Pokémon Forsaken Catalyst

[Raindropcroptop]

In the center of the world, a woman perishes and leaves behind her greatest treasure. Unfortunately, only tragedy will befall her son. The Great Sage laughs as the pieces fall into place, a hand steadily guiding the Prince to his destiny. His sisters watch in horror, and give up everything in a desperate effort to protect him.

In order to bring about that destiny, he will break the rules of the world and shatter them into oblivion. But he is not the only thing pulling the strings.

And in another time, the consequences of such meddling will be seen by people who never saw it coming.

Forsaken Catalyst is a fic with heavy themes including graphic violence that goes into gore, major character death, religious trauma, child abuse, kidnapping, dehumanization, and body/cosmic horror. There are scenes and discussion about using/sacrificing someone against their will as a major plot point.

This is rated M.

Spoiler: Plot Spoiler Tags

It also deals with a lot of non consensual transformations, or in some cases consensual transformations (humans turning into pokemon). This is done by summoning entities into people, so if that's not your cup of tea, I would highly suggest giving this one a pass. Also there is prevalent conflict where Ghetsis is a Bad Guy. He's very abusive so please keep that in mind.

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Chapter 1​

The forests of Unova could often be a winding, endless expanse. Dense trees occupy most of the landscape, and the creatures dwelling within them settle in between bushes and limbs. They often rest in the light humidity and sit drowsy in the strong summer sun. Creeks trickle in the distance, but it does little to satiate the ever present need for cool in the overwhelming warmth as the season hits full swing.

But there is one person who is frantic amongst the tired nature that surrounds her. She follows a worn brick path, long overgrown by years of neglect. Branches litter the stones as she hastily kicks them away, not caring about the birds that still sing despite the heat.

The woman runs in desperation, disturbing the long period of peace and drawing the attention of the various monsters that dwell in the shadows. She stumbles, her breath escaping her in coughing fits, but she does not stop. Fallen trees and unruly bushes are brushed past with frenzied movement as her eyes dart frantically behind her.

Nothing stares back. It does nothing to calm her.

Her arms close around a precious bundle in her arms, despite her exhaustion. The heat does nothing to dismiss the quickly growing chill within her, and she gulps back a sinking feeling that tells her this will not be a decision she makes lightly. She sighs, pulling her skirt away from her footprints. Hiding them should take priority in her situation. In many ways, this is a fruitless endeavor.

Flowers sprout from where her feet have touched the path, a soft pastel pink reaching upwards to bloom in gratitude. They mark beginnings and endings, a testament to the life slowly escaping her, the mark of something beyond. She mutters and mumbles small prayers to that something, although she knows that it is an effort made in vain.

Blessings would never fall for her, not after her sacrifice. The cycles would never allow such things to happen, feasting and reaching for more, and all she could do is sustain in the face of it all. Still, she continues to chant sacred word to the most holy, despite her understanding. She continues, regardless, until the foliage she’s trying to run through starts to grow more and more wild. This is the place forbidden to their kind, and yet she brings her most vulnerable there in her time of need.

In her delirium the woman could have sworn she saw the shadows closing in on the trail.

Despite this, her soul was not alarmed.

The deep, thick cover of the forest started to part as the trail grew more and more intact, revealing a place that was both familiar and foreign to her. The center of the Entralink was a place of myth, to most. A tree of spiraling black and white welcomed her despite her eventual collapse from such a harsh journey. Her grip remained strong, however, and her arms shook as they protected what she worked so hard to save.

Crimson trickled away from her failing body, allowing blooming flowers to feast as they never had before. Gratitude exploded around her, a splendid sight created with a life stolen. The plants curled in the air, blanketing everything with Spring in the midst of Summer’s embrace.

Within her arms, Flora heard a sniffle from below. Stalks had begun to curl into the blanket she’d wrapped around her child, and she cradled him close to avoid her own overgrown explosion of life. Hair the color of fresh mint surrounded her son’s face, the signs of Harmonia inescapable to even the most innocent of his bloodline. He was asleep, although whether it was a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.

She wished to bid him farewell.

But her hair was budding with flowers, and her face was melting to reveal what lived just beneath the surface. It would certainly distress him in her final moments. Perhaps it was better this way, even as the pain of being taken made her shudder at every strained movement.

She kissed his forehead and murmured apologies that would never be enough. Not for the amount of responsibility he would have to shoulder. Perhaps, he would find a way out before it was too late. But it was too late for her to consider any further involvement. This small sacrifice would be all she was allowed to make.

At some point during her resignation, Flora’s soul became aware shadows unlike those from before. They were smaller, covered in the scent of creatures she could not identify. She shivered and tried to hide him, for she was afraid of the disturbance she could sense on the other side of the clearing.

The beast crept out of the woods with all of the confidence of a predator. Scarlet red stood out from an inky black, made up of a mane trailing behind lanky limbs and a mouth filled with razor sharp teeth. The creature held a thin appearance, but there could be no mistaking the power that filled its every movement.

Still, it was strange to see such a being emerge from the shadows willingly. Perhaps it was aware of how easy it would be to hunt such wounded prey. It was a thing that filled her with a deep sense of regret and resignation.

All of that effort, all of that planning. Everything. For it to all come to a close, like this…

Flora knew that life was never fair. She was deeply aware of the injustices that surrounded her every waking moment in that place. But some part of her rioted at the thought of losing after having made it this far. She rose to her knees, hacking out wheezing gasps as she held her son tightly. The grasses that had come to comfort her grew fierce and raised as if they were hackles on a dying animal. Perhaps she was no different, and her humanity was leaving the body by the minute as her strength waned.

But this was not the end. The creature paused, tilting its head and standing quietly rather than attacking outright. Instead, it walked carefully to the side of her dangerous garden, and sat before her without a shred of malice.

Perhaps, even despite her best efforts the place she’d resided in had affected her over the years. It was a thought that stood out to her as she watched a predator lay in the grass of the Entralink, quietly and calmly awaiting her death instead of attacking. They watched each other like that for several minutes, that could have been hours or even years to Flora. Although, it would not last in her condition. Without her permission, adrenaline proved too costly to maintain.

Her limbs fell to the earth, relaxing into the meadow of Gracidea. The scent wafted all around her, a balm to her distress, but it was not enough to quell her nauseating sense of dread.

“Harmonia.” Blood rushed to her ears and her eyes blurred, rendering sensation a mere suggestion, but the words were heard as clear as day. The creature was a splatter of color in the corner of her vision, growing ever closer.

It spoke across the veil, a whisper of illusion greeting and rumbling deep from within the monster. Flora could not stop herself from sobbing, her unresponsive limbs still struggling in vain.

“Please, if you value Harmonia’s name,” She gasped, struggling to speak at all. “Please leave it behind where he cannot be cursed by it.”

“I am of Lostlorn.” The creature spoke, the night incarnate backing her words through spirit. A True Name, even if Flora did not have a name for her’s in her language, was heard. “Debts have been long unpaid. I succeed. Your kin will be protected.”

She nodded at such a promise, spoken in truth. There was no arguing with one’s Truth, not here. He would be taken care of, and protected. Maybe even from him, and all of his power.

Flora responded by shakily outstretching her arms, because she could no longer speak in the tongues of man. The flowers that accompanied her breathed gratitude, trust, and forgiveness.

And the wind of Spring spoke of something else.

“Please cherish Nova.” Flora pleaded in the language of beasts. She watched with crying eyes as he was held by another, giving her child away with the last of her humanity left.

“I am of Lostlorn.” The Queen of the woods answered, strong willed and truthful. She cradled him closely, stepping back as nature prepared to claim another in a long practiced ritual of life and death. “I will protect him with the power of those forgotten by Harmonia.”

However, much to the Queen’s surprise, something happened that was unknown to even those living in the depths of Unova. She watched in horror as the atmosphere changed within a snap of a second, swallowing sensation and leaving the prickle of numbness on the fringes of the senses.

The Creator was reaching.

Judgment manifested in a flash of space and sun and earth, and the woman within the lens of creation cried out. What happened made it a place beyond life and death, an interruption of order and cognition, shattering everything that anyone dwelling in the world could understand. The fabric of reality warped around her in rippling and shattering, growing and shrinking. The garden withered and aged, starting anew a thousand times over. Past and Future converged, and melded into something that could not be recognized as either.

The flowers themselves did not survive. Nothing could in the distortion, a place devoid of and teeming with life all at once, depriving a being of what it required by sheer existence.

It all dissolved in a flash, and the baby started to wail in the overwhelming silence that followed. The Queen of Lostlorn fell over herself after breaking free of the sight, growling with her hackles raised, and took shelter in the safety of illusion.

And yet it still continued even as she took refuge in the woods, still watching with horror something that she could barely comprehend.

The body of the human left behind was no more, the soul inside ruptured as payment for a contract long completed. However, she did not disappear with the thousand arms reaching to reclaim what was theirs.

Another party interfered.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Space distorted, flickering. The Creator’s arms snapped out of reality, caught in the center of beginning and ending as they were interrupted. Shadows more ancient than mortality knew entered from a mirror as it bled into reality, shrieking as it pushed past the shackles that held it captive.

The Renegade fought, cackling from deep within the shadows to point at the dancing march of the Creator. A figure with a golden smile acted quickly, picking up the soul instead as it watched the rift close in defeat.

It was all over in one terrifying instant, and the clearing was left as if nothing happened at all. With the absence of overwhelming authority, Zoroark fled with all of her might. She looked down at a safe distance, disturbed by the lack of crying, and blinked in surprise to see a peaceful child in her arms.

The descendant of Harmonia had watched it all with open eyes, and he did not succumb to the overwhelming madness.

Lostlorn was a den of illusion, a place long resided in by the descendants of Celestic tradition. Zoroark entered and hid as her kind knew, their past grudges overcome yet still laying underneath the surface. There should have been nothing that gave her reason to save a source of such pain, much less royalty.

She did not know why she was called in such a way to come to a human’s aid.

This human, however, was different. It was not like those who entered the wilderness and failed to tame it. This human was small. Weak. Defenseless.

The Queen of Lostlorn knew of how humanity’s mind worked, however. She knew of the evils they’d wrought, evident in the way his own mother met her end, but it did not mean that the child was guilty of the same crimes. She looked into his eyes, not even able to react to danger as her own kits learned quickly, and understood.

This human was unclaimed by corrupted idealism or blatant lies.

He could be cruel or kind, or something in between that was unforeseen. Perhaps, forgiveness would be the way forward. The Queen of Lostlorn laid him beside her own, and he slept within her protective embrace. The child snuggled for warmth like the rest of them, and his kind reaction gave her hope that this was the right decision.

---

Midday in Midsummer was sweltering. The soft clatter of sandals started to hit the grassy bricks underneath them, lazily strolling. Something deeper than a descendant had taken the journey to Lostlorn. A man, worn with age yet brimming with energy, entered as the harvest started to turn. His hair was crimson, with shocks of orange trailing out from the roots and reaching for the sun. He stood at the entrance to the den of illusions, and waited for chance to speak.

But Zoroark was busy with her kits. Perhaps too busy, with so many cunning and active young running all around the place. They laughed and scared each other, each adapting and enabling the others to utilize their abilities in various ways. It would all be for the betterment of their growth and survival when they left the nest.

But there was one that lagged behind the others. The human did not keep up with their energy and power, and lacked the ability to shift into shadows like his brothers and sisters. It did not make a difference in the way they treated him. The kits were supportive, and they all grew together.

Still, Zoroark knew that there would be many obstacles to hiding such a being within her woods. And it included the visitor, one who shone so bright that they could no longer hide in the safety of the darkness. She emerged without her young, and stood near the waterfall with the glamour of a practiced illusion.

The man strode towards her when he saw her with a friendly wave. This was a human like the rest, but carried with him connections to the beyond, just barely noticeable to any mortal. They were instantly recognized by Zoroark, however, and the woman standing in the woods gave him a bow of respect.

“Haha!” The man burst into cheerful laughter at such a thing, waving to the side. “I haven’t been given the proper dignity of a greeting in a long time!” Zoroark simply blinked at him in response.

The man who visited certainly did not look the part. He wore clothing that told of travels, capsules dangling from his chiseled features that still held warmth to them. He was unkempt and had a bit of a beard hanging off of his face, and age and experience were at the forefront of his appearance.

“I know that your kind wish to keep to themselves, Queen of Lostlorn.” He spoke in tongues of man, despite what laid beneath the surface. Zoroark nodded. It was no secret to those from beyond, after all, that a descendant of Harmonia had been welcomed into the safety of her name.

“I must ask you why, then, that you’ve involved yourself in human affairs. You do know that Ghetsis Harmonia does not take to interference and he will be hunting for him.” He continued, and she bristled with the hint of a challenge. He laughed at her response, but it was not unkind in nature.

“Oh, you are correct. If there was anyone to continue this game, it would be those skilled in trickery.” He replied. “If there is any way those opposing Winter can aid you, all you have to do is send for aid, my lady. But I believe I should leave you to your kingdom.”

And with his warning, as soon as the discussion was started, the traveler went along his way. He stretched as if giving news of the weather, and continued walking with the aid of the sun. Zoroark watched the darkness enter where it left in his presence, and was satisfied. She went back to where she had made her domain, leaving the last traces of humanity behind her.

Well… maybe not all of it. The human boy looked up at her, hands grabbing for comfort, and she immediately held him gently. He was her kit, after all. Harmonia could play the game, and lose. None save the true masters of illusion could navigate her woods.

---

The human child grew up like any other of Lostlorn. The Queen did not meddle with his true name, although tricksters were well versed in manipulation. But it was never to last as it was. Everything would always be subject to the changing cycles of the world, and Lostlorn was no exception. Long after they had been well and truly raised, many of her young would inevitably leave the den to live elsewhere.

Only one remained, never leaving the side of the slowest to mature of the litter. As they both lived, memories of noble teachings spoke through their interactions. It was strange to see such a thing after the fall of Unova. Illusions had never been given the reverence reserved for the holy, even here.

Demons were punished for their transgressions and hunted long after the grudges had been buried. Only darkness and trickery had saved the last of her own, yet here they were smiling and learning of the most natural of ways.

Humans were wary of her woods, and many huddled in their settlements fearing the untamed wilds. Monsters here usually won in disputes with human young, even if they were rarely accompanied by another monster to protect it.

The only ones that dared approach unwelcome were large in number and identical in uniform, roaming in the large groups others were not afforded. They all thought the same, following predictable patterns, and they were always quick to be turned away, falling for the most simple of illusions.

One day the child witnessed the yelling, authoritative man conjured from their minds and played back to scare them away. He had hidden much like the others had left in a hurry, but he was not like them when the inner workings of the illusion was shown to him. He understood, and learned. Her beloved son would never be like those mindless drones of Harmonia.

Once he was calmed, the child smiled back and embraced her. This one would be different. He was kind, smart, and able. Harmonia would leave this place alone for as long as she would be Queen.

As the human started to walk, jump and climb, he grew more bold as any Prince had the right to be. Only, he behaved unlike any of her kind had before.

There was mercy in the face of nature’s cruelty. Creatures crept out of their hiding spots, predator and prey alike, to communicate and befriend each other in his company. He slept and played with them like they were direct family, and even referred to them as such. He was so young, and yet so smart already. The words of monsters usually went unheard by humanity, and yet her son learned them with a hunger for knowledge that none could rival.

And he only grew with the seasons, years passing and cycles continuing in their endless march. The boy grew before her into someone independent and strong, beloved of everyone who had taken shelter in their woods.

However, there was one winter where the winds grew angry in their whispering, and the creatures trembled in alarm. Zoroark’s children huddled in the thick fur of her mane, scared of the chill. She took them to the center of the woods, and deposited them with care.

Her son asked what caused her to react in such a way. She gave no true answer, only a hushed growl of worry. Darmanitan approached to aid her in her son’s place. To the boy, they seemed upset and nervous, the tension causing the inhabitants of Lostlorn to hide even further.

The two disappeared in the snow. The boy waited with his brother, assured that it would be a quick outing.

She never returned.

The last kit heard nothing but silence, despite his ears being trained in ways beyond his human brother’s ability. The shadows of the forest grew less dense, ordinary and inferior without her embrace. Winter’s chill seeped into their bones, and the situation grew more and more dire.

The boy asked what they would do. The kit had grown farther and faster than the human child, able to escape from predators with his dense coating of fur for protection. There was no word back from the others, so the only thing left to do was embrace this new life within the endless cycle of nature.

After all, many went missing in these woods. Even those who inhabited it.

The kit and the boy knew this, and yet leaving was painful to an extreme neither was ready to fully take on. Departure was inevitable, and the kit was eventually forced to leave in a fit of insecurity and hunger. Promises were made to the human of a swift return after the hunt, and a loving reassurance that he would be found.

The kit never returned, and the boy was stuck inside the den waiting. He was steadfast to laws to a fault and tried to follow them, but the winds were still frigid and the atmosphere oppressively lonely. He cried into the air for his mother. The boy could not hear anyone else respond.

He started to wander the empty forest, looking long after for any signs of those that left him behind. Food and drink were no problem for one raised in the wilderness, taking paths well known in his search. Whatever interfered with his mother was not on the hunt, nor were they interested in territory.

No, this was a violation for no cause the child could discern. He mumbled around the impossible formula as he stared across the too quiet, icy landscape.

It was unusually cold, even in the dead of winter. Nothing added up, as his feet traced along the frosted grasses as quietly as possible.

The boy let out a call once more. Nothing responded but an echo, not even the crawling buzz of an insect or the flapping of wings. Only the wind remained, but not with any sort of companionship he craved. Desolation buffeted him, a creeping dread that itched and screamed of danger.

Shadows made themselves known soon after. He’d smiled at their appearance, before feeling a difference deep within that turned as if he’d suddenly fallen ill. Instantly, the boy turned and snarled out a warning. The illusions that would normally be comforting distorted and twisted into a deep seated fear.

Grudges, terrifying and overwhelming in intensity, started to seep into the air and fill his lungs with terror. He felt gravity sink and rise all at once, tumbling into the shock of snow that did nothing to dispel what afflicted him. He shivered, only able to growl at the shadows that crept just outside of view.

It was then that something in the distance made a noise unlike any he’d ever heard. It was soft and warm. The shadows dispersed, losing all of their power as a hand entered his failing vision.

It was like his, the child realized, and he instinctively reached for it. He was picked up with care, the voice continuing to speak in a deep baritone that he leaned into for comfort despite the overwhelming nature of his situation.

As he drifted, adrenaline failed to keep him aware enough to pay attention.

He only heard one thing, ringing like a bell that echoed through his mind.

“Harmonia.”

 

[Raindropcroptop]

Chapter 2:​

“Pardon the intrusion, Sages.” A young woman said as she entered from the hall. Her sister joined her, closing the sturdy oak doors with wrought iron handles. They stood together, hands respectfully settled in front of them as they’d been raised to do.

“Anthea, Concordia.” A man of authority in the center of the room addressed them, clearly perturbed by their disturbance. The rest of the men surrounding him sat in silence, glaring at the two and waiting for their reply. Concordia shifted slightly behind her sister, always the one to fold first. Anthea’s hand itched to give her sister the confidence and comfort she so desperately needed, but she did not move.

“Why have you interrupted the council? We have much to discuss here.” The Great Sage’s voice started to boom, and the shadows around him grew restless with his irritation. Anthea fought the urge to shiver.

“We are here to offer service to the Young Lord who has returned to our kingdom.” She said with confidence, despite the hushed gasping from the rest in attendance. Murmurs exploded in response to their words, echoing through the hall before they were hushed by the one in the center raising a hand.

The Great Sage’s hair was the color of fresh mint, just like his heir. It poured around his neck, covered in a gaudy garment that gave an imposing presence. Glittering gold lined his robes, pierced by royal purples that flowed to the ground to cover a body slowly being taken over by time. The Great Sage seemed to chew on her proposal, his eyes briefly closing before he nodded and opened them with a sense of authority.

“The Young Lord has only just been found.” He spoke to the room, commanding attention. “He must be given the foundation of a great and noble King. The Sages have been considering a few options, but your offer, Ladies of Spring, will be considered.”

Concordia’s back grew tense as she shook with nervous energy, yet something about the most holy of the kingdom dismissing them caused her to remain calm in the face of it. She couldn’t afford to back down now, not when so much was at stake.

“It would please us to aid our kingdom in such a way.” Anthea seemed to read her resolve at a glance, and responded to the council in kind. Several of the other Sages in the room nodded in approval, and others waited to watch the Great Sage in his silent thoughts.

“If I may address the council,” A Sage said from the corner of the room, positioned lower than some and higher than others. He had to raise his voice to be audible, his tone turning scratchy and breaking under the pressure. The Great Sage turned to watch the old man, his interest cloudy behind veneers of finely tuned pleasantries that he carefully reserved for such interactions.

None in the room could tell what he truly thought at any time, and he preferred to keep it that way.

The lesser Sage stood with a grin at the attention, nervousness leaking from him. And yet he regarded the two women at the door with a cruel kind of mischief in his eyes. Even to Anthea and Concordia, who had no involvement in the council, this man reeked of Winter.

“Great Sage. It is unheard of to interrupt sacred chambers, and even more so to suggest that those of Harmonia would overlook even the most mild of possibilities. They are simply trying to use the future king for their own gain! Look at what happened the last time you trusted one of those tied to Spring!” His stance was sloppy, and his words dripped with a sickening sweetness. The Great Sage’s face dropped slightly at the mention of Spring, and he muttered something inaudible under his breath before returning to a perfect neutral. He hummed after a few moments, thinking while a few others whispered to him in various states of approval and rejection.

“Be still, Sages of Harmonia.” The Great Sage started to speak, and all others fell silent once more. “Since our unification, have we not started to drop our meaningless labels and come together under the hope of Unova? Would it not be prudent to leave our petty wars behind in pursuit of our true goal? Tell me, Sage Zinzolin, are you so desperate to return to your empty grave where Unova once roamed free and prosperous?” Many stood and clapped in awe at his words, and the Sage Zinzolin knew he was defeated by the council’s decision before it was even said. He slunk back to the shadows, staring at the two still awaiting a decision.

The Great Sage watched the two stand still as he spoke, as well. He did not dismiss them, as Concordia hoped deep within her heart. It filled her with a sense of shame despite her conviction to help the newly found child. The young lady avoided attention as much as possible, and terror filled her eyes as he spotted her with a smirk.

“I do believe some of what Zinzolin has provided to us does indeed have merit, however.” He started to speak, and her heart dropped through her chest into the earth itself despite her earlier thoughts. Anthea presented a silent challenge, shifting on her feet and barely keeping herself from bundling her fists into her clothing.

“These are noble women, and should be treated as such. However, it would not do to upset the balance of our wonderful fellowship within these hallowed halls, and Spring having such leverage…” The Great Sage trailed off, gauging the room’s reaction. Many were in agreement, and he cleared his throat in grandeur with an almost predatory air about him.

“What say you, descendants of Spring?” He asked, and Anthea was quick to reply with her sharp tongue, not waiting but a moment for him to finish.

