point. Fylon continued, “I’m perceptive and observant, but you couldn’t have figured that out unless you were, too.”
A smile spread over Tierno’s face. “Yes. And?”
“And this perceptivity only relates to one thing, at least in terms of Pokémon,” said Fylon. “The Flying type. You’re a Flying-type Trainer, and I’ll be broken if you’re not a Pokémon Master, too. And if we both train Flying-type Pokémon, this battlefield is perfect.”
At this, Tierno roared with laughter. “Well done!” he said. “Now I know you’re up to the challenge. There’s one thing you missed, however.”
Fylon was taken aback. “What’s that?”
“Oh, you’ll know after the battle,” Tierno said mischievously. “Hawlucha, go!”
He threw a Poké Ball, and his Pokémon, a Fighting- and Flying-type, burst out. Standing only a few feet high, Hawlucha was smaller than most Fighting-type Pokémon, but it made up for it in skill. The feathers on its head and arms––which were fully developed, not just wings, like most Flying-types––appeared to form a mask, from which yellow eyes glowed with a powerful fighting spirit. Fylon gasped, and hurriedly activated his own Poké Ball, from which Braviary appeared.
Tierno began immediately. “Hawlucha, Swords Dance!”
The move wasn’t quite a dance, but rather a frenetic undulating of Hawlucha’s arms, which increased its focus and raw power. Fylon called, “Brave Bird!”
He knew he’d have to finish it soon, and Braviary knew it, too. The avian Pokémon’s aura flickered to life around it, glowing turquoise. Braviary took to the air, flying as far upward as it could, before plummeting back down, intent on colliding with Hawlucha.
Hawlucha waited until Braviary was just above it, and then stepped to the side almost lazily. Braviary crashed to the ground.
Fylon gasped, feeling as if he were the one on the ground. “Braviary …” he managed.
“Hawlucha! High Jump Kick,” said Tierno.
“No,” said Fylon through gritted teeth. “Not done yet.”
Hawlucha jumped into the air, using its wings to gain extra altitude. As it fell, it extended one leg toward its target, Braviary. Fylon was sure Tierno thought he had won.
Braviary rolled out of the way.
Hawlucha hit the ground, much harder than Braviary had after using Brave Bird. It got up slowly, wincing. It had barely time to move, however, when Braviary slammed into it at Fylon’s command. Hawlucha fell to the ground again, a cry escaping its beak of a mouth. Braviary pinned it down with one claw.
Fylon closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, before opening them again. “Yield,” he said.
Tierno nodded approvingly. “I yield.”
Fylon sighed and held out his Poké Ball. Before he could open it, however, Tierno walked out onto the field, a bottle in hand. He poured some of whatever was in the bottle into Hawlucha’s mouth, and then did the same for Braviary. Mere moments later, both Pokémon were on their feet, fully refreshed.
Fylon smiled. “Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t mention it,” said Tierno, grinning back. “Say, did you figure out the last part?”
“I did,” said Fylon, and Arin gasped, off to the side.
“So answer me again,” said Tierno. “Who do you think I am?”
“You,” said Fylon, smiling even wider, “are the Gym Leader of Coumarine City.”
Fylon awoke to a shaft of sunlight coming through the glass panel directly onto his face. He lay there for a moment more with his eyes closed, basking in the warmth and listening to the noises outside. These people had no idea that they, and the rest of the region, would soon be in terrible danger if Team Flare wasn’t stopped.
That thought snapped his eyes open. Team Flare most certainly wasn’t going to wait around for them. He climbed out of the bed and, yawning, crossed over to Arin’s bed, and shook Arin awake.
Arin rose eventually, bleary-eyed. He looked at Fylon with an air of incomprehension; at being woken so early, Fylon was sure. Recalling how Arin had woken Professor Sycamore when they needed his full focus, Fylon went to the bathroom sink, filled a glass with water from the faucet, and made as if to empty it over Arin’s head. Arin jumped backward, all bleariness gone from his gaze.
“No need for that, Fylon!” he said hurriedly. “I’m sure there won’t be any explosions today.”
Fylon hesitated a moment, sure there had been a joke in that, but he couldn’t decipher it. He shrugged and threw on his coat, having slept fully dressed, and left the room. Arin followed moments later, both leaving the hotel by way of the elevator.
Outside, Fylon brought out a folded map from his pocket. He unfolded it, and Arin saw a faded depiction of Coumarine City. There were numbers indicating popular tourist attractions, and a corresponding key that said what the attractions were.
“Where’d you find that?” asked Arin.
“There was a stack of them on the concierge’s desk,” replied Fylon absently. He studied the map for all of three more seconds, and then refolded it and brought it back inside. When he came out again, he said, “Come on. We’re going to the Gym.”
“The Gym?” asked Arin. “Not on to Shalour City?”
“No,” said Fylon. “Ramos was the Gym Leader of Coumarine City. We’re going to his Gym to see if we can find out what happened to him. Then we’ll go on to Shalour.”
“Alright, then,” said Arin grudgingly, and Fylon hastened to remind him that they could ride the monorail later.
Looking noticeably happier, Arin and Fylon set off down the road to the Coumarine Gym.
*
They were greeted by a stony silence when they entered the Gym through unlocked doors. Fylon didn’t think much of it; the Gym undoubtedly had stood empty these last ten years. He was sure, however, that although Ramos himself hadn’t set foot inside in a long time, they might find clues to his whereabouts.
A monstrous spire rose from the center of the one-room Gym, at least as wide around as ten trees of polished white marble. The spire was encircled by spiraling platforms, joined to the spire on one end, with ropes overhead that challengers would use to swing from platform to platform. There were also creeping vines and bushes in some areas, but Fylon couldn’t tell if Ramos had planted them or if they had simply grown there in the last decade.
Fylon couldn’t see the top of the spire, but he knew instinctively that it would be there they would find clues to where Ramos had gone, if there were any clues to find.
“View from the top must be a real treat,” murmured Arin. Then he glanced to the side to see if Fylon caught the joke. Fylon struggled to resist clapping a hand to his forehead.
He and Arin had only just reached the base of the spire when a man came from around the side. He was short and stocky, wearing a thin black shirt and grey trousers, and had well-styled black hair. Arin gave a start when he saw the man.
“Please don’t be afraid,” said the man, coming forward with his hands upraised. “My name’s Tierno. Who are you?”
Fylon and Arin nervously introduced themselves. Fylon dimly recognized the man’s name from texts he had read about the Geosenge disaster. He knew enough to be sure that this man wouldn’t try to harm enemies of Team Flare.
“Wonderful,” said Tierno, his air becoming one of joviality. “You have the look of Pokémon Trainers about you. Can’t imagine why there would be any of them anymore, but if you’re here, you must be looking for the Gym Leader.”
“Ramos,” said Arin. “You know him?”
Tierno chuckled merrily. “I know him. He was my greatest friend in the short time between the Fall and the Exile. After that … well, I don’t know where he is now.”
“You don’t?” asked Arin, sounding crestfallen.
“We had hoped to figure out where he might be,” Fylon explained. “See, Team Flare’s active again, and Professor Sycamore’s assembling an Elemental Spectrum to defend Kalos against it. But we need help.”
“Team Flare? Professor Sycamore? Now there are names I haven’t heard in a long time.” said Tierno, a reminiscent gleam in his eye.
“Right, but the professor’s not sure he can train us all in time, so we’re trying to find the Gym Leaders again,” said Arin.
“Gym Leaders?” said Tierno. “Finding Ramos will be hard enough, but all of them? That’s a challenge.” He rubbed his hands together. “Fortunately, I’ve always loved a challenge.”
“You mean you’d help us?” asked Arin, excited.
“Hang on,” said Fylon. “I know I’ve heard your name somewhere before, but I can’t think where. Who are you really? Who were you before what happened in Geosenge Town?”
The reminiscent gleam in Tierno’s eye hadn’t vanished entirely. Now it took on a sorrowful tone. “I was a Pokémon Trainer. One of Professor Sycamore’s assistants. It was I who gave Calem and Serena their first Pokémon––as well as Shauna, but her name is only rarely recorded in texts. I … I never was as good … at battling, as they were. To my shame, I wasn’t able to do much at all in the battle against Team Flare.”
A tear welled in his eye. If this is an act, thought Fylon, it’s a broken good one.
“I ask that you allow me to help you,” said Tierno, almost pleading. “I was nearly useless ten years ago. I don’t want that to mar my name forever.”
Arin looked to Fylon, leaving the decision up to him. Fylon hesitated, but then he sighed. “Fine. I suppose we could use the help.”
Tierno’s face broke into a grin. “Thank you so much,” he said. “You won’t regret it.”
Fylon nodded. He seriously doubted Tierno would betray them.
Tierno appeared to hesitate a moment. “Would you care to battle?”
“Battle?” asked Fylon, taken aback. “What?”
“Well, you said you’re part of an Elemental Spectrum,” said Tierno. “I want to see your strength. And to show you mine.”
Fylon nodded after a moment, his lips quirking in a smile. “Sure. I’d be glad to battle you.”
*
It only took a few minutes to scale the spire with Tierno’s help. He knew every inch of the Gym, or so it appeared. At the top was a battlefield, which, according to Tierno, was used by Ramos against challengers.
“It’s awfully high up,” said Arin. “What inspired him to build it so high?”
Fylon grunted.
“Gym Leaders have their styles,” said Tierno. “It’s also perfect for our battle, if you’re who I think you are.”
“And who do you think I am?” said Fylon.
“A Pokémon Trainer,” said Tierno by way of explanation. “But who do you think I am?”
“You’re also a Trainer,” said Fylon. “That much is obvious. But you want a better answer than that, no doubt.”
Tierno inclined his head, smiling.
“Very well,” said Fylon, relishing the challenge. “Beyond you being a Trainer, you also appear to know how the battle will play out. Your assessment of me being a Trainer isn’t enough to signify that the battlefield is perfect for our battle. So either you lied when you said you didn’t know who we were or you’re very observant, and you figured something out.”
“Except?” Tierno prodded.
“Except you didn’t lie,” said Fylon. “It’s ridiculously easy to tell when a person is lying––they get fidgety and sweaty, and you didn’t. So you must be observant enough to figure something out about me.”
“What might that be?” asked Tierno. Arin’s eyes flicked back and forth as if watching a tennis match.
“You know who I am, or at least who my Pokémon is,” said Fylon. “You used what you know about that to determine how exactly our battle will go.”
“Did I?” said Tierno, amused. “And what did I determine?”
“Well, you knew I would be able to figure out what you did, which gives me a clue as to what you think I am. It comes down to observation, really. You knew I’d be able to observe and deduce everything that I just did, and so you know I pay close attention to details.”
Arin looked thoroughly confused by this point. Fylon continued, “I’m perceptive and observant, but you couldn’t have figured that out unless you were, too.”
A smile spread over Tierno’s face. “Yes. And?”
“And this perceptivity only relates to one thing, at least in terms of Pokémon,” said Fylon. “The Flying type. You’re a Flying-type Trainer, and I’ll be broken if you’re not a Pokémon Master, too. And if we both train Flying-type Pokémon, this battlefield is perfect.”
At this, Tierno roared with laughter. “Well done!” he said. “Now I know you’re up to the challenge. There’s one thing you missed, however.”
Fylon was taken aback. “What’s that?”
“Oh, you’ll know after the battle,” Tierno said mischievously. “Hawlucha, go!”
He threw a Poké Ball, and his Pokémon, a Fighting- and Flying-type, burst out. Standing only a few feet high, Hawlucha was smaller than most Fighting-type Pokémon, but it made up for it in skill. The feathers on its head and arms––which were fully developed, not just wings, like most Flying-types––appeared to form a mask, from which yellow eyes glowed with a powerful fighting spirit. Fylon gasped, and hurriedly activated his own Poké Ball, from which Braviary appeared.
Tierno began immediately. “Hawlucha, Swords Dance!”
The move wasn’t quite a dance, but rather a frenetic undulating of Hawlucha’s arms, which increased its focus and raw power. Fylon called, “Brave Bird!”
He knew he’d have to finish it soon, and Braviary knew it, too. The avian Pokémon’s aura flickered to life around it, glowing turquoise. Braviary took to the air, flying as far upward as it could, before plummeting back down, intent on colliding with Hawlucha.
Hawlucha waited until Braviary was just above it, and then stepped to the side almost lazily. Braviary crashed to the ground.
Fylon gasped, feeling as if he were the one on the ground. “Braviary …” he managed.
“Hawlucha! High Jump Kick,” said Tierno.
“No,” said Fylon through gritted teeth. “Not done yet.”
Hawlucha jumped into the air, using its wings to gain extra altitude. As it fell, it extended one leg toward its target, Braviary. Fylon was sure Tierno thought he had won.
Braviary rolled out of the way.
Hawlucha hit the ground, much harder than Braviary had after using Brave Bird. It got up slowly, wincing. It had barely time to move, however, when Braviary slammed into it at Fylon’s command. Hawlucha fell to the ground again, a cry escaping its beak of a mouth. Braviary pinned it down with one claw.
Fylon closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, before opening them again. “Yield,” he said.
Tierno nodded approvingly. “I yield.”
Fylon sighed and held out his Poké Ball. Before he could open it, however, Tierno walked out onto the field, a bottle in hand. He poured some of whatever was in the bottle into Hawlucha’s mouth, and then did the same for Braviary. Mere moments later, both Pokémon were on their feet, fully refreshed.
Fylon smiled. “Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t mention it,” said Tierno, grinning back. “Say, did you figure out the last part?”
“I did,” said Fylon, and Arin gasped, off to the side.
“So answer me again,” said Tierno. “Who do you think I am?”
“You,” said Fylon, smiling even wider, “are the Gym Leader of Coumarine City.”
Professor Sycamore heard the explosions behind him, but never once looked back.
He considered it, of course. He knew Serena was a powerful Trainer––one of the best in the world––but then again, her foe was the most evil man to ever plague the Kalos region. Professor Sycamore didn’t see how Serena could stand up to that.
But nevertheless, he did not look back. It was Serena’s fight. Odds were there would have been nothing he could do anyway in a clash like that––he never had been a good battler.
However much he told himself that it would be all right, though, he couldn’t help hanging his head in shame as he escaped the underground laboratories.
*
Back at the Pokémon Center in Magenta Plaza, Professor Sycamore joined the full Spectrum––minus Fylon and Arin––where they sat glumly in the lobby. A few of them looked up as he approached, but the majority only stared at nothing. Blake had removed his jacket; he now appeared fully solid.
Those who looked up did so with hopeful smiles, and Professor Sycamore hesitated, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. After a minute’s pause, however, he sighed. “I’m sorry. Serena was fighting Lysandre. There was nothing I could do.”
A few of them gasped. “You mean…?”
“I don’t know,” said Professor Sycamore heavily. “She said it was her fight. She wanted to defeat him alone, once and for all.”
“Then … she might have won, right?” asked Ani timidly.
“If she had won … If she had won, she’d be here now,” said the professor with a sigh. Ani let out a squeak of alarm.
“I’m … I’m sorry,” said the professor again, sitting down next to her and awkwardly patting her shoulder. It didn’t feel enough, just apologizing.
Tears ran down Ani’s face. “It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” she said. “We can’t win.”
“No!” said Professor Sycamore sternly. “We will win. We must win. Kalos depends on it.”
But Ani only continued to sob. Nika came over and rested an arm around Ani’s shoulders. “I know,” she murmured. “I know.”
A thought struck Professor Sycamore then, and he reached into his pocket, drawing out three Poké Balls, compressed into their smaller, inactive state. He activated each of them, causing them to grow to the size of a normal Poké Ball, and then set them on the table in front of them.
“It’s time,” he said.
He heard many of the Spectrum, including Nika, inhale sharply. They knew what this meant; each of them had seen it before. Nika had been one of the first; she’d seen the initiations of almost all the others. They all were aware that Professor Sycamore was in possession of the three Poké Balls, but they hadn’t expected this so soon.
But the time had come. Professor Sycamore knew it; all of the Spectrum knew it. It was time for Ryan, Ani and Roc to learn how to defend themselves, and their region, from the devastating, raging blaze of Team Flare.
It was time for them to meet their Pokémon.
*
“It’s time.”
Ani sniffled and dried her face with a sleeve. She looked up at Nika’s gasp and saw the three Poké Balls on the table. She realized what Professor Sycamore had just said, and what it meant. Then she, too, gasped. “You mean…”
*
Roc sat on the opposite side of the table from Ani and the professor. He had been absorbed in his own brooding thoughts, about how they had rescued Ryan, his oldest friend, but had lost a powerful ally. Beside him, Blake’s hands clenched on the arm of the couch they shared. Roc wondered why for only a moment before he heard the professor say, “It’s time.”
His eyes found the three Poké Balls, as he knew Ryan’s and Ani’s had, too.
It’s time.
He gasped. “They’re … ”
*
Ryan sat in an armchair next to Roc. Fylon had been the only one of the Spectrum he had actually felt as though he had known. And now Fylon was gone. Off on some mission somewhere, from what Roc had told him. He didn’t know Serena, nor did he know anything about her, but she had led the expedition to rescue him, and she was a powerful, skilled Pokémon Trainer. For that, he was devastated to hear that she was gone.
Ani was right. It was hopeless. There was nothing they could do. Team Flare would crush them along with the remnants of the Pokémon League, and the entire Kalos region. And they probably wouldn’t even stop there.
“It’s time.”
Ryan jerked his head upward at the professor’s voice. Then he saw the Poké Balls on the table and heard a collective gasp from the others. Moments later he realized that his own gasp had been one of them.
“Our Pokémon … ?”
*
Professor Sycamore heard chuckles from some of the full members of the Spectrum. This was exactly what had happened at all the other initiations. But no time for that.
He heard the Windier Towners say, “You mean they’re our Pokémon?” almost in unison. Professor Sycamore nodded gravely.
“It’s time,” he repeated.
He bent down to tap the buttons on each of the Poké Balls, opening them and releasing the Pokémon inside. He was suddenly grateful that there were no other guests in the lobby, and the Nurse had gone upstairs.
Three Pokémon materialized, each in front of their open Poké Ball on the table. He had been carrying around these Poké Balls from before the disaster. Now the Pokémon would finally find Trainers to care for them, and to help them grow.
All three Pokémon stood about two paces high––some a bit shorter or taller. Chespin stood on its hind feet, with a round, brownish body. It had many of the traits of a chipmunk, except for the green protective shell covering its head and extending down its back to its tail.
Fennekin, petite and foxlike, stood on four legs. It had pale yellow fur covering almost its entire body, except fur at the tip of its tail and growing from its large ears, which were both a deep orange. It was related to Serena’s Pokémon, Delphox.
Froakie crouched on its hind legs like a frog. It had pale blue skin, and white bubbles coating its neck.
None of them had ever seen battle. They were perfect for beginning Trainers––Professor Sycamore had bred Pokémon like them and given them away to young Trainers for many years before the disaster.
Ryan, Ani and Roc gasped again.
“They’re so cute!” said Ani. “I thought they would be fierce, like Serena’s Delphox!”
Funny she asks that, the professor thought.
“Yes, many Pokémon are born small and––most would say––cute,” he said. This was something he had had to teach Trainers time and time again. “However, they often grow, gaining new traits and powers, until they’re at their most powerful. The process is called evolution. This one,” ––he indicated Fennekin–– “actually evolves into Delphox.”
Ani’s eyes lit up. Almost as quickly, however, her face fell again. She said, “Oh, but … I want the Pokémon to be happy. I don’t want to force them to do anything they don’t want to do.”
“A wise choice,” said the professor approvingly. “Some Trainers choose their Pokémon, but they can never grow as close as they could have if the Pokémon chose the Trainer. You all wish to let the Pokémon choose?”
They all nodded. All of the others in the Spectrum had done the same, and they nodded as well, now.
“Very well,” said Professor Sycamore. He met the Pokémon’s gaze, and inclined his head, almost a bow.
Fennekin didn’t even hesitate. It crawled across the table and jumped directly into Ani’s lap, curling up and closing its eyes contentedly. Ani looked very pleased that Fennekin had chosen her. The professor nodded to himself; he had expected that.
Ryan and Roc both looked at the Pokémon hopefully. Chespin and Froakie made their way over to them, appearing to read everything about them. Professor Sycamore often said that Pokémon were aware of things humans weren’t. This, to his mind, proved it.
After a moment, Chespin leaped onto the couch where Roc sat with Blake. Blake hastily scooted over to make room. Chespin closed its eyes and sat down with a smile, resting its head against Roc’s arm. Looking unsure of what to do, but very happy all the same, Roc lifted his other arm and patted Chespin’s head.
At the same time, Froakie bounded into Ryan’s arms. Ryan cradled the froglike Pokémon, a grin on both his face and Froakie’s. Professor Sycamore found a smile tugging at his own lips, too. There was something about the bond between Trainer and Pokémon that just made him happy. This was why he was a Pokémon Professor. He lived to see Pokémon and Trainers coexisting in perfect harmony with each other.
This, he thought with satisfaction, is what all the world should be like.
He considered it, of course. He knew Serena was a powerful Trainer––one of the best in the world––but then again, her foe was the most evil man to ever plague the Kalos region. Professor Sycamore didn’t see how Serena could stand up to that.
But nevertheless, he did not look back. It was Serena’s fight. Odds were there would have been nothing he could do anyway in a clash like that––he never had been a good battler.
However much he told himself that it would be all right, though, he couldn’t help hanging his head in shame as he escaped the underground laboratories.
*
Back at the Pokémon Center in Magenta Plaza, Professor Sycamore joined the full Spectrum––minus Fylon and Arin––where they sat glumly in the lobby. A few of them looked up as he approached, but the majority only stared at nothing. Blake had removed his jacket; he now appeared fully solid.
Those who looked up did so with hopeful smiles, and Professor Sycamore hesitated, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. After a minute’s pause, however, he sighed. “I’m sorry. Serena was fighting Lysandre. There was nothing I could do.”
A few of them gasped. “You mean…?”
“I don’t know,” said Professor Sycamore heavily. “She said it was her fight. She wanted to defeat him alone, once and for all.”
“Then … she might have won, right?” asked Ani timidly.
“If she had won … If she had won, she’d be here now,” said the professor with a sigh. Ani let out a squeak of alarm.
“I’m … I’m sorry,” said the professor again, sitting down next to her and awkwardly patting her shoulder. It didn’t feel enough, just apologizing.
Tears ran down Ani’s face. “It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” she said. “We can’t win.”
“No!” said Professor Sycamore sternly. “We will win. We must win. Kalos depends on it.”
But Ani only continued to sob. Nika came over and rested an arm around Ani’s shoulders. “I know,” she murmured. “I know.”
A thought struck Professor Sycamore then, and he reached into his pocket, drawing out three Poké Balls, compressed into their smaller, inactive state. He activated each of them, causing them to grow to the size of a normal Poké Ball, and then set them on the table in front of them.
“It’s time,” he said.
He heard many of the Spectrum, including Nika, inhale sharply. They knew what this meant; each of them had seen it before. Nika had been one of the first; she’d seen the initiations of almost all the others. They all were aware that Professor Sycamore was in possession of the three Poké Balls, but they hadn’t expected this so soon.
But the time had come. Professor Sycamore knew it; all of the Spectrum knew it. It was time for Ryan, Ani and Roc to learn how to defend themselves, and their region, from the devastating, raging blaze of Team Flare.
It was time for them to meet their Pokémon.
*
“It’s time.”
Ani sniffled and dried her face with a sleeve. She looked up at Nika’s gasp and saw the three Poké Balls on the table. She realized what Professor Sycamore had just said, and what it meant. Then she, too, gasped. “You mean…”
*
Roc sat on the opposite side of the table from Ani and the professor. He had been absorbed in his own brooding thoughts, about how they had rescued Ryan, his oldest friend, but had lost a powerful ally. Beside him, Blake’s hands clenched on the arm of the couch they shared. Roc wondered why for only a moment before he heard the professor say, “It’s time.”
His eyes found the three Poké Balls, as he knew Ryan’s and Ani’s had, too.
It’s time.
He gasped. “They’re … ”
*
Ryan sat in an armchair next to Roc. Fylon had been the only one of the Spectrum he had actually felt as though he had known. And now Fylon was gone. Off on some mission somewhere, from what Roc had told him. He didn’t know Serena, nor did he know anything about her, but she had led the expedition to rescue him, and she was a powerful, skilled Pokémon Trainer. For that, he was devastated to hear that she was gone.
Ani was right. It was hopeless. There was nothing they could do. Team Flare would crush them along with the remnants of the Pokémon League, and the entire Kalos region. And they probably wouldn’t even stop there.
“It’s time.”
Ryan jerked his head upward at the professor’s voice. Then he saw the Poké Balls on the table and heard a collective gasp from the others. Moments later he realized that his own gasp had been one of them.
“Our Pokémon … ?”
*
Professor Sycamore heard chuckles from some of the full members of the Spectrum. This was exactly what had happened at all the other initiations. But no time for that.
He heard the Windier Towners say, “You mean they’re our Pokémon?” almost in unison. Professor Sycamore nodded gravely.
“It’s time,” he repeated.
He bent down to tap the buttons on each of the Poké Balls, opening them and releasing the Pokémon inside. He was suddenly grateful that there were no other guests in the lobby, and the Nurse had gone upstairs.
Three Pokémon materialized, each in front of their open Poké Ball on the table. He had been carrying around these Poké Balls from before the disaster. Now the Pokémon would finally find Trainers to care for them, and to help them grow.
All three Pokémon stood about two paces high––some a bit shorter or taller. Chespin stood on its hind feet, with a round, brownish body. It had many of the traits of a chipmunk, except for the green protective shell covering its head and extending down its back to its tail.
Fennekin, petite and foxlike, stood on four legs. It had pale yellow fur covering almost its entire body, except fur at the tip of its tail and growing from its large ears, which were both a deep orange. It was related to Serena’s Pokémon, Delphox.
Froakie crouched on its hind legs like a frog. It had pale blue skin, and white bubbles coating its neck.
None of them had ever seen battle. They were perfect for beginning Trainers––Professor Sycamore had bred Pokémon like them and given them away to young Trainers for many years before the disaster.
Ryan, Ani and Roc gasped again.
“They’re so cute!” said Ani. “I thought they would be fierce, like Serena’s Delphox!”
Funny she asks that, the professor thought.
“Yes, many Pokémon are born small and––most would say––cute,” he said. This was something he had had to teach Trainers time and time again. “However, they often grow, gaining new traits and powers, until they’re at their most powerful. The process is called evolution. This one,” ––he indicated Fennekin–– “actually evolves into Delphox.”
Ani’s eyes lit up. Almost as quickly, however, her face fell again. She said, “Oh, but … I want the Pokémon to be happy. I don’t want to force them to do anything they don’t want to do.”
“A wise choice,” said the professor approvingly. “Some Trainers choose their Pokémon, but they can never grow as close as they could have if the Pokémon chose the Trainer. You all wish to let the Pokémon choose?”
They all nodded. All of the others in the Spectrum had done the same, and they nodded as well, now.
“Very well,” said Professor Sycamore. He met the Pokémon’s gaze, and inclined his head, almost a bow.
Fennekin didn’t even hesitate. It crawled across the table and jumped directly into Ani’s lap, curling up and closing its eyes contentedly. Ani looked very pleased that Fennekin had chosen her. The professor nodded to himself; he had expected that.
Ryan and Roc both looked at the Pokémon hopefully. Chespin and Froakie made their way over to them, appearing to read everything about them. Professor Sycamore often said that Pokémon were aware of things humans weren’t. This, to his mind, proved it.
After a moment, Chespin leaped onto the couch where Roc sat with Blake. Blake hastily scooted over to make room. Chespin closed its eyes and sat down with a smile, resting its head against Roc’s arm. Looking unsure of what to do, but very happy all the same, Roc lifted his other arm and patted Chespin’s head.
At the same time, Froakie bounded into Ryan’s arms. Ryan cradled the froglike Pokémon, a grin on both his face and Froakie’s. Professor Sycamore found a smile tugging at his own lips, too. There was something about the bond between Trainer and Pokémon that just made him happy. This was why he was a Pokémon Professor. He lived to see Pokémon and Trainers coexisting in perfect harmony with each other.
This, he thought with satisfaction, is what all the world should be like.
“Froakie, Water Pulse!”
Fennekin danced out of the way on light feet as a stream of water shot at her. Ani hadn’t been watching closely enough to see how Froakie created the water, and she doubted she would ever be. It had been one of the first things Professor Sycamore had taught the three of them: Almost all attacks were formed directly from the Pokémon’s aura. As Ani had realized, they were also formed too fast to follow.
“Fennekin!” she called. “Light Screen!”
Ani knew she couldn’t afford to let Froakie hit Fennekin with a direct attack––type effectiveness had been another of the professor’s first lessons. Froakie’s Water-type attacks were super-effective on Fennekin, a Fire-type Pokémon. That meant what another Pokémon could take easily, Fennekin would receive twice as badly. Light Screen wouldn’t completely remove that, but it would mitigate it somewhat. Hopefully.
Fennekin let out a resounding bark as her aura flared to life––bright orange, the same shade as the fur growing from her ears. Her eyes glowed the same orange for an instant, and the air bent in front of her, the same way Ani had seen it bend when Serena’s Delphox used Psyshock. Professor Sycamore had said that almost all Psychic-type attacks had this quality.
In the case of Light Screen, the bent air would guard Fennekin, moving as she moved. It would only last so long, however––Ani would have to make good use of the time.
Across the battlefield stood Ryan, his face contorted in concentration. In the few weeks since they had first received their Pokémon, they had all learned very quickly, or so the professor said. Ani had known at least some of it beforehand from reading books in the library back home, but it didn’t give her any sort of advantage against Ryan and Roc.
The battlefield was the middle of Magenta Plaza. They had to take great care not to hit the red obelisk in the center of the plaza, but on the relatively small scale of their battle, it wasn’t too much of a worry.
“Fennekin,” Ani commanded, “Flame Charge!”
Fennekin’s aura flared once again, but the next moment her fur was cloaked in fire. She charged at Froakie, eyes wild. If Fennekin made contact with the attack, it would not only hurt Froakie, but also increase Fennekin’s own Speed––Professor Sycamore’s term for the literal speed with which Fennekin could execute attacks.
“Froakie, Substitute!” Ryan called.
Ani cursed under her breath. She’d known something like this was coming. Froakie’s aura appeared, glowing cyan. It seemed to drift away from Froakie, detaching itself from the Pokémon. Then the aura hardened into a perfect replica of Froakie, but harder than stone. Fennekin crashed into the substitute, cracking it.
Substitute, as Ani knew from the professor’s teachings, was a risky move––removing one’s own aura like that could backfire easily, rendering Froakie completely helpless if his opponent found a way to get around it. But the substitute he created could also be of great help in allowing the user to make a near-impossible getaway.
Until Froakie’s aura replenished, all he could do was redirect the substitute around the battlefield, using it to defend himself against any attacks Fennekin could throw at him. Ani intended to make use of that as well.
“Froakie! Aqua Ring!” Ryan commanded.
Ani started. That wasn’t something she’s seen before. Ryan must have been training more with Blake.
Froakie’s aura, barely existent, flickered before turning to water, suspended in midair and surrounding Froakie.The Pokémon gasped at the influx of power returning to him. His aura, still in a state of water, seemed to glow brighter.
Ani gritted her teeth. The Aqua Ring would continue to replenish Froakie’s aura for a long time yet. But she still had to break the substitute. “Flame Charge again, Fennekin!” she called.
Fennekin’s aura turned to fire once more, and she crashed into the substitute, shattering it. But Froakie wasn’t beaten, and his aura looked almost as full as it had at the start of the battle.
“Water Pulse!” called Ryan.
Froakie formed the jet of water again, blasting it at Fennekin. The foxlike Pokémon hadn’t had time to get out of the way after breaking the substitute, and now it faced down the water head on.
Suddenly the bent air in front of Fennekin, which had been following her around since its creation, flickered and seemed to grow more solid. It warded off the Water Pulse attack, but only barely. Some of the water got through the screen, but not enough to deal Fennekin any significant harm.
In that instant Ani thought she saw a way to win. Pokémon could only be able to use four attacks at a time. For a new attack to be learned, the Pokémon would have to forget an older one. And if Ryan’s Froakie learned Aqua Ring, that meant he didn’t have access to …
Think. What was Froakie’s moveset? Water Pulse, Substitute … Smack Down. Yes, Smack Down. Unlikely Ryan would have allowed Froakie to forget that one. It was his only other damage-dealing move. But what was the last one?
Rain Dance! He can’t use Rain Dance anymore. And if there’s no rain … there can be sun!
“Sunny Day!” Ani shouted triumphantly.
Fennekin looked back at her for a moment and gave the barest of nods. Fennekin’s aura blazed like a bonfire, and the plaza grew very warm. Above, in the sky, the sun seemed to strengthen, and soon perspiration beaded on Ani’s forehead.
Ryan didn’t look surprised, but frustrated. Ani suspected that he’d known what he was doing when he allowed Froakie to forget Rain Dance, but had hoped that Ani wouldn’t have been able to figure it out.
“Froakie, Smack Down!” he commanded.
Froakie’s aura flared again. Dust gathered from around the cobblestones, swirlingand condensing in front of Froakie until it was solid rock. The Pokémon smacked the rock at Fennekin.
Ani had known this was coming. Smack Down was Froakie’s only other attacking move, and with Water Pulse rendered almost useless by the sun, he had resorted to other tactics.
Fennekin made as if to leap out of the way, but the stone clipped her on a shoulder, and she was forced to the ground.
“Water Pulse!” yelled Ryan, not letting up.
That she hadn’t expected. Water Pulse’s damage would be lessened by the effects of Sunny Day, so why …
Of course. Confusion. Water Pulse, like many attacks, had a side-effect. The receiver of the attack could become confused, a condition that, for a Pokémon, could mean damaging itself. By Professor Sycamore’s calculations, this happened less than a third of the time, but Ani didn’t want to take chances.
“Fennekin!” she called desperately.
Fennekin struggled to get up, but she was winded from being knocked to the ground by the stone. She took the force of Froakie’s attack in full.
And didn’t get up afterward.
NO! This wasn’t supposed to happen. Confusion only affected the target of Water Pulse less than a third of the time. But it had happened anyway.
Now there were two things that could happen. Fennekin could pull off the attack––it could work perfectly fine, unhampered by the confusion in the slightest.
Or she could be so hurt that she would damage herself.
It’s a risk we’ll have to take, thought Ani. It took too long for confusion to wear off under normal circumstances, and after the Smack Down, Fennekin was in no fit state to avoid any of Froakie’s attacks. Besides that, the Aqua Ring would continue to restore Froakie’s aura, and trying to avoid his attacks that long would mean outlasting the sun, too––one of her few advantages in this battle.
The sun!
Ani drew a deep breath. There was only one way to win now. And it risked everything on the slim chance that Fennekin would break free of her confusion.
Ani exhaled slowly. “Solar Beam.”
Fennekin’s aura flared once again to life at Ani’s command. That would happen whether Fennekin was under the effects of confusion or not––now Ani would just have to see if the power of Fennekin’s aura went into attacking Froakie … or Fennekin.
The auric cloud around Fennekin flashed green for just an instant before reverting to the normal crimson hue. Ani let out a sigh. The attack was working so far.
The sun grew brighter than ever, just as Fennekin’s aura grew stronger and stronger. The small Pokémon was still on the ground, but––hopefully––that wouldn’t matter. An orb of sheer auric power appeared before Fennekin, wisps of her aura feeding it as it expanded.
Suddenly, Fennekin’s eyes snapped open. The orb burst into a bar of white-hot light, connecting Fennekin’s aura to Froakie’s. It overloaded the froglike Pokémon’s aura, and Froakie collapsed to the ground in a faint.
Applause broke out from the sidelines, where the Spectrum sat watching. Professor Sycamore called, “Bravo, both of you!”
Ani smiled, then. Not a timid one, such as she had smiled when she had gotten one of Professor Sycamore’s questions right, but a wide grin, triumphant at her victory, and exultant at the close bond she had come to share, in these few weeks, with these incredible people.
Ryan returned Froakie to his Poké Ball. He sighed, and then he smiled, too. He crossed the plaza and shook her hand, as was the custom in the days before the Geosenge disaster.
The battle over, Fennekin’s aura had winked out, and the effects of the confusion were lifted. The small Pokémon trotted over to Ani, who reached down to scratch her ears.
When Ani looked up, the professor stood before her. “You’ve improved so much,” he said. “I think Team Flare won’t stand a chance.”
Ani knew the words were purely motivational––she had a long way to go yet––but she thanked him anyway.
Suddenly, the ground opened up a few feet away from them. A small rodentlike head popped up, followed by the rest of Sandslash––Clair’s Pokémon. Then Clair herself climbed out of the hole in the ground.
“Status?” asked Professor Sycamore briskly, his attention turned to Clair.
“Team Flare’s numbers are growing steadily,” reported Clair. “We found evidence of maybe two hundred, and there could easily be more we didn’t see.”
Two hundred? thought Ani. That’s …
“How did they grow so big in so short a time?” asked Peter, crossing the plaza.
“A lot of them are probably from the old days,” said the professor absently. “But that’s not important. We’re going to need more help than I thought.”
“We have eighteen,” said Clair. “We’re an Elemental Spectrum. We can beat them.”
“No!” said the professor sharply. “You’re not ready. Lysandre, Celosia, Malva––assuming she’s aligned with them, which is safe to assume––you couldn’t beat any of them if they came to call right now.”
The rest of the Spectrum, all gathered around now, looked thoroughly downcast at the professor’s words.
Professor Sycamore sighed. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he said. “But you must understand, you need more training.”
“So … so then we have the Elite Four, not counting Diantha or Serena,” said Clair. “We have us eighteen, after we’re trained up a bit. And … and we have you, professor.”
Professor Sycamore chuckled at that. “I’m hardly what I once was. And I was never very good. But that’s also not important. The point is we have twenty-two––twenty-three if we can rescue Serena––against two hundred. That’s not good, you realize.”
The Spectrum laughed.
Something occurred to Ani, then. “How about the Gym Leaders?”
Professor Sycamore turned to her. “The Gym Leaders?”
“Well, why not?” said Ani, a little defensively. “They were some of the best before the disaster. If we can find them, they might be able to help us.”
Professor Sycamore appeared to consider it for a moment. “Why not, indeed,” he mused. “That’s interesting. And we might even be able to find them. Kalos isn’t so big. And they won’t have left the region, I know that. Yes, why not?”
“Because no one’s seen them in ten years,” said Peter, as if explaining something to a five-year-old.
“No, I’m sure that’s not true,” said the professor, waving a hand. “And if it is, there are only so many uninhabited places in Kalos.”
Peter fell silent.
“It’s decided, then,” said the professor, clapping once. “The Spectrum shall split. We shall go our separate ways, in small groups. We shall search for the Gym Leaders, such as they are, until we have searched every inch of the region. And we will not rest until they are found.”
The Spectrum stood in stunned silence. Ani was shocked. This was a rather risky undertaking, splitting the Spectrum. She had meant for them to look for the Gym Leaders as a group, travelling collectively across the region. This … this was madness.
“Are you sure, professor?” asked Clair’s sister, Erell, uncertainly.
“Yes,” said the professor firmly. “Erell, you and Clair will go to Cyllage City. The Gym Leader was Grant, and he had a fondness for Rock-type Pokémon. Odds are your Pokémon and your natural talents will help you find him.”
Erell still seemed uncertain, but Clair nodded. “Think of the challenge, Erell,” she said.
Erell hesitated, but then she laughed. “All right, then.”
“Good,” said the professor briskly. “Next, then––Sera, Peter, Warren. You’ll go east, checking Anistar and Snowbelle for any trace of their Gym Leaders. Olympia and Wulfric were among the most powerful of the Leaders before the disaster. Finding them is vital.”
Sera, Peter and Warren nodded resolutely. Ani recalled not having seen much of Sera in the last few weeks, but Sera seemed, of the group, the most likely to have been someone she would have been friends with back home. Her features spoke of the east, too.
“Julian and Amaline,” said Professor Sycamore, still rattling off names, “Laverre City. The Gym Leader’s name was Valerie, and she specialized in Fairy-type Pokémon. Amaline, if you’re there, she might sense a kindred spirit and reveal herself.”
Amaline nodded. Julian, her older brother, laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“And one more for Laverre City … Mica,” said the professor, turning around and pointing at the young Ghost-type specialist.
Mica looked momentarily taken aback, but only momentarily.
“Now, Santalune City,” the professor continued. “Not only was that home to Viola, the noted Bug-type specialist and photographer, but Vaniville Town is close by as well––Calem’s hometown. Might be worth checking out. Liam, of course, you should go, as our Bug-type expert. And …”––Blake raised his hand, his face impassive––“Blake; perfect,” he continued without stopping. “And that leaves Coumarine, Shalour, and Lumiose. Rosuke, Morgan, you’ll go to Coumarine, in search of Ramos, the Grass-type Gym Leader. After that, you’ll continue on to Shalour, which is hopefully where Fylon and Arin are by now. They might have figured something out.”
Ani realized that meant she, Roc, Ryan, Nika, and the professor himself were the only ones left. She suspected the professor had orchestrated it this way, but she was pleased all the same. And sure enough, the professor said, “Ani, Ryan, Roc, Nika, you’ll accompany me to Prism Tower in the weeks to come, and we’ll finish your training here.”
Nika smiled at her. Ani smiled back. She was glad that Nika would be with the group for the next few weeks. And she would be able to continue her training, and she might get to meet a Gym Leader, and …
She let out a breath and composed herself. It would finally be time to move against Team Flare. And for the first time, she would be ready.
Fennekin danced out of the way on light feet as a stream of water shot at her. Ani hadn’t been watching closely enough to see how Froakie created the water, and she doubted she would ever be. It had been one of the first things Professor Sycamore had taught the three of them: Almost all attacks were formed directly from the Pokémon’s aura. As Ani had realized, they were also formed too fast to follow.
“Fennekin!” she called. “Light Screen!”
Ani knew she couldn’t afford to let Froakie hit Fennekin with a direct attack––type effectiveness had been another of the professor’s first lessons. Froakie’s Water-type attacks were super-effective on Fennekin, a Fire-type Pokémon. That meant what another Pokémon could take easily, Fennekin would receive twice as badly. Light Screen wouldn’t completely remove that, but it would mitigate it somewhat. Hopefully.
Fennekin let out a resounding bark as her aura flared to life––bright orange, the same shade as the fur growing from her ears. Her eyes glowed the same orange for an instant, and the air bent in front of her, the same way Ani had seen it bend when Serena’s Delphox used Psyshock. Professor Sycamore had said that almost all Psychic-type attacks had this quality.
In the case of Light Screen, the bent air would guard Fennekin, moving as she moved. It would only last so long, however––Ani would have to make good use of the time.
Across the battlefield stood Ryan, his face contorted in concentration. In the few weeks since they had first received their Pokémon, they had all learned very quickly, or so the professor said. Ani had known at least some of it beforehand from reading books in the library back home, but it didn’t give her any sort of advantage against Ryan and Roc.
The battlefield was the middle of Magenta Plaza. They had to take great care not to hit the red obelisk in the center of the plaza, but on the relatively small scale of their battle, it wasn’t too much of a worry.
“Fennekin,” Ani commanded, “Flame Charge!”
Fennekin’s aura flared once again, but the next moment her fur was cloaked in fire. She charged at Froakie, eyes wild. If Fennekin made contact with the attack, it would not only hurt Froakie, but also increase Fennekin’s own Speed––Professor Sycamore’s term for the literal speed with which Fennekin could execute attacks.
“Froakie, Substitute!” Ryan called.
Ani cursed under her breath. She’d known something like this was coming. Froakie’s aura appeared, glowing cyan. It seemed to drift away from Froakie, detaching itself from the Pokémon. Then the aura hardened into a perfect replica of Froakie, but harder than stone. Fennekin crashed into the substitute, cracking it.
Substitute, as Ani knew from the professor’s teachings, was a risky move––removing one’s own aura like that could backfire easily, rendering Froakie completely helpless if his opponent found a way to get around it. But the substitute he created could also be of great help in allowing the user to make a near-impossible getaway.
Until Froakie’s aura replenished, all he could do was redirect the substitute around the battlefield, using it to defend himself against any attacks Fennekin could throw at him. Ani intended to make use of that as well.
“Froakie! Aqua Ring!” Ryan commanded.
Ani started. That wasn’t something she’s seen before. Ryan must have been training more with Blake.
Froakie’s aura, barely existent, flickered before turning to water, suspended in midair and surrounding Froakie.The Pokémon gasped at the influx of power returning to him. His aura, still in a state of water, seemed to glow brighter.
Ani gritted her teeth. The Aqua Ring would continue to replenish Froakie’s aura for a long time yet. But she still had to break the substitute. “Flame Charge again, Fennekin!” she called.
Fennekin’s aura turned to fire once more, and she crashed into the substitute, shattering it. But Froakie wasn’t beaten, and his aura looked almost as full as it had at the start of the battle.
“Water Pulse!” called Ryan.
Froakie formed the jet of water again, blasting it at Fennekin. The foxlike Pokémon hadn’t had time to get out of the way after breaking the substitute, and now it faced down the water head on.
Suddenly the bent air in front of Fennekin, which had been following her around since its creation, flickered and seemed to grow more solid. It warded off the Water Pulse attack, but only barely. Some of the water got through the screen, but not enough to deal Fennekin any significant harm.
In that instant Ani thought she saw a way to win. Pokémon could only be able to use four attacks at a time. For a new attack to be learned, the Pokémon would have to forget an older one. And if Ryan’s Froakie learned Aqua Ring, that meant he didn’t have access to …
Think. What was Froakie’s moveset? Water Pulse, Substitute … Smack Down. Yes, Smack Down. Unlikely Ryan would have allowed Froakie to forget that one. It was his only other damage-dealing move. But what was the last one?
Rain Dance! He can’t use Rain Dance anymore. And if there’s no rain … there can be sun!
“Sunny Day!” Ani shouted triumphantly.
Fennekin looked back at her for a moment and gave the barest of nods. Fennekin’s aura blazed like a bonfire, and the plaza grew very warm. Above, in the sky, the sun seemed to strengthen, and soon perspiration beaded on Ani’s forehead.
Ryan didn’t look surprised, but frustrated. Ani suspected that he’d known what he was doing when he allowed Froakie to forget Rain Dance, but had hoped that Ani wouldn’t have been able to figure it out.
“Froakie, Smack Down!” he commanded.
Froakie’s aura flared again. Dust gathered from around the cobblestones, swirlingand condensing in front of Froakie until it was solid rock. The Pokémon smacked the rock at Fennekin.
Ani had known this was coming. Smack Down was Froakie’s only other attacking move, and with Water Pulse rendered almost useless by the sun, he had resorted to other tactics.
Fennekin made as if to leap out of the way, but the stone clipped her on a shoulder, and she was forced to the ground.
“Water Pulse!” yelled Ryan, not letting up.
That she hadn’t expected. Water Pulse’s damage would be lessened by the effects of Sunny Day, so why …
Of course. Confusion. Water Pulse, like many attacks, had a side-effect. The receiver of the attack could become confused, a condition that, for a Pokémon, could mean damaging itself. By Professor Sycamore’s calculations, this happened less than a third of the time, but Ani didn’t want to take chances.
“Fennekin!” she called desperately.
Fennekin struggled to get up, but she was winded from being knocked to the ground by the stone. She took the force of Froakie’s attack in full.
And didn’t get up afterward.
NO! This wasn’t supposed to happen. Confusion only affected the target of Water Pulse less than a third of the time. But it had happened anyway.
Now there were two things that could happen. Fennekin could pull off the attack––it could work perfectly fine, unhampered by the confusion in the slightest.
Or she could be so hurt that she would damage herself.
It’s a risk we’ll have to take, thought Ani. It took too long for confusion to wear off under normal circumstances, and after the Smack Down, Fennekin was in no fit state to avoid any of Froakie’s attacks. Besides that, the Aqua Ring would continue to restore Froakie’s aura, and trying to avoid his attacks that long would mean outlasting the sun, too––one of her few advantages in this battle.
The sun!
Ani drew a deep breath. There was only one way to win now. And it risked everything on the slim chance that Fennekin would break free of her confusion.
Ani exhaled slowly. “Solar Beam.”
Fennekin’s aura flared once again to life at Ani’s command. That would happen whether Fennekin was under the effects of confusion or not––now Ani would just have to see if the power of Fennekin’s aura went into attacking Froakie … or Fennekin.
The auric cloud around Fennekin flashed green for just an instant before reverting to the normal crimson hue. Ani let out a sigh. The attack was working so far.
The sun grew brighter than ever, just as Fennekin’s aura grew stronger and stronger. The small Pokémon was still on the ground, but––hopefully––that wouldn’t matter. An orb of sheer auric power appeared before Fennekin, wisps of her aura feeding it as it expanded.
Suddenly, Fennekin’s eyes snapped open. The orb burst into a bar of white-hot light, connecting Fennekin’s aura to Froakie’s. It overloaded the froglike Pokémon’s aura, and Froakie collapsed to the ground in a faint.
Applause broke out from the sidelines, where the Spectrum sat watching. Professor Sycamore called, “Bravo, both of you!”
Ani smiled, then. Not a timid one, such as she had smiled when she had gotten one of Professor Sycamore’s questions right, but a wide grin, triumphant at her victory, and exultant at the close bond she had come to share, in these few weeks, with these incredible people.
Ryan returned Froakie to his Poké Ball. He sighed, and then he smiled, too. He crossed the plaza and shook her hand, as was the custom in the days before the Geosenge disaster.
The battle over, Fennekin’s aura had winked out, and the effects of the confusion were lifted. The small Pokémon trotted over to Ani, who reached down to scratch her ears.
When Ani looked up, the professor stood before her. “You’ve improved so much,” he said. “I think Team Flare won’t stand a chance.”
Ani knew the words were purely motivational––she had a long way to go yet––but she thanked him anyway.
Suddenly, the ground opened up a few feet away from them. A small rodentlike head popped up, followed by the rest of Sandslash––Clair’s Pokémon. Then Clair herself climbed out of the hole in the ground.
“Status?” asked Professor Sycamore briskly, his attention turned to Clair.
“Team Flare’s numbers are growing steadily,” reported Clair. “We found evidence of maybe two hundred, and there could easily be more we didn’t see.”
Two hundred? thought Ani. That’s …
“How did they grow so big in so short a time?” asked Peter, crossing the plaza.
“A lot of them are probably from the old days,” said the professor absently. “But that’s not important. We’re going to need more help than I thought.”
“We have eighteen,” said Clair. “We’re an Elemental Spectrum. We can beat them.”
“No!” said the professor sharply. “You’re not ready. Lysandre, Celosia, Malva––assuming she’s aligned with them, which is safe to assume––you couldn’t beat any of them if they came to call right now.”
The rest of the Spectrum, all gathered around now, looked thoroughly downcast at the professor’s words.
Professor Sycamore sighed. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he said. “But you must understand, you need more training.”
“So … so then we have the Elite Four, not counting Diantha or Serena,” said Clair. “We have us eighteen, after we’re trained up a bit. And … and we have you, professor.”
Professor Sycamore chuckled at that. “I’m hardly what I once was. And I was never very good. But that’s also not important. The point is we have twenty-two––twenty-three if we can rescue Serena––against two hundred. That’s not good, you realize.”
The Spectrum laughed.
Something occurred to Ani, then. “How about the Gym Leaders?”
Professor Sycamore turned to her. “The Gym Leaders?”
“Well, why not?” said Ani, a little defensively. “They were some of the best before the disaster. If we can find them, they might be able to help us.”
Professor Sycamore appeared to consider it for a moment. “Why not, indeed,” he mused. “That’s interesting. And we might even be able to find them. Kalos isn’t so big. And they won’t have left the region, I know that. Yes, why not?”
“Because no one’s seen them in ten years,” said Peter, as if explaining something to a five-year-old.
“No, I’m sure that’s not true,” said the professor, waving a hand. “And if it is, there are only so many uninhabited places in Kalos.”
Peter fell silent.
“It’s decided, then,” said the professor, clapping once. “The Spectrum shall split. We shall go our separate ways, in small groups. We shall search for the Gym Leaders, such as they are, until we have searched every inch of the region. And we will not rest until they are found.”
The Spectrum stood in stunned silence. Ani was shocked. This was a rather risky undertaking, splitting the Spectrum. She had meant for them to look for the Gym Leaders as a group, travelling collectively across the region. This … this was madness.
“Are you sure, professor?” asked Clair’s sister, Erell, uncertainly.
“Yes,” said the professor firmly. “Erell, you and Clair will go to Cyllage City. The Gym Leader was Grant, and he had a fondness for Rock-type Pokémon. Odds are your Pokémon and your natural talents will help you find him.”
Erell still seemed uncertain, but Clair nodded. “Think of the challenge, Erell,” she said.
Erell hesitated, but then she laughed. “All right, then.”
“Good,” said the professor briskly. “Next, then––Sera, Peter, Warren. You’ll go east, checking Anistar and Snowbelle for any trace of their Gym Leaders. Olympia and Wulfric were among the most powerful of the Leaders before the disaster. Finding them is vital.”
Sera, Peter and Warren nodded resolutely. Ani recalled not having seen much of Sera in the last few weeks, but Sera seemed, of the group, the most likely to have been someone she would have been friends with back home. Her features spoke of the east, too.
“Julian and Amaline,” said Professor Sycamore, still rattling off names, “Laverre City. The Gym Leader’s name was Valerie, and she specialized in Fairy-type Pokémon. Amaline, if you’re there, she might sense a kindred spirit and reveal herself.”
Amaline nodded. Julian, her older brother, laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“And one more for Laverre City … Mica,” said the professor, turning around and pointing at the young Ghost-type specialist.
Mica looked momentarily taken aback, but only momentarily.
“Now, Santalune City,” the professor continued. “Not only was that home to Viola, the noted Bug-type specialist and photographer, but Vaniville Town is close by as well––Calem’s hometown. Might be worth checking out. Liam, of course, you should go, as our Bug-type expert. And …”––Blake raised his hand, his face impassive––“Blake; perfect,” he continued without stopping. “And that leaves Coumarine, Shalour, and Lumiose. Rosuke, Morgan, you’ll go to Coumarine, in search of Ramos, the Grass-type Gym Leader. After that, you’ll continue on to Shalour, which is hopefully where Fylon and Arin are by now. They might have figured something out.”
Ani realized that meant she, Roc, Ryan, Nika, and the professor himself were the only ones left. She suspected the professor had orchestrated it this way, but she was pleased all the same. And sure enough, the professor said, “Ani, Ryan, Roc, Nika, you’ll accompany me to Prism Tower in the weeks to come, and we’ll finish your training here.”