“We would be willing to sacrifice for the greater strength of our King. Whatever the great minds that lead us would decide for the Young Lord.” Her voice rang out through the halls, and none dared to interrupt such a statement. Concordia had to fight her gasp at the brash nature of her rebuttal, almost shivering from the strength of her sister’s voice. The both of them had come to this conclusion together.

It was agreed, when the seasons changed in those fateful times.

Now was the time for the fallout of those tough choices, after their conviction had run its course and left nothing behind but a weary dread deep set in bone. After Spring had departed for another place and time, and seemingly her humanity itself.

“You have given us much to consider.” The Great Sage said. “Please, leave us to speak on this matter.” This time, there was a clear dismissal, and the sisters knew when they weren’t wanted. A pair of Shadows stared with sharp, unyielding eyes at the two as they bowed and left.

“Fellow Sages, we are taking a short break in light of our unexpected interruption.” The Great Sage told all in the room. He stepped down from the throne, a remnant of Unova painstakingly kept ready and waiting for a true ruler. All stood and bowed to him as he exited, and formed small groups that had varying opinions of what must be done.

“Excuse me, Great Sage,” Rood was the first to address him, stroking his long, silky beard as he spoke. The others paid attention for a moment, then started to enter into their own habits as many realized who was speaking. “I understand that the meeting has been long, but I feel the need to elaborate on what happens to the descendants of Spring.”

“Hmm? Do tell.” The Great Sage tilted his head in his general direction, yet he seemed more interested in Bronius opening his dusty old tomes and starting to take notes in another piece of parchment.

“The descendants of Spring are simply trying to aid and assist us in the only way they can. You know of their connection to the Young Lord, and being of-” He was cut off in mid sentence, the Great Sage’s tone dark and sharp as a knife, almost threatening. He leaned in, his lone eye glaring despite his tendency to hide his rage in plain sight.

“Go no further, Sage Rood. You know just as well as I the risks involved with disturbing the gentle balance of Harmonia’s Kingdom. Would you give him nothing but ruins?” The question was loaded, chock full of pitfalls and rocky terrain. Rood knew to plan his steps accordingly, and his heart started to race at the idea of such a challenge. Yet he found himself almost carried away by it, the feeling growing ever stronger in his chest until it was sickening.

“Yes. I understand, Great Sage.” He replied, tone reserved. The smile returned instantly to the Great Sage’s face, and he lost the defined rage that so rarely manifested past his calm exterior. Rood knew at that moment he’d manged to survive the ordeal undefeated.

“Thank you for giving me your thoughts, Sage Rood. I always enjoy our talks. We will be sure to address your issue.” The Great Sage reply was filled with sweetness that overflowed into a stinging bitter aftertaste. He clapped the other’s shoulder, and stepped away before anything else could be said.

“Sage Rood!” He was addressed by another in the room, Giallo, still at his seat. “I require your expertise. There have been some additional Celestic pieces obtained by our allies in far lands!” Oh, that was fascinating indeed. And yet Rood found himself standing still. His stomach felt as if he’d swallowed a boulder with the unanswered questions, the loose ends, and the lack of care to the Young Lord in his time of need.

“This is madness!” Another Sage exclaimed, cutting into his thoughts with the smack of a palm on a table. His entire face was flush, and he swayed on his feet with the swagger of a man 20 years younger.

“I know how to handle my affairs, Ryoku!” The reply, from another, was just as intoxicated. It seemed that the break had introduced the customary drink, from the way that the others were acting. Most of these meetings went the same. The council subsided mostly off of speeches from their leader, after all.

“Your affairs are impacting the lot of us, oh dutiful Sage Gorm! If you’re so confident, then get those blasted things out of Castelia Harbor!” Ryoku did not budge, invigorated by the conflict. Instead he pointed at some of his notes, and started into a trailing series of arguments with Gorm beside him just as passionate. Rood was in the midst of watching them in their explosive bout when an arm looped around his own, and practically dragged him into another conversation.

Needless to say, the thoughts of Anthea and Concordia’s fate left his mind, brought into drink and pleasant conversation. The Great Sage’s grin grew as he watched him join the rest.

Zinzolin was the only other to resist such a time, the lanky, heavily clothed Sage sneaking back to his superior in a rare moment where he was unoccupied. Neither spoke for a moment, simply watching the show before it too became nothing but a game.

“Sage Zinzolin.” The Great Sage was usually the one to start these talks, made in the shadows where few dared to tread. Contrary to popular belief, Zinzolin did not crave the sharp edges of danger, nor the choking cold of permafrost. He almost wondered if the Great Sage sent him to do such work for his own amusement. Regardless, he knew when to play.

“You have been quite bold in your interests. It would do you well to keep them in your heart, before they expose you with too much intensity.” The Great Sage chuckled, snapping his fingers to summon servants to his command. More wine was presented, and both took it without a shred of gratitude.

“Apologies, Sage Ghetsis. It appears I have been too eager.” Zinzolin did not seem apologetic in the slightest, and he took a sip, relishing the dry aftertaste.

“Oh, my old friend. You misunderstand.” Ghetsis’ face was lit with elation, threatening to burst with the energy behind it. He was positively beaming with his true self, a rot laying behind peeled back walls that housed nothing but mold. “You have given me nothing but ammunition. We shall continue in a better way with them involved.”

“Hmm.” Zinzolin seemed unimpressed, yet held his tongue. Ghetsis was too far gone into his own mind to notice. “I do not have your foresight, but I have a great amount of trust that you’ll make the right decision.”

“You will approve, Sage.” Ghetsis muttered, before leaving the room. “You will approve.”

---

Ghetsis’ trailing robes led down a path to one of the residences on the same story, stacked with utmost importance above many. He knocked the door several times before the woman opened it, her hair the color of pink blossoms. Anthea stared at him for a moment in surprise before she reached her proper composure.

“Oh, Great Sage. Has the council come to a decision about the Young Lord?” She asked, Concordia watching from behind with interest.

“Yes. You are to be called to council by me personally. It will be a monumental decree, and will be happening with the utmost haste. We all must make sacrifices, I fear.” The Great Sage spoke with sorrow, and yet he moved with an energy to him that seemed to speak otherwise.

“Anything for the health of the Young Master and the safety of our family. Natural is beloved to us, beyond the measure of this world.” Concordia spoke, quick to pick up on the conversation.

“Yes. We will arrive in the council’s chambers to hear your will and the will of Unova. Thank you, Sage Harmonia.” Anthea bowed as she spoke, and Concordia did the same next to her. By the time they looked up, the Sage had already departed and they were left to quickly stow away everything and leave.

The doors from before stood imposing as before, and the pair took a moment to pause and take it all in.

“We have chosen a path of truth.” Concordia whispered, eyes glazed over with the troubles all around them.

“I believe it is in our best interests to make sure Natural is well cared for. No matter the cost.” Anthea answered, and they were filled with determination at the sentiment. The door opened, but neither could tell if it was truly about to slam shut behind them forever.

“We have returned to hear your judgment, Sages of Unova.” Anthea made sure to give her all into the performance, knowing that Concordia was standing right behind her.

“Are you sure that you both would be up to the task of giving up everything for what you desire? There will be costs to your decision.” The Great Sage was upon the throne once more.

“We will follow this path set forth by our ancestors, to guide and cherish that which is important.” Concordia answered. “It has been a blessing that he has come back to us. We will not fail him again.” It was rare for her to be so forward, but she was filled with overwhelming emotion that rocked the room as she spoke.

“Very well. The will of Sage Rood has been carried out, as was part of our agreement.” Ghetsis looked to the Sage in question, who wore a face of stonelike stoicism. The sisters, thrown off by the comment, simply stood and awaited what was to come. Anthea couldn’t chase the sensation of dread, the feeling sinking into her heart.

“With this, it is all in order.” The Great Sage said, booming voice echoing with his full authority. “It is decreed that Anthea and Concordia of Harmonia and Spring have now given themselves to servitude in service to the Young Lord.” He paused, taking in the horrified expressions of the sisters, before both of them took it with dignity. The will of Harmonia wasn’t something to be taken lightly. “None shall honor a title that is nullified. You may not tell the Young Lord of relations to nullified titles.”

“Our most gracious of thanks, Great Sage.” It took a moment for Anthea to find her voice again. They’d finally done it. They’d gained everything required in negotiations. The cost was negligible compared to seeing him again, even if it was greater than imagined.

Concordia could not find her voice, but nodded respectfully. It seemed satisfactory for everyone involved, not that anyone would question the will of Unova after it had been a guiding light in the darkness for so long. Too long.

“Begone with you. Preparations for our Kingdom are underway.” The Great Sage’s words were final, and resounded throughout the room. Silence followed as the sisters departed quickly, unsure of what was to happen next.

---

A Shadow appeared in the blink of an eye at the entrance to the hall, awaiting his duties without a word. The ninjas trained in the old ways were nothing if not professional, even considering their circumstances. They were well known yet never acknowledged, famously hidden as they danced in darkness. Perhaps he had been assigned to them for more unsavory reasons than protection. The Great Sage was careful with the treatment of his subjects, for better or for worse.

The man with silver hair motioned for them to follow, leaving no time for hesitation. His frame was lanky and thin, yet betrayed by well maintained muscles that were clearly the result of intense training.

Others nearby bowed in reverence, although it was disguised as a casual greeting. It would be the last time before the news made the rounds. Concordia smiled at them, her expression brittle and cracking, and yet Anthea kept herself at a true neutral. She did not falter under the pressure for their final appearance.

They kept their goodbyes brief, and barely traceable to outsiders.

After all, the Grand Sage was ruthless to enemies of Liberation, and one did not want to be branded a traitor for such activities. Friendly faces would be shown the least mercy in violation of a decree despite the absence of a true King to lead them.

The two were led into the depths of the castle, following the Shadow on yellowed stone floors in the torch lined corridors. Stairs gave way to more endless pathways, and the hushed whispering of surprise grew as more of the rumors started to spread. Many doors closed with the telltale sound of quiet creaking, accompanied by eyes peering around iron windows and fixtures.

At such things, Concordia’s heart started to beat faster, rushing to her ears. Anthea looked at her with a smile more fragile than her sister had managed earlier, and held her hand. Their fingers clenched to the point of almost pain as the two continued to walk.

“You are to be reborn to your new roles for the sake of Liberation.” The Shadow’s voice had an unearthly quality as he spoke from ahead, ragged and deep. It cut through the atmosphere like a knife, startling the sisters as they tried to keep up with him under the crumbling infrastructure of their lives.

The place he led them was within the lowest of floors, sinking deeper and deeper into the earth like an ancient tomb. The musty smell was overwhelming and crushing to the spirit. The air itself was stagnant and smeared with the light of torches that flickered in the constant haze of darkness. It was inevitable that the servant’s quarters were located in this place, given such conditions.

“What you have invoked is foolish and brave in equal measure.” The Shadow broke the silence first, pointing to a closed set of doors at the end of the hallway. “We shall see if you live to regret such a sacrifice. Have clothes and food prepared for your meeting with the Young Lord tomorrow.”

Before either of them could say a word otherwise, he quickly departed in the ways of the Shadows. Nothing but thin air stood in their way, afterward.

Their new home was a large, empty space that had at one point been occupied by many in the ancient times. Beds lined the walls, many rotted and covered in threadbare sheets that could only be the product of neglect. The corner housed a reservoir with a well, the pipes rusted over the top and dripping at predictable intervals. Dust blew as they entered, a cloud to welcome them to a new life in lieu of a fanfare.

“What is there to possibly do in here?” Anthea said to no one in particular. Her frustrations escaped her through trembling fists held at her sides, and she shrugged off her sister’s attempts to console her. She instead made her way to the kitchen built into the wall itself, worn with age.

“Look at the state of this! We are not equipped to deliver such a demand!” Her arms raised in aggravation, her dress billowing from the sides in exaggerated movements to add to her aura of disgust. Anthea opened a vessel made of clay to the right of her, and ended up fighting the urge to lose her lunch at the smell coming from inside. For her, it was incredibly difficult to not shatter it to pieces right then and there.

Concordia flinched at the outburst, stepping back quietly. She was always quick to flee situations of conflict, terror lacing the corners of her eyes as they crinkled with the telltale buildup of moisture.

Anthea noticed her only after it was too late, freezing in place at the realization. Concordia’s body flinched in one final desperate attempt to remain in place, before her eyes rolled and the tension bled out of her muscles altogether.

Her limp figure hit the ground, kicking up the dirt and debris all around her. Her sister barely had time to react, and watched her fall helplessly from the other side of the room.

It was at that moment that someone appeared, a figure at the door clad in the robes of the Sages. He was flanked by two members of his own, uneasy in the midst of the situation. They carried with them boxes and jars, and bundles of fabric and wood.

“Sage Rood!” Anthea screeched, staring at him as he made his approach to her sister. She clutched her closely, unable to do anything but shake uncontrollably and position herself to take any focus of the conversation. “You should not be here! This is a place underneath your standing! Have you gone mad and encountered a curse?”

“I have been given the task to help educate the Young Lord, with a few other Sages. This means restoring this historic place back to its former glory, as well.” He bowed, gray hair shifting around the large hat that topped his head. “Humble apologies for your placement in this wretched predicament. We did not have the time to do much else given the timing. I had to finish our meeting upstairs before coming to your aid.”

Anthea had to pause for a moment to process what was said before he approached. The others fanned out and started to clean, settling into tasks. Anthea tried to rise to her feet, yet found herself unable to move. She couldn’t feel anything. She could barely process what he said, and instead found herself overwhelmed by the gasping inability to properly breathe.

“Hmm. Pale and chilled to the bone. It has been so hard for you both.” He checked Concordia’s pulse, making eye contact with Anthea as she tried and failed to maintain her composure. She tried to speak once more, only to find that it was an impossibility.

A fresh bedroll had been set up in an emergency, fluffy and warm. Concordia was laid there, golden hair a curtain around her face before Rood motioned for another to come closer. There was an exchange Anthea couldn’t quite track from her position on the ground before a young man bent over and offered a hand to help her up. She took it gratefully, and shuddered to a stand before somewhat regaining her composure. The Sage bent a small glass filled with water into her sister’s mouth on the other side of the room, and she knew at a glance that this would not be like the chamber they were in a mere hour ago.

“Excuse me for my behavior, Sage Rood.” Anthea chewed over her words, walking over to them. She was still covered in dirt from the floor, and dusted it off of her person to the best of her ability. “Our kingdom has had the best of hospitality to everyone for the sake of Liberation, and-”

Rood lifted a hand, and Anthea’s mouth closed. The force of her jaw clenching made her see stars before she quickly blinked them away. Flustered, she reoriented herself and forced the words to choke and boil within her throat as he lifted Concordia’s head and inspected her condition. The Sage seemed satisfied, and brought his full attention to the young woman sitting next to him with an almost sorrowful air to him.

“You need not make any apologies, my lady, for we have been most unfair to you.” Rood said, offering a hand to her. Anthea took it with some hesitancy, her frazzled nerves uneasy.

“The Great Sage does have much to say, but you were already beholden to that I believe.” The Sage continued. “You have allies still within Liberation, and we do have much to give the Young Lord now that he has been given back to us. So please, calm yourself and collect your thoughts.”

“Yes, Sage.” Anthea’s passion sizzled and scorched, yet ultimately smothered within her as she was brought away from her worries. The Sage was right, wasn’t he? How could she have lost her way from what was truly important. This was all for peace and Liberation, not for her personal gain. She shook her head, dashing away the thoughts that plagued her. Those were irrational.

“Are you well, my child?” Rood asked her again, and she nodded without a word. The others finished unpacking and started on their cleaning in the background.

Spices, enclosed in neat little jars for cooking, were set on a counter and arranged for easy use next to the stove. Ample supplies of flour and yeast were laid nearby, and one of them started to test the water. It came from a spout built into the wall, above a reservoir in the corner. The well was far underneath the foundations of the castle, the earth nursing and collecting life for those of Harmonia’s kingdom.

“Allow me to aid you, as you have aided me.” Anthea broke her silence with a smile, blinking away the tears as the full reality started to set in with terrifying efficiency. Rood smiled and nodded, motioning towards the young people he had brought with them, and they quickly rose to attention.

“We are making bread, sister Anthea. Would you like to partake in our fellowship?” The words were long practiced, familiar and carrying with them the feeling of belonging.

“Thank you for inviting me to serve.” She responded, and was welcomed in quickly to their work. A young man held up cast iron that needed a bit of seasoning, and the woman looked up from her seat next to the stove. A spark found a home in some crumpled parchment she held, and blown to increase the size. It was quickly tossed on top of the nest of kindling she’d positioned just so after wiping away debris. There were logs neatly stacked, allowing the flames to breathe as they slowly consumed everything along the path designated for them.

Like Anthea was burning on the path designated for her. Yes, this must be the will of Unova, for her to be here among smiling faces and surrounded by good company. There was a kettle handed to her, and Anthea used a freshly cleaned crank to pull some water to the surface. Soon it was almost to the threshold of boiling, poured into a bowl of sanded wood that had been inspected, cleaned, and found worthy of proofing.

Yeast was scattered on top of the water, stirred, and allowed to sit. A fragrant, old smell started to waft into the entire room, seeping into Anthea’s limbs. It reminded her of a home she never truly knew. A place lost to time, only spoken of in whispers from before.

“Do you know how to make bread for the Young Lord?” A young man asked, and Anthea responded with a respectful shake of the head. The woman giggled and pulled her hands over to another bowl, this time filled with flour. She had water that had been allowed to cool. The woman poured a little in at a time, prompting Anthea to start mixing as she continued.

It was soothing to her, to mold something out of such crumbling, unfinished material. Slowly, the dough started to build shape, and eventually she was looking at something resembling a small, taut ball.

“You’ve done absolutely wonderful, sister. Blessings upon you.” She said, and Anthea found herself flustered.

“I am simply a beginner, untalented and unable to properly do a thing without your guidance. It was your hands at work!” She said, and everyone in the room laughed. Anthea found herself joining, despite not finding it very humorous.

The yeast was given a pinch of sugar, mixed in with the warm mixture. The granules gained mass with their consumption.

“Are you ready, Sister?” That was the call, a spoken word that asked the heavens for guidance. Anthea knew it well, and to hear the voice of Unova truly replicated through ordinary people filled her with a nervous giddiness that refused to leave. She could not rid herself of it, but wasn’t sure if that was necessarily a bad thing, either.

“Yes, I am prepared.” Her response was also spoken word, one that answered prayer with dedication. Anthea knew it well, and to hear the voice of Unova truly replicated through her only built upon what she already felt. The water containing yeast was added, and eager hands found satisfaction in her work. Once it was to the consistency required, the others stopped her with more of their beautiful language.

“In some time, it will grow to double in size. This is when you cook it, until a crust forms.” The woman told her, kindly. “Follow in the paths of tradition, for it is all laid before us by Unova.”

“I was never allowed the pleasures of cooking. Thank you for sharing it with me.” Anthea made sure to be positive. Nothing but positivity was shown to her, despite her upbringing.

There had been times where they were allowed to mingle during festivals and important ceremonies, but it was dangerous for ones of such Noble standing to be seen for too long. Eyes were quick to judge, and mouths were eager to tell.

“You are going to be aiding us in many ways, come the Young Lord’s ascension. He will be the heart of Unova, that is for certain.” Rood added in. His smile bore a heavy weight, as if the Sage was swallowing something much too sweet. It was almost as if the conversation revolted him, and it threw Anthea into a place she could not identify. Before she could think of much more, he raised a hand and addressed the servants that accompanied him.

“Leave us, please. You have provided much in service to our kingdom.” He asked, and they quickly started to pack. Rood waited for them to depart, before continuing.

“Condolences to you, Anthea of-” The Sage stopped for a moment, realizing his mistake out of habit. He bowed, deeply and definitely one not meant for a servant such as herself. Anthea bowed the same, one that would not be for a Sage of such standing. He left her with a nod of the head, following the servants down the halls.

Anthea was alone, deep within the bowels of a place unknown and terrifying, yet she felt filled with hope. She sat next to Concordia’s still body, and gripped her sister’s hand hoping to convey the comfort she had found.

---

Concordia woke to the smell of freshly baked bread, and the feeling of soft cotton. Surrounded by warmth, her eyes remain closed to take it in.

Then, the reality of the situation slammed into her with full force, and the young woman startled to the world with the force of it all. She gasped, air rushing to her lungs as she struggled to breathe before gentle hands found her own.

“Please! Cease your worries. It is alright.” It was Anthea. Concordia knew the second her sister spoke, and brought down her anxiety the best she could. Her heart pounded in place, her blood flowing and adrenaline active in her fingertips before it was smothered by her sister’s careful reassurances. She was cold, despite her surroundings, and found her attention drawn to Anthea’s cheek.

It was crusted with some kind of foreign material, cracking after the supposed loss of moisture. Her sister didn’t seem to mind this, in fact she seemed elated in many ways Concordia hadn’t seen in a long time.

“What has happened?” Concordia asked, staring around at a room that was the same and different all at once. A fire was roaring in the stove, and shelves were clean and stocked despite her clearly seeing them emptied and abandoned earlier.

Something definitely took place after her unfortunate accident.

“The Sage Rood has seen to our ability to aid the Young Lord. Natural will be in good hands!” Anthea’s tone was joyous as she spoke. It turned Concordia’s stomach as she watched signs of distress, yet she couldn’t bring herself to address it. After all… the last time had ended with her yet again being a burden.

She was supposed to be sufficient. Independent. How could she cause so much pain instead?

“Yes, that sounds wonderful. May Unova bless him.” Concordia replied with a smile of glass that threatened to shatter. Either Anthea didn’t notice in her frenzy, or she refused to comment. Her sister jumped up with something that might have been terror or excitement, or both. She ran to the stove, grabbing large, thick mittens and pulling out a large pot out of the oven. It was of a manageable yet large size, and when she set it on the stovetop she moved the handle to the side, revealing that it was in fact two pans that locked together.

The one on top was removed quickly, and discarded on another burner. Inside was a beautiful loaf of hard shell bread. It crackled as fresh air hit the crust, and Anthea gave it a satisfactory sniff before inserting it back into the heat.

“Shouldn't be too long now, according to our instructions. The others offered fellowship with me and gave us many resources to advance Liberation.” Her sister said, and it suddenly clicked in Concordia’s head with terrifying efficiency.

Others had come here, and they had spoken in those wonderfully kind words. They had given Anthea what she desperately needed, but it was also what would harm her the most. Concordia’s smile cracked. Anthea didn’t notice it in her hurried duties, cleaning more and more of the room.

Her sister wasn’t herself. She was a cutout wearing her skin, bought and sold in half truths and mistaken ideals. It was everything that Flora had warned them about, long ago.

Concordia knew who she was, in that moment, and the person standing before her was no longer Anthea. She hesitated, and pushed the thoughts of paranoia away.

Life would continue in its merciless march despite their predicament. It would be fine. She had a job to do, and she would do it to the best of her ability without antagonizing her sister. Anthea would be fine, and she would be back shortly. She was just getting along with the crowd, and nothing more. They were simply settling into their positions in life, and needed to adjust to the situation at hand.