Nika smiled at her. Ani smiled back. She was glad that Nika would be with the group for the next few weeks. And she would be able to continue her training, and she might get to meet a Gym Leader, and …
She let out a breath and composed herself. It would finally be time to move against Team Flare. And for the first time, she would be ready.
Alma paced the length of her small room. It had been over a month since Sycamore and his band of Trainers had broken in and freed the captive. Team Flare had in turn captured Serena, of course––and that set their enemies back greatly––but the fact that the Trainers had gotten away with the prisoner was disturbing. They had fought their way through at least two dozen Grunts, herself and Eldan among them. And from what she had overheard, the Trainers had only been Trainers for a few months.
There must have been some other factor––something her superiors wouldn’t tell her. Although Eldan technically outranked her, both by age and by the time he had been with Team Flare, Alma was certain he didn’t know anything about it either.
The door to her room opened, and Eldan poked his head in. “The leader just summoned us,” he said. “Urgent. We have to go to the Hanger now.”
Alma followed him out of the room wordlessly. Only when they were walking down the halls toward the Hangar did Alma voice her concern. “Do you ever feel like there’s a lot they don’t tell us?”
“Of course,” Eldan replied without missing a beat. “Reasons of security, mostly. But there’s a lot they don’t tell us, and it’s their right not to.”
“But the Trainers Sycamore brought with him,” said Alma. “They were unnaturally strong, considering they hadn’t had more than a few months to train. Don’t you find it odd that they didn’t bother to tell us that before sending us to battle them?”
Eldan looked uncertain.
“I’m worried, Eldan,” Alma said. “I’m worried that maybe we’re not doing the right thing. Who sends people to fight strangers, when they know the strangers are far more powerful than them?”
Eldan stopped walking. He turned to her, face deadly serious. “That’s very close to treason, Alma,” he said. “There’s a lot about this whole situation I don’t agree with, but what you’re saying outsteps that. Be careful.”
And with that, he turned again, as if nothing had happened, and strode down the hall again. Alma hurried to follow him, but as she drew near, she saw that his expression forbade further conversation. They continued to walk in silence.
*
The Hangar was crowded with Grunts. Alma recognized maybe a quarter of the three hundred packed into the room, and even those she was barely acquainted with. In an organization this big, there was little room for familiarity.
Bertram emerged from the crowd, edging his way past the shifting masses. Jarret followed close behind him.
“Do you have any idea what this is about?” asked Eldan.
“None,” admitted Bertram. “It’s got to be something to do with that prisoner, right?”
“No, they’d want that hushed up,” said Eldan thoughtfully. “It’s not good for morale if a break-in actually succeeds in freeing a prisoner. Even if they caught someone else, they want that incident forgotten.”
“Maybe someone’s getting promoted?” said Alma.
“That could––” Eldan was cut off as the leader of Team Flare himself stepped up in front of a makeshift podium.
Alma could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had seen the leader directly address the organization like this. He considered himself above such matters, or so Alma had heard. She suspected this was true.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the leader, his deep voice resonating throughout the Hangar, “the time has come.”
He let this pronouncement hang in the air for several seconds before continuing.
“You know what we have prepared for all these years. Vengeance! Revenge on the Pokémon League, for what they have done to my––our!––dream.
“Ten long years ago, the world was not so different from the way it is now. Chaotic. Turmoiling. I knew this, and the Scientists knew this, and so did every member of Team Flare, back then. The world was not a good place. People did not consider Pokémon anything more than animals––scarcely more than tools, even, to accomplish their Trainers’ bidding!
“And for their part … and for their part, the Pokémon did nothing about it. They allowed themselves to be worked like slaves. This world, it was not one to live in.
“So we tried to change it. On my various travels around the region, I unearthed schematics that pointed toward a massive weapon buried just under Geosenge Town. A weapon used by the ancient Kalosian kings, in a three-thousand-year-old war. This weapon, it used the powers of Life and Death to reform the world however the controller wished. We had been about to use it to recreate the world in our image––a world of perfection and paradise!––when we were foiled.
“Calem and Serena.” The leader’s lips twisted in a snarl as he said the names, and his voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. “They took everything from us. The Pokémon League took everything from us!
“And now, we shall take everything from them.”
As the leader spoke, two men entered the Hangar, supporting a large, bulky object, covered with a tarp, between them. They set it down before the leader, who whisked off the tarp to reveal a young woman, bound and gagged, tied to a chair. She looked terrible, bruised and bloodied. Alma suspected torture, to reveal the secrets this woman carried. It didn’t look like she had broken yet. Alma wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Serena of the Pokémon League!” roared the leader. “The Pokémon League is weakened now more than ever! They have been removed from the world these ten years, and now we have one of them prisoner. Now is the time that we march on the castle, and bring down the League once and for all!”
A cheer erupted among the Grunts, and Alma was left wondering what she had gotten herself into, and what was about to come.
*
Eldan was in shock.
He had known this was coming, of course. He had been with Team Flare since before the Geosenge disaster; he had known the leader’s goals from the beginning. It wasn’t … well, the most stylish way to go about it, but revenge was something Eldan understood.
But now? True, they had almost three hundred Grunts, each of whom had at least one Pokémon. But this was madness! This …
This made sense, now that Eldan thought about it. Sycamore was divided, or so the spies reported. Sycamore’s Spectrum was barely trained. The Pokémon League was weakened, as the leader said.
But why in the name of Order did it have to happen now? With no advance notice of any kind! And without any of the Grunts hearing about it … Eldan bit off a curse under his breath, something unstylish enough that he regretted it instantly.
He turned and stormed from the Hangar, not being one among the masses of Grunts surging with enthusiastic energy. He vaguely sensed Alma following him, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the leader.
The leader’s face was not cheering. It didn’t even look happy. His brow was furrowed in concentration, a thoughtful expression upon his face.
And he was looking straight at Eldan.
Uh-oh.
This was not good, not to mention very unstylish. It was too late to pretend nothing had happened, though, so Eldan kept walking, right out of the Hangar and into the corridor. There, Alma caught up with him.
“What happened back there?” demanded Alma.
Eldan let out a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But it’s not good.”
He stood there for a few more minutes in silence, trying to work out why this had happened all of a sudden.
“Why wouldn’t he tell us?” he said after a time.
“He did tell us,” Alma reminded him. “Just now.”
“No, before now,” said Eldan. “Does he think we’re not deserving of fair warning? Are we nothing more than tools to him, to use without any complaint on our part?”
And then he paused. Because that rang very familiar. It had been the crux of the leader’s entire speech.
A realization struck Eldan. The leader was a liar. The man Eldan had dedicated twelve years of his life to was a filthy hypocrite.
Alma had been right. She had told him her concerns before the meeting in the Hangar, but he hadn’t listened, he had brushed it off with no more than scolding her.
Why in Order hadn’t he listened?!
Furious with himself, Eldan stalked off to the bunker he shared with Bertram and Jarret. Alma made as if to follow him.
“Eldan, wait––”
“You were right, Alma!” he said angrily. “You were right.”
*
“Follow him,” said Lysandre. “Follow him, see where he goes and what he does, but for Order’s sake don’t let him know you’re there.”
Mable nodded once before leaving to trail the Grunt. Lysandre couldn’t recall his name––their numbers had swelled massively these last few months––but the face seemed familiar. A veteran, he was sure––someone who had been with Team Flare since before the disaster.
Lysandre didn’t like the look on the Grunt’s face as he had stormed from the Hangar. This Grunt was planning something.
But for now, Lysandre allowed himself to revel in the joy of his followers, to exult in the cheering of his inferiors. For the time had come.
The time had finally come.
There must have been some other factor––something her superiors wouldn’t tell her. Although Eldan technically outranked her, both by age and by the time he had been with Team Flare, Alma was certain he didn’t know anything about it either.
The door to her room opened, and Eldan poked his head in. “The leader just summoned us,” he said. “Urgent. We have to go to the Hanger now.”
Alma followed him out of the room wordlessly. Only when they were walking down the halls toward the Hangar did Alma voice her concern. “Do you ever feel like there’s a lot they don’t tell us?”
“Of course,” Eldan replied without missing a beat. “Reasons of security, mostly. But there’s a lot they don’t tell us, and it’s their right not to.”
“But the Trainers Sycamore brought with him,” said Alma. “They were unnaturally strong, considering they hadn’t had more than a few months to train. Don’t you find it odd that they didn’t bother to tell us that before sending us to battle them?”
Eldan looked uncertain.
“I’m worried, Eldan,” Alma said. “I’m worried that maybe we’re not doing the right thing. Who sends people to fight strangers, when they know the strangers are far more powerful than them?”
Eldan stopped walking. He turned to her, face deadly serious. “That’s very close to treason, Alma,” he said. “There’s a lot about this whole situation I don’t agree with, but what you’re saying outsteps that. Be careful.”
And with that, he turned again, as if nothing had happened, and strode down the hall again. Alma hurried to follow him, but as she drew near, she saw that his expression forbade further conversation. They continued to walk in silence.
*
The Hangar was crowded with Grunts. Alma recognized maybe a quarter of the three hundred packed into the room, and even those she was barely acquainted with. In an organization this big, there was little room for familiarity.
Bertram emerged from the crowd, edging his way past the shifting masses. Jarret followed close behind him.
“Do you have any idea what this is about?” asked Eldan.
“None,” admitted Bertram. “It’s got to be something to do with that prisoner, right?”
“No, they’d want that hushed up,” said Eldan thoughtfully. “It’s not good for morale if a break-in actually succeeds in freeing a prisoner. Even if they caught someone else, they want that incident forgotten.”
“Maybe someone’s getting promoted?” said Alma.
“That could––” Eldan was cut off as the leader of Team Flare himself stepped up in front of a makeshift podium.
Alma could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had seen the leader directly address the organization like this. He considered himself above such matters, or so Alma had heard. She suspected this was true.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the leader, his deep voice resonating throughout the Hangar, “the time has come.”
He let this pronouncement hang in the air for several seconds before continuing.
“You know what we have prepared for all these years. Vengeance! Revenge on the Pokémon League, for what they have done to my––our!––dream.
“Ten long years ago, the world was not so different from the way it is now. Chaotic. Turmoiling. I knew this, and the Scientists knew this, and so did every member of Team Flare, back then. The world was not a good place. People did not consider Pokémon anything more than animals––scarcely more than tools, even, to accomplish their Trainers’ bidding!
“And for their part … and for their part, the Pokémon did nothing about it. They allowed themselves to be worked like slaves. This world, it was not one to live in.
“So we tried to change it. On my various travels around the region, I unearthed schematics that pointed toward a massive weapon buried just under Geosenge Town. A weapon used by the ancient Kalosian kings, in a three-thousand-year-old war. This weapon, it used the powers of Life and Death to reform the world however the controller wished. We had been about to use it to recreate the world in our image––a world of perfection and paradise!––when we were foiled.
“Calem and Serena.” The leader’s lips twisted in a snarl as he said the names, and his voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. “They took everything from us. The Pokémon League took everything from us!
“And now, we shall take everything from them.”
As the leader spoke, two men entered the Hangar, supporting a large, bulky object, covered with a tarp, between them. They set it down before the leader, who whisked off the tarp to reveal a young woman, bound and gagged, tied to a chair. She looked terrible, bruised and bloodied. Alma suspected torture, to reveal the secrets this woman carried. It didn’t look like she had broken yet. Alma wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Serena of the Pokémon League!” roared the leader. “The Pokémon League is weakened now more than ever! They have been removed from the world these ten years, and now we have one of them prisoner. Now is the time that we march on the castle, and bring down the League once and for all!”
A cheer erupted among the Grunts, and Alma was left wondering what she had gotten herself into, and what was about to come.
*
Eldan was in shock.
He had known this was coming, of course. He had been with Team Flare since before the Geosenge disaster; he had known the leader’s goals from the beginning. It wasn’t … well, the most stylish way to go about it, but revenge was something Eldan understood.
But now? True, they had almost three hundred Grunts, each of whom had at least one Pokémon. But this was madness! This …
This made sense, now that Eldan thought about it. Sycamore was divided, or so the spies reported. Sycamore’s Spectrum was barely trained. The Pokémon League was weakened, as the leader said.
But why in the name of Order did it have to happen now? With no advance notice of any kind! And without any of the Grunts hearing about it … Eldan bit off a curse under his breath, something unstylish enough that he regretted it instantly.
He turned and stormed from the Hangar, not being one among the masses of Grunts surging with enthusiastic energy. He vaguely sensed Alma following him, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the leader.
The leader’s face was not cheering. It didn’t even look happy. His brow was furrowed in concentration, a thoughtful expression upon his face.
And he was looking straight at Eldan.
Uh-oh.
This was not good, not to mention very unstylish. It was too late to pretend nothing had happened, though, so Eldan kept walking, right out of the Hangar and into the corridor. There, Alma caught up with him.
“What happened back there?” demanded Alma.
Eldan let out a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But it’s not good.”
He stood there for a few more minutes in silence, trying to work out why this had happened all of a sudden.
“Why wouldn’t he tell us?” he said after a time.
“He did tell us,” Alma reminded him. “Just now.”
“No, before now,” said Eldan. “Does he think we’re not deserving of fair warning? Are we nothing more than tools to him, to use without any complaint on our part?”
And then he paused. Because that rang very familiar. It had been the crux of the leader’s entire speech.
A realization struck Eldan. The leader was a liar. The man Eldan had dedicated twelve years of his life to was a filthy hypocrite.
Alma had been right. She had told him her concerns before the meeting in the Hangar, but he hadn’t listened, he had brushed it off with no more than scolding her.
Why in Order hadn’t he listened?!
Furious with himself, Eldan stalked off to the bunker he shared with Bertram and Jarret. Alma made as if to follow him.
“Eldan, wait––”
“You were right, Alma!” he said angrily. “You were right.”
*
“Follow him,” said Lysandre. “Follow him, see where he goes and what he does, but for Order’s sake don’t let him know you’re there.”
Mable nodded once before leaving to trail the Grunt. Lysandre couldn’t recall his name––their numbers had swelled massively these last few months––but the face seemed familiar. A veteran, he was sure––someone who had been with Team Flare since before the disaster.
Lysandre didn’t like the look on the Grunt’s face as he had stormed from the Hangar. This Grunt was planning something.
But for now, Lysandre allowed himself to revel in the joy of his followers, to exult in the cheering of his inferiors. For the time had come.
The time had finally come.
Morgan had long since decided that the Lumiose Badlands––or Kalos Route 13, as per the official records––were a complete waste of time. She didn’t understand why it had ever been such a popular tourist attraction, even if it did have the fiercest sandstorms in the known world. There was the power plant, of course, but that had closed long ago. Perhaps that was why the tourists had stopped coming.
The power plant workers––who apparently still lived inside the closed-down plant––were all complete bores, too, as she and Rosuke had discovered earlier. It was growing dark, and they had either to get to Coumarine City, or else find shelter from the inevitable sandstorms. They had tried knocking on the door of the power plant, and they were turned away immediately.
Some small shred of hope lay in the rain that now fell from the sky. Rosuke said it would be enough to dispel any sandstorms, and Morgan found herself trusting him. It didn’t stop her from almost running through the desert to get to civilization, Rosuke right behind her.
When Coumarine City came into view, sand fading to greenery, Morgan gasped at the sight. The dustiness she had now come to regard as perpetual suddenly vanished, as if leached out of her lungs. The rain didn’t let up, but it felt fresher now than it had in the desert.
Morgan laughed aloud, pulling her hair out of its usual tail to let it blow free in the wind. She took off, running as fast as she could toward the city.
Flicker.
Morgan stood among the rolling hills, diminished by the scope and size of them, and the magic and wonder they held. She couldn’t remember how she had come to this place, but she could remember why––her father had promised it to her on her eighth birthday, that they could go and see the ocean.
Morgan realized that with her pudgy eight-year-old hand, she clutched that of her father, as he stood beside her. Morgan looked up as he looked down. They shared a smile––something that they had not shared in a long time, not since before her father had had to leave their home to work in a faraway land.
She had only been three when he was called away on urgent business. Though she had demanded it time and time again, her mother had always refused to answer where and why he had gone.
“He would be so proud of you,” was all her mother would ever say. Morgan never felt that her mother was being evasive. There was only a sad loneliness in the half-smiles she would give Morgan, while cupping her cheek and humming consolingly. To console Morgan or to console herself, Morgan never knew.
Her mother’s condition worsened as she sank deeper and deeper into a depressed state. She began to spend days in her room, refusing to come out to eat. Sometimes, when Morgan walked past the door, she could hear crying from inside.
Then, all of a sudden, five years later––mere months before now––her father had returned. It was raining and thundering dangerously, a freak storm in the middle of summer, when a booming knock came at the door. Morgan’s mother rose from the table, her dinner half eaten, and trudged over to open the door. Morgan craned her neck to peer down the hallway, and when the door opened, illuminated by a brief flash of lightning, there stood a man she hadn’t known for five years. His face, though. She had never forgotten his face.
How could she forget the face of her father? Her father, who had left her and her mother five years before? Her father, who hadn’t been there to help as her mother battled a life-threatening sickness, and struggled with depression?
Morgan got up from the table unsteadily and made her way over to the door, where she clutched her mother’s hand and looked up into her father’s eyes. Her confidence wavered.
“Morgan,” said her father as he sank to one knee and met her gaze. “Morgan, I am so sorry. I know it hasn’t been easy for you and your mother these last few years, but––”
He was cut off as Morgan realized she didn’t need his apology. It was enough that he was back. She threw herself into his arms, allowing herself, once again, to be the little girl that she couldn’t have been for five years.
“I’m so sorry,” her father kept murmuring as he hugged her back. “I am so sorry.”
All of this flashed before Morgan’s eyes as she met those of her father now, before the rolling hills of this lush, fertile land and the sweeping waters of the turquoise sea. He smiled, and she smiled back, and she knew that somehow, everything was going to be all right.
A sudden gust of wind blew through the hills, ruffling Morgan’s hair, which she had tied back in a tail. Her father looked off into the distance––not at the bay, but to the left of it––with a look of concern and––could that be fear?––on his face. Morgan drew a breath sharply. She had never known anything to worry her father like this. She let go of his hand, and––
BOOM.
The world spun, and Morgan lost her balance. She fell to the ground, landing hard on the grass. Her father had managed to remain standing, but barely. He swayed unsteadily, a hand clapped to his forehead. After a moment, he shook his head, and looked back into the distance. His expression of concern became one of pure terror, and when she turned her head to see what he was looking at, Morgan knew why. Miles away, in the far west of Kalos, a beam of white-hot light had shot into the sky.
Morgan’s eyes followed it up and up until they could follow it no more, and then it disappeared. The beam of light vanished as if it had never been. Except …
Her eyes snapped back down to the point where the light had shot from. On a landscape that had been unblemished, a dark, hazy smear now lay, on the west coast of the region. Morgan didn’t know, nor did she wish to know, what kind of devastation had caused that smear.
She turned fearfully to her father, who sank to his knees in the grass. “Order …” he whispered.
Flicker.
Morgan opened her eyes and realized almost immediately that she was lying flat on her back in the grass. She sat bolt upright when she realized what she had just seen.
She had done her best to forget that memory. For the last ten years of her life, she had lived happily in a remote village with her father and mother, and tried so very hard to forget that her father had ever left. And what had happened when they went to see the ocean.
But now …
That was Coumarine City!
The rolling hills she had seen in the vision perfectly paralleled the land she stood on now. And the bay … the Azure Sea! The cliffs didn’t jut out as far now as they did ten years ago, but there was no mistaking it.
But why had the vision come upon her? She and Rosuke had only just come out of the Badlands.
Rosuke!
Morgan stood up shakily, and saw Rosuke lying motionless several feet away. She scrambled over to him, and had just placed her fingers on his wrist to check for a pulse when his eyes snapped open and he gasped for breath.
“What did you see?” he asked sharply, his eyes wild.
“Nothing!” said Morgan, alarmed. “Or, well, nothing that you saw. I had a vision too.”
“It was ten years ago,” said Rosuke, as if to himself. “Ten years …”
“Come on,” said Morgan, putting his arm around her shoulders to support him and helping him get up. “Let’s get to the city. Maybe we’ll find answers there.”
*
Fylon reclined on a soft plush chair in the lobby of the Hotel Coumarine. Arin and Tierno sat with him around a thick wooden table, marred by scratches. From Pokémon before the disaster, Fylon was sure.
“So, you’re the Gym Leader,” said Arin to Tierno. “Explain.”
Fylon smiled. He had figured it out back at the Gym, but he wanted to hear it from Tierno himself.
“It’s very simple, you see,” said Tierno. He seemed eager, not reluctant, to share his story. “In the days before the Geosenge disaster, I spent much of my time in Coumarine City. I had grown up here, see, and it had always felt like home. The salty air of the sea, in harmony with the earthy smell of the grass and soil. Back then, the Lumiose Badlands weren’t so big as they are now. Coumarine City was free from the harsh desert.
“Recently, though, the desert has been advancing,” he said. Fylon sat forward; this was news to him. “I don’t know why. I’m sure Sycamore has his suspicions, but he’s never been one to share them.”
“Could it be because of the disaster?” asked Fylon intently.
“I don’t know,” said Tierno, and Fylon believed he was telling the truth. “It could just be a climate change, or a weather pattern, or even just the natural shifting of the world. I don’t know how the disaster would play into all of this.”
Fylon sat back. There was something bigger going on here, he was sure of it. But what?
The automatic front doors of the hotel slid open. Suddenly, Arin stood. “Morgan! Rosuke!”
What?! Fylon whirled around, and sure enough, Rosuke, supported by Morgan, hobbled into the lobby. They saw Fylon and Arin, and their faces, dusty with sand, lit up. They hurried over and fell, exhausted, into plush chairs.
“Why are you here?” asked Arin excitedly.
“The professor decided we should track down the Gym Leaders,” said Morgan wearily. “He thought they would be of help in the fight against––”
She stopped, looking at Tierno suspiciously.
“It’s all right,” said Fylon hastily. “He’s a friend.”
Morgan hesitated, but she said, “In the fight against Team Flare. So he split us up, and Rosuke and I were sent here to search for Ramos.”
Arin looked more excited than ever at this, and he blurted out, “We found the Gym Leader! Or, well, not Ramos.”
Morgan and Rosuke looked thoroughly confused.
“This is Tierno,” Fylon explained. “He’s the Coumarine Gym Leader now.”
Tierno stood and bowed. He sat back down again. “I was just explaining that,” he said. “Where was I?”
“The desert’s getting bigger,” prompted Arin. Morgan looked confused again, but Fylon put a finger to his lips.
“Right,” said Tierno, “the desert’s getting bigger. Well, Ramos was investigating that before he went into exile. He was actually one of the last ones to go into exile, because he believed that his work on investigating the advancing desert was more important. Eventually, though, he had to face facts. The time of Gym Leaders was over. He handed ownership of the Gym over to me, for I had helped him in his research, and he charged me with continuing his work, and then he left.”
“And you don’t know where he is now?” asked Fylon.
“Not a clue,” said Tierno sadly.
Fylon sat back to think, putting the tips of his fingers together. Then Morgan spoke up hesitantly. “Did any of you … see anything … about an hour ago?”
“See anything? What do you mean?” asked Fylon, frowning.
“Like a vision,” said Rosuke suddenly. They were the first words Fylon had heard him speak since they had arrived.
“A vision,” Fylon repeated.
“A memory of your own life, ten years ago,” Morgan explained.
“No,” said Fylon. “But do tell. What did you see?”
Suddenly Morgan grew red, and mumbled something about not meaning that she wanted to say. Fylon realized she had never told him anything about her life before joining the Spectrum.
So he observed.
Morgan was an excellent cook, better than any Fylon had ever known. But she also never used any recipes or dishes Fylon had heard of, and Fylon had his fair share of culinary expertise. So she was self-taught, then.
If she had taught herself, there wouldn’t have been anyone else to teach her. An orphan, then? No––Fylon had been with Professor Sycamore when he had gone to the southeast in search of Trainers. Fylon himself came from the southeast. He had seen her parents, and her mother had the burns on her hands from years spent in the kitchen with hot pots and pans.
Fylon struggled to recall what he could about Morgan’s mother and father. The burns on her mother’s hands were old, as if she hadn’t cooked a meal in a long time. Morgan’s hands, however, displayed more recent marks.
So her mother had long since stopped cooking, and Morgan had taken over. Why would her mother have stopped cooking, unless––
The father. His face had been weathered and worn, as if he’d been abroad for many years. If he had left suddenly and without warning, Morgan’s mother might have grieved over it enough to stop cooking and leave Morgan on her own.
A wave of empathy broke over Fylon. What must it have been like for Morgan, in those early years of her life? Her mother had obviously never returned to cooking; was Morgan forced to assume all the household duties, at such a young age?
“You saw your father,” he said softly.
Morgan blushed even more fiercely. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she muttered.
Fylon nodded gently. Arin looked more solemn than Fylon had ever seen him.
“So what are you doing here, in Coumarine?” said Rosuke, clearly changing the subject, and none too subtly. He seemed to have regained much of his strength. “I thought you were going to check on Xerosic in Shalour?”
“We were … delayed in the Badlands,” said Fylon. “A sandstorm whipped up, and we had to take shelter in the power plant.”
“We tried to get into the plant,” said Rosuke. “They wouldn’t let us in.”
Fylon smiled mirthlessly. “They probably don’t feel too accommodating toward Pokémon Trainers right now.”
Arin snorted. “You could say that.”
“What happened?” asked Rosuke.
“They thought we had a flair for––”
“They thought we were part of Team Flare,” Fylon interrupted. Arin looked mildly annoyed. “Remember that Grunt costume the professor gave me? Well, it was still in our bags.”
Rosuke grunted. “Bet that didn’t go over well.”
“Not at all well,” said Fylon. “We left in the morning. We got to Coumarine City later that day, paid for a room upstairs, and then checked the Gym the next day. There we found Tierno.”
Tierno waved.
“Yes, well,” said Rosuke, “Professor Sycamore told us to go to Shalour after this anyway to look for Korrina, so why don’t we all take the monorail there?”
Arin’s face lit up at this. Fylon smiled and nodded.
Morgan still looked as if she’d rather not be in this conversation at all, but she managed a shaky nod.
Fylon looked to Tierno, who looked very pleased at being included in a decision such as this. He nodded enthusiastically.
“Decision reached,” said Rosuke, pretending to bang a gavel on the table.
“We’ll leave tomorrow morning,” said Fylon. “Arin and I have a room; they only have two beds to a room, so we can buy two more.”
“How are we going to afford that?” asked Rosuke.
Fylon hesitated. He hadn’t considered that.
“I have a bit of money back at the Gym,” said Tierno immediately. “I can pay for the rooms tonight.”
Fylon thanked him, and Rosuke clapped him on the back. Fylon had forgotten all about Tierno effectively being a Gym Leader.
Tierno went to the counter and ordered two more rooms. Fylon stood up, pushing back his plush chair. He waved for Arin to come, and they went upstairs. Rosuke and Morgan waited behind for Tierno.
In their room, Fylon once again fixed a quick supper and handed a plate to Arin.
“What do you think, Fylon?” asked Arin between bites. “Of Tierno? Can we trust him?”
“I don’t know,” said Fylon. “He’s helpful, and enthusiastic, not to mention rich, but I don’t know if it’s all an act. I guess only time will tell.”
Arin nodded sleepily, and put his plate on the nightstand, before climbing beneath the covers and drifting to sleep. Fylon smiled, taking Arin’s plate and cleaning both of them in the sink. He put them on a rack to dry––the rag seemed to have gone missing. He suspected the hotel staff. Too tired to care at the moment, though, he too climbed into his bed and was asleep in minutes.
The power plant workers––who apparently still lived inside the closed-down plant––were all complete bores, too, as she and Rosuke had discovered earlier. It was growing dark, and they had either to get to Coumarine City, or else find shelter from the inevitable sandstorms. They had tried knocking on the door of the power plant, and they were turned away immediately.
Some small shred of hope lay in the rain that now fell from the sky. Rosuke said it would be enough to dispel any sandstorms, and Morgan found herself trusting him. It didn’t stop her from almost running through the desert to get to civilization, Rosuke right behind her.
When Coumarine City came into view, sand fading to greenery, Morgan gasped at the sight. The dustiness she had now come to regard as perpetual suddenly vanished, as if leached out of her lungs. The rain didn’t let up, but it felt fresher now than it had in the desert.
Morgan laughed aloud, pulling her hair out of its usual tail to let it blow free in the wind. She took off, running as fast as she could toward the city.
Flicker.
Morgan stood among the rolling hills, diminished by the scope and size of them, and the magic and wonder they held. She couldn’t remember how she had come to this place, but she could remember why––her father had promised it to her on her eighth birthday, that they could go and see the ocean.
Morgan realized that with her pudgy eight-year-old hand, she clutched that of her father, as he stood beside her. Morgan looked up as he looked down. They shared a smile––something that they had not shared in a long time, not since before her father had had to leave their home to work in a faraway land.
She had only been three when he was called away on urgent business. Though she had demanded it time and time again, her mother had always refused to answer where and why he had gone.
“He would be so proud of you,” was all her mother would ever say. Morgan never felt that her mother was being evasive. There was only a sad loneliness in the half-smiles she would give Morgan, while cupping her cheek and humming consolingly. To console Morgan or to console herself, Morgan never knew.
Her mother’s condition worsened as she sank deeper and deeper into a depressed state. She began to spend days in her room, refusing to come out to eat. Sometimes, when Morgan walked past the door, she could hear crying from inside.
Then, all of a sudden, five years later––mere months before now––her father had returned. It was raining and thundering dangerously, a freak storm in the middle of summer, when a booming knock came at the door. Morgan’s mother rose from the table, her dinner half eaten, and trudged over to open the door. Morgan craned her neck to peer down the hallway, and when the door opened, illuminated by a brief flash of lightning, there stood a man she hadn’t known for five years. His face, though. She had never forgotten his face.
How could she forget the face of her father? Her father, who had left her and her mother five years before? Her father, who hadn’t been there to help as her mother battled a life-threatening sickness, and struggled with depression?
Morgan got up from the table unsteadily and made her way over to the door, where she clutched her mother’s hand and looked up into her father’s eyes. Her confidence wavered.
“Morgan,” said her father as he sank to one knee and met her gaze. “Morgan, I am so sorry. I know it hasn’t been easy for you and your mother these last few years, but––”
He was cut off as Morgan realized she didn’t need his apology. It was enough that he was back. She threw herself into his arms, allowing herself, once again, to be the little girl that she couldn’t have been for five years.
“I’m so sorry,” her father kept murmuring as he hugged her back. “I am so sorry.”
All of this flashed before Morgan’s eyes as she met those of her father now, before the rolling hills of this lush, fertile land and the sweeping waters of the turquoise sea. He smiled, and she smiled back, and she knew that somehow, everything was going to be all right.
A sudden gust of wind blew through the hills, ruffling Morgan’s hair, which she had tied back in a tail. Her father looked off into the distance––not at the bay, but to the left of it––with a look of concern and––could that be fear?––on his face. Morgan drew a breath sharply. She had never known anything to worry her father like this. She let go of his hand, and––
BOOM.
The world spun, and Morgan lost her balance. She fell to the ground, landing hard on the grass. Her father had managed to remain standing, but barely. He swayed unsteadily, a hand clapped to his forehead. After a moment, he shook his head, and looked back into the distance. His expression of concern became one of pure terror, and when she turned her head to see what he was looking at, Morgan knew why. Miles away, in the far west of Kalos, a beam of white-hot light had shot into the sky.
Morgan’s eyes followed it up and up until they could follow it no more, and then it disappeared. The beam of light vanished as if it had never been. Except …
Her eyes snapped back down to the point where the light had shot from. On a landscape that had been unblemished, a dark, hazy smear now lay, on the west coast of the region. Morgan didn’t know, nor did she wish to know, what kind of devastation had caused that smear.
She turned fearfully to her father, who sank to his knees in the grass. “Order …” he whispered.
Flicker.
Morgan opened her eyes and realized almost immediately that she was lying flat on her back in the grass. She sat bolt upright when she realized what she had just seen.
She had done her best to forget that memory. For the last ten years of her life, she had lived happily in a remote village with her father and mother, and tried so very hard to forget that her father had ever left. And what had happened when they went to see the ocean.
But now …
That was Coumarine City!
The rolling hills she had seen in the vision perfectly paralleled the land she stood on now. And the bay … the Azure Sea! The cliffs didn’t jut out as far now as they did ten years ago, but there was no mistaking it.
But why had the vision come upon her? She and Rosuke had only just come out of the Badlands.
Rosuke!
Morgan stood up shakily, and saw Rosuke lying motionless several feet away. She scrambled over to him, and had just placed her fingers on his wrist to check for a pulse when his eyes snapped open and he gasped for breath.
“What did you see?” he asked sharply, his eyes wild.
“Nothing!” said Morgan, alarmed. “Or, well, nothing that you saw. I had a vision too.”
“It was ten years ago,” said Rosuke, as if to himself. “Ten years …”
“Come on,” said Morgan, putting his arm around her shoulders to support him and helping him get up. “Let’s get to the city. Maybe we’ll find answers there.”
*
Fylon reclined on a soft plush chair in the lobby of the Hotel Coumarine. Arin and Tierno sat with him around a thick wooden table, marred by scratches. From Pokémon before the disaster, Fylon was sure.
“So, you’re the Gym Leader,” said Arin to Tierno. “Explain.”
Fylon smiled. He had figured it out back at the Gym, but he wanted to hear it from Tierno himself.
“It’s very simple, you see,” said Tierno. He seemed eager, not reluctant, to share his story. “In the days before the Geosenge disaster, I spent much of my time in Coumarine City. I had grown up here, see, and it had always felt like home. The salty air of the sea, in harmony with the earthy smell of the grass and soil. Back then, the Lumiose Badlands weren’t so big as they are now. Coumarine City was free from the harsh desert.
“Recently, though, the desert has been advancing,” he said. Fylon sat forward; this was news to him. “I don’t know why. I’m sure Sycamore has his suspicions, but he’s never been one to share them.”
“Could it be because of the disaster?” asked Fylon intently.
“I don’t know,” said Tierno, and Fylon believed he was telling the truth. “It could just be a climate change, or a weather pattern, or even just the natural shifting of the world. I don’t know how the disaster would play into all of this.”
Fylon sat back. There was something bigger going on here, he was sure of it. But what?
The automatic front doors of the hotel slid open. Suddenly, Arin stood. “Morgan! Rosuke!”
What?! Fylon whirled around, and sure enough, Rosuke, supported by Morgan, hobbled into the lobby. They saw Fylon and Arin, and their faces, dusty with sand, lit up. They hurried over and fell, exhausted, into plush chairs.
“Why are you here?” asked Arin excitedly.
“The professor decided we should track down the Gym Leaders,” said Morgan wearily. “He thought they would be of help in the fight against––”
She stopped, looking at Tierno suspiciously.
“It’s all right,” said Fylon hastily. “He’s a friend.”
Morgan hesitated, but she said, “In the fight against Team Flare. So he split us up, and Rosuke and I were sent here to search for Ramos.”
Arin looked more excited than ever at this, and he blurted out, “We found the Gym Leader! Or, well, not Ramos.”
Morgan and Rosuke looked thoroughly confused.
“This is Tierno,” Fylon explained. “He’s the Coumarine Gym Leader now.”
Tierno stood and bowed. He sat back down again. “I was just explaining that,” he said. “Where was I?”
“The desert’s getting bigger,” prompted Arin. Morgan looked confused again, but Fylon put a finger to his lips.
“Right,” said Tierno, “the desert’s getting bigger. Well, Ramos was investigating that before he went into exile. He was actually one of the last ones to go into exile, because he believed that his work on investigating the advancing desert was more important. Eventually, though, he had to face facts. The time of Gym Leaders was over. He handed ownership of the Gym over to me, for I had helped him in his research, and he charged me with continuing his work, and then he left.”
“And you don’t know where he is now?” asked Fylon.
“Not a clue,” said Tierno sadly.
Fylon sat back to think, putting the tips of his fingers together. Then Morgan spoke up hesitantly. “Did any of you … see anything … about an hour ago?”
“See anything? What do you mean?” asked Fylon, frowning.
“Like a vision,” said Rosuke suddenly. They were the first words Fylon had heard him speak since they had arrived.
“A vision,” Fylon repeated.
“A memory of your own life, ten years ago,” Morgan explained.
“No,” said Fylon. “But do tell. What did you see?”
Suddenly Morgan grew red, and mumbled something about not meaning that she wanted to say. Fylon realized she had never told him anything about her life before joining the Spectrum.
So he observed.
Morgan was an excellent cook, better than any Fylon had ever known. But she also never used any recipes or dishes Fylon had heard of, and Fylon had his fair share of culinary expertise. So she was self-taught, then.
If she had taught herself, there wouldn’t have been anyone else to teach her. An orphan, then? No––Fylon had been with Professor Sycamore when he had gone to the southeast in search of Trainers. Fylon himself came from the southeast. He had seen her parents, and her mother had the burns on her hands from years spent in the kitchen with hot pots and pans.
Fylon struggled to recall what he could about Morgan’s mother and father. The burns on her mother’s hands were old, as if she hadn’t cooked a meal in a long time. Morgan’s hands, however, displayed more recent marks.
So her mother had long since stopped cooking, and Morgan had taken over. Why would her mother have stopped cooking, unless––
The father. His face had been weathered and worn, as if he’d been abroad for many years. If he had left suddenly and without warning, Morgan’s mother might have grieved over it enough to stop cooking and leave Morgan on her own.
A wave of empathy broke over Fylon. What must it have been like for Morgan, in those early years of her life? Her mother had obviously never returned to cooking; was Morgan forced to assume all the household duties, at such a young age?
“You saw your father,” he said softly.
Morgan blushed even more fiercely. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she muttered.
Fylon nodded gently. Arin looked more solemn than Fylon had ever seen him.
“So what are you doing here, in Coumarine?” said Rosuke, clearly changing the subject, and none too subtly. He seemed to have regained much of his strength. “I thought you were going to check on Xerosic in Shalour?”
“We were … delayed in the Badlands,” said Fylon. “A sandstorm whipped up, and we had to take shelter in the power plant.”
“We tried to get into the plant,” said Rosuke. “They wouldn’t let us in.”
Fylon smiled mirthlessly. “They probably don’t feel too accommodating toward Pokémon Trainers right now.”
Arin snorted. “You could say that.”
“What happened?” asked Rosuke.
“They thought we had a flair for––”
“They thought we were part of Team Flare,” Fylon interrupted. Arin looked mildly annoyed. “Remember that Grunt costume the professor gave me? Well, it was still in our bags.”
Rosuke grunted. “Bet that didn’t go over well.”
“Not at all well,” said Fylon. “We left in the morning. We got to Coumarine City later that day, paid for a room upstairs, and then checked the Gym the next day. There we found Tierno.”
Tierno waved.
“Yes, well,” said Rosuke, “Professor Sycamore told us to go to Shalour after this anyway to look for Korrina, so why don’t we all take the monorail there?”
Arin’s face lit up at this. Fylon smiled and nodded.
Morgan still looked as if she’d rather not be in this conversation at all, but she managed a shaky nod.
Fylon looked to Tierno, who looked very pleased at being included in a decision such as this. He nodded enthusiastically.
“Decision reached,” said Rosuke, pretending to bang a gavel on the table.
“We’ll leave tomorrow morning,” said Fylon. “Arin and I have a room; they only have two beds to a room, so we can buy two more.”
“How are we going to afford that?” asked Rosuke.
Fylon hesitated. He hadn’t considered that.
“I have a bit of money back at the Gym,” said Tierno immediately. “I can pay for the rooms tonight.”
Fylon thanked him, and Rosuke clapped him on the back. Fylon had forgotten all about Tierno effectively being a Gym Leader.
Tierno went to the counter and ordered two more rooms. Fylon stood up, pushing back his plush chair. He waved for Arin to come, and they went upstairs. Rosuke and Morgan waited behind for Tierno.
In their room, Fylon once again fixed a quick supper and handed a plate to Arin.
“What do you think, Fylon?” asked Arin between bites. “Of Tierno? Can we trust him?”
“I don’t know,” said Fylon. “He’s helpful, and enthusiastic, not to mention rich, but I don’t know if it’s all an act. I guess only time will tell.”
Arin nodded sleepily, and put his plate on the nightstand, before climbing beneath the covers and drifting to sleep. Fylon smiled, taking Arin’s plate and cleaning both of them in the sink. He put them on a rack to dry––the rag seemed to have gone missing. He suspected the hotel staff. Too tired to care at the moment, though, he too climbed into his bed and was asleep in minutes.
The Laverre Trail was aptly named, of course, being directly south of Laverre City. The last signs of civilization had long since passed––a sad, abandoned children’s playground––and now the small group was stranded in a murky swamp of a path.
Sera had lived in the east all her life, near Dendemille Town. Not too far, actually, from where the professor had said the new Trainers came from. The east was a desolate, frigid landscape of biting winds and frosty winters. Sera often had sought shelter in the Frost Cavern when the winds turned to gales. It was still cold in the cavern, naturally, but at least there was no wind chill.
Sera had thought that she knew harshness. She had believed that she had experienced all the natural horrors the world could throw at her. But nothing––nothing––could have prepared her for the Laverre Trail.
The sickly durin trees cast a perpetual gloom over the already dismal marsh through which the Trail ran. Puddles of swirling muddy water and grime were impossible to avoid, and sometimes they were much deeper than they appeared. Each step on land made Sera’s taurskin boots squish unpleasantly, such that she almost considered removing them and walking barefoot.
She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. The small group had set out from Lumiose City early in the morning, perhaps nine o’clock. Warren was the only one with any means of telling the time––he had a watch-face built into the contraption at his wrist, in which he also stored his Mawile’s Poké Ball. At first, Amaline had asked him persistently every five minutes what the time was, but after a time, she lapsed into silence.
The sun had since reached its zenith in the sky, and was now halfway through its descent. Sera judged that it was around four-thirty. It didn’t matter much to her one way or the other; no matter how brightly the sun burned, it didn’t dry the mud on her boots, or even the dampness of her coat, from wading through knee-high puddles.
“How far are we from Laverre?” Amaline asked suddenly. She had changed her normal embroidered grey dress for breeches and a jacket, with a short travelling cloak––skirts would of course be impractical with the swamps of the Trail. Professor Sycamore had ensured that they were prepared for their journey; although Sera had never been to Laverre, nor, she thought, had any of the others, the professor clearly was familiar with the area.
“We’ll be there by nightfall, ‘Ine,” Julian answered patiently. Although he was nearly six years Amaline’s senior, he shared a very close sibling bond with her. Sera wished she knew why. She was willing to bet Fylon knew, but she wasn’t going to ask him. Fylon was rather unnerving, all things considered. Sera still didn’t know how he knew everything he did.
“Ten hours to cross a single route,” Peter said dejectedly. “Will it never end?”
“Of course it will,” Sera snapped. Normally she wasn’t very abrasive, but the Laverre Trail, in all its grimy glory, was doing nothing to help her mood. “We can’t move any faster. Stop whining.”
Peter looked mildly offended, and Amaline was looking at her quizzically. Sera sighed.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said. “I don’t mean to be irritable. You don’t deserve that. It’s just this Order-broken mud, and the swamp, and my boots are squelching, and …”
Suddenly, Peter laughed. “I know. The Trail’s doing this to all of us. It’s not your fault.”
Sera managed a weak smile. Amaline laughed as Julian scooped her up and put her on his shoulders. Warren remained as stoic as ever, but Sera noted a slight shift in his expression, the barest quirk of his lips in what could be taken as the ghost of a smile.
They plodded along, wading through marshy ponds and clearing brush back from the path, but all trace of irritability had vanished. They told jokes, and laughed heartily. Even the filthiness of the marshy ponds ceased to bother Sera, as the hours whiled away.
The sun sank ever deeper in the sky, which slowly faded from blue-grey to orange, and then to crimson. Clouds with a purple tinge streaked across the sky, more thickly packed above the Trail than anywhere else, as far as Sera could see. The durin trees limited her view of the sky, but what she could see of it was beautiful. Sunsets never were so colorful in the east.
The durins seemed to glow with light from the setting sun, the rays reflected off the broad, shiny leaves and continuing to illuminate the Trail, although the sun was no longer visible. Sera realized that they might be forced to stop for the night, something she did not wish to do in the middle of a swamp.
Indeed, not long after, even the illumination from the durin leaves began to dim, and the crimson of the sky had darkened to a dull purple-grey. Within the hour, night would be upon them, and they would be able to proceed no farther.
Warren glanced worriedly at the sky every few minutes or so. They had brought little in the way of blankets or shelter, or indeed even food; they had consumed all their provisions at midday, expecting to have reached Laverre by nightfall. There was nothing they would be able to do except wrap themselves in their travelling cloaks and try to endure it until morning.
After less than half an hour, Warren called a halt at a spot of land devoid of puddles. There was enough room for them all to lie comfortably, with some space left over.
Julian let Amaline down from his shoulders, and went off, muttering something about firewood. Sera sat down with an exhausted sigh. She didn’t know how Julian intended to light the fire, but at the moment, she didn’t care. She wrapped her light blue cloak tighter around herself, pulling up the hood.
Julian returned only a few minutes later, but in his arms was a bundle of neatly chopped wood. He was closely followed by his Pokémon, Mienshao. Sera suspected that it was Mienshao, with his powerful forearms, that had chopped the wood.
Depositing the wood in the center of the glade, Julian removed a small rock from his pocket, which he held out to Mienshao absently.
The Fighting-type Pokémon took the stone. He raised one arm, and brought it down in a whiplike motion. The long fur covering his arms whistled as it struck the stone, and sparks flew. Julian caught the sparks with a bundle of moss, which caught flame almost immediately. He hastened to place it in the center of the pile of wood, blowing gently, coaxing the fire to life.
Sera moved closer to the fire, followed closely by Peter and Amaline, both of whom sat down. Warren took a Poké Ball from the device on his arm, and released his Pokémon, Mawile. Warren commanded the small Steel-type Pokémon to cut down two trees near the glade, which Mienshao picked up and brought to the fire. He set them down in front of Sera, Peter, and Amaline, indicating that they should sit on them.
“Thank you,” Sera whispered gratefully, bowing her head to the Pokémon. Mienshao inclined its own head in turn before sitting down on the log.
Sera sat on the other log, along with Peter and Mawile. She turned to see where Warren was, and saw him with his hands clasped before him and his eyes closed, facing the newly chopped trees and murmuring something. Sera strained to hear what he was saying, and just barely made it out: “ … arian, se lidhan a’xern. Sheluur e sigyar.”
Sera’s brow furrowed at these words, clearly in another language. She wasn’t fluent in any tongues except Kalosian, but this one sounded familiar. Yes, sigyar meant thanks in the language of the ancient Kalosi kings; she was sure of it. But why was Warren giving thanks to two stumps?
When Warren seated himself on the log between Peter and Mawile, Sera hesitated before asking him, “Warren? What was that you were saying? To the … stumps.”
Warren turned to face her. Sera felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to be so forward. “Sorry,” she said hastily. “I didn’t mean to …”
To her surprise, Warren said, “No, I don’t mind. It’s a tradition, in the Southern Forests, to give thanks to the trees when you use their wood for … well, anything. Trees are sacred, you see. Cutting one down … well, you’d better have a really good reason, and say thanks afterward.”
“But … what did it mean?” asked Sera timidly.
Warren smiled. “Ere velt a reishyn l’veyar, erest’arian, se lidhan a’xern. Sheluur e sigyar. It’s in an ancient version of Kalosian, spoken during the days of the Kalosi kings, three thousand years and more ago. It translates roughly to ‘This death is not in vain, exalted trees; it brings only more life. We offer peace and thanks.’”
Sera was quiet for a long moment. She had never been to the Southern Forests; she had no idea that their culture held trees sacred. She thought of the sparse vegetation in the east, and suddenly felt a deep admiration for the Foresters.
She absently brought out Amaura’s Poké Ball, and activated it, releasing her blue-skinned Pokémon in a flash of light. “It’s incredible,” she murmured. “Cultures so different, and yet we’re brought together by Pokémon. United, as one.”
Warren began to sing. Sera was surprised yet again; she had never heard him sing before. The words, though softly sung, floated out over the fire, encircling the group and drawing them together, as if they were all connected by invisible lines. Such was the power of Warren’s song.
Sera took up the verse, and then Amaline, Peter, and Julian. The words joined melodiously in the air, in perfect harmony.
The road is ever too far to see,
Leading into mystery.
It leads forever on and on,
In ages past, in time bygone.
But the road, it leads us and makes us one.
United, under setting sun.
The journey, it may never end,
And yet, I still count you a friend.
For as one, we may prevail,
Everlasting, against betrayal.
United, we may win the fight,
Beneath the moon, in dark of night!
Sera sighed, and settled contentedly on the log, wrapping her cloak around herself and warming her hands in front of the fire. The others carried on with the next verse. She realized, as Peter’s Espeon nuzzled her leg, that he and Amaline had brought out their Pokémon. Amaline’s Togetic hovered in the air before the fire, flapping her small wings to stay aloft.
Suddenly, a twig cracked behind Sera, and she whirled around. Warren stopped singing abruptly as he turned to peer at the bushes. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Realizing that the others had all stopped, Peter trailed off in the middle of a verse and turned to look, too.
A man emerged from the trees, his stark white hair held back by a thin band. He wore a tattered, but thick, travelling cloak, with the hood down. His coat, trousers, and boots were likewise shabby, but looked as though they had been of good make, once.
Warren visibly relaxed, and Sera found herself calming, too, although she knew that rationally, she should be suspicious of this stranger.
The man hesitated before entering the clearing, so Warren rose and amiably asked, “Stranger, what brings you to our glade?”
He had asked without any measure of suspicion, and nothing but friendliness. The man, however, still looked disconcerted. Sera decided that since they were all clearly at ease, this man should be, too. She rose and took a spare cloak from one of the bags, and offered it to him. He hesitated before taking it, but Sera smiled encouragingly, and he finally accepted the cloak, wrapping it around his shoulders.
“My name is Ragan,” said he. “I’m naught but a humble traveller, on my way from Laverre City to Lumiose. I … I’m sorry for interrupting you, but I heard singing, and felt the warmth of a fire.”
Sera smiled. “Join us, Master Ragan,” she said. “Share our fire.”
Ragan’s face broke into a smile, and he seated himself on a log beside Julian and Mienshao. “I am grateful,” he said. “It is not often that one meets such kindness. Pray tell, where do you be bound?”
Warren and Sera sat again on the other log. “We’re going to Laverre,” said Warren. “We just came from Lumiose. Ah, but friend: It’s not a place any should desire to be. Team Flare’s on the loose.”
“Team Flare?” asked Ragan, who seemed to think Warren was telling a joke. “The criminals who destroyed Geosenge ten years ago?”
“The same,” said Peter. “They’re back.”
“Back?” said Ragan incredulously. “You mean you’re serious? Order! This is terrible!”
“But it’s OK,” said Amaline quickly, “because we’re going to stop them!”
“You, young mistress? You and your friends?” asked Ragan. “Just who are you, precisely?”
They gave their names, but Ragan, of course, recognized none of them.
“Master Ragan,” said Sera, “do you happen to know what an Elemental Spectrum is?”
“I regret that I do not,” said Ragan, frowning.
Of course, he probably doesn’t know what Pokémon are, thought Sera. He said he was from Laverre? Do they have Pokémon there? Unfortunately, life in the isolated east hadn’t given Sera any knowledge of the rest of the world––only what she had picked up after joining the Spectrum would be of any use to her.
“Well,” said Sera, choosing her words carefully, and gesturing toward Amaura and Mawile, “there are creatures called Pokémon.”
She was watching Ragan’s face closely for any flicker of recognition, but he remained impassive. “Some have power over fire,” she continued, “others ice, like my Amaura.”
Ragan nodded curiously. “That is your Amaura?” he asked, pointing at the long-necked Pokémon. Sera nodded.
“Pokémon are classified into types,” Warren explained. “Amaura is Ice-type. Mawile is Steel-type.”
“Fascinating,” said Ragan. “That is Mawile, Master Warren?”
“Yes,” said Warren, “and that’s Mienshao, and Espeon, and Togetic.” He pointed at each of them in turn.
“Anyway,” Sera continued, “an Elemental Spectrum is the joining of all eighteen types. It’s said to be capable of winning any battle, no matter the odds. But it’s never actually been done. Until now.”
“You mean …” Ragan cleared his throat, apparently unnerved. “You mean you’re part of a … an Elemental Spectrum?”
Sera nodded. “That’s how we’re going to defeat Team Flare.”
Ragan looked lost in thought at her words. “But you said you were going to Laverre? What do you hope to find there?”
“A woman named Valerie,” said Sera. “She was a powerful Pokémon Trainer once, and––you know her?”
She had thought she had seen a flash of recognition in Ragan’s eyes, but it was gone now. He hesitated before shaking his head.
“Well, we need her help,” said Warren. “Do you know of any place we might find her?”
“I …” Ragan struggled to find the right words. “There’s a place in Laverre that she could be, I suppose. It was said to be a place of wonder in the days before the disaster, but it’s dangerous to remember things like that. If she’s still in the city, though, it would probably be there.”
“Where?” asked Sera.
“We call it the World Tree,” explained Ragan. “You’ll know it when you see it. It’s a massive stonewood, nearly five hundred feet tall, or so they say. You can’t see the top, that much is for sure. And it’s big enough around to fit a castle inside. For all anyone knows, maybe it does.”
“You think Valerie could somehow be inside the tree?” asked Warren.
Ragan hesitated. “I don’t know, Master Warren. If there’s anywhere in Laverre she could be, it would be there, I think.”
“But we don’t even know if she’s in Laverre,” said Peter. “She could be anywhere.”
“Yes,” said Ragan, looking somewhat relieved. “She could be.”
“But how do we get into the tree?” asked Warren.
“I’m … not sure,” Ragan admitted. “From what everyone’s been able to tell, you can’t. But that doesn’t seem to make sense, does it?”
Sera sighed. Of course it isn’t going to be this easy.
“But I do know this,” said Ragan. “It’s said in Laverren legends that if anyone manages to gain entry to the World Tree, they will find the answers they’ve been looking for.”
“What answers?” Warren demanded. “To what questions?”
Just then, Ragan clenched his fist, and Sera could have sworn that she saw his hand turn pale purple, just for an instant. But then something behind her rustled, and she whirled around to look at the source of the noise.