Natural was worth the cost. Whatever had been in talks with the Sages would not have been kind to him, as the successor to the throne. He would only be released for the ceremonies. The Great Sage liked to hold his assets close, wielding them for power when it was convenient. For a child to be locked away like that…

Concordia only hoped that they themselves would stay intact, before all of their choices were lost within the shuffle. It was better for her to take the fall. Better than Natural, who didn’t have a choice.

“Natural is worth the cost.” Concordia found herself saying out loud, and Anthea froze in place for a moment, smile lost. Whatever she was thinking was quickly forgotten, the emotion deemed unnecessary as she continued to walk around the room.

“Of course! Natural is going to bring us to Liberation, isn’t he?” Anthea replied. Concordia couldn’t bring herself to do anything but nod in response.

The morning brought with it no change in lighting, as it hadn’t for anyone who resided in Harmonia’s Kingdom. It was an ancient place, steeped in forgotten chants and buried dreams. Anthea and Concordia awoke by themselves, unable to rest any longer and awaiting their orders for a period of time. They were unsure of what to expect, after all of the upheaval.

What they received was a Shadow, the ninja appearing at the door silent as the night and deadly as a stalking predator. He was relaxed, yet carried with him an aura that was unsettling. He motioned for them to follow much like last time, but neither of the sisters could tell if it was the same of the Great Sage’s men that accompanied them the day before.

This time, the dreary walk was to another level of the castle that was more populated by those of classes that were actively at work throughout the day. Many avoided eye contact, terrified of the barely leashed attack dog that would bite if anyone got too close, or of associations that were unsavory with servants.

They were right to be wary, after all. Those who witnessed sins and spoke of them were greatly rewarded. Mannerisms were of the utmost importance for those of noble birth. Anthea shivered as she felt the sting of familiar faces that hid behind closed doors at the mere sight of them.

They stopped before a door that seemed almost like a gate to a cage, rather than an entrance to a prince’s room. It was lined with metal, and built into the walls with a series of deep locks that twisted and held it deeply shut. Nothing but air could feasibly escape such a thing, and even many creatures would have been hard pressed to penetrate it.

“Be wary of this one.” The Shadow gave a warning spoken in that same deep, distorted tone from the man. From the way he acted, Anthea wasn’t sure if he was an enforcer, or there for their own protection. But how could that be? From the earliest of her memories, Natural was no more than five years of age. A child that small and weak wouldn’t pose that much of a threat to make even one of the Sage’s elite take notice.

Anthea was the first to act, holding her sister’s hand. She nodded for the both of them, something Concordia was simultaneously grateful and hurt by. The Shadow took it as a heed to the warning, and proceeded to start the complicated process of opening such a door. After so many little puzzled switches, it opened with a creaking tremor, the metal not quite scraping the deep tile made of stone underneath. A hushed gasp was the only noise from inside, followed by a silence made of bated breath.

Natural was pacing along the furthest wall, his haunches raised in a desperate defiance. His hair was unwieldy in that same tea green, a bush lined with leaves and twigs that had yet to be cleaned. He bore no shoes, his toenails grown out to an uncomfortable degree and the skin worn by the elements. Cuts and scrapes, as well as the scars of weathered ones that healed improperly, lined his person and stuck out even in the shadows he desperately tried to hide in.

“Hello, Natural.” Anthea started, calling out to him in an attempt to greet him. He shrunk to the corner of the room with a hiss, garbled noises leaking out under his breath.

Despite being a small child, Natural held with him an aura of hostility that was more at home with the wild than the castle. His stance was threatening, even though he clearly didn’t have the ability to back up his posturing with anything other than spitting and gnashing his teeth.

“Natural, can you say anything to us?” Concordia followed, a feeble attempt to keep everyone in high spirits. Natural responded by freezing in place, hands traveling between aggression and flight. His eyes darted between the stone walls and the door, and he inspected the girl’s faces to their toes in a calculated panic.

He shifted slightly as they approached, and Concordia opted to settle in towards the small wooden table that occupied the side of the room while Anthea continued trying to get him to come closer. Natural’s eyes somehow followed both at once, his mouth in a tight line while he watched.

“Natural. We are here to help you. Please, let us do so.” Anthea pleaded, stepping closer. She was unsure how to proceed, and moved cautiously without a clear idea of what to even do.

Natural only seemed to respond with aggression, hissing as he scrambled away. Tears peaked through his eyes as his heel met the wall behind him, leaving him nowhere to run at all. He murmured in garbled tongues, and Anthea felt well and truly fearful for what felt like the first time in her life at the sound.

It was inhuman, the quality and depth of the noises coming from such a young face. Her back itched with a phantom sensation and she couldn’t help but show it.

Natural’s expression switched in moments.

Flight was pushed to the brink, breaking into fight as he screeched. Wiry hands and wild limbs sprang into action, tackling her to the ground in a flurry of movement.

She didn’t have time to even scream as her breath was taken away, the action causing her to choke and writhe under the assault. Natural’s rough, worn hands found her wrists, expertly pushing her to the floor with a growl. His jaws threatened to meet the soft flesh of her neck as he hovered over her, leaning in closer. Before she could do as much as blink, panicked breaths from the child skirted her most precious of veins.

But it was not to be. Something else filled the room with a terrifying presence, appearing from the shadows.

Filled with adrenaline and terror, the boy huffed out a breath as his attention fixed to something beyond any of the humans dwelling in the room. Natural’s eyes bulged, frantic and overcome by what he saw, and his gaze briefly met Anthea’s own pupils the size of needlepoints.

In the standstill, he shivered. His voice whined under his breath. His legs grew tense as they adjusted and quickly stepped away from her. Natural dipped to a position on all fours, backing up slowly and growling at the door.

Darkness clung to cracks in the walls, seeping in with a chill that brought with it grudges so ancient they could not be given context. Natural howled at it in that same garbling way, practically crushing himself into the corner of the room among the scraps of fabric ripped to pieces that once resembled a set of bedsheets.

The Shadow had been forgotten in the rush of events by both sisters, but Concordia was the only one to see his true, fearsome appearance. The body of the Great Sage’s personal force appeared with power, suddenly materializing out of thin air and silently leaping towards the boy.

Natural’s yelp was filled with pain as he was tackled to the wall and dragged from it by a terrifyingly fierce man. He was only seen dangling weakly by the neck, held for mere moments before the both of them disappeared. Only a dreadful silence remained, empty and isolating.

Concordia was the first to recover from whatever happened. She stumbled over her words, unsure of what she had truly witnessed.

“A-Anthea.” She dared to speak, to interrupt what was left behind. Anthea made no move from her position, laying as open and vulnerable as she was left. Concordia hurried over to her sister, and gasped at her condition. Her body was still trembling, her eyes unseeing. Concordia tried to soothe her with a touch to the arm, to get her to rise from where she had been attacked.

Anthea failed to respond.

Concordia, alone, backed into a corner and lost, allowed herself to weep.

---

The boy did not know what kind of sickening place this was, but he did not want to experience it any further. The cruelty of the strange being was apparent from the moment he first felt the presence of one, and he knew better than to antagonize it.

He knew this, and yet his body operated with pure instinct at the possibility of a threat. The unknown was terrifying to him, and calculations were unable to be made with such uncertainty.

The human bearing resemblance to shadows was firm, intimidating, and fearsome. The boy shivered as he was taken from the strange box, his vision spotty from the attack. It reminded him of the time he climbed to the tops of many trees and felt unable to breathe while looking to the forest floor. His mother, the Queen… she’d found him shortly afterwards. Her embrace was so much better than the cruel grasp of this human.

The air here was unlike anything he felt back in his home. The humans were strange, and the illusionary abilities of his family were beyond his control. He called for one of the ones he knew. There was no response, just as it had been for days.

He was thrown in another contained space that reeked of grudges. There were few here, only the men that sat in a circle that dominated the area. He gave them words of warning. There was one where his mother would rip them limb from limb unless he would be allowed to leave. There was no response.

The largest of them rose to speak. He could not understand what they were saying, but it was not the most important thing in his mind. All the boy wanted was escape from here in any way possible, to return to his forest and be with those who truly understood.

He drifted, and the hand of the one from before found his neck once again. He choked, pleading. There was no response.

His mother was correct. Humanity was spiteful, rigid and controlling. He was different from them, these terrifying things that infiltrated and took and refused to give.

The one holding him raised a fist. He flinched, pleading once more.

A voice boomed. It could be nothing but the one he’d heard in the forest. The man from before, old and cloaked in robes, suddenly appeared nearby. Or had he always been there? The boy could not tell. The old man laid hands on his attacker, barking in an authoritative tone, and it was all over in mere moments.

The boy fell to the ground, coughing. He was unable to do much else, exhausted in his attempts to escape the argument erupting before him. His confused eyes found another of the elderly men, a human who stood up and started to approach him.

He asked him not to come any closer. There was no response to his demands.

There was only the old man, kneeling as the woman had. The same kind eyes of deception, covered in a curtain of something that could only be deceit. He could not feel anything but anxiety wafting from him, exiting as easily as his breath. Fear was a smell deep set in the air as the bearded man started to speak.

The boy was exhausted. He was hurt and without options. There was fighting, and there was an offering of sorts, on unsteady ground that he was incapable of trusting. The boy shivered. He did not wish to do this. He wished that he was once again back home.

Home was no longer an option, and he could not smell anything of the forest here in this place of earth and darkness. The boy had once become worn in his home, and had trusted humanity.

And doing so had consequences.

Now he was here, like this. Trusting again would surely lead to another terrifying situation. He had no choice. He took the hand that he should have bitten, and felt his stomach turn at the smiling face that picked him up off of the floor.

He hated that he loved to be held. He hated that he took a side, and was now here watching the grudge from before forced to kneel to the likes of that man.

The one who initially saved him from harm was victorious. That man turned to him, holding out a hand and speaking in that familiar voice.

This was a voice not only familiar from here, but the boy felt nothing but a confused haze as to where he could identify it. The elderly man holding him let him down, and the boy feeling a sickening kind of loss at the lack of touch. He was not allowed time to process it before the other spoke.

His hair was a similar color, and his eyes were as well.

He called him “Harmonia”. The man held out his hand, and the boy could not help but be enchanted for a moment. It didn’t feel real. He shivered in place, before reaching for the touch yet again.

It completed him in a strange way the boy could not understand, to be led out of that place. The man took him through another long series of spaces to arrive at the one he had originally been in.

It was a box-shaped trap, ever since he’d woken up there.

But this time it was different. The wall had been opened, and the old man stopped with a smile. He asked something of him, and spread an arm wide to emphasize.

The boy looked into the man’s eyes, and could not discern any fear. He only exuded confidence to a magnificent degree, striking him to the core with awe.

Was this the creator? Was this the one who lent gifts of power to those worthy of them? The boy certainly thought so.

The man waited, speaking once more. The boy realized that he was waiting for a response. The boy received none when he asked, so he told words of peace, cooperation, and confusion.

The man nodded, and gave a response. The boy received one, for once, in this place. The man must have been trustworthy, to at least treat him like he was living. The boy was the first to walk inside the room he used to despise, bolstered by the kind man’s reassurances.

The two from before were in the room, and the one that had threatened him and showed weakness was seated at a table with unfocused eyes. The other had been crying, a thing she attempted to cover the moment he entered. Their scent was floral, steeped in ancient histories untold by man. It was something that didn’t seem to belong there, and yet here they were.

The man stepped over to them, approaching from the door. The woman at the table said things to him, leeching fear as the others in the room had. He simply gave her the same tone from before, confident and kind. It only made her fear more potent.

The boy wondered what there was to understand. How was it possible that someone would be kind, and it would cause such a response? The man looked back to him and gestured, speaking more before he departed. The boy watched him close the door, and he was left alone with them.

It still felt unreal, being here at all. The moment the man was gone, all of the pinpricks started again. His skin crawled with sensations of chill and worry, but it was all interrupted by the frenzied panic boiling inside the woman with sunlight hair.

She all but collapsed after he left, sobs breaking out of her heaving chest. But when he moved she noticed him, and immediately filled the room with a toxic fear. It was the same as before, when he felt cornered and trapped and the walls closed in and threatened to bury him entirely.

But this time was different. The woman shook her head, muttering before standing and walking the opposite way. She did not threaten him with bared teeth as the others had, only glancing at him before taking her attention away and leaving him alone as he had asked so many times before. It was a symbol of peace, to leave her backside open to attack. The boy at that moment felt a baseline respect for her, leaving weak points open after he’d attacked one of her own.

Perhaps his judgment had been off, and they exist with other customs. The Queen never told the boy what humanity truly did, and only scared them away when they dared approach her domain. They were dangerous, oppressive, and cruel, according to her, and he had only seen reinforcement of that fact here.

And yet there was someone who would not antagonize him, even at their own risk. It was confusing, and the boy hated things that did not come together according to logic. Why was she like this? He could only wonder, watching her move to the table where the other was still unresponsive She grabbed a basket woven of wicker from where it sat on the table. The carved wooden structure was well made, with posts that were sized to fit and hold the limbs together against the test of time.

The boy had tested the durability of the structure the moment he woke up here, in an attempt to fashion himself a weapon to break out. It did not falter under his attacks, and he only succeeded in wearing himself out more than anything else. Only faint indents of teeth remained from all of his efforts, barely able to budge the thing more than a few inches in any direction.

The woman started to make a noise, soft and warm and incomprehensible to the boy. It was a melody that transcended speech, and carried with it emotional upheaval that threatened tears at the mere start of it. She did not smile, and everything about her spoke of a deep set sadness that one couldn’t easily shake.

The boy found himself transfixed, and crept as far as he dared to listen closer. She pretended she didn’t notice, and continued. He didn’t understand what that would accomplish, seeing the clear glances in his direction and the weight on her legs that suggested that she was primed to run in the event of his attack.

The song made him feel safe for the first time since she left, however. Unlike with the man, safety was not found in power commanded. It was found in something that he could not name, and that something cared deeply and rang out with a protective calm.

Peace flowed through the air with the woman’s song, causing the other woman at the table to relax at the sound. It seemed some kind of ailment might have befallen her, which might have explained the way she had threatened the boy with her approach. She was soothed, and fell into slumber quietly while the exhaustion took over. The singing woman held her head gently, her thumb smoothing over stray bits of light pink hair before going back to her work.

The boy found himself lulled into a sense of security at the environment, but he couldn’t tell if it was false. Perhaps, she had not been truly trying to intimidate him. There was a possibility that wormed into his head that he made a miscalculation, had read everything wrong, or that he was entirely right and running headfirst into his own doom.

Pressure wracked his frame, building up from the depths of his soul, and the boy took several steps back. He growled a warning to whatever was attacking his mind with such confusing madness. There was no response, and he felt his stomach drop with the realization that nothing had truly changed.

The woman with golden hair turned to him, but it was not predatory. She still refused to show fangs, and refused to lurch into a stance that was aggressive or even the least bit protective. She simply continued on her way with a look that was unamused, almost a scold at his behavior.

That was odd, to the boy. He had never seen a human regard him in such a way, and only felt that when the Queen had seen her kits cause just a bit too much havoc. The pressure died down, and he crept closer once more.

She took something out of the basket, and he readied for a projectile, or an attack. It was nothing of the sort, simply a strange item that was large and round in her hands. She broke it, cracking the crusty exterior and releasing a soft waft of steam that smelled intensely and made the boy’s mouth water. He couldn’t help staring at it, sniffing in wonder as she took in the aroma as well.

She stopped her noise in the moment, and said something to him. He did not understand, so he tried his best to respond. The woman flinched, an expression of pure fear coming from deep within, but did not act on it. She returned to her work, taking out a strange vessel from the basket and setting it on the table. It clicked on the surface of the wood with a sturdy yet delicate sound, and the top was removed to reveal some kind of congealed slab that the boy had never seen.

She took a piece of it on some kind of instrument the boy didn’t know either, and slathered it on top of the strange object in her hands.

It was offered to him, with more words. He did not know what to do, other than retreat.

She seemed almost sad at the loss of his presence, yet took the other half of the item and did the same to it. She sat next to the sleeping one, and took a deep, eager bite of it with a clear sound of satisfaction.

Well.

The boy had seen it tested in the only way that proved logical. One trying to poison him would not poison themselves, nor would they clearly enjoy such an offering. His stomach was weak with hunger, and his mind doubly so. He saw the old man overlap with her for a moment, hand outstretched in an effort to calm him and give him shelter.

The boy, once more, went to her. He felt confident, more so than earlier, and came closer. She raised the item, and tried to give it to him once more.

He gulped, wary still even though everything he had seen that day proved that his worries were in vain. He felt displaced, and she moved it in the air with a gentle motion to break his thoughts and bring him back to the present. The boy was almost grateful, outstretching his hand cautiously.

He made contact with the thing, and it carried with it a deep warmth. The texture made his skin itch in the ways many things did, but he swallowed the feeling and banished it with little success. What really surprised him was the deep pocket inside that seemed as if it was fluffy nesting material more than a food item.

She laughed at his expression, a light chiming giggle that brought him once more out of his runaway thoughts. Another series of words came from her, this time with more that seemed like outliers. There was one she repeated, over and over to a fault that he started to hear as something unique.

Natural. Or at least, it was a sound that created the word, to him. He tried to replicate it, in an attempt to understand. It was absolutely crucial for the boy to understand.

It was time for the woman to be surprised, when he spoke. She stilled, blinking, and repeated the sound as if it was a mistake that she’d heard anything at all.

“Natural.” She said, clearly and drawing out the word in an attempt to make it as direct as possible. Her eye contact was unnerving to the boy, but he held firm underneath it. This felt important.

“N-Nat…”The boy’s voice was quiet, and barely audible over the rough condition of it. He coughed after only a moment of use, clearly having trouble. She quickly handed him some kind of rounded object filled with water. He didn’t have time to second guess, and took a thick gulp of it to soothe his throat before it could harm him any longer.

Both of them froze, staring at each other with the realization. This was real. They’d bridged the gap, and communication had been made. She pointed at him once more, and said the word again. He pointed at his chest, unfamiliar with the meaning of the gesture yet understanding what it meant.

She was calling him that word. He didn’t know what it meant, but perhaps… perhaps it was a true name. The thought was unsettling, but he was around others of his kind, clearly.

The Queen told him, on a deep dark night when his siblings were named, that one would not grant true names to those they did not have the connections to, lest they be lost in the beyond. The moon had granted them protection, and names had been sealed in blood, according to the ancient rituals.

They did not wish to bear grudges once more, after all. It was but a simple sacrifice to another from beyond who had fallen, so they would not allow others to do the same.

“Natural.” The woman said again, pointing directly at him. The other stirred in her sleep, eyes blinking open before she startled at the sight of him. He bristled, leaping back before the first murmured something to her, and she relaxed.

“Natural.” She said, and beckoned him over.

“N-N-N…” The boy attempted to replicate once again, but could not make the sounds. He returned to his tongue and apologized, and she seemed overjoyed he even tried. Her lips curled in the way that the kits had done many times in their mischief. She was safe, she was kind, and she was sunlight.

The boy missed sunlight so much.

He walked towards peace, for that was sure she was the embodiment of such a thing, if a human even could achieve that. She welcomed him with open arms, and he settled for just taking one, hesitantly. A question welled within him that he could not ask, yet the feeling of deep belonging settled within his stomach at being welcomed by such a person.

She seemed to understand, and her other hand was still waiting. He stared at it, unsure, and then realized what she gave him was still sitting in his other hand as well. The liquid had been absorbed into it, a pleasant smell still permeating the air. Sleepily, the other woman grabbed the half that was still sitting in the basket and took a bite, seemingly called to do so by the scent alone. She beckoned towards the one still patiently waiting, and the boy still holding the first clung to the second.

The feeling of it all was overwhelming in intensity, and reminded him of the Queen. This was a different place, with different scents, things, and laws, but he could only feel that deep sense of belonging from this woman’s embrace. She picked him up, arms wrapped around his midsection for a moment before he was turned to the side.

Normally, the boy wouldn’t have allowed such a thing.

Normally, the boy would be far, far away from any human at all, and within the loving den of his mother.

His mother was gone. The boy could only take so much, in this place with threatening grudges latched onto the walls and the smell of earth. Spring surrounded him, peace and love giving him the attention he desperately needed. The boy…

No.

He was Natural, here.

Natural leaned into her arms, both hands on top of the object that the others had seemed so eager to eat. He took a bite, and it was simply wonderful. He’d never had anything like it, and found himself in a trance at the taste. A heartbeat was at his ear, the sound of a breathing hum filling the room, and Natural ate before he knew nothing else but the oblivion of rest.

“I see you’ve worked your magic on him.” Anthea spoke, after they were both sure that Natural had calmed enough to sleep. Both of them were weary, overwhelmed and exhausted, but Natural was here.

Natural was sleeping in the arms of his sisters, where he belonged.

Natural was sleeping in the arms of his sisters, and he would never know the truth.

Natural would never know of anyone who previously was of Harmonia, and cast away for his own protection. And he was so very hurt by whatever happened to him, after he’d disappeared with their mother.

The room was in a state of disaster, however, and Anthea knew she couldn’t dwell on it any longer. In order to stay close to him, they’d have to make sacrifices beyond what had already taken place. He was so small and innocent while asleep, yet so hurt at the same time. Anthea rose from her seat, and only managed to make it a few steps away before she was addressed.

“Don’t rush to do anything.” Concordia spoke up, watching her sister with a critical eye. “What happened today, all of today, that wasn’t-” Anthea shook her head quickly, and Concordia found her mouth shutting with a click of the teeth. It was horrible to take advantage of her inability to deal with conflict, but there was no time to process such a thing.

“You have taken such good care of him, and somehow calmed him down enough to reconnect. He even tried to say his n-name.” Anthea’s slip was caught by both of them, yet neither commented on it. “I can do my part. Rest with him, for I have been resting all day.” She started on her cleaning, and made the bedspread.

Concordia refused to open her mouth for the remainder of their time in the room, before she settled the child down in his new sheets. He grabbed her in his sleep, and she wished so very much to stay with him, but a Shadow appeared at the entrance.

“You are needed by the Council of Sages, as soon as possible.” He said to them, and the sisters found themselves shutting that massive, imposing door that held such a quiet, loving boy inside. She was sure of it, that the fear ruling his mind would dissipate given enough room to prosper.

Now, it was only a question of if it would be allowed at all, when they arrived to receive yet another change in the form of the council’s demands. Anthea and Concordia found themselves at that hall once again, and the both of them felt that sinking feeling that it would repeat that way for eternity.

---

Natural found himself in that place again. The one that man left him in, before. He whimpered alone in the dark, but it didn’t feel like anything he fondly remembered from his mother.

But things change, even if he doesn’t want them to.

It was over a long period that he grew to acclimate to this strange, uninviting place. There were no longer the cycles of sun and moon, and no longer rituals to ward off those from the great beyond. There were only humans, milling about and doing tasks he could barely understand.

It was only with the two that he made any kind of progress. They arrived after his sleep every day, in predictable times Natural could anticipate.