It was only the wind in the branches. She turned back, only to find that Ragan wasn’t there anymore. He had inexplicably vanished––there one moment, gone the next. And it was all because of the wind in the trees!
Warren stood up angrily. “What answers, Ragan? What answers, break you!”
The night sky, to which he howled the words, offered no reply.
*
In his dingy, filthy prison cell at the top of the ancient Shalour Tower of Mastery, Xerosic stood up from his bed. Sleep had mysteriously evaded him the last few days, and now he was pretty sure he knew why.
Those kids, those excuses for Team Flare. He hadn’t been able to get their offer out of his head. No matter how much he told himself that he had left the past behind him, he was plagued by voices in his head, whispering that he was wrong to do so.
He took a Poké Ball from his pocket––he had retrieved it from the warden’s room, before locking himself back in, after the kids had left––and stared at it for a long moment. With the Pokémon inside, he could set the leader’s plans in motion for real. But did he want to do that?
Oh, break it all, he thought. He’d never be able to rest until either the leader had succeeded or he was dead; he knew that much. He activated the Poké Ball, and released his Pokémon, Malamar, in a burst of light. Malamar was a squidlike Pokémon, but it hovered in the air, twisting between right-side up and upside down.
It was also uncommonly powerful.
“Superpower,” Xerosic commanded. Malamar struck the door of the cell with one of its tentacles, and the door flew off its hinges.
Xerosic returned Malamar to its Poké Ball and left the cell behind. There was no going back now.
It was time for the world to know his name once again.
Sera had lived in the east all her life, near Dendemille Town. Not too far, actually, from where the professor had said the new Trainers came from. The east was a desolate, frigid landscape of biting winds and frosty winters. Sera often had sought shelter in the Frost Cavern when the winds turned to gales. It was still cold in the cavern, naturally, but at least there was no wind chill.
Sera had thought that she knew harshness. She had believed that she had experienced all the natural horrors the world could throw at her. But nothing––nothing––could have prepared her for the Laverre Trail.
The sickly durin trees cast a perpetual gloom over the already dismal marsh through which the Trail ran. Puddles of swirling muddy water and grime were impossible to avoid, and sometimes they were much deeper than they appeared. Each step on land made Sera’s taurskin boots squish unpleasantly, such that she almost considered removing them and walking barefoot.
She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. The small group had set out from Lumiose City early in the morning, perhaps nine o’clock. Warren was the only one with any means of telling the time––he had a watch-face built into the contraption at his wrist, in which he also stored his Mawile’s Poké Ball. At first, Amaline had asked him persistently every five minutes what the time was, but after a time, she lapsed into silence.
The sun had since reached its zenith in the sky, and was now halfway through its descent. Sera judged that it was around four-thirty. It didn’t matter much to her one way or the other; no matter how brightly the sun burned, it didn’t dry the mud on her boots, or even the dampness of her coat, from wading through knee-high puddles.
“How far are we from Laverre?” Amaline asked suddenly. She had changed her normal embroidered grey dress for breeches and a jacket, with a short travelling cloak––skirts would of course be impractical with the swamps of the Trail. Professor Sycamore had ensured that they were prepared for their journey; although Sera had never been to Laverre, nor, she thought, had any of the others, the professor clearly was familiar with the area.
“We’ll be there by nightfall, ‘Ine,” Julian answered patiently. Although he was nearly six years Amaline’s senior, he shared a very close sibling bond with her. Sera wished she knew why. She was willing to bet Fylon knew, but she wasn’t going to ask him. Fylon was rather unnerving, all things considered. Sera still didn’t know how he knew everything he did.
“Ten hours to cross a single route,” Peter said dejectedly. “Will it never end?”
“Of course it will,” Sera snapped. Normally she wasn’t very abrasive, but the Laverre Trail, in all its grimy glory, was doing nothing to help her mood. “We can’t move any faster. Stop whining.”
Peter looked mildly offended, and Amaline was looking at her quizzically. Sera sighed.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said. “I don’t mean to be irritable. You don’t deserve that. It’s just this Order-broken mud, and the swamp, and my boots are squelching, and …”
Suddenly, Peter laughed. “I know. The Trail’s doing this to all of us. It’s not your fault.”
Sera managed a weak smile. Amaline laughed as Julian scooped her up and put her on his shoulders. Warren remained as stoic as ever, but Sera noted a slight shift in his expression, the barest quirk of his lips in what could be taken as the ghost of a smile.
They plodded along, wading through marshy ponds and clearing brush back from the path, but all trace of irritability had vanished. They told jokes, and laughed heartily. Even the filthiness of the marshy ponds ceased to bother Sera, as the hours whiled away.
The sun sank ever deeper in the sky, which slowly faded from blue-grey to orange, and then to crimson. Clouds with a purple tinge streaked across the sky, more thickly packed above the Trail than anywhere else, as far as Sera could see. The durin trees limited her view of the sky, but what she could see of it was beautiful. Sunsets never were so colorful in the east.
The durins seemed to glow with light from the setting sun, the rays reflected off the broad, shiny leaves and continuing to illuminate the Trail, although the sun was no longer visible. Sera realized that they might be forced to stop for the night, something she did not wish to do in the middle of a swamp.
Indeed, not long after, even the illumination from the durin leaves began to dim, and the crimson of the sky had darkened to a dull purple-grey. Within the hour, night would be upon them, and they would be able to proceed no farther.
Warren glanced worriedly at the sky every few minutes or so. They had brought little in the way of blankets or shelter, or indeed even food; they had consumed all their provisions at midday, expecting to have reached Laverre by nightfall. There was nothing they would be able to do except wrap themselves in their travelling cloaks and try to endure it until morning.
After less than half an hour, Warren called a halt at a spot of land devoid of puddles. There was enough room for them all to lie comfortably, with some space left over.
Julian let Amaline down from his shoulders, and went off, muttering something about firewood. Sera sat down with an exhausted sigh. She didn’t know how Julian intended to light the fire, but at the moment, she didn’t care. She wrapped her light blue cloak tighter around herself, pulling up the hood.
Julian returned only a few minutes later, but in his arms was a bundle of neatly chopped wood. He was closely followed by his Pokémon, Mienshao. Sera suspected that it was Mienshao, with his powerful forearms, that had chopped the wood.
Depositing the wood in the center of the glade, Julian removed a small rock from his pocket, which he held out to Mienshao absently.
The Fighting-type Pokémon took the stone. He raised one arm, and brought it down in a whiplike motion. The long fur covering his arms whistled as it struck the stone, and sparks flew. Julian caught the sparks with a bundle of moss, which caught flame almost immediately. He hastened to place it in the center of the pile of wood, blowing gently, coaxing the fire to life.
Sera moved closer to the fire, followed closely by Peter and Amaline, both of whom sat down. Warren took a Poké Ball from the device on his arm, and released his Pokémon, Mawile. Warren commanded the small Steel-type Pokémon to cut down two trees near the glade, which Mienshao picked up and brought to the fire. He set them down in front of Sera, Peter, and Amaline, indicating that they should sit on them.
“Thank you,” Sera whispered gratefully, bowing her head to the Pokémon. Mienshao inclined its own head in turn before sitting down on the log.
Sera sat on the other log, along with Peter and Mawile. She turned to see where Warren was, and saw him with his hands clasped before him and his eyes closed, facing the newly chopped trees and murmuring something. Sera strained to hear what he was saying, and just barely made it out: “ … arian, se lidhan a’xern. Sheluur e sigyar.”
Sera’s brow furrowed at these words, clearly in another language. She wasn’t fluent in any tongues except Kalosian, but this one sounded familiar. Yes, sigyar meant thanks in the language of the ancient Kalosi kings; she was sure of it. But why was Warren giving thanks to two stumps?
When Warren seated himself on the log between Peter and Mawile, Sera hesitated before asking him, “Warren? What was that you were saying? To the … stumps.”
Warren turned to face her. Sera felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to be so forward. “Sorry,” she said hastily. “I didn’t mean to …”
To her surprise, Warren said, “No, I don’t mind. It’s a tradition, in the Southern Forests, to give thanks to the trees when you use their wood for … well, anything. Trees are sacred, you see. Cutting one down … well, you’d better have a really good reason, and say thanks afterward.”
“But … what did it mean?” asked Sera timidly.
Warren smiled. “Ere velt a reishyn l’veyar, erest’arian, se lidhan a’xern. Sheluur e sigyar. It’s in an ancient version of Kalosian, spoken during the days of the Kalosi kings, three thousand years and more ago. It translates roughly to ‘This death is not in vain, exalted trees; it brings only more life. We offer peace and thanks.’”
Sera was quiet for a long moment. She had never been to the Southern Forests; she had no idea that their culture held trees sacred. She thought of the sparse vegetation in the east, and suddenly felt a deep admiration for the Foresters.
She absently brought out Amaura’s Poké Ball, and activated it, releasing her blue-skinned Pokémon in a flash of light. “It’s incredible,” she murmured. “Cultures so different, and yet we’re brought together by Pokémon. United, as one.”
Warren began to sing. Sera was surprised yet again; she had never heard him sing before. The words, though softly sung, floated out over the fire, encircling the group and drawing them together, as if they were all connected by invisible lines. Such was the power of Warren’s song.
Sera took up the verse, and then Amaline, Peter, and Julian. The words joined melodiously in the air, in perfect harmony.
The road is ever too far to see,
Leading into mystery.
It leads forever on and on,
In ages past, in time bygone.
But the road, it leads us and makes us one.
United, under setting sun.
The journey, it may never end,
And yet, I still count you a friend.
For as one, we may prevail,
Everlasting, against betrayal.
United, we may win the fight,
Beneath the moon, in dark of night!
Sera sighed, and settled contentedly on the log, wrapping her cloak around herself and warming her hands in front of the fire. The others carried on with the next verse. She realized, as Peter’s Espeon nuzzled her leg, that he and Amaline had brought out their Pokémon. Amaline’s Togetic hovered in the air before the fire, flapping her small wings to stay aloft.
Suddenly, a twig cracked behind Sera, and she whirled around. Warren stopped singing abruptly as he turned to peer at the bushes. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Realizing that the others had all stopped, Peter trailed off in the middle of a verse and turned to look, too.
A man emerged from the trees, his stark white hair held back by a thin band. He wore a tattered, but thick, travelling cloak, with the hood down. His coat, trousers, and boots were likewise shabby, but looked as though they had been of good make, once.
Warren visibly relaxed, and Sera found herself calming, too, although she knew that rationally, she should be suspicious of this stranger.
The man hesitated before entering the clearing, so Warren rose and amiably asked, “Stranger, what brings you to our glade?”
He had asked without any measure of suspicion, and nothing but friendliness. The man, however, still looked disconcerted. Sera decided that since they were all clearly at ease, this man should be, too. She rose and took a spare cloak from one of the bags, and offered it to him. He hesitated before taking it, but Sera smiled encouragingly, and he finally accepted the cloak, wrapping it around his shoulders.
“My name is Ragan,” said he. “I’m naught but a humble traveller, on my way from Laverre City to Lumiose. I … I’m sorry for interrupting you, but I heard singing, and felt the warmth of a fire.”
Sera smiled. “Join us, Master Ragan,” she said. “Share our fire.”
Ragan’s face broke into a smile, and he seated himself on a log beside Julian and Mienshao. “I am grateful,” he said. “It is not often that one meets such kindness. Pray tell, where do you be bound?”
Warren and Sera sat again on the other log. “We’re going to Laverre,” said Warren. “We just came from Lumiose. Ah, but friend: It’s not a place any should desire to be. Team Flare’s on the loose.”
“Team Flare?” asked Ragan, who seemed to think Warren was telling a joke. “The criminals who destroyed Geosenge ten years ago?”
“The same,” said Peter. “They’re back.”
“Back?” said Ragan incredulously. “You mean you’re serious? Order! This is terrible!”
“But it’s OK,” said Amaline quickly, “because we’re going to stop them!”
“You, young mistress? You and your friends?” asked Ragan. “Just who are you, precisely?”
They gave their names, but Ragan, of course, recognized none of them.
“Master Ragan,” said Sera, “do you happen to know what an Elemental Spectrum is?”
“I regret that I do not,” said Ragan, frowning.
Of course, he probably doesn’t know what Pokémon are, thought Sera. He said he was from Laverre? Do they have Pokémon there? Unfortunately, life in the isolated east hadn’t given Sera any knowledge of the rest of the world––only what she had picked up after joining the Spectrum would be of any use to her.
“Well,” said Sera, choosing her words carefully, and gesturing toward Amaura and Mawile, “there are creatures called Pokémon.”
She was watching Ragan’s face closely for any flicker of recognition, but he remained impassive. “Some have power over fire,” she continued, “others ice, like my Amaura.”
Ragan nodded curiously. “That is your Amaura?” he asked, pointing at the long-necked Pokémon. Sera nodded.
“Pokémon are classified into types,” Warren explained. “Amaura is Ice-type. Mawile is Steel-type.”
“Fascinating,” said Ragan. “That is Mawile, Master Warren?”
“Yes,” said Warren, “and that’s Mienshao, and Espeon, and Togetic.” He pointed at each of them in turn.
“Anyway,” Sera continued, “an Elemental Spectrum is the joining of all eighteen types. It’s said to be capable of winning any battle, no matter the odds. But it’s never actually been done. Until now.”
“You mean …” Ragan cleared his throat, apparently unnerved. “You mean you’re part of a … an Elemental Spectrum?”
Sera nodded. “That’s how we’re going to defeat Team Flare.”
Ragan looked lost in thought at her words. “But you said you were going to Laverre? What do you hope to find there?”
“A woman named Valerie,” said Sera. “She was a powerful Pokémon Trainer once, and––you know her?”
She had thought she had seen a flash of recognition in Ragan’s eyes, but it was gone now. He hesitated before shaking his head.
“Well, we need her help,” said Warren. “Do you know of any place we might find her?”
“I …” Ragan struggled to find the right words. “There’s a place in Laverre that she could be, I suppose. It was said to be a place of wonder in the days before the disaster, but it’s dangerous to remember things like that. If she’s still in the city, though, it would probably be there.”
“Where?” asked Sera.
“We call it the World Tree,” explained Ragan. “You’ll know it when you see it. It’s a massive stonewood, nearly five hundred feet tall, or so they say. You can’t see the top, that much is for sure. And it’s big enough around to fit a castle inside. For all anyone knows, maybe it does.”
“You think Valerie could somehow be inside the tree?” asked Warren.
Ragan hesitated. “I don’t know, Master Warren. If there’s anywhere in Laverre she could be, it would be there, I think.”
“But we don’t even know if she’s in Laverre,” said Peter. “She could be anywhere.”
“Yes,” said Ragan, looking somewhat relieved. “She could be.”
“But how do we get into the tree?” asked Warren.
“I’m … not sure,” Ragan admitted. “From what everyone’s been able to tell, you can’t. But that doesn’t seem to make sense, does it?”
Sera sighed. Of course it isn’t going to be this easy.
“But I do know this,” said Ragan. “It’s said in Laverren legends that if anyone manages to gain entry to the World Tree, they will find the answers they’ve been looking for.”
“What answers?” Warren demanded. “To what questions?”
Just then, Ragan clenched his fist, and Sera could have sworn that she saw his hand turn pale purple, just for an instant. But then something behind her rustled, and she whirled around to look at the source of the noise.
It was only the wind in the branches. She turned back, only to find that Ragan wasn’t there anymore. He had inexplicably vanished––there one moment, gone the next. And it was all because of the wind in the trees!
Warren stood up angrily. “What answers, Ragan? What answers, break you!”
The night sky, to which he howled the words, offered no reply.
*
In his dingy, filthy prison cell at the top of the ancient Shalour Tower of Mastery, Xerosic stood up from his bed. Sleep had mysteriously evaded him the last few days, and now he was pretty sure he knew why.
Those kids, those excuses for Team Flare. He hadn’t been able to get their offer out of his head. No matter how much he told himself that he had left the past behind him, he was plagued by voices in his head, whispering that he was wrong to do so.
He took a Poké Ball from his pocket––he had retrieved it from the warden’s room, before locking himself back in, after the kids had left––and stared at it for a long moment. With the Pokémon inside, he could set the leader’s plans in motion for real. But did he want to do that?
Oh, break it all, he thought. He’d never be able to rest until either the leader had succeeded or he was dead; he knew that much. He activated the Poké Ball, and released his Pokémon, Malamar, in a burst of light. Malamar was a squidlike Pokémon, but it hovered in the air, twisting between right-side up and upside down.
It was also uncommonly powerful.
“Superpower,” Xerosic commanded. Malamar struck the door of the cell with one of its tentacles, and the door flew off its hinges.
Xerosic returned Malamar to its Poké Ball and left the cell behind. There was no going back now.
It was time for the world to know his name once again.
The darkness of twilight began to creep over the land above, but this far down into the earth, Clair felt only the increasing fatigue brought by a day’s hike. She and Erell had started from Lumiose early in the morning, at the same time as all the others. As far as Clair knew, however, only the two of them had thought to travel underground.
Then again, she was the only one in the Spectrum who trained Ground-type Pokémon. Perhaps it wasn’t so odd after all.
Clair could barely remember her first day with Professor Sycamore and the others, which was odd––she’d never been one to forget occasions like that easily. She knew that Sandslash had been given her by the professor directly. Many of the Spectrum had had to find their own Pokémon, capture them, and raise them, but not Clair.
She wasn’t sure what to make of that. Sandslash, as far as she knew, wasn’t native to Kalos. Why had the professor had one on hand to give her? She had asked Erell about it, of course––of the two of them, Erell had always been the one more fascinated with Pokémon, at least before they had joined the Spectrum.
“Sandslash is native to the Kanto region,” Erell had explained. “Professor Sycamore’s Charizard is, too. Maybe he spent some time in Kanto.”
Whatever the reason, Clair had never had reason to regret her choice. She had left the Western Coast that day with her twin sister and never once returned.
Until now, anyway.
Professor Sycamore had sent Clair and Erell to track down Grant, the man who led a Gym near where the sisters had grown up. Clair was certain that the professor remembered where she and Erell came from. And of course, he had no way of knowing that neither of them had never wanted to go back.
“Any idea where we are?” Erell asked.
Sandslash was rapidly burrowing through the earth before them, spewing out chunks of stone behind him as he went. Clair hadn’t the faintest idea how he knew where to go.
“No,” Clair said. “We’ve been travelling for at least ten hours now, though, not counting lunch. We’re probably at least near the Cyllagan Range.”
Erell nodded. She seemed to understand Sandslash better than Clair did, sometimes. If Erell had chosen the Ground type instead, and Clair the Rock, no doubt they would already be in Cyllage. But Erell’s Aerodactyl wasn’t going to get anywhere fast, at least not underground.
Several minutes later, Sandslash came to an abrupt halt. He scaled the side of the tunnel he had formed, and started to excavate through the top.
In moments, a hole in the roof of the tunnel let through twinkling starlight, barely enough to see by. Erell activated a Poké Ball, briefly illuminating the tunnel as Aerodactyl materialized. The huge winged Pokémon crouched, allowing Erell to climb on his back in order to lift herself out of the tunnel. Clair followed, carrying Sandslash in her arms.
Once above ground, Erell returned Aerodactyl to its Poké Ball. Clair looked around, and saw that they were at the foothills of the Cyllagan Range. Ambrette Town and Cyllage City lay far off, perhaps a mile or so away.
“We could fly the rest of the way,” Erell said thoughtfully. “We’re far enough outside Lumiose that Team Flare wouldn’t see us.”
Clair nodded. She wasn’t afraid of heights, of course; a childhood spent rock-climbing at the Cyllagan peaks was enough to dispel that. But shouldn’t she be a bit more reluctant to fly, being a Ground-type specialist?
She could barely remember her first day. But apparently she still couldn’t grasp being a Pokémon Trainer.
Eventually, she nodded. Erell looked at her searchingly. Clair had never been good at hiding anything from her sister.
“You sure you’re all right?” Erell asked.
“I’m fine,” snapped Clair, more harshly than she meant to. She took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Erell reactivated Aerodactyl’s Poké Ball. Aerodactyl reappeared, only this time above ground. Erell swung herself onto the Pokémon’s back, and then lowered a hand to help Clair up. Clair grasped it gratefully, and seated herself behind her sister. With a powerful flap of enormous wings, Aerodactyl took off.
*
Soaring over the plains between the Cyllagan Range and the Western Coast was exhilarating, something Clair hadn’t felt in a long time. She knew people usually said not to look down from great heights, but she couldn’t see the point in that; not right now, at least. Aerodactyl would catch her if she fell.
The plains, even in dusky twilight, were beautiful and green. The sea air this close to the coast blew through the grass, sending a rustling noise through the blades as they rubbed against each other. The conditions were ideal for life to grow; plants, humans, and Pokémon flourished alike.
Many of the smaller Pokémon were safely inside their dens by this point; it was time for the predators to come out. A Seviper slithered through the grass, stalking prey, Clair was sure. It moved stealthily, and would have been completely invisible in the grass had Clair not been looking down from above.
Without warning, from a bush leapt a bulky white form, which fell upon the Seviper in a flurry of slashes. It did not let up, but Clair knew it must be a Zangoose––only a Zangoose would dare attack a Seviper.
The power behind the flaps from Aerodactyl’s wings lessened, and they began to descend. Aerodactyl wouldn’t go straight into the city, of course; the buildings would be too closely packed for him to maneuver safely. Clair could see he was gliding directly toward a clearing in the middle of a forest between Cyllage City and the sea.
Suddenly, she felt a jolt. Aerodactyl jerked to a stop in the middle of the air, and Clair saw Erell struggling to regain control. He began to spiral out of the air, and Clair found herself in freefall. Too disoriented to care, however, she felt her eyes begin to close. Just before they snapped shut, she saw a lithe white-furred creature, standing on four legs on a rocky crag on the side of a foothill.
Absol, she thought dimly, struggling to recollect what she could of her lessons. It appears before people to warn them of impending disaster.
Disaster.
Flicker.
Her hands, dusted with white chalk, gripped the rock-face as she hauled herself up and over the ridge. Her sister, Erell, had already reached the top––probably several minutes before Clair had.
Erell was standing with her back to Clair, but at once she turned around and offered a hand, helping her sister up. Clair accepted the hand, and, with Erell’s help, got to her feet.
They both turned to look out over the plains. They had never reached the top of the Cyllagan foothills before, but they had finally done so now. It was a monumental achievement, in Clair’s opinion. Only six years old and already two of the best mountain climbers in history.
Not that they knew of any other mountain climbers, of course. But Clair was pretty sure that no one else had managed to climb anywhere near the height of the Cyllagan foothills.
The plains spread before them, lush and green. A wind blew, carrying the faint salty scent of the sea. Clair breathed in deeply. She wished it could be like this every day. Recent times had been too troubling, too perplexing. She could barely figure out what was going on, but she knew there was something wrong. Grant was on edge, and that meant everyone was on edge. She had heard rumors of war, and she had heard that it all centered around a single young man.
Calem. He had come only six months ago. He had challenged Grant, of course, just like every other Pokémon Trainer to come through Cyllage. There was something strange about it, though. Something that hadn’t happened in years.
Grant had lost.
Clair had watched that battle. She had seen every attack, every strike that their Pokémon had made. Grant’s Tyrantrum was the most fearsome Pokémon Clair had ever seen. She had heard that it ruled the world over a hundred million years ago, before all the ancient Pokémon died out.
Grant had been on a fossil-digging expedition a while back, or so the stories said. He had come back with a huge fang embedded in a massive stone. Grant spent the next few months constructing a machine, one he said could revive fossils into ancient Pokémon.
And it had worked. Grant befriended Tyrantrum, and eventually captured it inside a Poké Ball. For the next several years, he never lost a battle. Hundreds and hundreds of Trainers challenged him, but not one of them was victorious.
Until Calem. His Pokémon, with its bulging muscles under thin pale purple fur, wove an intricate web of sheer energy, until Tyrantrum had nowhere to run. The dragonish Pokémon tried to attack Calem’s Pokémon, but he wasn’t fast enough.
Grant finally saw defeat, and conceded the match before Calem’s Pokémon could do anything more.
Clair was devastated. For five years––as long as she could remember––Grant had always been her hero. And … and he had lost.
Over the next six months, Clair had done her best to forget that day. But now, there were rumors circulating. And Calem was at the middle of all of it.
Suddenly, an earth-shattering boom like thunder rent the skies. Clair staggered, nearly falling off the cliff in her struggle to regain balance. Erell recovered first, and put a hand on her sister’s shoulder.
“What … what was that?” Clair asked. She didn’t expect Erell to know the answer, of course, but she had to break the silence somehow.
Erell could do nothing more than blink and shake her head, gasping for air. She gestured feebly with a trembling finger, and Clair turned her head.
A beam of light streaked up to the skies, disappearing into the clouds. And at the bottom … there was Geosenge Town, a mere fifty miles to the north. Clair could barely see it through the blinding light, but she had gazed upon the small city many a time from these cliffs, and she knew it was there.
And then the light vanished. A purple afterimage remained in Clair’s vision, but she could see that Geosenge Town was in ruins. The buildings had been vaporized, and the land around it charred and blackened. It was gone. All gone.
Erell drew her sister to an embrace, and Clair struggled to hold back tears. She had just begun to think that everything would be all right.
Flicker.
Clair opened her eyes and gasped for breath. That wasn’t a memory she had ever wanted to surface again.
In a few moments, she had taken in her surroundings. She wasn’t on Aerodactyl’s back in the sky––she wasn’t even on the ground. She was in a soft, comfortable bed, with stonewood posts. She still wore her usual garb, which was caked with mud; presumably from the fall.
Erell was on another bed on the opposite side of the white-walled room. Clair’s sister’s eyes were closed, and her breathing even. Outside the window, Clair could see that the sun shone brightly.
How long …?
The wooden door open with a long creak, and an elderly woman stepped into the room. She was carrying a tray, on which were three cups, and a kettle with steam escaping from it. She put the tray down on a stand, and then pulled a chair over next to Clair’s bed, and sat down.
She gave a start when she saw that Clair was awake. Clair tried to open her mouth to say something to the woman, but her jaw wouldn’t move. She tried to sit up, and found that she could do no more than move her eyes frantically.
“Sleep paralysis, dear,” the old woman said soothingly. “You took quite a fall.”
Clair blinked. Sleep paralysis?
The woman poured tea from the steaming kettle into one of the clay cups. She wafted the tea under Clair’s nose, and Clair inhaled sharply. Something seemed to lessen, a pain that she hadn’t realized was there. She found she could move her jaw.
“Thank you,” she said.
The old woman grinned. “My pleasure, dear. You just let old Wyacanth care for you, and you’ll be fit in no time.”
Clair wasn’t sure she trusted this old woman, but then, she hadn’t left Clair and her sister for dead. Clair took the tea and sipped it. It was strong and herbal, with a scent of salac leaves.
The old woman––Wyacanth––smiled, and moved over to Erell’s bed, pouring another cup and holding it under Erell’s nose. Erell jerked, gasping, and sat up. She focused on Wyacanth, and let out a scream.
“Erell!” Clair said quickly. “It’s all right. We’re safe.”
“Aerodactyl …” Erell said, breathing heavily. “We fell, and…”
“I found you on the ground last night,” the old woman said, by way of explanation. “My name’s Wyacanth.”
“Last night?” Erell said. Clair could tell her sister was getting panicked. “How long were we out?”
“Fourteen … fifteen hours, I would guess,” Wyacanth replied. “You must be starved, dear. Here, drink your tea. I’ll fix you up a meal.”
She bustled from the room, taking the tray, kettle, and third cup with her.
“Can we trust her?” asked Erell immediately after the door closed.
“I don’t know,” Clair said. She looked down at her teacup. “She certainly knows her remedies. I think this is salac tea, but I had no idea it cured …”
What did she call it? Sleep paralysis?
“And she did take us in,” said Erell nervously. “She could have just left us there.”
“Maybe it’s all fine,” said Clair. “We’re just being paranoid.”
Erell fell silent. Clair sipped her tea. For a long while, neither of them said anything. Then, Wyacanth came back into the room, bearing the tray again, but this time laden with sandwiches and broth. She handed a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of soup to Clair, and then another to Erell. Both murmured their thanks, but did not eat.
“Ma’am,” Erell began, but the old woman cut her off.
“No, no, please call me Wyacanth, dear,” she said with an affectionate smile.
“Wyacanth,” Erell said, “we appreciate your hospitality, but we can’t stay.”
The old woman’s face fell. “I see,” she said. “Are you sure, dear? You’re in no fit state to travel, your sister neither, and that’s the truth.”
“We have to go, Wyacanth,” said Erell. “I’m sorry. Thank you for everything.”
And she tried to rise from her bed. She managed it with some difficulty, holding a post for support. Clair pushed back the blankets and stood as well. She was overcome by a wave of dizziness, but that passed quickly.
“I see,” Wyacanth said again. “Well, yes, perhaps it’s for the best. I’ll pack a bag with food and herbs; I’m an apothecary, you see, and…”
She rambled on as she went from the room again, leaving Clair and Erell behind. Clair looked around a bit until she found her pack hanging in a closet, and tossed Erell hers. She shouldered the pack and followed where Wyacanth had gone.
She found the old woman in a kitchen downstairs, bustling around and mixing herbal potions. Clair saw salac leaves, like the kind that had no doubt been in the tea, and durin bark, and other herbs she couldn’t identify, though no doubt Liam or Fylon could.
Wyacanth turned around as Clair and Erell approached, and held up a paper bag filled with food. She passed it to Clair, who stowed it in her pack with a word of gratitude.
“Grant,” Erell said suddenly.
“Who, dear?” asked Wyacanth absently. She poured a sort of oil into a concoction of mashed leaves and berries.
“The Gym Leader,” said Erell. “I just remembered. That’s why we came. Wyacanth, do you know where we could find him?”
Wyacanth suddenly stopped working. She turned around slowly. “I … I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
Erell nodded once, but Clair could tell she was suspicious. Clair was suspicious, too, come to that. What was Wyacanth hiding?
The apothecary finished mixing her remedy, and put it in a glass jar into another paper bag, which already clinked with the sound of other jars and bottles.
“They’re all labeled,” she said. “So you know which to use for what.”
And she gave Erell the bag. Erell opened her pack and stuffed the bag inside.
Wyacanth hurried past Clair out of the kitchen and to the front door, which she opened wide. “Best of luck to you,” she said sadly. “And until we meet again.”
“So shall it be,” Clair and Erell said at once.They passed Wyacanth and went out the door, which the apothecary closed behind them. Before the door snapped shut, however, Wyacanth stopped.
“Wait,” she said. She appeared to struggle for a moment, and then finally sighed. “Go … go to the Glittering Caves. I can’t help you any more. I’m sorry.”
She closed the door, but not before Clair saw a tear glistening in her eye.
*
Deciding to act on Wyacanth’s advice, Clair and Erell began the long crossing of the Cyllagan plains, hoping to reach the Glittering Caves, to the east of Ambrette Town, by next nightfall.
None of the life they had seen while crossing overhead the previous night was in abundance now. The Seviper and Zangoose had both disappeared, as had the lithe white form of the Absol watching them from the cliffs. Indeed, the plains seemed entirely devoid of Pokémon.
They had decided to travel on the ground, for the fatigue from all the tunneling last night would still be affecting Sandslash, and they didn’t want to risk another accident like the one with Aerodactyl. It wasn’t the fastest way to travel, but they would gladly take safety over haste.
It almost seemed too peaceful, too serene. Clair found herself expecting an attack of some sort. But they crossed half the stretch of the plains entirely without incident. Clair began to relax.
And then the attack came.
A white-furred form flashed before Clair’s eyes, and came to a halt before the two of them. Clair saw that it was an Absol; likely the same one from the previous night. It was clear that the Absol had no intention of letting them pass, so Clair took Sandslash’s Poké Ball from her belt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Erell take Aerodactyl’s Poké Ball from hers.
They activated the Poké Balls as one; twin bursts of light flashed, and Sandslash and Aerodactyl resolved before them.
“Shadow Claw!” came a ringing voice, shrill and clear. The command was evidently for Absol, for the Pokémon sprang at Aerodactyl and felled him with a single blow from darkness-cloaked paws.
Erell gasped; no foe had ever bested Aerodactyl that easily. Clair found herself growing angry. Who was this opponent, who would not show himself?
“Who goes there?” she snarled.
No reply came from the voice. A long moment passed, and then, “Shadow Claw!”
Absol rushed at Sandslash, baring its fangs. It struck out with a paw, surrounded in a jet-black aura. Sandslash just managed to avoid the attack.
“Fine,” Clair said through gritted teeth. “Sandstorm!”
A light brown aura flared to life around Sandslash. He closed his eyes, and the aura splintered into a million tiny particles, whipped around in a wind that had certainly not been there a second before. The particles buffeted Absol, impairing its vision, but almost at once its unseen Trainer called out, “Whirlwind!”
The dark aura winked back around Absol, only this time it cloaked the Pokémon’s entire body, instead of just a paw. Its fur seemed to be ruffled by an ethereal breeze, though Clair could not feel it, and the sand dispersed at once.
“Perish Song!” the voice called out.
Uh-oh, Clair thought. She remembered from the professor’s lessons that Perish Song would cause all Pokémon who heard it to faint within moments.
“Sandslash!” she called. “Earthquake!”
Before Absol could utter its mystical song, Sandslash struck the ground with his claws. The earth began to rumble, and even Clair struggled to keep her footing.
Absol, however, leaped into the air to evade the rumblings, and opened its mouth. A single, shrill note escaped it, and Sandslash wavered where he stood. In seconds, he fell to the ground, defeated.
Clair was stunned. She fumbled with her Poké Ball, trying to activate it to return Sandslash inside, but suddenly another figure, huge and powerful, landed forcefully between Sandslash and Absol.
At the same time, a young man, dark of face and with gemstones woven into his black hair, stepped forward from behind Clair. Clair knew this man. She had idolized him for five years of her life.
“Tyrantrum,” Grant said, “Earthquake.”
The huge figure––which Clair could now see was Grant’s Tyrantrum––leaped and came down with an earth-shattering crash, while at the same time pinning Absol to the ground with its tail so the four-legged Pokémon could not move.
Absol fainted.
Without pause, Grant called, “Celosia! Show yourself.”
After a moment, the voice came. “No,” it said. Clair could see now that it belonged to the same woman who had invaded the laboratory, the day the children had arrived. “I don’t think I will.”
Absol disappeared with a flash of light, as of a Pokémon being recalled to its Poké Ball.
“Order,” Grant cursed. “I was afraid that would happen.”
He turned to Clair and Erell. Clair, still in shock, said, “You’re … you’re Grant.”
“Yes,” he said, perplexed. “Do I know you?”
“No,” Clair said hastily. “You’ve never met me before. But you must come with us. The world needs you. The world needs Gym Leaders again.”
Then again, she was the only one in the Spectrum who trained Ground-type Pokémon. Perhaps it wasn’t so odd after all.
Clair could barely remember her first day with Professor Sycamore and the others, which was odd––she’d never been one to forget occasions like that easily. She knew that Sandslash had been given her by the professor directly. Many of the Spectrum had had to find their own Pokémon, capture them, and raise them, but not Clair.
She wasn’t sure what to make of that. Sandslash, as far as she knew, wasn’t native to Kalos. Why had the professor had one on hand to give her? She had asked Erell about it, of course––of the two of them, Erell had always been the one more fascinated with Pokémon, at least before they had joined the Spectrum.
“Sandslash is native to the Kanto region,” Erell had explained. “Professor Sycamore’s Charizard is, too. Maybe he spent some time in Kanto.”
Whatever the reason, Clair had never had reason to regret her choice. She had left the Western Coast that day with her twin sister and never once returned.
Until now, anyway.
Professor Sycamore had sent Clair and Erell to track down Grant, the man who led a Gym near where the sisters had grown up. Clair was certain that the professor remembered where she and Erell came from. And of course, he had no way of knowing that neither of them had never wanted to go back.
“Any idea where we are?” Erell asked.
Sandslash was rapidly burrowing through the earth before them, spewing out chunks of stone behind him as he went. Clair hadn’t the faintest idea how he knew where to go.
“No,” Clair said. “We’ve been travelling for at least ten hours now, though, not counting lunch. We’re probably at least near the Cyllagan Range.”
Erell nodded. She seemed to understand Sandslash better than Clair did, sometimes. If Erell had chosen the Ground type instead, and Clair the Rock, no doubt they would already be in Cyllage. But Erell’s Aerodactyl wasn’t going to get anywhere fast, at least not underground.
Several minutes later, Sandslash came to an abrupt halt. He scaled the side of the tunnel he had formed, and started to excavate through the top.
In moments, a hole in the roof of the tunnel let through twinkling starlight, barely enough to see by. Erell activated a Poké Ball, briefly illuminating the tunnel as Aerodactyl materialized. The huge winged Pokémon crouched, allowing Erell to climb on his back in order to lift herself out of the tunnel. Clair followed, carrying Sandslash in her arms.
Once above ground, Erell returned Aerodactyl to its Poké Ball. Clair looked around, and saw that they were at the foothills of the Cyllagan Range. Ambrette Town and Cyllage City lay far off, perhaps a mile or so away.
“We could fly the rest of the way,” Erell said thoughtfully. “We’re far enough outside Lumiose that Team Flare wouldn’t see us.”
Clair nodded. She wasn’t afraid of heights, of course; a childhood spent rock-climbing at the Cyllagan peaks was enough to dispel that. But shouldn’t she be a bit more reluctant to fly, being a Ground-type specialist?
She could barely remember her first day. But apparently she still couldn’t grasp being a Pokémon Trainer.
Eventually, she nodded. Erell looked at her searchingly. Clair had never been good at hiding anything from her sister.
“You sure you’re all right?” Erell asked.
“I’m fine,” snapped Clair, more harshly than she meant to. She took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Erell reactivated Aerodactyl’s Poké Ball. Aerodactyl reappeared, only this time above ground. Erell swung herself onto the Pokémon’s back, and then lowered a hand to help Clair up. Clair grasped it gratefully, and seated herself behind her sister. With a powerful flap of enormous wings, Aerodactyl took off.
*
Soaring over the plains between the Cyllagan Range and the Western Coast was exhilarating, something Clair hadn’t felt in a long time. She knew people usually said not to look down from great heights, but she couldn’t see the point in that; not right now, at least. Aerodactyl would catch her if she fell.
The plains, even in dusky twilight, were beautiful and green. The sea air this close to the coast blew through the grass, sending a rustling noise through the blades as they rubbed against each other. The conditions were ideal for life to grow; plants, humans, and Pokémon flourished alike.
Many of the smaller Pokémon were safely inside their dens by this point; it was time for the predators to come out. A Seviper slithered through the grass, stalking prey, Clair was sure. It moved stealthily, and would have been completely invisible in the grass had Clair not been looking down from above.
Without warning, from a bush leapt a bulky white form, which fell upon the Seviper in a flurry of slashes. It did not let up, but Clair knew it must be a Zangoose––only a Zangoose would dare attack a Seviper.
The power behind the flaps from Aerodactyl’s wings lessened, and they began to descend. Aerodactyl wouldn’t go straight into the city, of course; the buildings would be too closely packed for him to maneuver safely. Clair could see he was gliding directly toward a clearing in the middle of a forest between Cyllage City and the sea.
Suddenly, she felt a jolt. Aerodactyl jerked to a stop in the middle of the air, and Clair saw Erell struggling to regain control. He began to spiral out of the air, and Clair found herself in freefall. Too disoriented to care, however, she felt her eyes begin to close. Just before they snapped shut, she saw a lithe white-furred creature, standing on four legs on a rocky crag on the side of a foothill.
Absol, she thought dimly, struggling to recollect what she could of her lessons. It appears before people to warn them of impending disaster.
Disaster.
Flicker.
Her hands, dusted with white chalk, gripped the rock-face as she hauled herself up and over the ridge. Her sister, Erell, had already reached the top––probably several minutes before Clair had.
Erell was standing with her back to Clair, but at once she turned around and offered a hand, helping her sister up. Clair accepted the hand, and, with Erell’s help, got to her feet.
They both turned to look out over the plains. They had never reached the top of the Cyllagan foothills before, but they had finally done so now. It was a monumental achievement, in Clair’s opinion. Only six years old and already two of the best mountain climbers in history.
Not that they knew of any other mountain climbers, of course. But Clair was pretty sure that no one else had managed to climb anywhere near the height of the Cyllagan foothills.
The plains spread before them, lush and green. A wind blew, carrying the faint salty scent of the sea. Clair breathed in deeply. She wished it could be like this every day. Recent times had been too troubling, too perplexing. She could barely figure out what was going on, but she knew there was something wrong. Grant was on edge, and that meant everyone was on edge. She had heard rumors of war, and she had heard that it all centered around a single young man.
Calem. He had come only six months ago. He had challenged Grant, of course, just like every other Pokémon Trainer to come through Cyllage. There was something strange about it, though. Something that hadn’t happened in years.
Grant had lost.
Clair had watched that battle. She had seen every attack, every strike that their Pokémon had made. Grant’s Tyrantrum was the most fearsome Pokémon Clair had ever seen. She had heard that it ruled the world over a hundred million years ago, before all the ancient Pokémon died out.
Grant had been on a fossil-digging expedition a while back, or so the stories said. He had come back with a huge fang embedded in a massive stone. Grant spent the next few months constructing a machine, one he said could revive fossils into ancient Pokémon.
And it had worked. Grant befriended Tyrantrum, and eventually captured it inside a Poké Ball. For the next several years, he never lost a battle. Hundreds and hundreds of Trainers challenged him, but not one of them was victorious.
Until Calem. His Pokémon, with its bulging muscles under thin pale purple fur, wove an intricate web of sheer energy, until Tyrantrum had nowhere to run. The dragonish Pokémon tried to attack Calem’s Pokémon, but he wasn’t fast enough.
Grant finally saw defeat, and conceded the match before Calem’s Pokémon could do anything more.
Clair was devastated. For five years––as long as she could remember––Grant had always been her hero. And … and he had lost.
Over the next six months, Clair had done her best to forget that day. But now, there were rumors circulating. And Calem was at the middle of all of it.
Suddenly, an earth-shattering boom like thunder rent the skies. Clair staggered, nearly falling off the cliff in her struggle to regain balance. Erell recovered first, and put a hand on her sister’s shoulder.
“What … what was that?” Clair asked. She didn’t expect Erell to know the answer, of course, but she had to break the silence somehow.
Erell could do nothing more than blink and shake her head, gasping for air. She gestured feebly with a trembling finger, and Clair turned her head.
A beam of light streaked up to the skies, disappearing into the clouds. And at the bottom … there was Geosenge Town, a mere fifty miles to the north. Clair could barely see it through the blinding light, but she had gazed upon the small city many a time from these cliffs, and she knew it was there.
And then the light vanished. A purple afterimage remained in Clair’s vision, but she could see that Geosenge Town was in ruins. The buildings had been vaporized, and the land around it charred and blackened. It was gone. All gone.
Erell drew her sister to an embrace, and Clair struggled to hold back tears. She had just begun to think that everything would be all right.
Flicker.
Clair opened her eyes and gasped for breath. That wasn’t a memory she had ever wanted to surface again.
In a few moments, she had taken in her surroundings. She wasn’t on Aerodactyl’s back in the sky––she wasn’t even on the ground. She was in a soft, comfortable bed, with stonewood posts. She still wore her usual garb, which was caked with mud; presumably from the fall.
Erell was on another bed on the opposite side of the white-walled room. Clair’s sister’s eyes were closed, and her breathing even. Outside the window, Clair could see that the sun shone brightly.
How long …?
The wooden door open with a long creak, and an elderly woman stepped into the room. She was carrying a tray, on which were three cups, and a kettle with steam escaping from it. She put the tray down on a stand, and then pulled a chair over next to Clair’s bed, and sat down.
She gave a start when she saw that Clair was awake. Clair tried to open her mouth to say something to the woman, but her jaw wouldn’t move. She tried to sit up, and found that she could do no more than move her eyes frantically.
“Sleep paralysis, dear,” the old woman said soothingly. “You took quite a fall.”
Clair blinked. Sleep paralysis?
The woman poured tea from the steaming kettle into one of the clay cups. She wafted the tea under Clair’s nose, and Clair inhaled sharply. Something seemed to lessen, a pain that she hadn’t realized was there. She found she could move her jaw.
“Thank you,” she said.
The old woman grinned. “My pleasure, dear. You just let old Wyacanth care for you, and you’ll be fit in no time.”
Clair wasn’t sure she trusted this old woman, but then, she hadn’t left Clair and her sister for dead. Clair took the tea and sipped it. It was strong and herbal, with a scent of salac leaves.
The old woman––Wyacanth––smiled, and moved over to Erell’s bed, pouring another cup and holding it under Erell’s nose. Erell jerked, gasping, and sat up. She focused on Wyacanth, and let out a scream.
“Erell!” Clair said quickly. “It’s all right. We’re safe.”
“Aerodactyl …” Erell said, breathing heavily. “We fell, and…”
“I found you on the ground last night,” the old woman said, by way of explanation. “My name’s Wyacanth.”
“Last night?” Erell said. Clair could tell her sister was getting panicked. “How long were we out?”
“Fourteen … fifteen hours, I would guess,” Wyacanth replied. “You must be starved, dear. Here, drink your tea. I’ll fix you up a meal.”
She bustled from the room, taking the tray, kettle, and third cup with her.
“Can we trust her?” asked Erell immediately after the door closed.
“I don’t know,” Clair said. She looked down at her teacup. “She certainly knows her remedies. I think this is salac tea, but I had no idea it cured …”
What did she call it? Sleep paralysis?
“And she did take us in,” said Erell nervously. “She could have just left us there.”
“Maybe it’s all fine,” said Clair. “We’re just being paranoid.”
Erell fell silent. Clair sipped her tea. For a long while, neither of them said anything. Then, Wyacanth came back into the room, bearing the tray again, but this time laden with sandwiches and broth. She handed a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of soup to Clair, and then another to Erell. Both murmured their thanks, but did not eat.
“Ma’am,” Erell began, but the old woman cut her off.
“No, no, please call me Wyacanth, dear,” she said with an affectionate smile.
“Wyacanth,” Erell said, “we appreciate your hospitality, but we can’t stay.”
The old woman’s face fell. “I see,” she said. “Are you sure, dear? You’re in no fit state to travel, your sister neither, and that’s the truth.”
“We have to go, Wyacanth,” said Erell. “I’m sorry. Thank you for everything.”
And she tried to rise from her bed. She managed it with some difficulty, holding a post for support. Clair pushed back the blankets and stood as well. She was overcome by a wave of dizziness, but that passed quickly.
“I see,” Wyacanth said again. “Well, yes, perhaps it’s for the best. I’ll pack a bag with food and herbs; I’m an apothecary, you see, and…”
She rambled on as she went from the room again, leaving Clair and Erell behind. Clair looked around a bit until she found her pack hanging in a closet, and tossed Erell hers. She shouldered the pack and followed where Wyacanth had gone.
She found the old woman in a kitchen downstairs, bustling around and mixing herbal potions. Clair saw salac leaves, like the kind that had no doubt been in the tea, and durin bark, and other herbs she couldn’t identify, though no doubt Liam or Fylon could.
Wyacanth turned around as Clair and Erell approached, and held up a paper bag filled with food. She passed it to Clair, who stowed it in her pack with a word of gratitude.
“Grant,” Erell said suddenly.
“Who, dear?” asked Wyacanth absently. She poured a sort of oil into a concoction of mashed leaves and berries.
“The Gym Leader,” said Erell. “I just remembered. That’s why we came. Wyacanth, do you know where we could find him?”
Wyacanth suddenly stopped working. She turned around slowly. “I … I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
Erell nodded once, but Clair could tell she was suspicious. Clair was suspicious, too, come to that. What was Wyacanth hiding?
The apothecary finished mixing her remedy, and put it in a glass jar into another paper bag, which already clinked with the sound of other jars and bottles.
“They’re all labeled,” she said. “So you know which to use for what.”
And she gave Erell the bag. Erell opened her pack and stuffed the bag inside.
Wyacanth hurried past Clair out of the kitchen and to the front door, which she opened wide. “Best of luck to you,” she said sadly. “And until we meet again.”
“So shall it be,” Clair and Erell said at once.They passed Wyacanth and went out the door, which the apothecary closed behind them. Before the door snapped shut, however, Wyacanth stopped.
“Wait,” she said. She appeared to struggle for a moment, and then finally sighed. “Go … go to the Glittering Caves. I can’t help you any more. I’m sorry.”
She closed the door, but not before Clair saw a tear glistening in her eye.
*
Deciding to act on Wyacanth’s advice, Clair and Erell began the long crossing of the Cyllagan plains, hoping to reach the Glittering Caves, to the east of Ambrette Town, by next nightfall.
None of the life they had seen while crossing overhead the previous night was in abundance now. The Seviper and Zangoose had both disappeared, as had the lithe white form of the Absol watching them from the cliffs. Indeed, the plains seemed entirely devoid of Pokémon.
They had decided to travel on the ground, for the fatigue from all the tunneling last night would still be affecting Sandslash, and they didn’t want to risk another accident like the one with Aerodactyl. It wasn’t the fastest way to travel, but they would gladly take safety over haste.
It almost seemed too peaceful, too serene. Clair found herself expecting an attack of some sort. But they crossed half the stretch of the plains entirely without incident. Clair began to relax.
And then the attack came.
A white-furred form flashed before Clair’s eyes, and came to a halt before the two of them. Clair saw that it was an Absol; likely the same one from the previous night. It was clear that the Absol had no intention of letting them pass, so Clair took Sandslash’s Poké Ball from her belt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Erell take Aerodactyl’s Poké Ball from hers.
They activated the Poké Balls as one; twin bursts of light flashed, and Sandslash and Aerodactyl resolved before them.
“Shadow Claw!” came a ringing voice, shrill and clear. The command was evidently for Absol, for the Pokémon sprang at Aerodactyl and felled him with a single blow from darkness-cloaked paws.
Erell gasped; no foe had ever bested Aerodactyl that easily. Clair found herself growing angry. Who was this opponent, who would not show himself?
“Who goes there?” she snarled.
No reply came from the voice. A long moment passed, and then, “Shadow Claw!”
Absol rushed at Sandslash, baring its fangs. It struck out with a paw, surrounded in a jet-black aura. Sandslash just managed to avoid the attack.
“Fine,” Clair said through gritted teeth. “Sandstorm!”
A light brown aura flared to life around Sandslash. He closed his eyes, and the aura splintered into a million tiny particles, whipped around in a wind that had certainly not been there a second before. The particles buffeted Absol, impairing its vision, but almost at once its unseen Trainer called out, “Whirlwind!”
The dark aura winked back around Absol, only this time it cloaked the Pokémon’s entire body, instead of just a paw. Its fur seemed to be ruffled by an ethereal breeze, though Clair could not feel it, and the sand dispersed at once.
“Perish Song!” the voice called out.
Uh-oh, Clair thought. She remembered from the professor’s lessons that Perish Song would cause all Pokémon who heard it to faint within moments.
“Sandslash!” she called. “Earthquake!”
Before Absol could utter its mystical song, Sandslash struck the ground with his claws. The earth began to rumble, and even Clair struggled to keep her footing.
Absol, however, leaped into the air to evade the rumblings, and opened its mouth. A single, shrill note escaped it, and Sandslash wavered where he stood. In seconds, he fell to the ground, defeated.
Clair was stunned. She fumbled with her Poké Ball, trying to activate it to return Sandslash inside, but suddenly another figure, huge and powerful, landed forcefully between Sandslash and Absol.
At the same time, a young man, dark of face and with gemstones woven into his black hair, stepped forward from behind Clair. Clair knew this man. She had idolized him for five years of her life.
“Tyrantrum,” Grant said, “Earthquake.”
The huge figure––which Clair could now see was Grant’s Tyrantrum––leaped and came down with an earth-shattering crash, while at the same time pinning Absol to the ground with its tail so the four-legged Pokémon could not move.
Absol fainted.
Without pause, Grant called, “Celosia! Show yourself.”
After a moment, the voice came. “No,” it said. Clair could see now that it belonged to the same woman who had invaded the laboratory, the day the children had arrived. “I don’t think I will.”
Absol disappeared with a flash of light, as of a Pokémon being recalled to its Poké Ball.
“Order,” Grant cursed. “I was afraid that would happen.”
He turned to Clair and Erell. Clair, still in shock, said, “You’re … you’re Grant.”
“Yes,” he said, perplexed. “Do I know you?”
“No,” Clair said hastily. “You’ve never met me before. But you must come with us. The world needs you. The world needs Gym Leaders again.”
The world was going to end.
Mica had known it for some time now, of course. He saw everything before it happened. Why would the end of the world be any exception?
Glowing pictures flashed around everyone Mica saw, telling Mica––sometimes––what would happen to those people. Lately, they had been growing less and less frequent. As if the people they surrounded would cease to have any futures at all.
A wind that may or may not have actually existed struck Mica’s skin with an icy bite. He shivered and drew his black cloak closer, despite the bright sun overhead. Kalos Route 4 was heavily cultivated, and Mica felt sick knowing that it would all be gone so soon.
He doubted if any of the others knew about his … unique … ability. He’d never told anyone, naturally, but Fylon seemed to know everything. Who could say if he had told the rest? Anyway, it had never been brought up, which suited Mica just fine.
Suddenly, a bright, shining moon appeared and hovered for a long moment over Blake’s head. It revolved slowly, throwing ethereal flashes of light around the pathway, striking the freshly trimmed hedges and the stone fountain. And then it winked out, faster than it had appeared. The ethereal light vanished.
“Strange …” Mica said softly. It was rare that he had no idea how to interpret a portent. It was almost always instinctive.
“What?” said Blake and Liam together, turning. Blake scowled. He didn’t flicker, to Mica’s eyes, even when he wore his jacket. Mica had soon learned to play it off as though Blake did flicker, though, to deflect suspicion.
Not staring directly at Blake, Mica muttered an excuse as he walked past them and continued down the path. Blake and Liam followed without hesitation. Mica had worked hard while with the Spectrum to be something of an enigma. The others took his peculiarities as a matter of course.
Santalune City was not far down the road, its brick pillars casting an impressive, though not unfriendly shadow over the path before Mica. He passed under them without a second glance, Blake and Liam following behind.
Inside the city’s walls, people bustled around, doing whatever it was they needed to do this day. Mica saw images around the heads of a few, and, in some cases, found himself knowing what they meant. A burning torch signified bankruptcy; a ruined castle, dashed hopes. Flower petals meant prosperity to come––rare, in these times. And more often than anything else, a gleaming sword: grave danger.