“Anthea.” She’d said many times, with a force that made him feel secure.

“Concordia.” The other’s name who always spoke secondary was harder to grasp, but Natural felt it was important to truly learn it. Over time he even started to walk like them without realizing it, following and watching them in their “duties''. He would try to help, but would be stopped with undertones of fear.

A series of impossible contradictions started to pile and overflow, yet there were things he was eager and able to learn.

Food was eaten at a Table. Words were spoken through Mouths. His Legs moved his Feet, which moved the Body. It all started to come into focus.

But the more he understood here, the less he could remember of warm summer nights, trickling water, and the rustling of glass. All that remained to him was stagnant, the room in the earth that carried with it a coolness that never changed. And with that stagnation, even without a voice, Natural started to find his home in a set series of routines.

It felt right to him, even though it was terribly wrong. That pain and grief was just an aftertaste he felt day in and day out, and was eventually forgotten altogether in the rush of new information.

Father, too. He appeared one day and introduced himself in that new way the others had, and the way Natural learned his true name. Perhaps this was their ritual to do such a thing.

Harmonia was key, when they addressed him. It was a moniker that carried with it power, as he came to learn. That man was also Harmonia, but in a way that he couldn’t really make sense of. How could two have the same true name?

The man was imposing, and carried with him an energy that created a deep set terror in others. No one else seemed to sense it, which confused him. Yet another impossible calculation that would never make sense.

It was only several years later that Natural felt anything change, after his initial time in that room.

He woke up to the sound of screaming, deep within the halls of the building at a strange hour. The wailing caught his attention, gripping at his chest and stabbing into his mind with a force unknown to him. It was foreign yet known, and the frequency of the cries called into his mind memories of that forest, of birds that had fallen from the nest or creatures limping in their death throes.

There would sometimes be the desperate screams of a traitor to Liberation. They were brought to the Sages and Father, where the weak human would kneel before God and be judged in front of the court. Those unworthy would let out horrendous noises that Natural would remember deep in his sleep, ringing through his ears long after they’d finally stopped.

Natural knew that he would one day take the place of one even greater than Father, be the authority that ruled here and gave punishments at his whim. He didn’t know why the thought was so troubling, when it was required for Liberation.

He didn’t really know what they meant, but it was important. Liberation kept Concordia staring at her food for too long. Liberation kept Anthea from reading to him when they were learning. Liberation was also the best thing in the world that he would bring to everyone.

It was worth everything, and yet it made everyone sad.

He didn’t have time to dwell any longer, because the scream cut off with a choking wail, then silence. Father liked to hear the screams, so it wasn’t normal at all. Without the sounds of suffering, the room was eerily still. It was nearly empty, save for the bed that he occupied in the corner and a few toys and things stacked neatly by his tendency to do so.

The table was also there, a place he adored and hated in equal measure. It was the home of so many wonderful things, and oh so many evils he wished he could forget. Father could wield his power with rage, given the right reasons. It was Unova speaking through him while it waited for the rightful Harmonia.

It was unfortunate, then, that Unova hated so many. Natural thought it was a waste of a gift. Maybe he could speak to the Dragons someday, to ask them to stop being so mean to humans. Maybe someday.

Natural had to digest his thoughts. The screams ceased to matter as much as the scenario that brought it about. He held his head as it throbbed, while the room started to spin and the normally neat and solid tile warped beneath him. His breathing struggled to escape, held firmly as his ribs closed around his lungs like a vice. The only sounds Natural could make were choking sobs that tore from his chest. He fought the swimming, evil feeling in his stomach.

He missed the figures down the hall, dragging a body that almost smiled despite being unconscious, clad in a white coat. He missed the way the body shivered as well, frostbite building on his fingers in the relatively warm temperature surrounding it.

Natural instead drifted off to sleep with an uneasy feeling, the truth of his situation settling in for the first time in recent memory.

---

Concordia noticed something was off the moment she made her way down the halls one morning. There were others murmuring rumors, made up of equal parts havoc and information. She went up to one small cluster of people with her sister, the bunch animatedly speaking and a bit louder than others. It seemed they were fired up, a bit too much for Concordia to actually want to initiate a conversation with them.

“Excuse me, Brother.” Anthea noticed her sister’s hesitancy and asked with an ear wide open to one of the conversations taking place. “What news is there today?”

“Oh, news! An understatement of the greatest kind!” He responded, putting on a hood and grabbing his garb from the iron. It seemed he was going out today, to do work outside these walls. It was not a rarity, but it was unusual for so very many to be doing so. “Harmonia’s led us to the way. We found the keys to our salvation at last! Dragon’s blood has been secured for the kingdom.”

“Dragon’s blood! Say it is a lie. We've had no leads for many years.” Anthea’s jaw practically dropped to the floor before Concordia pulled on her arm. Oh, right. They were going to be late for Natural’s morning activities.

“There will be a ceremony later today.” Sensing their urgency, the man concluded instead of spilling more like he seemed he would have liked. A couple others next to him lightly joked about it before he turned back. “It would please us all to see the Young Lord in attendance, and the Great Sage has probably issued summons for him to be there as well. Monumental!”

“I’m sure it will be a splendid time. Unova bless you, and best of luck on your journey!” She responded, before Concordia pulled her further and she joined her sister in their walk.

“Dragon’s blood.” Concordia said to her in a hushed tone filled with wonder. Anthea nodded with the world’s biggest grin on her face, and the both of them stopped at the door.

No longer was it stacked to the brim with metal, secured tight with lock and key. It was normal, a wooden thing with beautiful craftsmanship. Their people were very talented, and the castle’s beauty in architecture bore that with pride.

“Good morning, Natural!” Anthea made sure to be even in tone and announce her way inside. The response was always silent, the boy still in his bed yet clearly waiting for them to arrive. He never spoke, and never made eye contact unless strictly necessary.

That was fine for her, as she set down his clothes and food for the day. There would be notes about the ceremony to follow, and possibly even a Sage’s presence. Natural would have to be prepared for his first large ceremony. She glanced over to him, worried, and Concordia seemed to pick up on it instantly.

“Natural, we have heard the news. You might be doing something different today!” Concordia spoke slowly, taking note of what Natural seemed to have trouble with and elongating the words. He seemed to be attentive today, better than the days with nothing but quiet staring and much better than the violent ones. The boy nodded slightly, mouthing around his lips and tapping his fingers. Excited, then. Wonderful.

“Would you like to eat something while we talk to you?” Anthea asked him, and Natural gave his hand over to her, allowing her to lead him to the table. His feet met the floor cautiously, shivering at the cool stone before he acclimated for the day. He squeezed her hand twice.

“You’re doing so well, Natural!” Anthea told him, and his face dusted with the hint of a smile at the praise. Concordia gave him bread and butter with some fresh jam, and he made an absolute mess of his face, getting it on his cheeks as he ate. The humming was definitely one of approval, although someone not acquainted with him would think otherwise.

“So do you remember how we told you about Harmonia? The kingdom you’re going to lead someday?” Anthea waited for his nod, and continued after each sentence.

“We are going to be summoned to help everyone here. They found an old piece of the puzzle and now we are one step closer to Unova. Depending on what Harmonia has now, we could have peace, and no one would have to be hurt anymore.” Seeing that he was still tracking, she gave him a moment to digest. Natural needed a little more time than a lot his age, but when he got it he latched on like no one she’d ever seen.

“So you are going to help us get there, just by attending. The people have been waiting to see you, Natural.” He didn’t like that in the slightest. The boy shrunk into his seat, stopping the small kicks his feet started into and holding his food close to his chest. He whined, but Concordia was quick to soothe him.

“It will be alright. We will help you.” She told him, and Natural hugged her arm, allowing her to pick him up and cradle him close. “You won’t have to do a thing. You definitely won’t have to speak, it will just be a ceremony. They’ve found an object to use in ritual.”

“Y-yes. That is correct, in a manner of speaking.” A man’s voice spoke from the door. Sage Rood’s massive beard and gentle demeanor made it clear who was entering. He didn’t require any introduction, and was welcomed by all of them. Even Natural made an effort to wave from where he was perched in Concordia’s arms, and Rood had a hearty chuckle at it.

“Excuse me, Sage, but whatever could you mean by a manner of speaking? Did they not find Dragon’s blood?” Anthea asked him, pulling out a seat for the old man to sit upon while she poured him a drink. He accepted it gratefully, thanking her under his breath as she settled down and Concordia brought Natural to the other side of the room.

She pulled out a book, and he watched with interest, grabbing at the ends of the pages as she read aloud to him. Anthea and Rood took a moment to watch, overcome by the moment before getting back to their previous conversation.

“If I may be brief,” Rood started, then paused for a moment while he chose his words. “I regret what must be done, for Liberation’s sake. We are not to speak of the Dragon’s blood until measures have been taken to secure it for Unova's future.” He seemed distraught, tightly wound, and the words came out more grave than the day he’d first assisted them in the servant’s quarters.

“I understand. Thank you for your efforts, Sage.” Anthea knew of the severity that would come upon him from dwelling on it any longer. For something so traitorous to brew and boil, then to be spilled in her vicinity was a credit to the both of them. Especially given the status of their position relative. It was all she could do to hold her tongue and not ask for more.

“In an hour there will be preparations, and then a ceremony. You should have enough time to reach the announcement hall by that time.” At his words even Concordia became tense, and she stared at him with nothing but confusion. Natural’s face was in a thin line at her distress, and he pulled on her shirt with a tilt of the head.

“You are fine, Natural.” She fixed her gaze, and beamed at him, ruffling his hair while he purred softly.

“Announcement hall? Not the one of the Sages?” Anthea asked in her sister’s stead, clearly shaken by the same words. Rood sighed at the news as well. It seemed a lot was on his mind, given the way his wrinkles carved themselves into the grooves of his weary face.

“The Great Sage is setting this one as an example for the entire kingdom. We are readying for all of those loyal to Liberation.” His tone was one of finality, but that might have been for his benefit more than theirs. Neither of the sisters minded too severely, because the courtesy of being told anything at all was above their standing.

It seemed that even after the years had started to take their toll, some habits would not be overwritten. It was unsaid between the three, as the Sage rose to continue in his duties for the day.

“We thank you for your insight, Sage Rood.” Anthea made sure to address him, and Rood nodded at her in an almost frantic manner before departing.

---

The announcement hall was from another time, one when Unova reigned supreme and ancients still walked the earth in their rampages and primal energies. One when Harmonia held the power and wielded it with the blessings of old.

Celestic traditions held firm, but the structures that housed them were not as kind. Gashes were present in the front of the hall, made by the claws of Unova itself. An altar had been set and a majestic throne installed to memorialize Harmonia, and Natural found himself staring at it with awe.

“That is yours, when you are ready.” Concordia whispered to him, holding his hand and leading Natural to the corner of the room he would be residing in.

A large, open space was in front of the general assembly space and yet not quite to the altar, carved grooves different from the claws that littered the walls. This housed a circle, raised above the earth and kept meticulously clean. Waiting.

Candles were lit along the room for worship, their wax melting to the floor in planned pools that stood the test of time. Framed images, some worn away by many, many years, were painstakingly upkept to the highest degree possible. It was a musty, hollow, yet overwhelming place that brought Natural into a state where he could not possibly look away. He felt awash in emotions he could not name, in awe of its splendor and ornate nature. Gold glittered in the faint candlelight, small fixtures embellished by the most devout of followers.

“It is splendid, isn’t it? The traditions that the mighty Unova left the line of Harmonia.” Anthea’s voice was kind enough to bring Natural out of his trance, and he squeezed her hand twice, almost vibrating with excitement.

“Is the Young Lord alright?” Another servant, this one busy and whispering in a hushed tone as she watched him tremble.

“Yes, he is quite fine. Just a little bit of fright. Thank you, sister.” Concordia was quick to cover, and the other wished him well before going to another seat to dust it.

Natural pulled a finger. Anthea immediately pulled him into her arms, securing him and allowing him to rest. He exhaled with the lack of light on his eyes, relaxing as he did so, and she thanked him for letting her know under her breath. Another two squeezes, this time lightly on her shoulder, and she nodded to him, patting the top of his head and smoothing out his still unruly hair.

It seemed some things, unlike his temper, could not be tamed. That was more than alright to her.

They were quickly led into a room at the side of the space, and got to work. Progress was simple after he understood what was happening. By the end of it, the boy of no more than 8 was fully dressed in his ceremonial robes. He tilted his head and gave a puzzled expression at the clothing, moving his hands over the strange textures before Concordia gently removed them.

“You’ll be much better off if you don't, although I know how strong temptation is. Isn’t it worth a little sacrifice to be one with Liberation? Can you do that for me?” Anthea asked him, and Natural nodded while he settled his hands at his sides.

“Thank you so very much. Unova will bless you, little Natural.” Anthea was sure to give him this, even though she wanted to give him more. She wanted desperately to grab the Young Prince, bundle him in the fabrics he cherished and make for the sky.

Perhaps this was what her mother dreaded all along, and it was finally coming to pass.

Anthea never understood the true intensity of that woman’s intentions until it was far too late, and he was back here to be paraded around like a monster that Harmonia won from his outings. With the way that the Great Sage treated him, it was possible that this was yet another creature that he would tame under his will, and wield for extended power.

“Sister?” Concordia broke her out of her thoughts, and Anthea merely gave her a shake of the head, dashing the thoughts away much like Natural was prone to do. She wondered if he would ever make the connection on his own, or be forever in the dark to truths far deeper than she could explain.

But her sister was correct, and they had no time to dwell on such things. The Sages were taking seats alongside the edges of the altar, and the Shadows appeared on the outskirts of the place, searching before they found their target.

The Great Sage was standing before the altar. He was shaking so badly that his robes would have dropped from his person had they not been secured, but it was not in fear. The man was laughing, an unhinged, booming thing that filled the entire hall with his madness. It was terrifying to Natural, who looked away in Concordia’s arms before he could see what his father was so worked up about. That was probably for the best, given what was there.

There was a body lying on the ancient stone.

Concordia would have thought that it was dead, but the quiet shivers and twitching emanating from them said otherwise. They were young, older than Natural and yet…

And yet, too young for this.

She made sure to cover Natural’s head with her hand, keeping his vision away before they were led to be seated elsewhere.

The laughter only stopped when the Great Sage was addressed by another, and asked about something by by someone nearby. The body was left, but not without a careful set of eyes to watch them writhe in pain, or perhaps a nightmare.

“That cannot be Dragon’s blood, can it?” Anthea asked in a hushed tone, once they had taken a place behind the primary worship space. Their seats were out of the way, out of the spotlight clearly reserved for the main event.

“It can, but you know the toll that was paid.” Concordia answered her similarly, making sure that Natural had relaxed in her hold from the changes. He stared at her with curiosity, but did not make a move to question what had taken place. Anthea shivered at the prospect before she left it alone, seeing him sitting at attention.

It was soon that the general assembly was allowed to join, and with the floodgates fully opened torrents of Harmonia’s kingdom started to pour into their worship space. The church was crammed with devotion, many singing songs and greeting each other. Hushed murmurs erupted from the sight of the body on the stone, with many whispering prayers and curses alike for the Dragonspawn.

“You all know well that fateful day that the Dragons ripped our salvation away from us!” The Great Sage started, and the entire room instantly fell into a respectful silence. His voice echoed through the crowd, washing over the entire space. The only sound that broke it was the sickening gargle that came from the Dragon’s body.

Even the Great Sage seemed surprised at it, turning from his speech to witness such a thing. An eye charged with blue looked back at him, a smile burdened with pain breaking onto the Dragon’s face. He opened it shakily, but nothing emerged but a pleading whine.

“It seems that Unova speaks once more through what has taken it from its rightful home!” The Sage roared, drawing a flinch from the one laying on the floor as the crowd answered in approval.

But the reaction only happened for a mere moment. A puddle of crimson bled through a once white coat, dripping and spreading. He screamed, muffled by the noise of the room before the assembly quickly hushed to behold it.

Concordia felt Natural freeze in place, trembling at the sight. She followed his gaze to trail across the floor, through the spaces in the multitude of people to meet with the ground before them.

She could not protect him from the truth forever, as it always would be until the end of time. He would only bear witness to more and more true Liberation, and eventually become cold to it all just as the rest of them had. Not that he didn’t know the cruel rules of nature from a young age, as if his name itself predicted what he would become and fate had sealed the rest.

Spring had been at work with all of them. She was life giving yet cruel, and her whims were indecipherable. Such was the way of seasons, and even more so the way of this world. Harmonia would be subject to his own ancestry, yet Concordia felt a distinct loss when she watched him witness some of that reality for the first time. He locked eyes with the body, and froze.

“The dragon is breaking what deserves to be punished by its presence! It is a sign, fellow believers! It is a sign we are observers of the truth and beholders of such great ideals!” The Great Sage bellowed. He would not cease for something as simple as someone’s suffering tears, not when he could lean down and pull up his trembling body. Not when he could demonstrate the sickening splatter that dripped from his arm, a tear forming in the skin without any kind of blade to pierce it. The person in his hands closed his eyes trying not to see it, and yet did not stop smiling even as he winced and begged.

“Wonderful citizens of this kingdom, we are gathered here to bear witness to the first of Unova brought back to its rightful home! We have reclaimed that which the traitors have stolen and desecrated, to doom their own to obscurity. Harmonia alone reigns victorious, as was prophesied by Unova itself!” The Great Sage erupted with fury as he spoke, and shook the body to wrench out another series of pitiful screams.

“No longer will we wait for blessings to rain down while others keep them away with their misguided ways. We will Liberate, and you will all be saved by our sacrifices!” A singular sacrifice, Anthea understood it to be. A sacrifice, weakly grasping his chest as he gasped, and everything in the room started to shift. The atmosphere around him began to ripple, heat shimmering, and the Great Sage wasted no time in throwing him to the floor with a sickening crack.

The young man’s head lulled, and he grew silent as the fire smothered. Nothing could hear the sound of his ragged breath under the hum of energy that filled the halls, the cheering and yelling that ensued once the predators got wind of fresh meat to consume. Not when they were whipped into a frenzy by being in one place at once and surrounded by others who felt the same.

They did not pay attention as the man who orchestrated the ordeal smirked, and lowered himself to grab silver hair and pulled at it to grab the sacrifice’s attention.

“Dragonspawn has tried to summon what does not belong to him.” He whispered, to trembling, tearful eyes and pathetic murmuring.

“I do- do not know what this is…” The gasping boy replied, unable to do much else. He thrashed and whined, praying to a higher power that he knew would not respond.

For what kind of God would betray the deeds ordered of its followers?

The Great Sage scowled at his words. The boy could not help his terror, and yet he could not look away from two intimidating eyes that held nothing but malice. Blue flames reflected back at him, the roar of truth growing into a furnace underneath.

“I will personally get you to tell me, precious dragon. I will personally wreck your precious catalyst until you watch him whither. I can see your resistance, I can see your false idol reflected in those eyes.” He spat, and cast down the body to the stone right after. The person underneath could only feel confusion at the sensation, underneath his terror.

How could someone feel that, if they were never that way and always were?

The truth reflected in rage, and started to burn. Feathers of flame littered the sacred space as something other grew more and more fury by the second. A human did not remain at the forefront, as the body roared with quickly sharpening fangs and outstretched talons. It could only hiss through in warning, in retaliation, in a promise of a quick death to follow.

“You would dare fight against those that wish to Liberate you, dear beloved of Unova?” The Great Sage asked in a tone that conveyed no respect, only enraging it further. He laughed as it thrashed, powerless and only serving to spill more of its catalyst’s blood. It was entertaining, and yet there was a purpose greater than his own amusement.

There would be more time to play later.

Ghetsis turned to his awaiting subjects, those chosen to continue his legacy. He looked to the youngest, who would bear that burden when the time came to take control of his destiny. A growl, not even trying to be human, blew through the air with a plume of smoke. It knew his thoughts were true. He made sure to smirk at it to reinforce the idea.

A smell wafted in response. It was one of sulfur and rot, sickening and causing many in the crowd to instantly double over. Wailing started to pour from the congregation, the momentary madness taking the place of focus, and he could only watch as the room started to turn.

“I wonder if you are calling the almighty for aid, or if it has come to provide judgment.” The Great Sage murmured to himself, as many of the Sages stood all around him.

“Liberation is at hand.” He says. The moment he is finished, there is a writhing, roaring scream from the sacrifice. The truth threatened to break the facade altogether in anticipation and fright.

It was then that the world itself shattered all above them, and the glow of beyond reached for creation. Thousands of arms took what was rightfully theirs, hungry for anything to sustain the madness. Those remaining in the hall froze in awe and terror, and salvation claimed those who were its most fervent supporters.

It took indiscriminately, and yet many struggled to leap into the hold of god believing that they were chosen.

Anthea and Concordia stood with Natural to flee, and yet something told them to stay and witness. Natural was silent while all of the remaining stood in a silence that held fast even in the flurry of color and light that burst forth.

The only thing that dared to make a noise was the creature inside the sacrifice, spitting in defiance. It knew the truth, and growled helplessly against a power that was higher.

A streaming hiss of sulfur screeched as it dipped into the world from the other side, a vague shape that constantly boiled as it built and was consumed in equal measure. It touched the floor, and salt instantly caked outwards and upwards to welcome it.

Living letters danced around the circle, long abandoned by the likes of the Sages as they bowed to the almighty and chanted their praises. Anthea and Concordia were frozen in fear, trembling and holding each other as Natural watched in awe.

The only one that did not cry or scream was Natural, for he could truly understand what was said with booming authority. And he did default to that sacred nature, watching and waiting in the language of shadows.

There was no acknowledgment of him, however.

The Word of the Lord echoed. A call to prayer.

Binding chains and contracts were woven in another time and place. A vessel was created, and yet its other half remained on the other side. They latched around limbs, causing the body to bow as it struggled. Creation laughed at the attempt, and reinforced subjugation on that which dared to refuse.

A thousand arms erupted from the reflection of creation, and quickly grabbed the body. They cradled the creation like it was a disappointing youth, and reached to cup both cheeks. Terrified eyes cried behind the beast, a human beholding a sulfuric construction. They wiped his tears, and the almighty looked forward to what this vessel would hold.

A seal was made, a covenant completed in past and present. The right wrist was encapsulated by a mark that bound another to a beast of sacred nature. It burned that which dwelled within a covenant, and banished it once more.

The head lulled, the human inside exhausted beyond measure. He sobbed in the midst of the madness all around him before being placed in the circle once more.

Thanks be to God, a response before absolute power.

---

Concordia woke up in her room, a haunting sensation burning behind her eyes. It was quiet, and Anthea was in another bed fast asleep. It was just a dream, a very intense dream. For the life of her, she could not remember the contents of such a thing.

It was not yet time to do anything, and her bones were weary as she sat. She took a sip of water, a light walk, and Concordia rested as much as she was able. Tomorrow would be another ordinary day. But, it was odd, the way that her entire room smelled of sulfur.

The body was taken from the stone, after those unworthy were dismissed. The Great Sage beheld the mark, and reassured even the most reluctant of Sages that this was the way.

Blue eyes cried tears of fire. The sacrifice was robbed of everything as the light of the hall faded into a dingy staircase. As it became darker and darker, the shadows grew longer and more consuming. The boy shivered in the cold, in the aftermath of salvation. He begged wordlessly for aid, and was rejected by those that shackled his wrists and left him chained to the wall.

He desperately wished to ask, to plead, to yell.

Nothing came out but a wordless whine that refused to call for that which he wants most. He was alone, and is unused to the feeling. The glow that came from his wrist in a halo of binding illuminated an otherwise empty place, and it did nothing to stop his despair.

 

[Raindropcroptop]

Chapter 3​

There was a beautiful silence in the glittering, dangerous snow. A temple stood on the mountainside, casting a shadow from the sun before a haze of overcast smothered it once more. Powdered death and life and everything in between wafted with the chilling wind, creating an atmosphere of primal survival that quickly choked away whatever dared to reside there.

The creatures that did end up staying stalked the frigid Icelands, searching for opportunities to claw themselves out another day of life. For one, It was a question of whether the beast was either dead or alive. Of how that grudge manifested was uncertain, and yet it was still compelled to hunt. Invisible chains clanged to the ground all around it, a doomed existence from an unholy being that had been cast away and deemed unacceptable.

And so it wandered. It hungrily smelled the air with a nose trained to bring back what was lost. Lacking a true direction, it aimlessly traveled the wastes devoid of a true purpose. A shadow of a beast sunk into the ice caves, gaze harsh and piercing, before it disappeared from the tundra entirely. As it did today and every day, in an endless cycle of purgatory.

Something happened one day to break such a burden. A tug pulled on a connection long buried. It suffocated in the aftermath of such light, and the call was rejected in haste as the creature ran against its nature.

It left behind itself a shifting, endless void that rocked the very sky. It shattered the atmosphere itself, bursting into life and screaming with powers from beyond. It reached, and took from what exists to fuel the endless hunger. Beings scattered to avoid the hand of God, and found themselves useless against the tide of creation.

There was no remorse from nature.

It had the right to what existed, after all.

Shadows struck into the aether, struggling against the endless tide of the inevitable. They held with them a precious being, the promise of protection, and a dying prayer. It was inevitable that they too were claimed, and banished once more as the gift is ripped from them.

In a way, it was a repayment for a deed past and present, something from the future displaced in time. Screams of the forsaken fell on deaf ears, their desperation pleading and praying for salvation.

Material dripped from the void, a consciousness given and taken in equal measure, and the disorientation scrambled what was left. Thousands of arms cradled him deceptively, before letting go.

Something that was humanity and beyond fell. He screamed, his arms windmilling around uselessly in the air before he abruptly crashed into the snow below.

The world was a frigid white, a stark contrast to the black coat that clung to a young man. Air refused to enter his lungs, knocked out by the force of his fall. He watched the void disappear with spots in his vision and a lack of true awareness, and he could only lay helplessly underneath the fallout of it all.

The void was hard to forget. It spoke, it yelled, it stretched, it claimed. It was everything, and it was nothing at all.

He would never be able to recall it for the rest of his life, not truly. Not from the depths of unanswered searching late at night as he grasped for answers. His frozen body shivered, bewildered and silenced from such an experience. He stared at the landscape with wide eyes, overwhelmed as the force of it all started to take hold.

There was something else as well, deep in his core, that screamed and cried. It called for help, and the adolescent in the snow felt something grasp his wrist. He barely had time to recover from the shock before it all melded into a cacophony of confusion, and he could not stay awake any longer.

---

The bond continued to berate and punish the beast, driving it to where it did not want to be. A claw curled along the ice, carving marks into the snow, and a figure puffed up with rage and spite. Grudges spat insults in haunting song, weaving curses from that which was left behind.

It wandered around the frayed covenant, testing. Perhaps it would be nothing. Perhaps… it was everything. It returned to the tundra, and managed to find something that it was not looking for.

It saw the black coat first. The thing was a tattered mess of destroyed fabric, blowing around a body which was already half buried in the snowdrifts. The atmosphere brewed with the promise of temperatures that could kill even those used to the climate, and there was the most fragile of beings to such a challenge.

Fangs curled into a sneer at the thought, and a beastly head filled with teeth inspected the new arrival. A tongue licked the air, savoring the taste of despair bleeding from the human’s psyche.

The monster’s claw was big enough to tilt the little one’s head with one movement, inspecting what was surely alive. Nothing else could create that blissful, wonderful smell. The fear of death is always pungent. An eye stared at it, terrified, and he flinched at the sight of the creature.

The human felt fear. The creature could not help but laugh as it fed. And yet, even after such a meal, it still hungered.

The beast looked to the ground, and picked up a limb. The human clearly tried to move, and yet he could barely manage a slight twitch of the fingers and the faint all encompassing shiver. The monster’s claw dug into his arm, but only slightly. It was a start, to relish the pain.

But the beast paused soon after beginning. Something had sedated his blood, from the taste. It would not do to consume such a thing.

Not yet.

The body did not do anything as it was dragged behind the monster, bumping into rocks and stones before eventually being thrown down a cave. Ghosts knew to avoid a baneful death, even in the afterlife, and disappeared quickly at the mere sight of them.

The beast strolled along. It was fun to play, and after so many humans had gathered there was currently a risk in picking off the weakest of what remained.

There were no more battles on the ice, no more souls to take in the fallout, no more bodies to hide in the blood of the rest. There was only the straggler, who was now crying at the bottom of the cave.

The monster’s claw traced around his cheek, ending on the nose, and the creature took delight in how he whimpered in distress. The human at some point grabbed for his arm, despite the lack of movement otherwise. The creature watched him writhe and savored the taste.

---

“Sneasler?” A woman called from afar, stretching and feeling the satisfying creak and eventual pop of her back. The crunch of her boots hit the ground in a steady rhythm as she approached her Noble, and she easily dropped from the cliffside by stepping in areas that she knew by heart. The creature she called turned, pointing, and the woman quickly caught up to her to check it out.

But nothing was there but the Icelands in the distance and the fluttering of a few distant birds.

“Is there something going on over there?” She asked, tone bold like the long, winding ponytail going down the side of her head. It was a shock of purple, leading down to the wooden band that laid on her wrist. The Warden’s band was sign of her covenant, proud and bold. To many, it was a sign of duty. To her, it felt more like a prison of glass, and the freedom to exit it.

Not everyone wanted to be a Leader. Sometimes you just had to go out in the woods for a while. Or 20 years. Either, really. The beast dwarfed her, standing several feet longer than a human bearing giant claws, and the woman didn’t mind in the slightest. This was simply another day with her friend.

It was another day, and yet Sneasler growled, hackles raised, and pointed once more with more energy. Ajisai paused as she felt it, this time. Deep inside her heart, a bond was pulled. She blinked in surprise, and gained a fair bit of resolve regarding it.

“If we’re being called, we don’t have much of a choice.” Ajisai muttered, worried. Her friend nodded, and went to climb the side of the cliff.

Sneasler returned after only a few moments, quickly scaling the rocky mountainside with her lanky yet sturdy limbs. The monster purred once she’d arrived with a large wicker basket on her back, and Ajisai wasted no time in climbing aboard and starting the journey.

The mountain air retreated and was replaced with a different, colder chill as they approached the Icelands. It filled her lungs as she watched from the basket, eyeing the foothills and the Highlands behind them.

There were no flutes of warning.

It was a blessing to not hear of bad news, and yet as they camped for the night in the foothills, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going terribly wrong.

Her emotions were validated the next day, as sunrise kissed the skies and the winds carried with them the whispers of danger. There was a great outcry all of a sudden in the distance, and displaced creatures of all kinds started to run together from some greater threat. Predators did not bother to hunt, and prey did not bother to run away from them in particular. They all simply fled under the threat, big and small. Only she and Sneasler remained in the chaos to witness it.

Ajisai could only describe what she saw as an “it”. Perhaps it was holiness, or something that directly opposed it, but it shook the world as it opened. There was a golden explosion of light, blinding and overpowering, that obscured anything she could have seen. With a roar, Sneasler held her close to protect her. It was all either could do to hide behind a pile of snow and wait for it to be over.

When it was, the silence was overpowering. The shaking limbs of both human and beast unhooked from each other as they scanned the area, and the sky returned back to the way it was instantly. The earth felt unnaturally clean in the moment, as if the entirety of the atmosphere had been swept by a great broom.

Nothing living remained on the ice, not even the usual monsters that patrolled in their quests for survival. Not even the great Mamoswine remained in its usual territory, and the other swine seemingly disappeared with it. Not even winged beasts were stalking the skies or the slopes.

“Muscle idiot should be here sometime.” Ajisai commented to herself, trying to sort out her thoughts. Sneasler nodded along, and the two continuing as they’d planned to do. But then there was the calling, once more. The both of them stopped and blinked in confusion as it led away from the Clan and towards the wilderness.

Their duties were in conflict once more. It was almost funny to Ajisai. Duty was something she despised, and yet they both found themselves turning away from what was familiar to follow the call.

---

Sneasler stopped in front of one of the ice caves, a natural structure made up of a series of networking tunnels that were carved into glaciers long before people inhabited these lands. Many people avoided them, and for good reason. To enter in a group was certain death, a task only reserved for the most bold and experienced of the Pearl Clan. To enter alone was suicidal. It was a story told by the oldest to the youngest, explained with stories of baneful foxes and dried bones.

Ajisai took one last look at her home in the distance. It was underneath the falls, nestled far away from the most dangerous of the tundra and the places where the most powerful monsters gathered. The temple stood above everything, a reminder of what was left behind long ago.

A warning left to her that would be unheeded, as she felt yet another tug on her chest. Duty.

Her hand hovered over her flute. She put it away in her supplies, and nodded to her friend instead of playing it. The Warden here would do anything within the Icelands at any sign of danger, and there had been no flutes from him.

For some reason, Ajisai felt no fear as she entered the basket on Sneasler’s back and held onto the strong shoulders of the climber. Together, they vaulted down into the depths far underneath the surface. The light of the morning faded the longer they descended, replaced with faint glittering of the ice pillars woven into the landscape. Cracks echoed from miles away, the ever changing shifting of the earth apparent as the glacier continued its march. Both Warden and Noble were careful to proceed.

“Something is wrong. These tunnels are empty.” She whispered to Sneasler, who nodded in understanding. There were usually specters that haunted, living ice that froze, and foxes that created illusions beyond imagination. Nothing like that was present, not even in caverns far underneath the surface.

To Ajisai’s knowledge, no one had recorded anything like this before, not even in times of great famine where people ventured down and lived here. It only compelled her to walk further.

After a while there was a spark, somewhere deep within in the cavern. It rocked through the air with a small series of pops, and could have been mistaken for a monster if any electric ones were present. Perhaps one was. A growl echoed through the ice, low and predatory, followed by a small, broken whimper. The noise caused Sneasler’s hackles to rise and Ajisai’s heart to pound.

It sounded human.

They didn’t have time to think before another few cries started, before being cut off by a shriek. It could have been from a Baneful Fox, using a lure to trap those foolish enough to traverse the tunnels. But it also could have been a person crying for help after such an unprecedented event.

There was blood on one of the pillars, further in. A smear from a hand that looked distinctly human was imprinted on the floor, as well. The sight made the decision for the both of them, regardless of the danger. Ajisai was not about to leave one of her own behind. Not again. Not anymore.

What they both saw was a monster at the end of the tunnel, surrounded by a billowing mane of specters that were fueled by grudges. It was the largest she’d ever seen, and seemed to be brimming with power from whatever took place here.

A Baneful Fox, more powerful than she’d ever seen or heard of, caused her spine to shiver as it looked right at her with a sneer. Surely, it must have been an omen to see one outright, crouched over prey and feasting without regard for the distractions they were known for.

She only hoped that it had foregone the powers of illusion because it was occupied, and not because it was so strong that it did not feel the need to do so even in front of one of the Clan’s protectors.

It hunched over, growling, and pulled at something that she had to struggle to see. There was a small figure laying against the wall, letting out a choked whine of terror and pain as they struggled. They sounded young, and the occasional smear of caked blood on the wall told her all she needed to know about the situation any further.

Luckily, her partner was by her side. Sneasler was the first to act, pouncing with a roar as she slashed with her claws. The fox turned with its fangs bared, splattering crimson from dripping teeth. They clashed, claws holding against claws, growling and snarling as a clear winner couldn’t break away from the struggle.

Ajisai took the opportunity. She acted as well, darting across the battlefield and sliding on the smooth surface of the ice. Her body slammed up next to the wall from the slippery nature of the cavern, but she wasn’t a Warden for nothing. She used it to quickly stop and survey from another angle, allowing herself to redirect her body weight to slide again and again.

What Ajisai saw behind the fox made her heart sink. A young man sat half propped up on the wall, staring at her after a moment with pained eyes that clearly couldn’t quite track what was going on. His breath was labored as he clutched his side, silently pleading with a desperate wheeze. It was so much worse than she’d thought at a distant glance.

He was probably in his mid teens, give or take a couple years. Any of the children from her Clan there would have been catastrophic to see, and even a stranger in that condition knocked her off guard completely.

A roar from the baneful monster and a hissing shriek from her Noble brought Ajisai back to action. She took a risk, and went right behind the foot of the Baneful Fox in an attempt to avoid detection while they fought.

She shouldn’t have been so optimistic.

The fox startled and lurched to the side as its eyes started to glow with an unearthly red rage. Sneasler was blown back in a flurry of movement, knocked off balance by a roar of power and a series of quick swipes. Everything became chaos in a matter of seconds, and Ajisai bent over the hurt person in a last ditch effort to protect him.

The fight did not happen like Ajisai thought it would. It all stopped, with the overwhelming sound of fuzzing static and popping silence. Her own harsh, ragged breathing and the rush of blood was so incredibly loud in her ears it overpowered everything else, and all she could do was stare downward as everything happened around her.

The stranger weakly clutched her arm, his expression terrified. But more than that, he was clearly concerned and worried. A trickle dripped downward from her midsection, and Ajisai found herself barely aware that it was coming from her. Everything froze for moments that felt like a thick, heavy syrup.

But it all started back up again with renewed clarity, just as fast as it had left.

The choking shock of it all slammed into her before the physical effects could take their toll, and she slumped over to smack against the wall like a fallen tree. She was only faintly aware of the startle coming from the other person next to her, the boy still struggling to move. He reached for her, pulling her from the icy sides of the cave to rest more comfortably despite his own injuries.

Oh, she was hit. She was hit, and she was injured. She might have even been dying.

Ajisai could have almost laughed at how she’d ignored the stories of battle and combat. The Clan had many tales of harrowing survival in the wilderness, and people who’d never returned home. She hoped she could avoid such things, but here she was anyway.

Logically, she knew that this was could have happened. She knew it was common for people to enter a time that slows and a space that did not move when they were hit by an overwhelming adversary.

But this chill that gripped her was so very cold and incredibly draining. Her arms did not follow the call to fight, and her legs did not follow the call to flee. It was all Ajisai could do to lie there and freeze as the sensation of various senses drained from her.

But life always continued to move.

The blessed were tied to duty that wrote over all other functions. A covenant was called, a purpose given new life and overriding nature with itself. Her shaking, unresponsive limbs gained strength, allowing her to stand despite the odds as she rose to the order. Sneasler roared from the other side of the cavern, a Noble standing with her Warden to the very end, and clashed with the Fox before it could react.

That’s when it struck.

A cacophony of light and sound burst from the atmosphere, refracting through the ice as it traveled into the caves. It caused an explosion to rock the entire structure, blinding the Baneful Fox as it stepped away from the fight. Grudges and malice started to recoil as the creature let out a snarl of warning, but it was far too late for it to run.

There was a frenzy of movement all of a sudden, and a being that was no longer human started to go on the offensive. Living word sprouted savage claws from human hands, and fur erupted from all around the body of the Warden before she sprang into action. The creation moved unhindered by the morality of mortality, gaining speed and strength as she was directed to move.

The creature made of grudges and illusions made a hasty retreat when it was confronted, the light proving too strong for it to maintain a presence any longer. The creation did not chase, unaware of the glow coming from the chains that directed and bound her every movement. She was only aware of orders from words spoken and living, and agreements called to be utilized from beyond.

But the Noble and the Warden were not the only ones there to witness divine intervention. The young man shook as he watched with side eyes the multitude of arms releasing a broken puppet. The light faded, the duty fulfilled as the Warden was dropped from the heavens. It was only then that the Noble was allowed to stumble before running to her friend.

The one sitting there watching the both of them could not help himself from beholding an opening torn in the world itself from the activation of a covenant. His eyes burned with sulfur, and terror clutched him deep within his chest at the sight of the most holy. Tired and drained, the young man stared at it with confusion and terror until it disappeared. He did not register that he was crying, and when he blinked, he did not know who or what he was any longer.

The discarded contract wobbled in place before falling. A leg that could no longer support the weight it leaned on crumpled, and the woman that used to be human looked to her friend with a soft frown of resignation. A binding contract had been fulfilled.

She looked behind her, then, and knew what would have to be done.

A hand bloodied beyond recognition rose with the last of her energy, and Ajisai watched as the mark faded underneath the item previously bound to her. It clattered to the ground, the Warden’s band covered in the proof of faith.

Sneasler trembled. The Noble has never seen such an ordeal with her own eyes, and she was now made painfully aware that she could not finish the deed yet. In this amount of time, there was no way to approach the Clan for any sort of transfer. There was no way to continue other than to start the cycle once more and allow it to use another pair of mortals.

She would prefer this, other than the human that sat in the corner of the ice. He was the only possible vessel remaining. It would be chosen regardless of anyone’s opinion on the matter, unfortunately.

The breath that came from the human was frantic as he watched the both of them, his eyes barely open and yet charged with the power of shimmering crimson. He smelled of being claimed already, and belonged to something that remained unseen. It roared from deep within him, scrambling against the constraints of an inactive host.

Sneasler stepped forth, and saw the contract be forced regardless. Creation did not like to waste an opportunity to lock two in one. It was a rarity to be utilized, and the order echoed throughout the icy caverns in a powerful decree.

The young man’s eyes rolled in his skull, and he gave an ear piercing screech before it was silenced by a thousand smiting hands. The beast within was given no choice in the matter, unable to resist what lorded over it.

Resistance was useless against all that is, was, and shall be. No matter how powerful the creation.

It glared at the Noble and warned against the point of contact, but the action proved useless as Sneasler’s claws took a small wrist carefully within them. The eyes of the sacred beast glowed with holy light, and she was surrounded by a sea of living word. Letters danced as they tied together the necessary components from nature’s song.

Creation renewed forged a deal out of what was dictated from above, and the covenant sealed itself through tradition that the adolescent surely did not have. The band was slipped around his wrist while the thing inside him roared, thrashing and writhing. His speech was woven in begging, pleading gasps that could only be heard by the almighty, and they were ignored.

Forgiveness was not granted to that which is not useful, and the soul was sealed deep within.

Only the terrified child remained, and the new vessel gasped as he beheld the previous vessel’s consumption. The Warden was ripped apart in the cycle and just as quickly forgotten by what gained power from it all. The thousand arms hummed with hymns and righteous fury, before they left a suffocating silence behind them.

---

Sneasler coughed as she awakened to the prickling feeling of overpowering authority. The sensation made her hackles raise with alarm, along with the sickening leftovers of combat that ached in her joints and bones. Nothing remained of the last pact except the replacement, and he wobbled from his place on the ice before falling to his side.

“....Em?” The noise that the young man made was reminiscent of a kit crying for aid. His voice was faint and filled with fear, and it dragged her away from her thoughts as the present took priority. The hold on her soul had been fulfilled, and the covenant had been remade. And so it would remain until the obligation was fulfilled.

Sneasler stared at the young man, and hoped that he will die a death of old age. Although, if she did not do something quickly, he would perish here and now. Blood still coated the walls around the body of the newest vessel, and Sneasler knew that she no longer had moments to wonder and mourn.

There would only be so much time to act, and so the sacred beast walked quickly up to her new companion. He quietly shuddered to himself, before flinching back with confusion as he saw movement. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his body clearly stuck in some state of shock, so Sneasler bent down well before entering his space. The move to tread lightly towards a dying monster was something that many creatures knew as lessons from the wilds of Hisui, and she was no exception.

The haunting shade of death was fresh and palpable. It would surely be too much for many to take in, not to mention someone his age. He went still as she approached, fearful. Sneasler shook her head, and took a claw back in order to show a retreat with her most effective way of attacking.

Surely, he wouldn’t trust a large, imposing monster after such an ordeal.

Sneasler prepared herself for the worst in that moment, flattening her ears and preparing to retreat fully, but the young man did not move or scream at her. He sat quietly in what must be agonizing pain, and put a hand in front of him after a moment. The simple movement gained definition the longer he did it, and after only a few seconds he was reaching for her.

The Noble picked him up quickly noting just how comfortable he appeared to be, and almost paused in surprise. Humans and monsters were always at odds or bonded to Clans, and here was someone that was neither. The stranger sure was turning out to be strange. She shook her head and hurried back to her basket, pushing the thoughts away just as quickly as they’d come.

Her friend’s remains haunted the ground around the both of them, covering the caverns in marred spots and gashes deep in the ice. It was a horrible sight, and while Sneasler was no stranger to the wild struggles of life in the mountains, she was a stranger to the eerie, nasty scent of putrid sulfur and blood that lined the area after the battle. Her basket sat discarded in the filthy stains of combat, forgotten in the rush of activity that had been the fight.

“Em?” The boy in her arms flinched in terror at the sight of the place, gripping her coat with his frostbitten, weak fingers. He called out into the space, his voice warbling as it echoed, and Sneasler held him tighter as she bent down to collect the basket.

The liner sat in shreds, and it would have to be fixed regardless of the amount of bloodshed that would inevitably come from the human clinging to her. Surely, he would continue to bleed from his wounds as he’d already had, but a second glance at her coat and his left her wondering. The both of them seemed to be drying, or crusting over with the intense frost of the Icelands. If he was truly as injured as he was when she’d first seen him, they would have both been drenched.

Perhaps, Sinnoh had given him another chance.

“Em…?” Again, his ragged voice echoed through the cavern, and the young man clung to her as he warily watched her open the basket. The small, dark space prompted a small amount of fight in him despite the circumstances, and Sneasler had to sigh as she juggled the weakly thrashing body.

It was a shame, really, that she’d have to do this at all. Sneasler huffed at how just much it all sucked, before she was able somewhat kick her trusty basket into a usable state. It leaned to the side but stood regardless. Some of the internal supports were absolutely spent and broken.

It was going to be a bumpy ride, wasn’t it.

“Em…?” Again, his voice called, and the stranger kicked and tried to push away as he neared the dark interior of the basket. His efforts were hindered by his clear exhaustion, and he whimpered as he was lowered despite his best efforts. Sneasler gave him a helpful claw, but it only served to make him gasp in fright at the sight of it.