There were others, of course, the meaning of which Mica had no idea. A felled tree; a clump of berries; an ancient-looking crown. He tried not to focus on these too much. He hated not knowing what omens meant.
“Where do you suppose we’d find Viola?” Liam asked.
Mica stopped walking and turned on the spot, surveying the area. He mentally excluded the omens from his vision. Distraction wasn’t something he needed right now.
“There,” Blake said suddenly.
Mica turned to look where he was pointing, and saw a building across a courtyard to their left that had clearly once been a Gym. The Leaders’ Emblem was crumbling, but still noticeable on the front of the building.
Mica and Liam followed Blake as he crossed the courtyard toward the Gym, not caring if anyone saw them and wondered why they were walking directly toward a building that had been abandoned for ten years.
The doors of the Gym were solid wood, engraved with abstract designs that made little sense to Mica, until he realized they were tunnels made by burrowing Bug-type Pokémon.
A brass door-knocker was affixed to each door. Mica ignored these. He brought out a Poké Ball and activated it, Honedge appearing in a flash of light.
Mica had heard legends saying that Honedge was the product of a deceased spirit entering a sword. He had never bothered to find out if that was the truth. Honedge was Honedge; what more did he need to know?
“Surely you’re not going to knock down the door?” Liam asked, clearly a bit distressed.
Ah, right. Liam would see the door as a work of art, rather than a block of wood carved out by bugs. That was going to be a bit inconvenient.
“Do you have a better idea?” Mica asked.
Liam nodded, releasing his Scyther. Though the Pokémon was, technically speaking, a bug, she was unlike any other Bug-type Mica had ever seen. She stood on her well-developed hind feet, and had a thin, segmented body covered in a bright green carapace.
Most distinguishing of all, however, were her arms, which each ended in a long razor-sharp blade. Scyther efficiently picked the locks on the doors using her blades, before Liam recalled her.
Mica recalled Honedge as well, and shoved open the doors. He went inside.
The interior of the building was unadorned, save for faded photographs lining every wall. He supposed the photographs, all of Bug-type Pokémon, had been taken by Viola. Though Mica’s eye had never been one for art, he had to admire the precision with which the photographs had been taken.
The middle of the room held a hole in the floor, from which a white rope emerged and connected to the ceiling above. Mica went closer and saw that it was made of finely woven silk. Probably from a Bug-type Pokémon. Gym Leaders did like to stay in theme.
Blake approached from the right. He grasped the silk rope with both hands and tugged it a bit. Convinced it would remain attached to the ceiling, he put one foot over the hole, ready to jump.
A knife, a broken mirror, a gauntlet. Glowing images flashed above Blake’s head in quick succession. Mica saw them at once, and the meaning came to him in an instant.
“Blake, wait!” he cried.
Blake turned his head to look over his shoulder at Mica, frowning, at the same time as his other foot left the floor. The rope snapped, and Blake fell through the hole in the floor.
Liam spared less than a moment before once again releasing Scyther. He climbed onto the Pokémon’s back –– evidently Scyther was stronger than she looked –– and Scyther flapped her wings, gliding down through the hole.
“Order,” Mica cursed.
A few moments passed, and Scyther reappeared. She offered her forearm to Mica, who grasped it, and fell through the hole with Scyther.
*
A deep black, darker than the darkest night, engulfed them.
Mica hated not being able to see. He could feel hard ground beneath his feet, and could hear faint gasps coming from Blake, but could see none of it.
“Liam?” Mica asked hoarsely. “You there?”
“I’m here,” Liam said. “I think Blake’s got a broken arm, though.”
Through a gasp, Blake mumbled agreement.
“Order. Can you set it or something?” Mica asked.
“Not without being able to see it,” Liam replied. “Here.”
Blake groaned, and Mica guessed he was getting to his feet.
Suddenly, a light came from out of the blackness, along with the sound of flapping wings. Mica turned his head and saw a Pokémon, a Vivillon, faintly illuminated by the glow from its wings. It was closely followed by a woman, perhaps forty years old, wearing a shabby cloak over dull grey and brown clothes. The woman’s hair was ragged and unkempt, and her face more aged than the pictures Mica had seen, but he was nonetheless sure that this was Viola.
“Strangers,” Viola muttered under her breath. “Haven’t gotten strangers in a while. Oh, and Pokémon Trainers, too, by the look of you. Ah! A Scyther! And such a beautiful specimen, too.”
She rambled on, and Mica got the feeling that if she had lived down here for ten years, she might not be entirely sane. Mica moved toward the light.
“Miss Viola?” he asked.
“You!” she said, suddenly. A dangerous glint had come into her eyes. “When the child of death walks the land once more; the king of darkness; the crawler’s son; the end of all shall come at last; what were eighteen shall now be one.”
Mica felt a chill. “What did you say?” he whispered.
“Ha!” Viola nearly screeched. “Child of death! You know what I speak of, yes? You have seen it?”
Mica hesitated. Yes, he had seen the “end of all,” as Viola had put it. He saw it every day, in the glowing images. But how could Viola know that?
Uncomfortably, he nodded. He was conscious of Liam and Blake, whom he had never told of his strange abilities, watching him.
Viola laughed raucously. “It’s true, then! You –– all of you.”
“All of us … what?” Liam asked nervously.
“You’re Pokémon Trainers,” she said. “Ghost … Dark … Bug. Child of death, king of darkness, crawler’s son. The end comes. You know this.”
Mica nodded again. “Miss Viola,” he said, “you mentioned eighteen becoming one.”
“Ha! Yes!” Viola said. “The Elemental Spectrum!”
“What?” Liam asked sharply. “How do you know about that?”
“The prophecies!” Viola crowed. “The prophecies tell everything!”
Unnerved, and not quite sure what to make of this, Mica continued slowly, “Yes, the Elemental Spectrum. You see, the region is in danger. Team Flare has returned.”
“The end of all, yes,” Viola said. “What do you expect me to do about it?”
“Well,” Mica said, “you’re a Gym Leader––”
Viola’s arm abruptly shot out, flinging a length of silken rope at Mica. Viola kept hold of one end while the other twisted around Mica’s leg. The Gym Leader tugged on the rope, efficiently tripping Mica and causing him to fall to the ground.
“I was a Gym Leader,” she said flatly. The dangerous glint had vanished from her eyes. “No longer. We were the Defenders of Kalos. The Pokémon League. And we failed.”
Any trace of insanity was now gone. Viola only looked sorrowful, undoubtedly remembering the events from ten years before.
Mica untangled the rope from his leg and stood up. “Now’s your chance to redeem yourself,” he said softly. “Come with us. Help defend Kalos once more.”
Viola appeared to consider it for several long moments. “No,” she said finally. “The time of Gym Leaders is past. ‘The road goes ever on and on.’ You must do this yourselves.”
She stood there another minute, lost in thought, and then made a sharp gesture at Blake. Her Vivillon’s aura flared to life, and it formed a silken rope, tying Blake’s arm in a skillful splint. Then, Viola retreated into the darkness without another word. Vivillon’s light winked out.
Mica stood, stunned. “We failed,” he whispered. “She wouldn’t join us.”
He heard Liam sigh, and Scyther’s wings buzz. A shadow crossed above the light from the hole above, and Mica knew Scyther was ferrying Liam up. The Pokémon descended again, this time for Blake. Mica barely noticed. They had failed.
Scyther’s arm nudged Mica’s, and he absently gripped the carapace. Scyther flew him up and out through the hole in the floor, and back into the light.
It didn’t matter. They had failed.
*
Outside, in the sunlight, Mica sat down on a bench beside the fountain at the center of the courtyard. The spray from the fountain tickled his face, but he ignored it. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t the end of the world that Viola hadn’t joined them, except, well, that it was.
The end was coming. Glowing images flashed above the heads of a few passersby, but none of their meanings came to him.
Liam sat down beside Mica. For a while he said nothing. He simply sat, hands clasped, staring into the shimmering rainbows made by the spray of the fountain.
“Blake’s in the Pokémon Center,” he said at last. “They’re giving him a proper sling for his arm.”
Mica nodded morosely. “Viola was right, you know.”
“What do you mean?” Liam asked.
“The end of the world is coming. I’ve known it for a while. I … see things, around people. I know what’s going to happen to them.”
Liam nodded. “And they tell you that the world is going to end?”
Mica looked at him. “You’re taking this awfully calmly.”
Liam shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen? Team Flare’s threatening to take over Kalos and march on the Pokémon League. Sounds like Lysandre’s going after revenge on them. I honestly don’t see what that’s got to do with the fate of the world.”
“I don’t either,” Mica said, “but I’ve never been wrong yet. I don’t know how, but everything as we know it will be gone.”
Liam exhaled. “We’ll just have to prevent that from happening.”
“I don’t know if we can,” Mica said regretfully. “It might happen whether we want it to or not.”
“But we have to try,” Liam said. “That’s why we joined the professor. How could eighteen kids stop the most evil organization Kalos has ever seen? It seems incredible that the professor believes it. But we have to try, for his sake, and for the sake of Kalos.”
Mica nodded eventually. “‘Together, ‘neath the setting sun.’ Shockingly appropriate. The sun sets; the end of a day. Or a week. Or a year. Or even an era. We have to try to make sure we all see the sun rise.”
“Yes,” said Liam, smiling. “A new day.”
Mica had known it for some time now, of course. He saw everything before it happened. Why would the end of the world be any exception?
Glowing pictures flashed around everyone Mica saw, telling Mica––sometimes––what would happen to those people. Lately, they had been growing less and less frequent. As if the people they surrounded would cease to have any futures at all.
A wind that may or may not have actually existed struck Mica’s skin with an icy bite. He shivered and drew his black cloak closer, despite the bright sun overhead. Kalos Route 4 was heavily cultivated, and Mica felt sick knowing that it would all be gone so soon.
He doubted if any of the others knew about his … unique … ability. He’d never told anyone, naturally, but Fylon seemed to know everything. Who could say if he had told the rest? Anyway, it had never been brought up, which suited Mica just fine.
Suddenly, a bright, shining moon appeared and hovered for a long moment over Blake’s head. It revolved slowly, throwing ethereal flashes of light around the pathway, striking the freshly trimmed hedges and the stone fountain. And then it winked out, faster than it had appeared. The ethereal light vanished.
“Strange …” Mica said softly. It was rare that he had no idea how to interpret a portent. It was almost always instinctive.
“What?” said Blake and Liam together, turning. Blake scowled. He didn’t flicker, to Mica’s eyes, even when he wore his jacket. Mica had soon learned to play it off as though Blake did flicker, though, to deflect suspicion.
Not staring directly at Blake, Mica muttered an excuse as he walked past them and continued down the path. Blake and Liam followed without hesitation. Mica had worked hard while with the Spectrum to be something of an enigma. The others took his peculiarities as a matter of course.
Santalune City was not far down the road, its brick pillars casting an impressive, though not unfriendly shadow over the path before Mica. He passed under them without a second glance, Blake and Liam following behind.
Inside the city’s walls, people bustled around, doing whatever it was they needed to do this day. Mica saw images around the heads of a few, and, in some cases, found himself knowing what they meant. A burning torch signified bankruptcy; a ruined castle, dashed hopes. Flower petals meant prosperity to come––rare, in these times. And more often than anything else, a gleaming sword: grave danger.
There were others, of course, the meaning of which Mica had no idea. A felled tree; a clump of berries; an ancient-looking crown. He tried not to focus on these too much. He hated not knowing what omens meant.
“Where do you suppose we’d find Viola?” Liam asked.
Mica stopped walking and turned on the spot, surveying the area. He mentally excluded the omens from his vision. Distraction wasn’t something he needed right now.
“There,” Blake said suddenly.
Mica turned to look where he was pointing, and saw a building across a courtyard to their left that had clearly once been a Gym. The Leaders’ Emblem was crumbling, but still noticeable on the front of the building.
Mica and Liam followed Blake as he crossed the courtyard toward the Gym, not caring if anyone saw them and wondered why they were walking directly toward a building that had been abandoned for ten years.
The doors of the Gym were solid wood, engraved with abstract designs that made little sense to Mica, until he realized they were tunnels made by burrowing Bug-type Pokémon.
A brass door-knocker was affixed to each door. Mica ignored these. He brought out a Poké Ball and activated it, Honedge appearing in a flash of light.
Mica had heard legends saying that Honedge was the product of a deceased spirit entering a sword. He had never bothered to find out if that was the truth. Honedge was Honedge; what more did he need to know?
“Surely you’re not going to knock down the door?” Liam asked, clearly a bit distressed.
Ah, right. Liam would see the door as a work of art, rather than a block of wood carved out by bugs. That was going to be a bit inconvenient.
“Do you have a better idea?” Mica asked.
Liam nodded, releasing his Scyther. Though the Pokémon was, technically speaking, a bug, she was unlike any other Bug-type Mica had ever seen. She stood on her well-developed hind feet, and had a thin, segmented body covered in a bright green carapace.
Most distinguishing of all, however, were her arms, which each ended in a long razor-sharp blade. Scyther efficiently picked the locks on the doors using her blades, before Liam recalled her.
Mica recalled Honedge as well, and shoved open the doors. He went inside.
The interior of the building was unadorned, save for faded photographs lining every wall. He supposed the photographs, all of Bug-type Pokémon, had been taken by Viola. Though Mica’s eye had never been one for art, he had to admire the precision with which the photographs had been taken.
The middle of the room held a hole in the floor, from which a white rope emerged and connected to the ceiling above. Mica went closer and saw that it was made of finely woven silk. Probably from a Bug-type Pokémon. Gym Leaders did like to stay in theme.
Blake approached from the right. He grasped the silk rope with both hands and tugged it a bit. Convinced it would remain attached to the ceiling, he put one foot over the hole, ready to jump.
A knife, a broken mirror, a gauntlet. Glowing images flashed above Blake’s head in quick succession. Mica saw them at once, and the meaning came to him in an instant.
“Blake, wait!” he cried.
Blake turned his head to look over his shoulder at Mica, frowning, at the same time as his other foot left the floor. The rope snapped, and Blake fell through the hole in the floor.
Liam spared less than a moment before once again releasing Scyther. He climbed onto the Pokémon’s back –– evidently Scyther was stronger than she looked –– and Scyther flapped her wings, gliding down through the hole.
“Order,” Mica cursed.
A few moments passed, and Scyther reappeared. She offered her forearm to Mica, who grasped it, and fell through the hole with Scyther.
*
A deep black, darker than the darkest night, engulfed them.
Mica hated not being able to see. He could feel hard ground beneath his feet, and could hear faint gasps coming from Blake, but could see none of it.
“Liam?” Mica asked hoarsely. “You there?”
“I’m here,” Liam said. “I think Blake’s got a broken arm, though.”
Through a gasp, Blake mumbled agreement.
“Order. Can you set it or something?” Mica asked.
“Not without being able to see it,” Liam replied. “Here.”
Blake groaned, and Mica guessed he was getting to his feet.
Suddenly, a light came from out of the blackness, along with the sound of flapping wings. Mica turned his head and saw a Pokémon, a Vivillon, faintly illuminated by the glow from its wings. It was closely followed by a woman, perhaps forty years old, wearing a shabby cloak over dull grey and brown clothes. The woman’s hair was ragged and unkempt, and her face more aged than the pictures Mica had seen, but he was nonetheless sure that this was Viola.
“Strangers,” Viola muttered under her breath. “Haven’t gotten strangers in a while. Oh, and Pokémon Trainers, too, by the look of you. Ah! A Scyther! And such a beautiful specimen, too.”
She rambled on, and Mica got the feeling that if she had lived down here for ten years, she might not be entirely sane. Mica moved toward the light.
“Miss Viola?” he asked.
“You!” she said, suddenly. A dangerous glint had come into her eyes. “When the child of death walks the land once more; the king of darkness; the crawler’s son; the end of all shall come at last; what were eighteen shall now be one.”
Mica felt a chill. “What did you say?” he whispered.
“Ha!” Viola nearly screeched. “Child of death! You know what I speak of, yes? You have seen it?”
Mica hesitated. Yes, he had seen the “end of all,” as Viola had put it. He saw it every day, in the glowing images. But how could Viola know that?
Uncomfortably, he nodded. He was conscious of Liam and Blake, whom he had never told of his strange abilities, watching him.
Viola laughed raucously. “It’s true, then! You –– all of you.”
“All of us … what?” Liam asked nervously.
“You’re Pokémon Trainers,” she said. “Ghost … Dark … Bug. Child of death, king of darkness, crawler’s son. The end comes. You know this.”
Mica nodded again. “Miss Viola,” he said, “you mentioned eighteen becoming one.”
“Ha! Yes!” Viola said. “The Elemental Spectrum!”
“What?” Liam asked sharply. “How do you know about that?”
“The prophecies!” Viola crowed. “The prophecies tell everything!”
Unnerved, and not quite sure what to make of this, Mica continued slowly, “Yes, the Elemental Spectrum. You see, the region is in danger. Team Flare has returned.”
“The end of all, yes,” Viola said. “What do you expect me to do about it?”
“Well,” Mica said, “you’re a Gym Leader––”
Viola’s arm abruptly shot out, flinging a length of silken rope at Mica. Viola kept hold of one end while the other twisted around Mica’s leg. The Gym Leader tugged on the rope, efficiently tripping Mica and causing him to fall to the ground.
“I was a Gym Leader,” she said flatly. The dangerous glint had vanished from her eyes. “No longer. We were the Defenders of Kalos. The Pokémon League. And we failed.”
Any trace of insanity was now gone. Viola only looked sorrowful, undoubtedly remembering the events from ten years before.
Mica untangled the rope from his leg and stood up. “Now’s your chance to redeem yourself,” he said softly. “Come with us. Help defend Kalos once more.”
Viola appeared to consider it for several long moments. “No,” she said finally. “The time of Gym Leaders is past. ‘The road goes ever on and on.’ You must do this yourselves.”
She stood there another minute, lost in thought, and then made a sharp gesture at Blake. Her Vivillon’s aura flared to life, and it formed a silken rope, tying Blake’s arm in a skillful splint. Then, Viola retreated into the darkness without another word. Vivillon’s light winked out.
Mica stood, stunned. “We failed,” he whispered. “She wouldn’t join us.”
He heard Liam sigh, and Scyther’s wings buzz. A shadow crossed above the light from the hole above, and Mica knew Scyther was ferrying Liam up. The Pokémon descended again, this time for Blake. Mica barely noticed. They had failed.
Scyther’s arm nudged Mica’s, and he absently gripped the carapace. Scyther flew him up and out through the hole in the floor, and back into the light.
It didn’t matter. They had failed.
*
Outside, in the sunlight, Mica sat down on a bench beside the fountain at the center of the courtyard. The spray from the fountain tickled his face, but he ignored it. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t the end of the world that Viola hadn’t joined them, except, well, that it was.
The end was coming. Glowing images flashed above the heads of a few passersby, but none of their meanings came to him.
Liam sat down beside Mica. For a while he said nothing. He simply sat, hands clasped, staring into the shimmering rainbows made by the spray of the fountain.
“Blake’s in the Pokémon Center,” he said at last. “They’re giving him a proper sling for his arm.”
Mica nodded morosely. “Viola was right, you know.”
“What do you mean?” Liam asked.
“The end of the world is coming. I’ve known it for a while. I … see things, around people. I know what’s going to happen to them.”
Liam nodded. “And they tell you that the world is going to end?”
Mica looked at him. “You’re taking this awfully calmly.”
Liam shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen? Team Flare’s threatening to take over Kalos and march on the Pokémon League. Sounds like Lysandre’s going after revenge on them. I honestly don’t see what that’s got to do with the fate of the world.”
“I don’t either,” Mica said, “but I’ve never been wrong yet. I don’t know how, but everything as we know it will be gone.”
Liam exhaled. “We’ll just have to prevent that from happening.”
“I don’t know if we can,” Mica said regretfully. “It might happen whether we want it to or not.”
“But we have to try,” Liam said. “That’s why we joined the professor. How could eighteen kids stop the most evil organization Kalos has ever seen? It seems incredible that the professor believes it. But we have to try, for his sake, and for the sake of Kalos.”
Mica nodded eventually. “‘Together, ‘neath the setting sun.’ Shockingly appropriate. The sun sets; the end of a day. Or a week. Or a year. Or even an era. We have to try to make sure we all see the sun rise.”
“Yes,” said Liam, smiling. “A new day.”
Early the next morning, not so well rested as they would have liked, the small party packed up their bags and set off for Laverre City. The sun’s first rays turned the skies from a deep black to pale purple, and then slowly to faint orange. The durin trees provided cover and shade, though this far north there was not much warmth to speak of.
Sera thought about the previous night; about Ragan’s words of advice for when they reached Laverre City. The World Tree was not something she had ever heard of, not in the most fanciful tales told by peddlers passing through the east.
A wind blew, rustling the leathery leaves of the durin trees, and Sera remembered the wind from last night. She had turned to look at it, and when she looked back, Ragan had vanished. And just before that, his hand had glowed pale violet. Almost as if …
No, that’s ridiculous.
She pushed the wind out of her mind. Laverre drew nearer, and the forest began to thin. The sun, now being able to penetrate the now not-so-dense forest canopy, shone steadily brighter overhead as the day wore on.
At a point in the day when Sera thought the sun must be nearing the end of its ascent, they came out of the trees and into a large clearing, sparsely dotted by log-built houses and watchtowers. There were a few people about, but none stopped to greet the five people who had just emerged from the woods.
Warren led to way to the closest of the watchtowers. It was built on three sturdy wooden stilts, with a ladder reaching from the ground to a raised platform at the top, surrounded by walls on three sides and a roof. As they approached, a short man, fair-skinned and grey-haired, began to descend the ladder. He turned and saw them, and his face broke into a wide grin.
“Travellers!” he said happily. “We don’t get many visitors these days, you know. I’m Arrie, just old Arrie. Where might you be headed?”
He spoke very quickly and affably, and Sera wondered at how he could be so friendly in these times of turmoil. She felt comfortable giving their names, however, and said, “We’re going to Laverre City, sir. Could you show us the way?”
“Of course, of course, fine travellers! It’s just up there!” Arrie pointed at the trees on the other side of the settlement. “You’ll be there by mid-afternoon, I don’t doubt. Why might you be going to Laverre?”
Sera hesitated. On the one hand, Arrie didn’t seem like he would knowingly endanger them, but she also didn’t know how free he was with gossip around the other members of the settlement.
“We’re … erm, do you know anyone named Ragan, by any chance?” she said.
Arrie shook his head at once. “No, why?”
“He’s … he’s a friend of ours,” Sera invented. “We’re going to see him in Laverre City.”
Arrie nodded, as if he understood. “Well, I wish you luck in finding your friend, then,” he said. “Farewell!”
Sera thanked him and led the way through the settlement to the woods beyond. They passed several children running and playing in the fields around the clearing, and a few stopped to watch the strange travellers.
Winged Pokémon flapped here and there, and a few drifted in the breeze. Others scurried through the grass, and some splashed in puddles. Sera has never seen so many in one place before.
The woods thickened around them as they passed the first few trees. In moments, the gloom from before the clearing had settled into place once again. Murky puddles of mostly mud dotted the earth, and they all took great care to avoid them. Sera’s boots still hadn’t entirely dried from the day before.
They did not stop to eat at midday, but rather gnawed on stale bread as they walked. At one point, Amaline drifted away to collect durin blossoms from the trees. The fruit itself has too thick a skin to eat, but the blossoms were edible, if not filling. Sera began to grow hungry again not long after.
The next few hours passed with little incident. It came as a relief to Sera when the trees finally thinned again, and the party passed into Laverre City.
In a clearing at least five times the size of the one they had just left, with an immense stonewood in the exact center, Laverre City was populated by houses that didn’t seem to be built so much as grown. The roofs of all the houses were covered by leaves with the bright orange color of autumn, and they seemed to grow straight from crisscrossing branches.
There were no watchtowers, unlike the settlement. Sera briefly wondered at that; why would this place not need watchtowers if the smaller settlements did?
The stonewood in the middle of the city –– which could only be the World Tree Ragan had spoken of –– was enormous, at least a hundred feet around and three times that in height. Its branches spread over all of Laverre, shading it from the sun overhead. Leaves and blossoms constantly spiralled down from the canopy, raining on the inhabitants below.
Carved into the World Tree’s trunk, at least ten feet over their heads, was a massive clock-face, with hands seemingly made from whittled branches of the tree. The center of the clock-face held the Leaders’ Emblem, the ancient symbol of the Pokémon League.
So the World Tree had somehow been Valerie’s Pokémon Gym, then. But how did one get in? There was no door. Sera felt a little ridiculous for even considering that there could be a door in a tree in the first place.
An elderly woman crossed in front of them, paying the travellers no heed. Sera stopped her, and asked, “Excuse me, but would you happen to know how we could get into the World Tree?”
“Into the World Tree?” the woman said, clearly amused. “What an interesting notion! One does not simply walk into the World Tree, child.”
The woman chuckled and shook her head, and walked on. A wind blew, rustling the leaves of the trees behind them. Sera sighed. This was going to be harder than she had thought.
Wait. Sera turned, and realized she could almost see the wind as it blew through the trees. There was a soft purple glow about it.
Purple … Ragan!
The events of the previous night came back to Sera again. Ragan’s hand, which had glowed pale purple, had clenched into a fist. Then the wind had blown. Sera turned to look, and … Ragan was gone.
The purple glow again. It’s as if … as if he had an aura.
But humans didn’t have auras. Everyone knew that. Then why did his hand glow purple?
She thought about Ragan’s words, which had disturbed Warren so. “It’s said in Laverren legends that if anyone manages to gain entry to the World Tree, they will find the answers they’ve been looking for.”
But how did they gain entry?
Sera led the others through what seemed to be a neighborhood of the growing houses, and to the base of the World Tree.
A small brass plaque built into the trunk near the ground read,
“A creature’s aura suddenly burning
marks the beginning of a turning.”
Sera crouched before the plaque and read it aloud. And then again. And again, trying to find some meaning in the words.
“A creature’s aura …” Warren said. “How does that mark the beginning of a turning? Our Pokémon have always been able to use their auras.”
Sera thought back. “Remember last night? Ragan disappeared after the wind blew?”
Warren nodded.
“Well, I thought I saw something just before that happened,” Sera said. “His hand turned purple, almost like he was using an aura.”
“A person using an aura?” Peter asked, scoffing. “People don’t have auras.”
“That’s what I thought, too, but then I saw the wind blow when we first got here,” Sera said. “It looked pale purple, the same color Ragan’s hand turned.”
“That could have been done by a Pokémon, though,” Julian said. “No reason for it to be a human.”
“That’s true,” Sera said, frowning.
As they sat, lost in thought, a voice came from behind them: “I couldn’t help overhearing, but you children don’t seem to be from around here.”
Sera stood up and whirled around. A woman nearing her middle years stood there. Her face was creased from smiling, and her eyes were friendly and warm. Her hair, curiously, bore no trace of grey.
“My name’s Myenne,” she said. “It would be my pleasure to be of assistance however I may.”
Sera introduced herself. “Do you …” She hesitated.
“Do you know how to get into the World Tree?” Amaline asked.
Myenne looked taken aback. “Into the World Tree? I … I did not know such a thing was possible.”
Sera sighed. She had expected as much. Suddenly, another thought occurred to her. “Do you know of a man named Ragan?”
Myenne’s smile faltered for just an instant before she resumed it again. “Ragan? No, no, I know of no man named Ragan. Why do you ask? Are you searching for him?”