“Em…….” The voice trailed off, miserable, as she set the lid on top and hoisted the basket on her shoulders. The world was quiet for a few moments, and she decided to take a mental note of the maze’s position before departing. The Noble beast hummed as she neared the evidence of battle, and she sniffed for fresh air to guide her before striking marks into the thick walls of the caverns.

This would be a place to remember. A place that she would likely follow on a pilgrimage when everything was said and done, to pay respects to her friend. A place where the Pearl Clan would probably join her, as well, despite the risks.

Solemn, quick steps followed a trail of handprints and blood, and the exit was paved by the trap set forth by the almighty. All followed what creation had set into motion, as Sneasler climbed the entrance of the caves to see the light of day once more.

---

There’s something peculiar happening today. That’s what first comes to Gaeric’s mind as he loads up his supplies for his morning hike through the Icelands. He exits his tent far before the others of his Clan, staring out at the terrifying beauty of his home, and feels it etched into the wind and snow.

There may be something peculiar today, but Gaeric shakes it off like he always does. If there will be something peculiar, then he will just work harder to overcome whatever awaits him. The man’s sturdy legs hit the snow in proud, steady steps as he traverses snowdrift and tundra, walking into the woods with ease. Careful eyes spot the casual wandering of creatures beyond his direct line of sight, rumbling the earth and shaking plants as they move at dawn. A scorpionfly’s tail shifts in the bushes, and he makes his way quickly to his destination without a second thought.

He may be strong, but hidden dangers are nothing to encounter unprepared.

There is a slope that leads upwards, a glacier that scrapes the heavens with how enormous it is. Avalugg’s Legacy towers over the tundra, and the first thing that Gaeric does when he approaches it is smile boldly at such a thing.

A hand finds the side of the ice with a hasty yet careful touch. Sweat drips before he’s even halfway up, legs straining to reach the next carefully carved foothold. The sun sits obscured by the absolute size of the structure, and he feels the calming shiver of his bare skin as roaring muscles are soothed by the numbing sensation of the ice. Gaeric glares in anticipation, and he wills himself to continue with a grin.

He continues as swines roar and fight, and he continues as specters of frost travel on the winds. He continues to climb with that same grin while birds soar overhead. He continues, until the footholds run out altogether. An old ice pick sits glittering on his backside, strapped to his coat that sits absurdly unused in such a climate. The man takes it with glee, and starts to chisel singlehandedly as the other hand clings to grip the structure.

It’s hard work, but Gaeric loves it. He wants to rise to meet the challenge.

The tool is used until it glitters with caked on frost, and the last resounding tap is made as he beholds shivering, spent muscles that struggle to manage such a feat. It’s also good to know when to quit while you’re ahead, and Gaeric makes the judgment call knowing full well that his progress was well earned.

He scales the cliffside, and soon meets the shadow that greets him when he stands on solid ground once more.

“Thank you for the battle!” He yells, taking a skin of water in his hands that is eagerly chugged afterwards in an effort to regain strength. His noise is only heard by a few Piloswine that don’t even react to such a thing any longer. They’re used to the daily disruption, a reminder of his progress.

The slowly rising sun greets the exhausted, energetic man as he makes his way to the rest of his duties. The swine that graze the tundra continue as if nothing happened at all.

He misses when they shriek and squeal their last, only a short while later.

No, Gaeric has a higher calling than his own exertion and progress. He grips the band covering the mark with reverence before entering the second climb of his day. This one is a footpath leading up a much gentler slope, but danger still remains prevalent.

A large creature with red eyes stands at the crossroads. It huffs with the breath of barely concealed rage, and stomps angrily when he enters the vicinity.

“You again.” Gaeric mutters quietly, but the grin on his face speaks to a different emotion. He tosses his pack aside, and bears witness to Machop’s growl of challenge.

“You wanna fight?” He asks, and he feels the pulse of adrenaline start to hammer inside his chest with excitement. The movement of fingers is all that welcomes the charge from the creature, the beast screaming in a battle roar as it launches a fist at him.

Gaeric only laughs as he grabs that fist head on with his own hand, the limbs locking in a trembling contest of strength. Machop grins and screams as it just barely overpowers him, pushing the man back several paces with a toss. It keeps up the pace, giving him no room to recover before the next punch.

He isn’t done yet, however. Gaeric waits with crossed arms, blocking the next flurry of blows expertly and angling his feet in practiced movements. With a grunt, he goes into the eye of the storm, and finds an opening in the creature’s attack with precision. Gaeric’s arms loop around the torso of the giant Machop, and in one fluid movement the man picks up the thing and suplexes it. The cry that emerges from the thrashing beast fills the air, and he knows that he’s won when he grabs its legs and tosses it with a roar of his own.

The tumbling Machop falls down the footpath, and the man pants in victory before staggering ever further up the mountain. It all goes by in flashes of stuttering frames. There is the entrance to the arena, the large banners marking territory that not even the wilds dare to tread.

Whether it’s from threat or reverence, Gaeric does not pretend to know. But he does know that his friend, his chosen, his bond awaits waking from its slumber at the top. Avalugg growls in welcome, and he stumbles a few times before finally dropping the bag.

“H-Hey, buddy.” The voice coming from the boisterous man is shorter now. He blinks rapidly, and makes it over to the icy creature before too long. Shaking legs finally find rest as they practically flop to the cold, hard ground, and he sits up against his Noble with all of the trust in the world. Hands long turned numb from the workout pet an icy exterior, taking shelter in the aura of a beast given to humanity for protection, and he rests his head on rocky limbs that could crush him in mere moments.

“I had a good climb to-today.” The stutter is unwelcome, thank you very much. Gaeric pretends not to see the Noble looking curiously from above at it, tilting its head in his direction at the sound. He doesn’t say anything further, shaking the spots from his vision. They don’t quite go away as fast as he’d like.

He might have overdone it this morning.

The rumbling grumble from Avalugg sure says so. He supposes that it could tell. Gaeric shakes his head at the accusation even though he knows it’s true. He just needs to be stronger.

He was the one left to protect all of them, after all. They didn’t let him go with the rest.

Avalugg moves slowly, mindful of the man whose head droops to the side with his exhaustion. It pulls with a gentle mouth at the jacket tied around his middle, and drapes the soft, warm fabric along his bare chest. The creature curls around him as much as it is able, and listens to the snoring.

Gaeric misses the pull at his chest, the calling. The noble beside him whines with the sensation of refusal. It’s a burn quickly quenched by snow and frozen in time, but Gaeric still twitches at the call.

And yet, Avalugg refuses to disturb his slumber.

What finally gets the monster to move at all is an opening above its domain. It’s a creeping, terrifying spiral that carves out of the atmosphere itself with a screech beyond. It’s an act of God, of Creation, unprecedented and wild. And yet, there is control. It feeds on what it desires, and deposits something unknowable from such a far location that nothing from the arena could possibly tell.

The man stirs, but does not awaken. Avalugg’s massive paw moves gingerly to deposit him on the ground before it slowly, painstakingly rises from the place it has laid for years. Creaking limbs of wood dare to tread for the first time in ages, a feat not managed by the most yelling and screaming of more than seven Wardens.

Number eight stirs, groaning, and beholds the movement of the force of nature in front of him. It’s as if the mountain itself decided to arise and travel, the beast known to his clan shaking away earth, ice, and debris all at once in an effort not seen in generations. It finds its way to the edge of the cliffside and beholds the frozen kingdom ruled by a proxy, eyes searching the air.

“Avalugg?” Gaeric’s voice is quiet, when he approaches with reverence. “What is happening?”

He, of course, receives no answer besides the quiet gaze that stares over the horizon. There are no flutes. There is no alarm. There are no warnings. Something seems peculiar to Gaeric, and he knows that it is unusual enough to be relevant. A shadow approaches from the north, and he turns quickly, gasping as the tension breaks into action.

“Sir! you’re going to have to move a little quicker!” Oh, it’s just her. A massive eagle touches down to sit on Avalugg’s mantle in a sweeping motion, wings fluttering with great power. The noble below seems to enjoy it, closing its eyes in contentment.

There is a rustling inside Braviary’s down for a moment, before a head pops out. Her expression is stern, and yet it remains a feature of her notable youth. The tiny girl hops out of the bird’s warmth, losing a few feathers on the way.

“Sabi!” Gaeric calls, waving to someone from the Diamond Clan. He wouldn’t, but things are different, now. He’s not going to be particularly mean to a kid, especially not one of her circumstances. Their circumstances. She waves back, trying to climb down Avalugg herself before he makes his way to quickly catch her once the grip is lost.

“You!! Gaeric!” She squeaks, seemingly happy and yet squirming in his hold until he lets her down. The girl hops to her tiptoes, teetering in an effort to make herself look taller than she really is, before continuing with a huff. “There is big trouble down there with your people! You should go see them soon!”

“Hmm. Is this one of your pranks again?” He asks, but the sinking suspicion doesn’t go away when she becomes all the more stern, hands at her hips and puffing her cheeks out at the accusation.

“I know all! I am one hundred percent sure that something is wrong! Clairvoyance!” Well, she is right about her sixth sense. Gaeric has seen it enough times to tell, and he nods before patting the top of her head despite the hat resting there. The little shriek he gets in response is enough to almost give her a noogie. Almost.

He picks himself up and goes to stare at the cliffside once more, nodding. No activity.

“Mind if I hitch a ride?” The question is said in jest, but the seriousness bleeds through his expression. Luckily, Sabi seems to pick up on it with a quiet nod, walking over to suddenly startle as if remembering something.

“I don’t have the lift,” She admits, a little fear showing through. “I can go back and-”

“No need. I can hang on.” Gaeric is quick to shut it down, a smirk on his face at the idea of such a challenge. The talons of the great bird glisten in the morning light, sharp and primed for battle at any moment. He nods at them, pointing slightly with his arms still crossed.

“Woooow, Gaeric!” Genuine amazement, as Sabi’s eyes glitter. It’s worth the bumpy ride, as Braviary readies its huge wings in a takeoff formation. Seconds later, they’re in the air, gliding high above everything that is the Icelands.

The world is so small to Gaeric from where the bird glides towards his home. Everything glitters, but it is not as innocent as it seems.

No, from this vantage point, something is clearly off. There should be more movement, more creatures hunting, grazing, and crawling. The pack of Mamoswine and their young is completely absent from Avalugg’s Legacy, something he has never seen in all his years. Muscles once again strain against their limits, and he almost falls as they make a hasty landing.

“Soooorry!!” Sabi’s squeak of an apology may have a hint of amusement in it, but that’s just how she is. Gaeric spares a little glance of disapproval, but it doesn’t have any heat to it. She giggles at the reaction before hiding back in her Noble’s fluffy feathers.

“Thanks for the ride!” He’d talk more, but he doesn’t have the time. They also probably shouldn’t be talking in the first place, being at war and all that. She’s annoying, she’s a troublemaker, and she’s far too proud. But she’s a kid, and she has something in common.

He can’t take out their problems on the kids, not when the Diamonds have someone so young in the role. Not when they have Lian.

“Gaeric?” Ah, just the person he wanted to see. A flash of bright red on the edge of his vision, and the man is face to… a little lower… there. Now he’s face to face with someone who’s only somewhat older than Sabi. She’s kind as she approaches, but not weak because of it.

“Irida.” He greets the youngest leader the Pearl Clan has ever had since the beginning. She nods at being acknowledged, but confusion still stands dormant on her face.

“Is there anything wrong?” She asks him with the tilt of her head and a puzzled squint of the eyes. “You of all people wouldn’t be around Sabi without good reason.”

“Avalugg has moved to gaze at the tundra.” The words are all he has to say, before a hushed gasp rings out from the Clan slowly gathering to behold the conversation.

“We must venerate the sacred beast, for it has moved to protect us.” One of the elders says, exiting his tent with urgency. “Avalugg has been dormant even through wars where we have lost so much without it. Why would it emerge now?”

“I have no idea.” Gaeric’s answer is genuine, and he receives a glare studying his face before the old man seems to ignore whatever he was about to say in favor of continuing.

“We have heard a commotion far to the south.” Another elder, Platea, steps forth with eyes that no longer see. Everyone makes way for her, and she proceeds. “There is something afoot. Gaeric, it is your duty to protect our Clan.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He knows, all too well. Gaeric’s bow is formal, and he exhales out all of his frustrations with a smile. “I will go now. Irida, you’ll be fine with the Clan?”

“Yes, but we were wondering if you needed assistance-” She almost stammers, a rock too small to base an entire foundation on top of.

“I have been entrusted with responsibility, dear Leader. I can do it.” Gaeric covers the speech with one of his own. In a way, he does mean it. He can do it. Whatever it is, Gaeric will handle it with pride. In another way, it’s a surge of protective energy that he can’t quite put his finger on. Something’s up, and he feels a pull at his wrist. It continues, more and more, and Gaeric knows.

This is something to do alone.

There’s something peculiar happening today. That’s what first comes to Gaeric’s mind as he goes out in the late morning for a hike through the Icelands. He meets the gaze of several that offer to help and are rejected in favor of continuing to walk with a smile.

He’s not trying to be mean, after all. He’s just trying to do his job. His job that is eating at his heart and soul with the pull of the almighty. He stares out at the terrifying beauty of his home, and feels it etched into the wind and snow all around him.

There may be something peculiar today, but Gaeric shakes it off like he always does. If there will be something peculiar, then he will just work harder to overcome whatever awaits him. The man’s sturdy legs hit the snow in proud, steady steps as he traverses snowdrift and tundra, and he pauses as nothing disturbs the environment. Careful eyes glance at the bushes, and there is no movement hidden within them.

He quickly makes his way further, past the empty tomb of Avalugg’s Legacy, and even further. He arrives where the ice caves start to dot the landscape in strange ways, and where specters like to rest within them. Gaeric takes caution, because danger is ever present.

When he steps into the edge of the tundra, something moves at the edge of the world. It’s a claw gripping the side of the ice. With it, Gaeric feels his blood truly run cold in a way he’s never felt before. It’s large, larger than anything he’s seen out here in all his years. It’s strong and sturdy, a crunching, crushing force that threatens the integrity of the ice as it hooks over the lip of the structure with ease.

And then his fears dissolve in mere moments with the appearance of another sacred beast. The Noble Sneasler emerges from one of the ice caves with a tired grunt, looking around as if searching.

Something is peculiar to Gaeric. The Noble is trembling, on edge, nervous. Blood sluggishly trails from parts of her coat, and even from here he can smell death. It doesn’t make any sense. Sneasler shouldn’t be scaling an ice cave’s entrance alone. She shouldn’t be here, she should be in the highlands, with-

“Where’s Aji?” He asks, almost in disbelief. “Why are you here alone?”

The answer he gets is somehow worse than anything he could have imagined.

Sneasler carefully lets down the ruined remains of her basket, that item which Ajisai painstakingly weaved for her companion. She folds off the lid with claws maintained by her friend, the hooks clean and free of knots and errant growth. She leans over, and points, and Gaeric cannot believe his eyes.

There is a body in there. He’s young, but definitely not as young as Sabi. Silver hair is a shock against the black liner of the basket, and he’s clearly hurt by the way he holds himself while labored breaths escape bluing lips from the frigid cold. Eyes unseeing gaze upwards at the light, and an arm reaches for aid, trembling with fear and exhaustion.

The arm has a band on it, carved by the ancients and secured by a covenant. A band covers a mark that he knows all too well, the golden, shining light embedded on his wrist for eternity. It is an arm that Gaeric has to do a double take at just to fully see, and his disbelief only grows the longer he beholds it.

“Em…” The boy murmurs in an accent that he can’t place. It’s a whisper in the frigid cold, and Gaeric is quick to pick him up despite the circumstances. The boy clings to him, a pleading whine coming from what most certainly is a response to an ordeal. Alone, and in unfamiliar clothes. They’re a strange texture, and those stitches, although simple… that has to be something from somewhere else. Not even the Diamond Wardens accustomed to embroidery can pull that off.

Despite that, they’re destroyed beyond all reason, covered in scratches, tears, and a disturbing amount of blood. The boy whimpers as he looks out at the snow expectantly, and Gaeric freezes with the realization.

Something happened down in the ice. Something that scared the guy badly. Something that involved this stranger and Ajisai’s covenant.

The covenant that is now clearly ended, and her with it.

The thought slams into Gaeric’s mind, a soupy mess that he can’t comprehend. A hand grips his arm tightly, and the boy shivers against bare skin in a confused and yet thankful manner.

He doesn’t stop frowning, and Gaeric can’t really blame him.

“I am Gaeric of the Pearl Clan. Who are you?” He asks, his voice low and quiet as if dealing with a small animal. The way the boy looks up at him brings to mind a specific brand of pathetic that only comes when trying to give a Growlithe a bath.

“Xxxxxx.xxxx.xx.xx.xxxxx.” The words mumbled in response are jittery and hoarse, and the boy’s eyes blink with hazy incomprehension. That’s an answer, all right. Still, the man doesn’t have time to process it all. He nods to Sneasler, and they both move quickly to get him back in the basket.

That seems to be the wrong answer. He kicks, squirms and screams in a voice that is so overpoweringly loud that Gaeric thinks he might go deaf. He flinches, and yet he does not drop the young man.

“Sinnoh! I need you to calm down!” Gaeric yells back, and sees the flinch, followed by the immediate hesitation. Fear.

Oh.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that to you.” Gaeric tries once more, this time quieter. Calmer. He sets the boy down and realizes just how tall he is when standing. That’s a big boy. His assessment might have been wrong, initially, but he’s just so lanky and skinny. How does a person even survive like that? Not a damn muscle in sight.

“Xxx,xxx.xxx.x.x.” The response is plagued by what appears to be a dizzy spell, and the poor guy falls into the basket anyway, swaying. Well, what’s done is done. Eyes shimmering red hiding and silver turn to look before he slumps over in entirety inside. A head shakes a clear no as Gaeric approaches, and he does his best to look reassuring before fastening the lid back on top.

“It’ll be only a little longer.” He says, hoping that it’ll be the case. The Warden then moves to the little rectangular opening that seems more like an oval when broken like that, and winces at the blatant terror on the stranger’s face. It’s not too expressive, but that… he doesn’t ever want to make anyone feel like that.

With a sigh, Gaeric huffs and goes to lift the basket himself. Sneasler rises the moment he does, and limps over with a gait that speaks of pain.

“Girl, you are not carrying this. I’ve got him.” Gaeric says with a shake of the head and a quick yet gentle hoist to get it on his back. He can hear the whimper underneath, and fights the urge to flinch himself. What a situation.

The Warden starts to walk back home, and feels nothing but dread as he hears the soft sound of crying behind him. A voice sometimes drifts in incomprehensible mumbles, and yet he knows that it is definitely suffering. The voice eventually falls silent, and he only has the sound of crunching footsteps to accompany him.

Irida stares out at the horizon with bated breath as absolutely nothing happens. It’s maddening. Her hands find her elbows for a moment, tapping impatiently before they fidget all over the place.

“I need to go out there. Gaeric is alone.” She whispers, and the old woman behind her nods sagely. No one dares question the second eldest. No one dares question the youngest leader either, not when she storms out of the settlement with fire in her eyes and a tongue primed to lash out at anyone who dares confront her.

Determined, she starts to clear the first hill, then enters the tundra ready for… Nothing.

Nothing is there, save the wind and some distant birds flying elsewhere high above. There’s only silence and snow, ice and what would feel like death if anything was there to mark it. The entire place simply is empty, as she starts to carefully tread through places once highly populated with little more than a few glances to make sure nothing was hiding.

Nothing, until the appearance of several figures far, far away. The telltale blues and purples smeared in the frosty haze are all she needs to know, and Irida breaks into a run, waving at the sight of her friend and mentor.

“Ah. Irida. What are you doing here?” Gaeric asks, rolling his shoulder as they both come to a stop. His voice is stern, but it has something deep inside that feels like dread when Irida hears it. There’s a tremor in there that she cannot identify, but it spells something that she’d rather not have there at all. That, and Sneasler stands right behind, the frown engraved in the Noble’s face as she looks pained.

It gives Irida a sense of dread as well, to behold the both of them there.

“I’m looking for you, idiot! Going off alone… with… Sneasler…” She starts, but then fully processes the fact that Sneasler is there, and that her basket is somehow on Gaeric’s back, and that the basket is filled with something that he’s even struggling to properly carry.

The dread grows ever harsher, as his eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. Gaeric looks dead serious when he continues to walk straight ahead in the direction to the Clan.

“Irida.” He doesn’t stop walking. “Something happened.” She finds her gaze dropping to the noble’s limp, and the way her coat is matted with dried blood and debris. It draws a little gasp from the girl, and when Gaeric looks behind him he opens his mouth several times, and closes it once more than that.

“Wh-what happened?” She dares, no, she has to ask. She’s the leader. Something isn’t right, and she has to handle it. The girl’s footsteps rush to catch up with her mentor’s, and Irida stops in front of him to see a face so startled it hurts.

“Gaeric. Where’s Aunt Ajisai?”


There is a young man sitting in a space that is dark with a singular window. He stares outside, watching the drifting snow with bleary eyes that do not quite comprehend what is going on. He doesn’t especially know how he got here, but he does remember one thing.

His name is Ingo.

There are things he is sure he has forgotten. Many things. Things that cause a great panicked rumbling in his chest, lancing through his limbs with cold, piercing fear. Something hammers away, a terrified energy that he cannot dismiss no matter how hard he tries to soothe it.

It feels like his fault, for some reason. His fault, for ruining it all.

Ingo blinks, and sees scruffed fur, and hears echoes of speech. It’s all unfamiliar and scrambled, as if someone shook his head so hard that everything on the planet became jumbled in response. It’s as if up is down, and down is up, and left is right, and right is left.

He becomes so focused on directions that he forgets what he originally was thinking about. He supposes that’s fine, and leans back with a huff at the warmth that leaches through from outside this strange case.

It seems… damaged. That’s a good word for it. Damaged. There are rips and tears in the fabric, and he can see small holes in where the wicker of the basket itself is ruined. It’s kind of like this strange black coat he’s clinging to.

He doesn’t know why. His hands tremble, white knuckled with how hard he is clutching the destroyed fabric, and Ingo finds himself curling inside the thing. His head feels especially bare despite being covered in a large tuft of silver. Covering it with his hands or the coat itself does nothing to soothe the feeling. It makes him sob, and he does not understand why.

But the longer he cries, the longer he realizes that it is not about the coat. It is not about anything here at all, but there is something clutching his chest demanding attention. It’s wailing, if a feeling could even be described as such. It’s begging, pleading, terrified. It kicks and squirms deep inside, and Ingo on reflex grabs that emotion and holds it with care.

Something settles. It’s panicked and afraid. It makes him continue crying until there are no more tears to shed. Something stings on his wrists as his eyes droop, and he cannot tell what could have possibly done such a thing. There is nothing there when he looks, and yet beads of blood drop in a steady, small trickle from wounds that came from nowhere. A fresh, distinct feeling of pain courses through them, and it makes the emotion spike as he grips the coat tightly.

There is guilt, and on top of it concern. It pours out of his chest as if it was his lifeblood, and attempts to do anything to stop what ails the presence inside. But he is tired. Ingo is oh so exhausted, and he cannot keep his eyes open any longer. The last whisperers of the overwhelming emotions die down, and along with them his consciousness.


“I’m so sorry, Irida.” Gaeric breaks the silence, after a long while. After nothing remained during their talk save for walking and the occasional sleepy groan coming from the basket. Avalugg’s Legacy glitters next to them, a beacon in the wilderness. A signal of strength.

“Home is coming up in a while.” He says, and he feels like there never was any kind of real strength in his entire body at all.

“Then you can bring him to my tent.” The reply is solemn and it still contains the raw edge of someone who had been crying not moments before. Irida wipes frigid eyes as they walk quietly, still recovering from the news. She looks to the basket with worry, regardless.

That is still a Vessel, soon to be a Warden. That is still an incredibly hurt, incredibly scared Vessel who has given up so much in service to their Clan. She doesn’t even know his name, and yet. That is one of her people, now.

Gaeric’s nod is almost reverent in intensity, and he starts to march with renewed vigor towards the quickly approaching hill. Beyond it is a small crowd. Too small, for his liking. All of the faces are expectant, and they gasp in a chorus when Sneasler appears.

“Warden Gaeric!” A woman, Leuca, says as she walks up to them quickly. “Leader Irida! We of the Clan wish to assist you. Please, give us guidance.” She looks expectantly, and then something in her face changes at the appearance of the noble.

“Is the Noble Sneasler Injured?” An elder this time, Vicus, one of the old men that likes to sit and drink tea in the center of their settlement. More and more join him, until practically all of the Pearl Clan is swarming with questions.

“Coming through!” Gaeric screams over them and paves the way, and Irida is quick to follow his confident facade. He smiles at the people he passes by, but it is a thing brittle in nature.

“Please call the Wardens.” Irida does, in fact, ask the elder this much.

“It shall be done. What is the reason?” He nods eagerly, and several others start to prepare flutes. Irida’s sigh is grave, before she works up the nerve to talk once more.

“It is an emergency.” Her voice cracks, and the message is clear. None dare to enter the Leader’s tent, save for a few knocking and asking if they need supplies. Help is gratefully accepted, before the door remains shut.

Whistling, shrieking tones ring out across the valley, traveling with an almost divine presence along the tundra to the foothills. They reach one, who continues the chain with the most efficiency one can afford in such a place.

The sound rings out across Hisui.

The highlands are empty, save for a Warden who does not heed a Pearl’s call. He stares outward over the horizon, and wonders.

And still, it rings out across Hisui.

A child looks up from his digging, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes narrow at the flute song echoing along the forest, disturbing the morning peace that had settled all around him. Insects of all shapes and sizes scatter about, eventually finding peace once again after a matter of moments. A giant behemoth lays nearby, awakening from its slumber to look around. The arms of Kleavor heft its body up from rest, and it starts to walk up to the boy expectantly.

“Noble Kleavor, I need your aid.” He says, and then thinks for a moment, before realizing what he forgot. “Please?”

A woman watches the Noble of the Grandtree take off, sprinting down the Fieldlands to the crossroads. Despite himself, the Warden of such a fantastical creature yells in excitement at being given such a ride. He sees her and frowns immediately, sticking out his tongue before disappearing into the sunrise.

“Good luck!” She says, and they’re already too far away to hear a response.

And still, it rings out across Hisui.

“I wonder where the time has gone.” An old woman says, staring at the ancient carvings on the wall. Her stature is small and her eyes are tired, and her back is arched in what could be considered a weary, crunched position as her arms lie crossed behind. A pack filled with herbs rests on that back, but she is still spry enough to carry it.

Padded paws stretch on the marble floors of the ruins, worn by many long years of wear. The animal they belong to yawns, exposing giant, flat teeth that grumble as the creature is awakened. Bibarel is slow, old, and tired. Just like her, Calaba supposes. Still, as her companion waddles over, she is quick to give it a good old scratch behind the ears and sit with it as they wait out the rest of the time allowed.

Calaba hears that siren song of warning, a calling. She is out of the ruins, flanked by her friend, quicker than anyone else could have been. A whistle from aged lips, made just perfectly so, emulating what the flute would have with a special touch, and she has summoned that which is so very important.

Ursaluna emerges from the foothills, massive paws carving deep indents into the earth as it approaches quickly.

“Seems we have some trouble yet, old friend.” She greets the Noble with a familiar kind of reverence expected of a Warden of her standing, hoisting Bibarel on first so it can doze happily in the saddle.

And still, it rings across Hisui.

By the time the sound of the flute reaches the Coastlands, it has already flown far past the foothills, skirting along the waters and singing deep along the rocky cliffs that surround Palina’s tent.

The Growlithe are the first to alert to the noise, barking far before the woman inside can hear. She steps over squirming pups to open the flap, taking in the salty sea air before a presence makes itself known right next to the structure.

Arcanine is positively gargantuan, a force of nature manifest into a Noble so great it blocks the sun itself. The creature howls with the mighty wind, and stomps with the earth.

“Are you ready?” She asks, taking out her flute. “I did not know that you would be here so soon.” She receives a bark in response, followed by the slouching, inviting posture of an animal waiting to give someone a ride. Palina isn’t one to turn down such an offer, and she makes a small prayer of thanks before boarding.

Arcanine howls once more, and Palina’s flute joins the others echoing across the land. And still, the flutes resound until the Wardens all reply with their own. Silence settles, and all remains as it was in the vast space of Hisui.

The tent is incredibly quiet and warm when Irida enters. There is a feeling of home and belonging, despite the scene taking place in the center of the room. A sagging basket is quickly placed down, and the lid is practically ripped off with how fast her mentor and friend takes control of the situation. He gasps at something inside, and immediately bends down to address it.

“Shh, shh.” He starts to say with a hushed voice staring down inside, and it can only mean one thing. The new Warden to be is awake. Awake and terrified, by the way a skinny hand pushes away any attempts at helping him out of the basket. Irida can’t help the flinch that comes when she sees the Warden Band on his wrist. Gaeric gives him time, and looks to Irida with a sharp glare of warning. It is a kind glare, made of nothing but concern, but nonetheless conveys what he means.

And that is for her to stay put, away from all of this for a moment.

She heeds her mentor’s wishes, and settles down near the entrance. Merely seconds later there is a hesitant, respectful knock. Gaeric freezes at it, as well as the person in the basket, and she sees for the first time eyes of silver and blue, a swirl of concentrated color that flashes with purple.

It is odd to see that color of hair on someone who was clearly bestowed with the covenant. There is no shock of blue, nor is there a flash of purple. It simply is silver, something that many would never see on someone that young. Only Calaba’s tales come to mind, and she absentmindedly wonders if somehow Calaba will be the warden to not arrive.

That’s a thought quickly dismissed. No, there are things to do. It would be silly of her to expect her aunt, her friend, her family, to walk through that door. It would be even worse of her to expect another close friend to die from such a terrible fate.

Still, the new vessel stares with terror and just a hint of curiosity, his mouth continues to hold a strong frown and his strange, silver hair lines his face in a strange pattern. Sure looks like Warden material, as much as some stranger would be.

“Lady Irida. We have resources. We saw the wounds on the Noble Sneasler and have decided to help you in any way we can.” Lati is a prominent mother, and holds with her a bundle of herbs and fresh skins of water. Some are holy, from the springs, and she nods gratefully.

“Do you have any other needs? We are happy to assist in any way possible.” She asks, and Irida shakes her head with a sad smile.

“No, but thank you.” A few others stand behind, and Irida is sure to regard them as well. “Thank you all. You are the best Clan anyone could have asked for. After the Wardens have assembled and we have conversed with the elders, there will be time for announcements.”

“We await the guidance of Sinnoh,” A few say at once, and Irida is sure to bow in respect before going back into her home. The young man is still in the basket when she turns to look at the scene. He’s clearly wary, and judging from the way his frown never leaves, he does not want to be here.

And yet, he does not yell. He does not scream, nor does he fight. He just sits and watches Gaeric with wide eyes, studying quietly.

“Xx,.xxx.x.xx.x.xxxx.x.” The voice coming from him is emotional and clear, speaking so much without even being able to comprehend it. He almost seems to relax when they both don’t speak, and mouths over words in the silence under his breath.

“I’ve tried asking names, places, what he knows.” Gaeric tells her with a hushed tone, taking a sweet berry and presenting it to him. He gasps a little at the sight, and goes to grab it before blinking, and hesitating.

“You can take it.” Irida says, trying her hardest to keep a positive outlook. It’s incredibly hard when viewing a replacement you don’t even know, and especially one who is such an enigma. He doesn’t respond, other than the tilt of the head and a furrowed brow. Still frowning.

“You can also get out of that basket. We are going to prepare it for funeral rites.” She tries again, and he doesn’t do anything. He just sits there. It’s enough to make rage rear its ugly head in her soul, and Irida cannot stop herself from making a noise of disgust. No one, not even the Diamond Clan has refused to make way for funeral rites. The young man takes his strange coat and curls into it at the sound, and his trembling only increases.

It feels like he’s spitting on her memory. Such a strong, wonderful, beautiful, caring woman. Such a quick, unexplained vessel’s appearance with her band. For some reason, it makes Irida unusually burst with rage. Her hands dart out, fueled by desperation and grief, and they find the ends of the fabric quickly.

“Irida! Wait!” Gaeric is unusually silent, until she starts crying and shaking him, almost scarily out of control. He doesn’t dare move, face frozen in terror before arms reflexively push away.

“He killed her!” She screams, refusing to let go and only shaking harder as tears start to fall from the strange boy’s face. “You! You damn intruder! You killed her! You killed my aunt!”

“No!” A yell from behind, and Irida is suddenly ripped from the quickly moving body in front of her, and turned suddenly to face the other direction. Gaeric. Gaeric with his dripping tears, as he frowns in worry. Gaeric, shaking his head and working over what he wants to say as he also looks behind her. He takes a sharp breath, closes his eyes, and opens them.

“Irida.” He says, solemn. “You need to calm down.”

“Let me go!” She cries and tries to turn back, but Gaeric holds her shoulders with a firm kindness that does not yield. “I need to stop this! I can stop this right now, and rid the world of it! That… that… that thing can’t be human! It took her!”

“Irida!” The barking yell breaks her out of it, and causes her to pause completely. She only notices the shuddering breath and her own tears when given the moment of silence that stretches for eternity.

“He doesn’t understand.” He says, and the entire world starts to run together, bleeding into a pulling mess that slowly blends into more and more. It’s such a claustrophobic, maddening feeling that she shakes her head before continuing. But it makes sense. It’s a possibility she’s never thought of, one that she didn’t want to believe.

“He…” She whispers, and Gaeric is oh so welcoming to her. He closes the distance, and holds his leader close as she weeps. “He does not understand us.”

Gaeric’s careful eyes look up from where she hugs him back, and his strong hands rub her head in reassurance. The wailing from the girl echoes, but it is not the only face he can see crying. There is another. The new guy, who tripped over himself running out of the basket. The young man who is hiding alongside a shelf and a bed, trembling. He looks so very scared, and so very small despite his older appearance.

That’s a child. That’s a child and he’s alone and he can’t comprehend anything they say to him. The boy’s eyes catch those watching and he flinches, rubbing his wrists with a pained whine. It seems that everyone here is crying at some level, today.

There is a moment where the tears run out for all of them, and Gaeric sits on the opposite side of the tent to the newcomer. He lets Irida listen to his heartbeat, rubbing her back reassuringly as she rests, and hopes for the best. The mystery boy still sits in a panicked bundle, still rubbing his wrists and covering his face with that coat. They all only continue to watch each other, until Irida dares to break that sacred silence.

“Tell me how you found him,” She whispers, and then pauses for a moment. “Please.”


Ursaluna’s rumbling gait progresses with a steady rhythm. The bear’s steps are grounded and firm, approaching the foothills of her birth. It’s the same as it ever was, and yet so different to Warden Calaba.

The sounds of warning flutes used to never echo here. Nor did the somewhat friendly rivalry of Wardens. Nothing like this in the slightest. No, she remembered far worse.

She is thankful that the only flames she sees are those of the great Arcanine, bounding along the hills as if they were created as steps to the heavens. A legendary creature with a hot headed woman at the helm, a molten duo that blazes the trail. They touch down close by, and Palina is quick to wave with a smile.

“How are you doing, Warden Calaba!” She asks, and Calaba gives her a wave.

“As well as one can be when there is an emergency afoot. A call to a meeting can only mean bad news.” Calaba’s voice is gravely and stern, just as Ursaluna’s grumble is to Arcanine’s yipping barks.

“Yes, you are correct.” Palina ponders, although she seems incredibly distracted to the old woman who’s listening. Strangely so, for someone who has had no contact with anyone for a number of months. “Have you seen Warden Ajisai?”

Calaba thinks for a moment. No, no she has not. In the entirety of her trek through the Highlands, there has been no sign of Warden nor Noble. The realization is quite shocking, but then again… this is the rebellious one we’re talking about. One of the rebellious ones, anyway.

A simple shake of the head suffices for an answer. Palina nods, and presses her heels into Arcanine’s side. The dog howls with excitement, and flames trail from where it steps with mighty paws.

“I’ll get there first!” She yells, waving once more behind her, and Calaba watches the two of them disappear. She simply continues on the way, through the wilderness, and keeps an eye out for a flash of purple and blue.


“That’s…” Irida’s voice is barely audible, despite the room being so very quiet. “That’s impossible. Sneasler doesn’t just leave the highlands. Ajisai doesn’t go to the Icelands without telling anyone. She could have visited. She would have visited.”

“Yeah, she probably would have.” Gaeric answers, a rumbling presence that exists all around her. She shivers, and dares to open a shimmering blue eye to see… that’s Gaeric all right. It’s almost enough to make her laugh, but Irida opts to break the hug instead.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks, calm and in control. It is not for the first time that Irida wonders if he could be a better Leader than her. He receives a nod from the girl, and seems to relax even more.

“Thank you for calming down. Now,” Gaeric’s tone is even, but his voice pinches ever so slightly into a choke when he beholds what awaits at the other side of the tent. Irida finds herself staring at something on the floor, instead.

She can’t look at him. She has to. She can’t. The argument in her own mind stews and churns until she feels like she will be sick.

“Irida. I’m going to go make sure he’s okay.” Gaeric’s hand meets her shoulder, and the contact grounds her. Another nod, because the Leader of the great Pearl Clan cannot bring herself to talk without crying. What a pathetic waste of a position.

“Hey. Hey there… shh…” She can hear him behind. He’s soft, and strong, and smart. Everything that she isn’t, everything that she’s been trying to learn so desperately to become a better person. He stops talking altogether at some point, and all Irida can hear is the sound of her own rushed breathing and the shifting of fabric behind her.

She knows that she will have to turn around in a moment. She will have to turn around and view that which she has wronged, that terrible thing looping in her mind. But she does. And the flinch she sees, that terror in his eyes mixed with the deplorable condition of his clothes, it all cascades into something beyond guilt. It is beyond remorse, bringing shame and a clinging kind of desperation to make things better. But above all, it brings something that she thought she would never see out of someone who had never stepped foot in the Pearl Clan’s village.

On his face, behind that frown that never seems to leave and the standoffish nature of such a person, is grief. It is mourning, it is pain, and it is confusion. Irida looks back, and sees a strange reflection of herself in the murky waters of uncertainty.

The hand that stretches to the person in Gaeric’s arms, just like she was merely moments ago, comes automatically. Eyes uncertain stare at her in terror.

“It’s okay.” Gaeric’s voice is soft and reassuring and the kid hugging him leans in close, obviously traumatized beyond belief. The hesitation after he realizes what she’s doing is agonizing, but Irida knows that it is justified.

It’s just so much more complicated than she’d ever thought it could be.

But it seems that there’s not just hopelessness. The boy blinks, and kindly urged on by Gaeric, shifts his weight so that he scoots away on lanky, uncoordinated limbs. They shake as he moves, fumbling with the edges of that strange black coat he wears to keep his arms covered completely at all times.

He stops. He gulps. He hums under his breath with trepidation, as if pondering something internally, and his eyebrows crease under the pressure of such a decision. Irida only stays silent and hopeful, and yet she herself cannot stop shaking as well. And then, a hand still concealed by the arm of that fabric dares to reach, his silver eyes glittering with that same hope reflected as they lose any other color entirely.

It’s an exception to a rule longstanding, with no explanation in the slightest. It’s peculiar, but he also has the Warden’s band lying underneath there. Ajisai’s Warden band. Nothing about this is normal, nor is it pretending to be. And yet, when Irida feels the warmth of the hand that dares to hold her own, even after such a transgression, she feels as if it will be alright.

Only seconds later, it is not alright. None of this is alright as she watches him wobble in place, clearly out of it from any number of things. None of it is alright as she pulls back her hand, feeling something strangely moist, and sees an imprint of blood coating it in various stages of drying.

Irida can’t help the yelping shriek of surprise that escapes her at the sight. The boy flinches back, bristling and rubbing his wrists before quickly letting out a shaky, exhausted sigh. Gaeric is quick to move even faster than she can possibly react, shushing under his breath with a worried glance.

“Can I see?” He asks, quiet and controlled. It is so unlike him, that boisterous, energetic Warden who never lets up. He moves slowly and openly, hands outstretched to speak where words cannot. The boy once again hesitates, although he does nod in a stern manner before moving closer. The message seems heard, although the reaction might be one of resignation rather than trust. He barely makes eye contact with Gaeric at all.

It does not seem to matter that much in the long run, given what lies underneath the long arms of what he clings to. They slide up his forearm gingerly, and with an edge of panic, as if the boy dreads what exists underneath. The slow trickle of blood that drips from his fingertips is only the beginning of what really ails him.

There are wounds, indented painfully and unevenly all around his wrist. It seems to come from thin air, a strange pressure evident on his skin and yet coming from nothing at all. The boy gasps at the sight, rolling back on his legs to stumble towards the wall, holding it with terror.

“Wait! We can help you.” Gaeric is quick, once again, and goes to him without trapping him between a wall and a person. The young man bristles, but it is one of fear and not aggression. “Can we please help you? I have a medical kit and bandages. That looks like it hurts.”

“Xxx.xx.x.xxxx.x.” He, of course, does not understand. He mumbles, a voice so expressive it conflicts with the face that speaks it.

“Please. All I want to do is help. That wound will hurt worse if it is not treated.” Gaeric continues, and looks back at her with a desperate expression when the boy refuses to budge. “I think we’re going to need something to help, and fast. If it’s not fixed…”

“Let me.” Irida says as she beholds the nasty mess on her hand, and then stares at the boy shaking in the other side of the room, whining quietly. She feels something change at the sight, as well as at the small little flecks of red coating the bottom of her floor. It’s something that takes her breath away.

It hits her harder than anything in her life. It hits harder than when she and Ajisai sat next to Lake Acuity, watching the broken items sink. It hits harder than the responsibility itself, ever crushing and overwhelming often to the point of tears. It hits harder than seeing the basket, and knowing that she will be the one left.

The thing that hits her is regret. Regret that she was so cruel. Regret that she considered something so wrong that would have ruined the memory of every single person counting on her. There are eyes, watching, and the sensation is so real and raw that Irida has no choice but to look behind her to see absolutely nothing there.

But she knows. She knows that the God of Space, the holy presence watching over all of them, has seen her regret. And it demands penance and reconciliation. Strangely, Irida feels calm despite the fallout taking place all around her.

“I will handle it.” She says, so firm and bold yet feeling nothing of the sort, and she stands with what she hopes looks like confidence. “Just please get the fire going.”

Irida doesn’t wait for a response. She doesn’t wait for anything anymore, wiping the blood from her hands. The sensation of it being there does not go away, and it almost burns to the touch. She shakes her head, flicking the droplets of water away from her fingers. The fire starts to roar behind her, and Irida dares to look there once more. For some reason the stranger has found his way to sit there, and he relaxes as heat fills the room with dancing flames.

Gaeric is quick to grab some jerky and a small helping of apricorn mash, offering it without a word but so much body language. The smell, while uncooked, permeates the air and causes the boy to stumble over himself to eat it. He only hesitates when he’s about to take the bowl, but Gaeric practically shoves it in his hands.

All of it is inhaled in mere minutes. Truly, this is the power of teenage hunger. Gaeric isn’t sure if that’s even abnormal, truth be told. He’s seen a lot of people in the Clan go at it like that, and they’re fed well enough. The shaky quality to the way he lets the bowl go, that way he struggles to balance, and the drooping eyes tell him all he needs to know, however.

“Is any of this holy?” Gaeric asks, getting up to help without disturbing too much of his surroundings. He’s a big guy, and this is a small tent, and things have happened before. He instead walks around the hearth, approaching the water that Irida is getting ready for use.

“It has been blessed at Acuity, and twice boiled.” She says, nodding along before pointing at the correct jar. It’s a gourd base, an apricorn grown into a large shape reminiscent of a pot and closed with a carved wooden plug. “It needs to be thrice boiled for salvation.” She adds, and he nods along. That is an old tale told by the likes of Calaba and the elders, a warning in a poem from the days of wounds far and wide.

If the water was not holy, you need not put it on the wound. Glaciers kiss that which dwells in Acuity, but it must be purified further. Once and you may drink. Twice and you may bless. Thrice, and at the time of treatment, and only then may you bestow healing with the aid of Sinnoh.

The kettle is filled, and soon the three of them sit and watch it slowly start to steam over the coals. The young man refuses to show his hands, but he does move closer to Gaeric, just as Irida does in an effort to have someone there while they pass the time. It is quiet, as the water boils and she starts to shuffle around thin strips of carefully dried medicinal herbs that were hung along the ceiling.

There is a thin, almost bowl like plate carved from wood and of the same texture as most of her items. It’s covered with a glossy, thick paste that’s almost like a varnish to keep them in working order, well used and worn by time. Although, when Irida thinks about it, she’d rather refer to it as existing in many spaces. She pours the boiling water inside, and says a quick prayer in the hopes that Sinnoh will heal before laying at least four of the fibrous herbs down inside.

“Some day, may you reveal yourself to us in the vastness of space,” Irida hums as she speaks, taking some of the water and padding it on a towel. It is damp, but not soaking wet. “so we may have true peace.”

“Alright.” She says, finally opening her eyes after she follows the traditions set forth, and then reaches over, offering to clean silently. He doesn’t move in the slightest, hesitation written clearly where words cannot. It causes Irida to hum under her breath, and contemplate.

“Maybe…” She tries once more, and softly uses the towel to spread the warm, blessed water alongside her wrist before laying one of the reeds there, simulating what would happen to his wound.

“Oh!” He says, and it’s clear to see what’s going on in his head. Yes, there is surprise, but there is also cooperation. He goes to shrug off the coat to clear the area before abruptly stopping, and he ends up staring at the fabric longingly.

“I can hold it.” Gaeric’s speech is slow and deliberate, an attempt to bridge the gap that stands hauntingly vast between them. He holds his hands out, picking up a nearby shirt and pretending to take it off.