“Not … exactly,” Sera said. “He told us we could find the answers we seek in the World Tree.”
“Hmm,” Myenne said thoughtfully. “Something similar is spoken of in our legends. When an answer here is sought, in the Tree it may be taught. But they tell us nothing of how to enter the Tree.”
“What about this plaque?” Sera asked. “Do the words on it mean anything?”
“A creature’s aura?” Myenne said, peering at the plaque. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that. It sounds like something of times long past. It’s dangerous to know anything about that in these times.”
Sera began to grow frustrated. “Thanks anyway,” she snapped at Myenne.
Myenne looked mildly surprised. Then, her fists clenched at her sides. She seemed about to say something, but then a loud cracking sound came from above them. Sera looked upward in time to see a dead branch, splintering at one end, fall from the trunk of the World Tree.
Her training kicked in. She grabbed Amaura’s Poké Ball from her belt, and activated, calling out as she did so: “Light Screen!”
Amaura appeared, and her aura instantly flared to life. A thin barrier seemingly warped the air above them, and it held fast as the branch struck it before falling to the ground.
Sera realized suddenly that she had called Amaura out in plain sight of the citizens of Laverre City. Well, she thought, if Team Flare didn’t know we were here already, they certainly do now.
She hastily recalled Amaura, and then turned to look at Myenne––or rather, where Myenne had been standing. The woman was gone.
Strangely, Sera didn’t feel anything but more frustration at this. First Ragan, and now Myenne––did all Laverrens just vanish whenever you tried to get a straight answer out of them?
“Sera,” Peter said in a strangled voice. “Look at this.”
Sera turned back, and saw that a glowing circle, perhaps ten feet around, had appeared on the trunk of the World Tree, swallowing up the plaque. It shimmered a blue so pale it was almost white. The same color as Amaura’s aura.
Sera gasped, reaching out to touch the circle. The air around it shimmered as well, shockingly reminiscent of the barrier formed by Light Screen.
As the tip of her finger came into contact with the circle, she felt a tugging, as if the circle sought to draw her in.
Could … could this be … how we get into the World Tree?
With a last glance backward at the others, Sera took a deep breath, and let the circle pull her inside…
Flicker.
… and into an open field of grass dotted with zinnias. Trees lined the edge of the field,watered by pools around the base of some of them, and the sun shone brightly overhead. Sera knew, logically, that this was ridiculous. She was inside a tree––trees didn’t grow inside trees, and the sun certainly didn’t shine in them.
So … where was she?
Warren appeared next to her. There was no trace of the circle on this side of the tree’s trunk. She worried for a moment about how they would get back out.
Peter stepped through next, and then Julian and Amaline. Sera turned in a circle, looking at her surroundings.
Suddenly, she saw a man walking toward them. As he drew nearer, she realized that she recognized that mane of shaggy white hair, and the ragged travelling robes.
“Ragan?” she asked in disbelief. “I thought you were going to Lumiose!”
Ragan smiled. “I have had many names through the ages. Amis. Jaradel. Ragan. Here, however, I am called Azoth.”
“Azoth …” Warren’s mouth was agape. “You mean …”
“You’re the king?” Amaline asked. “From the stories?”
Ragan––Azoth––nodded. “I was once the king of the Kalos region. But that was three thousand years ago.”
Sera felt she should kneel, or bow, or something. Her mouth felt very dry. “Ah … Master––King Azoth …”
Azoth snorted. “I’m no king,” he said. “I’m just an old man now. My time will soon be here, I fear. I only hope I can do what I can to help you before then.”
“H––help us?” Sera asked. “You mean against Team Flare?”
“Ah, yes,” Azoth said. “Tell me, what has my great-great-great-grandnephew gotten up to now?”
“Your …” Sera was confused. “You mean Lysandre? Shouldn’t there be about thirty more ‘greats’ in there?”
“No,” Azoth said simply. “The thing about immortality is that we’re all rather long-lived, you see.”
“Yes, but …” Sera trailed off. “Never mind. We told you in the woods that we were here to search for Valerie, the Gym Leader.”
“Of course,” Azoth said. “I regret that deception, but, you see, it was necessary. I do know where you can find her. Come with me.”
He strode off through the tall grass of the field. Sera hastened to follow him, with the others trailing behind.
As they walked, their surroundings hardly seemed to change at all. The same trees seemed to repeat themselves over and over again. The sun never grew any higher or lower in the sky.
They did pass people, on occasion. Once, they saw a young woman in a shirt of many swirling colors wading barefoot in a pool. A Chikorita––a small Grass-type Pokémon––splashed around her feet.
Perhaps ten minutes after that, a young black-haired man, wearing a dark brown cloak, ran through the field after a small yellow Pokémon that ran too fast for Sera to see more than a blur.
Eventually, they came to a flat stone rising a few feet above the earth. Azoth stopped before the stone and raised his arms.
A pale purple nimbus––an aura––flared to life around his hands. The surface of the stone glowed the same color. Azoth reached out and brushed the stone with the tips of his fingers. Suddenly, he disappeared.
Sera gasped. “What did he do?”
Warren approached the stone, which still glowed, despite Azoth being gone. He touched the stone, and called back, “It’s like the circle on the trunk of the tree! Just touch it and let it pull you through!”
And he vanished. Sera approached the stone next, and, like Warren, touched the stone. She felt the tugging sensation again, and allowed herself to be pulled along with it, like a current in the sea. She felt herself fading …
Flicker.
… and came to her senses just behind Azoth and Warren in a majestic room, the walls plated with gold and silver. The floors were cold marble, with Kantonese rugs of the finest maroon velvet. A regal woman wearing deep pink-and-purple robes sat on a gold-leafed throne at the front of the room, before curtains the same maroon as the rugs. Her eyes were jet-black, without even any whites.
Sera suddenly realized that this regal lady was Myenne, the woman who had vanished when Sera has asked her how to get into the World Tree. But why was she here, and why had Azoth brought them to see her?
Azoth dropped to one knee, bowing to Myenne. “My lady Valerie.”
Sera felt, for the second time in one day, astonished. Ragan was a three-thousand-year-old king, and Myenne was Valerie, the Gym Leader of Laverre City? She imitated Azoth at once.
“You need not ever do that here, my lord,” Valerie said. She sounded faintly amused.
Azoth remained bowing.
“Stubborn as ever, I see,” Valerie observed. “Rise.”
Azoth stood up, and Sera did so as well. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Warren, Peter, Julian and Amaline had also been kneeling, and stood up now.
“My lady,” Azoth said, “these are the ones I told you of. Augustine Sycamore’s Elemental Spectrum. You remember.”
“Yes.” Valerie tilted her head, gazing at the group with her jet-black eyes. “Welcome to the World Tree, young Trainers. Why have you come?”
“Lysandre,” Azoth spat. “Team Flare is active once again. They mean to exact revenge on the League.”
“Hmm,” Valerie said, frowning. “We shall see about that. I do not believe there is anything Team Flare can do to harm us here.”
“But … they’re marching on the castle as we speak!” Sera said. Azoth cast her a scandalized look, but she ignored him. “Will you do nothing to help us?”
Valerie turned her mysterious gaze on Sera. “I don’t doubt your word, child, but my highest concern has always been the safety of those inside the Tree. I cannot risk their lives for the Pokémon League.”
Sera felt herself growing frustrated again. Myenne or Valerie, this woman seemed to have a talent for making her do that.
She calmed herself, though. Valerie was the more powerful here, and it would not do to get in a fight, not when she wanted Valerie to join them.
“My lady …” Azoth said. He sounded troubled. “Please reconsider. This is for the good of all of Kalos.”
Valerie tilted her head again. “Hmm … coming from you, that does mean rather a lot, Lord Azoth. Very well. I will consider.”
She gestured to her side, and from the curtains behind the throne came the young man with black hair they had seen earlier in the fields. His small yellow Pokémon––which Sera could now see was a Pichu––sat upon his shoulder.
“Kharissan,” Valerie said, “is a resident of the World Tree, and a descendant of the ancient kings. He also occasionally has the gift of foresight.”
Kharissan nodded. “As Life and Death are both unmade; the stone of victory the King retakes; the price of Order must be paid; for the cost of our mistakes.”
“That was a prophecy made at the birth of Azoth’s son eighteen years ago,” Valerie said.
“It will come to pass,” Kharissan said. “Very soon.”
“Yes, anyway,” Valerie said, “Kharissan, do you foresee anything about these five children?”
“Hmmm …” Kharissan said. “A flame. A sword. A rather ominous cloud. Well, that certainly doesn’t look good. Ahh … and light. Eighteen sparks of light in the midst of the cloud. I think the meaning of that one is rather obvious, my lady.”
“The Elemental Spectrum,” said Warren. “The dark cloud has to be Team Flare, right?”
“Not necessarily,” Kharissan said. “Danger, of course. Perhaps even grave danger. But I am not so sure about it being Team Flare. There’s something much bigger going on here. Something none of us can even guess at.”
Valerie shot a startled look at Azoth, whose face remained impassive. “I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t deal with,” he said. “But what of Team Flare? Do you see anything with regard to them?”
“The flame,” Kharissan said. “Likely Team Flare. An ember in shadow––your descendant, Lysandre. And … the Tree.” He frowned. “That shouldn’t happen. The World Tree, up in flames. Perhaps I misinterpreted it.”
“This is what shall come to pass?” Valerie asked worriedly.
“This is but a thread of time,” Kharissan said. “What will be may yet be changed.”
“We must stop this, then,” Azoth said. “We must not allow them to attack the World Tree.”
Valerie looked lost in thought. “Perhaps you did misinterpret it,” she said. “After all, my lord, you and the children say that Team Flare is marching on the castle. How could they reach us here?”
Azoth didn’t look convinced.
“I shall order a double guard on the outer dimensions,” Valerie said. “They will never reach us. Kharissan, you are dismissed.”
Kharissan bowed and retreated through the curtains.
“My lady …” Azoth began.
“Do not press me on this, Azoth,” Valerie said. “You are my most trusted advisor, but I shall be firm on this.”
Azoth reluctantly nodded. “I shall take my leave, then.”
“Dismissed,” Valerie said.
Azoth turned and strode to the back of the room, where a stone like the first awaited them. Azoth raised his arms again, and once more his aura flared. The stone glowed, and Azoth touched it, fading from sight. Sera was the first, this time, to approach the stone after Azoth and follow him, letting herself be swept away by the current.
Sera thought about the previous night; about Ragan’s words of advice for when they reached Laverre City. The World Tree was not something she had ever heard of, not in the most fanciful tales told by peddlers passing through the east.
A wind blew, rustling the leathery leaves of the durin trees, and Sera remembered the wind from last night. She had turned to look at it, and when she looked back, Ragan had vanished. And just before that, his hand had glowed pale violet. Almost as if …
No, that’s ridiculous.
She pushed the wind out of her mind. Laverre drew nearer, and the forest began to thin. The sun, now being able to penetrate the now not-so-dense forest canopy, shone steadily brighter overhead as the day wore on.
At a point in the day when Sera thought the sun must be nearing the end of its ascent, they came out of the trees and into a large clearing, sparsely dotted by log-built houses and watchtowers. There were a few people about, but none stopped to greet the five people who had just emerged from the woods.
Warren led to way to the closest of the watchtowers. It was built on three sturdy wooden stilts, with a ladder reaching from the ground to a raised platform at the top, surrounded by walls on three sides and a roof. As they approached, a short man, fair-skinned and grey-haired, began to descend the ladder. He turned and saw them, and his face broke into a wide grin.
“Travellers!” he said happily. “We don’t get many visitors these days, you know. I’m Arrie, just old Arrie. Where might you be headed?”
He spoke very quickly and affably, and Sera wondered at how he could be so friendly in these times of turmoil. She felt comfortable giving their names, however, and said, “We’re going to Laverre City, sir. Could you show us the way?”
“Of course, of course, fine travellers! It’s just up there!” Arrie pointed at the trees on the other side of the settlement. “You’ll be there by mid-afternoon, I don’t doubt. Why might you be going to Laverre?”
Sera hesitated. On the one hand, Arrie didn’t seem like he would knowingly endanger them, but she also didn’t know how free he was with gossip around the other members of the settlement.
“We’re … erm, do you know anyone named Ragan, by any chance?” she said.
Arrie shook his head at once. “No, why?”
“He’s … he’s a friend of ours,” Sera invented. “We’re going to see him in Laverre City.”
Arrie nodded, as if he understood. “Well, I wish you luck in finding your friend, then,” he said. “Farewell!”
Sera thanked him and led the way through the settlement to the woods beyond. They passed several children running and playing in the fields around the clearing, and a few stopped to watch the strange travellers.
Winged Pokémon flapped here and there, and a few drifted in the breeze. Others scurried through the grass, and some splashed in puddles. Sera has never seen so many in one place before.
The woods thickened around them as they passed the first few trees. In moments, the gloom from before the clearing had settled into place once again. Murky puddles of mostly mud dotted the earth, and they all took great care to avoid them. Sera’s boots still hadn’t entirely dried from the day before.
They did not stop to eat at midday, but rather gnawed on stale bread as they walked. At one point, Amaline drifted away to collect durin blossoms from the trees. The fruit itself has too thick a skin to eat, but the blossoms were edible, if not filling. Sera began to grow hungry again not long after.
The next few hours passed with little incident. It came as a relief to Sera when the trees finally thinned again, and the party passed into Laverre City.
In a clearing at least five times the size of the one they had just left, with an immense stonewood in the exact center, Laverre City was populated by houses that didn’t seem to be built so much as grown. The roofs of all the houses were covered by leaves with the bright orange color of autumn, and they seemed to grow straight from crisscrossing branches.
There were no watchtowers, unlike the settlement. Sera briefly wondered at that; why would this place not need watchtowers if the smaller settlements did?
The stonewood in the middle of the city –– which could only be the World Tree Ragan had spoken of –– was enormous, at least a hundred feet around and three times that in height. Its branches spread over all of Laverre, shading it from the sun overhead. Leaves and blossoms constantly spiralled down from the canopy, raining on the inhabitants below.
Carved into the World Tree’s trunk, at least ten feet over their heads, was a massive clock-face, with hands seemingly made from whittled branches of the tree. The center of the clock-face held the Leaders’ Emblem, the ancient symbol of the Pokémon League.
So the World Tree had somehow been Valerie’s Pokémon Gym, then. But how did one get in? There was no door. Sera felt a little ridiculous for even considering that there could be a door in a tree in the first place.
An elderly woman crossed in front of them, paying the travellers no heed. Sera stopped her, and asked, “Excuse me, but would you happen to know how we could get into the World Tree?”
“Into the World Tree?” the woman said, clearly amused. “What an interesting notion! One does not simply walk into the World Tree, child.”
The woman chuckled and shook her head, and walked on. A wind blew, rustling the leaves of the trees behind them. Sera sighed. This was going to be harder than she had thought.
Wait. Sera turned, and realized she could almost see the wind as it blew through the trees. There was a soft purple glow about it.
Purple … Ragan!
The events of the previous night came back to Sera again. Ragan’s hand, which had glowed pale purple, had clenched into a fist. Then the wind had blown. Sera turned to look, and … Ragan was gone.
The purple glow again. It’s as if … as if he had an aura.
But humans didn’t have auras. Everyone knew that. Then why did his hand glow purple?
She thought about Ragan’s words, which had disturbed Warren so. “It’s said in Laverren legends that if anyone manages to gain entry to the World Tree, they will find the answers they’ve been looking for.”
But how did they gain entry?
Sera led the others through what seemed to be a neighborhood of the growing houses, and to the base of the World Tree.
A small brass plaque built into the trunk near the ground read,
“A creature’s aura suddenly burning
marks the beginning of a turning.”
Sera crouched before the plaque and read it aloud. And then again. And again, trying to find some meaning in the words.
“A creature’s aura …” Warren said. “How does that mark the beginning of a turning? Our Pokémon have always been able to use their auras.”
Sera thought back. “Remember last night? Ragan disappeared after the wind blew?”
Warren nodded.
“Well, I thought I saw something just before that happened,” Sera said. “His hand turned purple, almost like he was using an aura.”
“A person using an aura?” Peter asked, scoffing. “People don’t have auras.”
“That’s what I thought, too, but then I saw the wind blow when we first got here,” Sera said. “It looked pale purple, the same color Ragan’s hand turned.”
“That could have been done by a Pokémon, though,” Julian said. “No reason for it to be a human.”
“That’s true,” Sera said, frowning.
As they sat, lost in thought, a voice came from behind them: “I couldn’t help overhearing, but you children don’t seem to be from around here.”
Sera stood up and whirled around. A woman nearing her middle years stood there. Her face was creased from smiling, and her eyes were friendly and warm. Her hair, curiously, bore no trace of grey.
“My name’s Myenne,” she said. “It would be my pleasure to be of assistance however I may.”
Sera introduced herself. “Do you …” She hesitated.
“Do you know how to get into the World Tree?” Amaline asked.
Myenne looked taken aback. “Into the World Tree? I … I did not know such a thing was possible.”
Sera sighed. She had expected as much. Suddenly, another thought occurred to her. “Do you know of a man named Ragan?”
Myenne’s smile faltered for just an instant before she resumed it again. “Ragan? No, no, I know of no man named Ragan. Why do you ask? Are you searching for him?”
“Not … exactly,” Sera said. “He told us we could find the answers we seek in the World Tree.”
“Hmm,” Myenne said thoughtfully. “Something similar is spoken of in our legends. When an answer here is sought, in the Tree it may be taught. But they tell us nothing of how to enter the Tree.”
“What about this plaque?” Sera asked. “Do the words on it mean anything?”
“A creature’s aura?” Myenne said, peering at the plaque. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that. It sounds like something of times long past. It’s dangerous to know anything about that in these times.”
Sera began to grow frustrated. “Thanks anyway,” she snapped at Myenne.
Myenne looked mildly surprised. Then, her fists clenched at her sides. She seemed about to say something, but then a loud cracking sound came from above them. Sera looked upward in time to see a dead branch, splintering at one end, fall from the trunk of the World Tree.
Her training kicked in. She grabbed Amaura’s Poké Ball from her belt, and activated, calling out as she did so: “Light Screen!”
Amaura appeared, and her aura instantly flared to life. A thin barrier seemingly warped the air above them, and it held fast as the branch struck it before falling to the ground.
Sera realized suddenly that she had called Amaura out in plain sight of the citizens of Laverre City. Well, she thought, if Team Flare didn’t know we were here already, they certainly do now.
She hastily recalled Amaura, and then turned to look at Myenne––or rather, where Myenne had been standing. The woman was gone.
Strangely, Sera didn’t feel anything but more frustration at this. First Ragan, and now Myenne––did all Laverrens just vanish whenever you tried to get a straight answer out of them?
“Sera,” Peter said in a strangled voice. “Look at this.”
Sera turned back, and saw that a glowing circle, perhaps ten feet around, had appeared on the trunk of the World Tree, swallowing up the plaque. It shimmered a blue so pale it was almost white. The same color as Amaura’s aura.
Sera gasped, reaching out to touch the circle. The air around it shimmered as well, shockingly reminiscent of the barrier formed by Light Screen.
As the tip of her finger came into contact with the circle, she felt a tugging, as if the circle sought to draw her in.
Could … could this be … how we get into the World Tree?
With a last glance backward at the others, Sera took a deep breath, and let the circle pull her inside…
Flicker.
… and into an open field of grass dotted with zinnias. Trees lined the edge of the field,watered by pools around the base of some of them, and the sun shone brightly overhead. Sera knew, logically, that this was ridiculous. She was inside a tree––trees didn’t grow inside trees, and the sun certainly didn’t shine in them.
So … where was she?
Warren appeared next to her. There was no trace of the circle on this side of the tree’s trunk. She worried for a moment about how they would get back out.
Peter stepped through next, and then Julian and Amaline. Sera turned in a circle, looking at her surroundings.
Suddenly, she saw a man walking toward them. As he drew nearer, she realized that she recognized that mane of shaggy white hair, and the ragged travelling robes.
“Ragan?” she asked in disbelief. “I thought you were going to Lumiose!”
Ragan smiled. “I have had many names through the ages. Amis. Jaradel. Ragan. Here, however, I am called Azoth.”
“Azoth …” Warren’s mouth was agape. “You mean …”
“You’re the king?” Amaline asked. “From the stories?”
Ragan––Azoth––nodded. “I was once the king of the Kalos region. But that was three thousand years ago.”
Sera felt she should kneel, or bow, or something. Her mouth felt very dry. “Ah … Master––King Azoth …”
Azoth snorted. “I’m no king,” he said. “I’m just an old man now. My time will soon be here, I fear. I only hope I can do what I can to help you before then.”
“H––help us?” Sera asked. “You mean against Team Flare?”
“Ah, yes,” Azoth said. “Tell me, what has my great-great-great-grandnephew gotten up to now?”
“Your …” Sera was confused. “You mean Lysandre? Shouldn’t there be about thirty more ‘greats’ in there?”
“No,” Azoth said simply. “The thing about immortality is that we’re all rather long-lived, you see.”
“Yes, but …” Sera trailed off. “Never mind. We told you in the woods that we were here to search for Valerie, the Gym Leader.”
“Of course,” Azoth said. “I regret that deception, but, you see, it was necessary. I do know where you can find her. Come with me.”
He strode off through the tall grass of the field. Sera hastened to follow him, with the others trailing behind.
As they walked, their surroundings hardly seemed to change at all. The same trees seemed to repeat themselves over and over again. The sun never grew any higher or lower in the sky.
They did pass people, on occasion. Once, they saw a young woman in a shirt of many swirling colors wading barefoot in a pool. A Chikorita––a small Grass-type Pokémon––splashed around her feet.
Perhaps ten minutes after that, a young black-haired man, wearing a dark brown cloak, ran through the field after a small yellow Pokémon that ran too fast for Sera to see more than a blur.
Eventually, they came to a flat stone rising a few feet above the earth. Azoth stopped before the stone and raised his arms.
A pale purple nimbus––an aura––flared to life around his hands. The surface of the stone glowed the same color. Azoth reached out and brushed the stone with the tips of his fingers. Suddenly, he disappeared.
Sera gasped. “What did he do?”
Warren approached the stone, which still glowed, despite Azoth being gone. He touched the stone, and called back, “It’s like the circle on the trunk of the tree! Just touch it and let it pull you through!”
And he vanished. Sera approached the stone next, and, like Warren, touched the stone. She felt the tugging sensation again, and allowed herself to be pulled along with it, like a current in the sea. She felt herself fading …
Flicker.
… and came to her senses just behind Azoth and Warren in a majestic room, the walls plated with gold and silver. The floors were cold marble, with Kantonese rugs of the finest maroon velvet. A regal woman wearing deep pink-and-purple robes sat on a gold-leafed throne at the front of the room, before curtains the same maroon as the rugs. Her eyes were jet-black, without even any whites.
Sera suddenly realized that this regal lady was Myenne, the woman who had vanished when Sera has asked her how to get into the World Tree. But why was she here, and why had Azoth brought them to see her?
Azoth dropped to one knee, bowing to Myenne. “My lady Valerie.”
Sera felt, for the second time in one day, astonished. Ragan was a three-thousand-year-old king, and Myenne was Valerie, the Gym Leader of Laverre City? She imitated Azoth at once.
“You need not ever do that here, my lord,” Valerie said. She sounded faintly amused.
Azoth remained bowing.
“Stubborn as ever, I see,” Valerie observed. “Rise.”
Azoth stood up, and Sera did so as well. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Warren, Peter, Julian and Amaline had also been kneeling, and stood up now.
“My lady,” Azoth said, “these are the ones I told you of. Augustine Sycamore’s Elemental Spectrum. You remember.”
“Yes.” Valerie tilted her head, gazing at the group with her jet-black eyes. “Welcome to the World Tree, young Trainers. Why have you come?”
“Lysandre,” Azoth spat. “Team Flare is active once again. They mean to exact revenge on the League.”
“Hmm,” Valerie said, frowning. “We shall see about that. I do not believe there is anything Team Flare can do to harm us here.”
“But … they’re marching on the castle as we speak!” Sera said. Azoth cast her a scandalized look, but she ignored him. “Will you do nothing to help us?”
Valerie turned her mysterious gaze on Sera. “I don’t doubt your word, child, but my highest concern has always been the safety of those inside the Tree. I cannot risk their lives for the Pokémon League.”
Sera felt herself growing frustrated again. Myenne or Valerie, this woman seemed to have a talent for making her do that.
She calmed herself, though. Valerie was the more powerful here, and it would not do to get in a fight, not when she wanted Valerie to join them.
“My lady …” Azoth said. He sounded troubled. “Please reconsider. This is for the good of all of Kalos.”
Valerie tilted her head again. “Hmm … coming from you, that does mean rather a lot, Lord Azoth. Very well. I will consider.”
She gestured to her side, and from the curtains behind the throne came the young man with black hair they had seen earlier in the fields. His small yellow Pokémon––which Sera could now see was a Pichu––sat upon his shoulder.
“Kharissan,” Valerie said, “is a resident of the World Tree, and a descendant of the ancient kings. He also occasionally has the gift of foresight.”
Kharissan nodded. “As Life and Death are both unmade; the stone of victory the King retakes; the price of Order must be paid; for the cost of our mistakes.”
“That was a prophecy made at the birth of Azoth’s son eighteen years ago,” Valerie said.
“It will come to pass,” Kharissan said. “Very soon.”
“Yes, anyway,” Valerie said, “Kharissan, do you foresee anything about these five children?”
“Hmmm …” Kharissan said. “A flame. A sword. A rather ominous cloud. Well, that certainly doesn’t look good. Ahh … and light. Eighteen sparks of light in the midst of the cloud. I think the meaning of that one is rather obvious, my lady.”
“The Elemental Spectrum,” said Warren. “The dark cloud has to be Team Flare, right?”
“Not necessarily,” Kharissan said. “Danger, of course. Perhaps even grave danger. But I am not so sure about it being Team Flare. There’s something much bigger going on here. Something none of us can even guess at.”
Valerie shot a startled look at Azoth, whose face remained impassive. “I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t deal with,” he said. “But what of Team Flare? Do you see anything with regard to them?”
“The flame,” Kharissan said. “Likely Team Flare. An ember in shadow––your descendant, Lysandre. And … the Tree.” He frowned. “That shouldn’t happen. The World Tree, up in flames. Perhaps I misinterpreted it.”
“This is what shall come to pass?” Valerie asked worriedly.
“This is but a thread of time,” Kharissan said. “What will be may yet be changed.”
“We must stop this, then,” Azoth said. “We must not allow them to attack the World Tree.”
Valerie looked lost in thought. “Perhaps you did misinterpret it,” she said. “After all, my lord, you and the children say that Team Flare is marching on the castle. How could they reach us here?”
Azoth didn’t look convinced.
“I shall order a double guard on the outer dimensions,” Valerie said. “They will never reach us. Kharissan, you are dismissed.”
Kharissan bowed and retreated through the curtains.
“My lady …” Azoth began.
“Do not press me on this, Azoth,” Valerie said. “You are my most trusted advisor, but I shall be firm on this.”
Azoth reluctantly nodded. “I shall take my leave, then.”
“Dismissed,” Valerie said.
Azoth turned and strode to the back of the room, where a stone like the first awaited them. Azoth raised his arms again, and once more his aura flared. The stone glowed, and Azoth touched it, fading from sight. Sera was the first, this time, to approach the stone after Azoth and follow him, letting herself be swept away by the current.
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