The boy simply looks at him, seemingly on the verge of tears as his frown trembles. He shakes his head quickly, and opts to pull up the nasty sleeves of the garment instead.

“We’re going to have to clean that.” Irida says, before she holds out the towel once more. It’s more for herself than anything else. The boy nods, gulping, and holds out his wrists for her to clean before adjusting and scooting closer for a better angle. “You can’t wear that for the funeral. You’ll have to take it off.”

Regardless, the wounds are worse than she’d initially thought. They have to be made from friction, seeing as the skin around them is rubbed raw and weeping. They drip steadily, never a good sign, and she places a towel around the hand that doesn’t have the band first in an effort to ease his pain.

He hisses through his teeth at the sensation, but nothing more. Irida takes a deep breath, and dares to look at the arm with the Warden’s band on it. She needs to just do it, to just continue and stop the bleeding, but…

She still recoils at the sight of crimson splattered on the wood, the glittering icon of her aunt’s beloved friend. It all comes together in a grotesque display that makes her want to run right then and there. But there is someone in need, and another towel that has to be applied before the medicinal herbs. The face reminiscent of a Growlithe that’s been caught tracking mud everywhere might have something to do with how quickly she recovers, as well.

“Remove it?” She asks, knowing that it will be a battle. It’s always a battle to get a Warden to take away their sacred gift. The way that the boy obliges after seeing the hand motions without a fight, showing the mark, is something that a Warden would never do. The brilliance of holy light that dwells underneath could be none other than a covenant. He hands it over with a lack of understanding, wincing after it brushes against the damaged skin.

The skin that was underneath the clean Warden’s band, the one she saw completely fine just minutes before. It’s as if something otherworldly is manifesting, bringing with it unseen horrors from beyond.

If Calaba was present, Irida is sure that she would hear the term “cursed” thrown around.

But this person is not malicious. Not as the boy yawns and hovers in place as if fighting sleep, and not as he attempts to help her by turning his wrists and keeping quiet while she tries to clean them as painlessly as possible. The reeds are wrung out and left to stay only slightly damp before being applied, Irida whispering the ghosts of prayers as they cover what must be protected at all costs.

The light is smothered quickly, respectfully, before he is able to fully relax and let the treatment set in. His eyes make contact, piercing, and blink several times in an owlish, polite pattern as if apologizing. He must be exhausted.

“Got you covered, whenever you’re done.” Gaeric says from the other side of the room, taking out a spare bedroll he got from somewhere. The sigh of relief that escapes her directly opposes the flinch she sees from the young man.

“It’ll be fine. It’s just us, see?” Irida explains the best she can, noting how he relaxes at seeing Gaeric. She then makes a motion with both hands on one side of the face, closing her eyes.

“Sleep?” Irida asks, and she receives a shake of the head in response, followed by a yawn that is clearly involuntary. One of the reeds almost falls off of his wrist when he goes to cover his mouth, and he is quick to replace it with an almost panicked expression.

A quick learner, if she’s ever seen one. There might be hope for the Pearl Clan yet.

“Nah, give it a minute.” Gaeric tells her, lifting things with ease and rearranging them quickly before he looks over. “Oh yeah, he’s gonna pass out soon. Just get him over here if you can.” Irida blinks, and so does the new guy, and they both blink together for a moment before she gets up and offers a hand.

“Please come with me.” She says, softly. “You need to rest for it to fully take effect.” The offering is soon met with his own unsteady grip, and she pulls gently to lead him across the room. Trembling limbs carry an uncertain person, but luckily his stumbling is short lived. They make it quickly, and despite his anxiety the young man hastily finds his way into the covers, curling in on himself.

“Em…” He whispers a word, a prayer perhaps, under breath that is quickly evening out into a tired rhythm. His eyes move strangely, slowly failing to keep him awake, and she watches as he places his head on the pillow fully and closes them. Desperate hands cling to the ends of torn fabric, and they pull his coat around him as he shivers. He yawns, and finally doesn’t move after only a few minutes.

“Em…” That word, again. Irida can’t place it, but the way it makes him start to cry in his sleep is proof enough that something has gone horribly wrong.

“Poor bastard.” Gaeric says behind her, a hand on her shoulder placed as a gentle reminder of his presence. “What in Space are we going to do about this?”

“I have no idea.” Her reply, and she gets up to do what she can. Dishes are carefully wiped and cleaned, the kettle replaced with some tea. They both just do what they can do in silence, the methodical and normal taking over where the situation is too overwhelming.

“The other Wardens couldn’t get here any faster.” Gaeric says, filling the silence between the two. Looking back at the boy he wonders if Lian even should see something like this. He’s far too young, and yet too proud to be swayed away from his duty.

They’re all so young. Too young for him to be comfortable with it. It’s too bad that no one has a choice, and they must do what they have to for survival. The Clans of old knew better. The Clans knew what to do, and the people left behind after that most recent of wars are left to pick up what remains.

Gaeric just hopes that it’s enough.

There’s a moment he considers staying, but he has neglected his duties for far too long. Palina is the most swift, and yet she must cover the distance of their entire land. Lian shouldn’t be trying to get here with the utmost speed, but he will. Hopefully he’ll arrive in one piece. Calaba is reliable, and she will most definitely help the new guy with what he needs. He looks back one more time to Irida, and nods to her before departing.

“Gaeric!” A few kids sit outside with Platea, playing in the afternoon light. They all practically fly to him when he opens the door, and the man finds himself greeting them with a confident wave before turning to the old woman with a stern expression.

“Where is Sneasler?” He asks, and she points to another place, which happens to be his own tent. “Thank you.”

“Children, leave us.” She says, and they all oblige quickly. It’s then that her face turns grave. “The noble seems upset without a Warden.”

“Ah.” Gaeric mutters, caught off guard. “You knew.”

“I have seen much, though not as much as Calaba.” Platea muses, before coughing in the harsh, frigid air. “We have had a few incidents, even losing our beloved Nobles, but none where the Noble still lives and the person does not. Pray tell, who was somehow there to steal our beloved, sacred position?”

“I don’t think it’s like that.” He’s quick to clarify. “I am sure that you could go inside, and learn everything that you need to know. I am going to see to Sneasler before anything else happens.”

“Wise, Gaeric.” A nod, and the woman doesn’t leave her post. “I have faith that your judgment is sound. If the Holy Sinnoh demands change, I am simply an old woman clinging to faith. Besides, someone has to watch this door for pesky little ones.”

“Please take care.” Gaeric is sure to tell her, before he hurries along. “Thank you.” He turns, outlined by the sun peeking through overcast. She waves despite being unable to witness it any longer, but the wind and sound carry with them everything she truly needs to know.

Gaeric’s tent, unlike Irida’s, is one bustling with activity. In the center of it all is a giant mess of purples and blues, an eye staring directly as he enters with a pensive nature.

“Warden Gaeric!” Several people ask questions at once. “Is Irida alright? Where is Warden Ajisai? Why is the Noble Sneasler here?”

“I don’t have many answers for everybody.” The moment he starts to speak, everything in the room stops with baited breath. “We’re having a meeting of Wardens to discuss everything, then the entire Clan will know. I don’t even know the half of it, to tell you the truth.”

The Noble in the room blinks at his words, and slumps upwards, shaking off talismans and herbs in her wake. A few people rush to put them back on, and Sneasler makes a big show of shaking them off. She smirks, although it lacks much of what constitutes a smile, and walks through the miniscule space to meet Gaeric’s line of sight directly.

Before leaving of her own accord, completely ignoring everyone else.

“Seems like she’s fine to me.” Gaeric mutters, hearing the gasps of awe outside from even here. He turns back to see people panicking, and shakes his head. “I’m going to see what I can do. Thank you for your efforts.”

When he rushes out of the tent to follow, Gaeric only sees the gargantuan beast sniffing the air, ignoring the curious and reverent stares of those that were outside. More and more questions pile up, until her nose catches the wind and the Noble darts over to where he was not expecting.

Irida’s tent is located in the center of their home, a place devoted to giving every single person the space to enter. And it seems Sneasler is doing just that, bounding over on four paws before standing and nodding to the woman standing guard. It’s not a surprise to see Platea pray instead of stop her, the knowing nod of the head by an elder granting safe passage.

“Warden Gaeric,” She says to him as he quickly follows, “I think that there is a magnificent thing happening today. It can be terrible, but it can also be a thing of beauty. Go and see.” Well, he definitely does when he hears the little shriek of surprise from Irida.

The new guy’s place is entirely filled with the massive ball of fur, a moment of peace between a quickly waking person and the Noble. She offers him a claw, one that can rend flesh asunder and climb across solid boulders with ease. He blinks, but it is not one of fear or incomprehension. It is one of honest curiosity, as he lifts a trembling hand and meets the thing with a slow, petting motion as if greeting an old friend.

Purring. Purring is what fills the room, before she picks him up entirely and curls around him gently. He hugs her back with a hum, and then falls back into slumber with what is certainly comfort, despite his expression.

What he sees is something he has felt many times. Something that compels Gaeric to wake every morning and climb that hill, bringing his Noble food and resting on its giant limbs. It’s something that he sees in Sabi, when she hugs the down of Braviary.

It’s trust. A solid foundation made of love and compassion as he clings to her fur in his exhaustion, and as she holds him close, licking his forehead in an effort to heal rather than hunt.

Yes, this is the bond between what a Warden and a Noble should be, Gaeric thinks. He can see it in Irida, as well. Her tears, even in the dimly lit space, glitter with happiness at the sight, and her sigh is one of great relief.

“His sleep was fitful.” She tells him, in a muted whisper as she gets to work weaving something or another. It’s something Irida seems to like, given how she’ll do it whenever something stressful happens. “He was calling out for something, but I do not understand what ‘Em’ could be.”

“I think she heard him,” Gaeric says, watching the boy fall into a deep slumber in his Noble’s arms, before being deposited back onto the bedroll. “Maybe she thinks he’s a kit or something.”

“Wouldn’t be far off.” She sets down her weaving to stretch, seemingly exhausted as well. “Either way, that’s a question answered.”

“I think Calaba will be pleased.” Gaeric watches Sneasler stretch, shaking a little before moving towards them. It’s curious, how the sacred beast watches just him and stands next to the door. It’s some kind of sign, and Gaeric’s weary muscles are probably up to the challenge.

Probably. Definitely.

The other Wardens couldn’t get here any sooner. Truth be told, Gaeric doesn’t know how long he can hold out, as he stands proudly and accepts the challenge. Sneasler nods, and leaves them to stand outside.

“Yes, she cares very much for all of us and wouldn’t want someone to be harmed unnecessarily.” Irida starts to continue, but trails off as she sees his silent conversation with Sneasler. “Gaeric?” She asks, quietly.

“I think I have to do something real quick.” He answers, but the words are shaky in his throat before he smooths them out into his usual. “Don’t get too overwhelmed, okay?”

“Be Careful.” Irida warns, and he nods to her before leaving. The boy does not stir, nor does he cry out in his sleep. He simply snores lightly, his frown content and relaxed. It’s as he deserves, Gaeric thinks, and he sends up a small prayer for the protection of his family.

All of them.

What Sneasler does is also unexpected, and yet somehow, Gaeric feels that it's correct. She leads him to the edge of the village, watching winds howl in the tundra, and beckons him to follow. Gaeric finds himself doing so regardless of how the swelling dread in his stomach pools, and they find a slow, winding rhythm through the wilderness.

It feels like a grave, and Gaeric humbles himself in a reverent state at the lack of anything there. Anything, except for the pile of snow that shudders some ways down the path, trembling with movement.

“Hello?” He calls, running over at a sprint to find little black things poking out of the landscape, a body housed inside a protective shell of ice.

Snorunt, his mind supplies. It’s a creature that lives here, but it’s all alone. Nothing else is here, after all. The Mamoswine have all disappeared or fled from Avalugg’s protection, and the wind weeps without the specters that call it home.

But here, there is a monster. It pops out of the snow with a growling, angry disposition, clearly terrified beyond belief at what happened. At him, as well, judging from the way it spews frost from clenched teeth.

“Whoa, whoa. Wait. I didn’t mean to-” He starts, but Sneasler finishes the sentence for him with a growl of warning that causes the thing to stop. It bristles, before shivering backwards. Little limbs scoot across the ice with ease, and yet it refuses to run. Instead, the creature stares right back at Sneasler with wary eyes, bold and challenging.

“You’re a brave little guy, aren’t you?” Gaeric says, and the Snorunt shivers in what might be fear, despite the act. “I feel the same.”

“You’re all alone here.” Gaeric kneels, and puts out a hand with a berry on it. His band shimmers in frost, and something about it draws the attention of the icy eyes of the Snorunt. “Come with us. I have to do something, but we can do it together.”

Gaeric’s steady feet carry him ever further through the isolating, empty landscape, but he wears on his face a brittle smile of gold. Arms that are built from years of training and use hold within them a shivering, smiling creature that rubs against him comfortingly. It may be cold, but the temperature never bothered him in the slightest. His thick, well maintained muscles made sure of that. Snorunt used them to lift itself, and found its way to sit on his shoulder with trust.

But then, the area slopes once more as a glacial cave comes into view. It’s the same one as before, when he saw Sneasler exit it in alarm and surprise. This time, there’s none of that. There’s only a haunting howl of the wind, and the beckoning, crystalline blue of that frigid cavern. As he looks down, Gaeric balks at the splatters painting the bottom of the entrance, and he gulps past that not so small part of him that wishes to flee at the sight of it.

But Sneasler walks forward without fear, the sacred beast kneeling at the ledge and staring at him expectantly.

“You want me to go down?” He asks, and there’s a moment of horror when she nods affirmatively, a single, strong motion that causes the dread to creep ever further.

But he needs closure, and more importantly, he needs to assess that threat that could be lurking deep underneath, waiting for another victim. Flashes of his loved ones, of that boy, of Irida blow through his mind at breakneck speeds, and Gaeric has to shake his head to dispel them. He nods back, an action of respect, and grabs hold when she motions for him to follow.

The climb is tedious without the basket, slipping and grabbing at limbs and at one point, Gaeric finds himself on reflex yanking on Sneasler’s long feather in an effort not to fall to his apparent demise. She yowls, claws digging into the ice before they still and continue.

“Sorry.” He says, when they finally meet the haunted ground of the misty caverns, and Sneasler doesn’t do much but make a haughty laugh in response. But then they hear something deep within, a growling, howling, cursed noise that crawls up his spine in terror. He sees the absence of even bergmite here, just like the surface. And he sees something move, far inside the caves in a stalking, disturbing series of movements with hazy shadows surrounding it.

Sneasler roars, snarling at it, and he hears the far off echo of a howl. And it all clicks into place.
Gaeric sees a being of grudges manifest charge out of the shadows, absolutely ruined with matted fur and spectral fury, and he knows.

The Baneful Fox has awakened to hunt once more.

 

[icomeanon6]

I read the first two chapters, and they're a good deal to process. My favorite parts were definitely when N's perspective took center stage. It was intriguing how you portrayed young N as having a very rational, analytical view of the world, just absent the context and knowledge that comes with a human upbringing. I loved the little ways he communicated non-verbally with Anthea and Concordia after he got comfortable with them. I also think this is where the narration style best complemented what was happening in the story: It made N's sense of alienation in his new environment come across very well.

I saw on Discord that you began writing this fic a few years ago, so beg pardon if any of my notes are stuff you already know.

Reading chapter 2, I often found myself disoriented by how quickly and frequently the narration would shift perspective from character to character. Now, I don't mean to suggest there's anything wrong with doing third-person omniscient narration, just that it often felt to me like third-person limited narration with little signposting of when the POV changes, to the point where I sometimes had to stop and reread a passage in order to tell whether the narration was telling me what character A thinks, what character B thinks, or what the narrator thinks.

Along the same lines, I think it would benefit the readers to have an explicit break between some scenes, like a horizontal line or even just a few blank lines, especially when a significant amount of time has passed between paragraphs. Chapter 2 was more than I could read in one sitting, and a few natural stopping points would be welcome. To be clear, I'm not saying the chapter was too long, just that I think it could use more pauses for the reader to breathe. Here's one example where I feel this was particularly important:

“We thank you for your insight, Sage Rood.” Anthea made sure to address him, and Rood nodded at her in an almost frantic manner before departing.

The announcement hall was from another time, one when Unova reigned supreme and ancients still walked the earth in their rampages and primal energies. One when Harmonia held the power and wielded it with the blessings of old.

At first, I thought this was just an aside about the announcement hall. I didn't realize the scene had shifted there until N(atural) looked at the altar. Starting with Natural observing something would also make the scene transition more clear, but I do think an explicit scene break would help a lot.

There are a few ways I would look at tightening your prose. Sometimes there were redundant details or phrasing in a sentence, for example,

now given themselves to servitude in service to the Young Lord

You don't need both "servitude" and "service" here, and they feel awkward next to each other. I would cut "to servitude." Another one that stuck out to me was,

She follows a worn brick path, seemingly abandoned by time and long overgrown by years of neglect.

When it comes to brick paths, "abandoned by time" and "overgrown with years of neglect" amount to the same thing. "Long" and "years of" also do the same job as each other. Another prose thing I noticed is that the words "started to" show up pretty frequently, and often in close succession, when cutting straight to the verb would usually be more effective. There were also a few spots where the narration switched from past-tense to present-tense in a way that didn't feel intentional.

One vocabulary nitpick I would be remiss not to mention: "Backside" in common usage is a euphemism for the buttocks. It does not usually mean the whole of one's "back side."

You have a very distinct writing style, and it's effective at conveying to the reader the scope, mystery, and dread of the supernatural happenings. As I said earlier, though, for me it worked best during Natural's passages. During the rest, I often found myself wishing for an occasional break from the grand, cosmic tone with something a little more grounded and in-the-moment. That could just be my taste, though—your intended audience may well be fully on board. You clearly have big things in the works here, and particularly interesting to me were the personified (deified?) seasons and their human descendants, which the death scene of Natural's mother early in the first chapter was very good at foregrounding.

Anyway, I hope my notes are of some help to you. Thanks for putting this up for Catnip!

 

[Raindropcroptop]

I read the first two chapters, and they're a good deal to process. My favorite parts were definitely when N's perspective took center stage. It was intriguing how you portrayed young N as having a very rational, analytical view of the world, just absent the context and knowledge that comes with a human upbringing. I loved the little ways he communicated non-verbally with Anthea and Concordia after he got comfortable with them. I also think this is where the narration style best complemented what was happening in the story: It made N's sense of alienation in his new environment come across very well.

I saw on Discord that you began writing this fic a few years ago, so beg pardon if any of my notes are stuff you already know.

Reading chapter 2, I often found myself disoriented by how quickly and frequently the narration would shift perspective from character to character. Now, I don't mean to suggest there's anything wrong with doing third-person omniscient narration, just that it often felt to me like third-person limited narration with little signposting of when the POV changes, to the point where I sometimes had to stop and reread a passage in order to tell whether the narration was telling me what character A thinks, what character B thinks, or what the narrator thinks.

Along the same lines, I think it would benefit the readers to have an explicit break between some scenes, like a horizontal line or even just a few blank lines, especially when a significant amount of time has passed between paragraphs. Chapter 2 was more than I could read in one sitting, and a few natural stopping points would be welcome. To be clear, I'm not saying the chapter was too long, just that I think it could use more pauses for the reader to breathe. Here's one example where I feel this was particularly important:

At first, I thought this was just an aside about the announcement hall. I didn't realize the scene had shifted there until N(atural) looked at the altar. Starting with Natural observing something would also make the scene transition more clear, but I do think an explicit scene break would help a lot.

There are a few ways I would look at tightening your prose. Sometimes there were redundant details or phrasing in a sentence, for example,

You don't need both "servitude" and "service" here, and they feel awkward next to each other. I would cut "to servitude." Another one that stuck out to me was,

When it comes to brick paths, "abandoned by time" and "overgrown with years of neglect" amount to the same thing. "Long" and "years of" also do the same job as each other. Another prose thing I noticed is that the words "started to" show up pretty frequently, and often in close succession, when cutting straight to the verb would usually be more effective. There were also a few spots where the narration switched from past-tense to present-tense in a way that didn't feel intentional.

One vocabulary nitpick I would be remiss not to mention: "Backside" in common usage is a euphemism for the buttocks. It does not usually mean the whole of one's "back side."

You have a very distinct writing style, and it's effective at conveying to the reader the scope, mystery, and dread of the supernatural happenings. As I said earlier, though, for me it worked best during Natural's passages. During the rest, I often found myself wishing for an occasional break from the grand, cosmic tone with something a little more grounded and in-the-moment. That could just be my taste, though—your intended audience may well be fully on board. You clearly have big things in the works here, and particularly interesting to me were the personified (deified?) seasons and their human descendants, which the death scene of Natural's mother early in the first chapter was very good at foregrounding.

Anyway, I hope my notes are of some help to you. Thanks for putting this up for Catnip!

First of all thank you! These notes are Very Helpful. This has existed in some way shape or form since 2022. Before I found the forums and posted it here I did a look at everything, but there's definitely still errors to be found. I have about 60k of this sitting around in various states of editing, but maybe it's time to look at it again and fine tune some things. the tense changes especially are infuriating and I feel like I squash three or four and then more happen. Might be time for a soft rewrite to be honest, because my style and ability has changed. But you're already looking at another rewrite haha....

Something that wouldn't be apparent to someone who read the beginning: This switches between two time periods, but the language used for each varies in the narration itself. The present unova sections tend to use a lot more wordy descriptions and formal language, and the past hisui sections have a lot less of that when it comes to the less formal human characters. Sometimes when they're tied together in various ways it manifests in different ways, but the tone in unova is supposed to freak people out while reading in a way. It's partially to emphasize the familial feeling of the clans and also *should* in theory create some sense of wrong coming from the present with the contrast. Ghetsis' little kingdom has definitely gotten bigger for some reason, and they might be going a little wild with power there. Just a little. Part of having an intro chapter was wanting to deliberately check anybody who was getting into it and maybe wouldn't be an audience for this, also to set tone. The thought there was that if I get into how intense it will be at first, then I can branch out into other povs and other styles that are going to give the reader some breathing room while still keeping expectations that darker subject matter will come up.

Chapter length has been a point of thought for a while, too. Someone told me that I needed to break every scene into a chapter rather than have a solid chunk of story with a chapter, but I ended up running into the problem of trying to keep the framing of the whole consistient between chapters at a smaller length. I ended up splitting everything into over 20 chapters and it felt really strange to read. Maybe this is a skill issue and it most likely means I have to go back to checking everything out to see where a good page break would be.

Redundant phrasing has always been a problem, as well as not knowing specific tones and use cases for commonly known words. I do this all the time in regular conversations and finding it in writing to get it smoother is a very good thing. Thanks, I need it every time.

There's a plan with this one but it is very long and it breaks the world a lot before the world makes sense. I'm always torn between telling in summaries or just putting it on the page and having it exist when the time is right. The intended audience at the end of the day is me who wants to obsess and focus heavily on little tiny things I've been seeing in the games for decades, but having it be readable in the first place to whoever wants to is important too. Thank you for doing catnip!