silurica
All shall be well
- Pronouns
- They/Them
- Partners
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Chapter 1: The Man in White
…The flowing time… The expanding space… The intertwining spiral…
…This disturbance…
…
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"Okay! This looks good enough now. Thank you for helping me dry it, Celia."
Celia the Cyndaquil puffs her chest with pride. The painter scratches the backside of the fire mouse Pokémon's neck – their fingers twitch when they come into contact with her back, still warm from the heat she produced, followed by a chuckle. Even when the painter moves on to the less exciting part of their work – cleaning their brushes, packing them and the palette – the sense of comfort from having the Cyndaquil by their side keeps them humming to themself.
Now the painter slips the sketchbook into the safety of their backpack. Those sketches will make good references in the future, and they are proof that they have been at the top of Mt. Coronet. Just thinking about it fills their chest with excitement. Or so they hope, and not some kind of sickness from being in a place this high above sea level.
Yes, here is the summit of Mt. Coronet, Spear Pillar. Here are the ivory pillars, piercing through the heavens. There is the altar, where pilgrims of the past made offerings. And here, in the painter's hand, is the Azure Flute, a heart-shaped flute said to be able to summon a deity.
The painter begins looking around for a certain set of tiles with flute engraving. They are certain they have spotted it earlier when they scouted the area. They squint. Celia the Cyndaquil squints too – her face wrinkles with the effort.
Ah, there it is! Celia tags along by the painter's feet, perhaps excited to see what the flute would bring too. The painter crouches down to inspect the tiles. How curious; the image of the flute is still well-defined despite its supposed age. Tracing it with a finger, they say, "I wonder what will happen? The Celestic Codex said it's part of an ancient ritual for… oh, there I go talking to myself again. It's probably nothing. Isn't that right, Celia?"
That's right. Myths are nothing more than stories, so there is no way that playing a flute will make a glass staircase appear and summon a god from some kind of heaven. Implausible. Yet they still wish to play the enigmatic instrument before descending from the mountain. After all, there is a chance that it will activate some special mechanism or some other secret that suits the divine atmosphere of the location. Although it's likelier that there will be nothing at all, and their mentor has said that nothing, too, is data.
So the painter stands up and blows air into the flute—
"Dear me, please pipe down, you are terrible."
A voice. Who? Where? Oh! There is a movement from behind the altar! The painter pushes up their glasses, hoping to focus better on the figure on the other side of the historical site.
It's a man. A man with long hair and a strikingly white appearance. White skin, white hair, white suit, white shoes…. The only different colors are his dark gray waistcoat, the golden details of his suit and heeled boots, and his bright red eyes.
"Who… are you?" the painter blurts out without thinking. "...And why did you say I was terrible? I've only played a few notes!"
"Quiet, will you? I know how that flute is supposed to sound in the right hand." The man sits himself on the altar.
"What are you talking about? This is a super rare antique flute, only a few people have seen it! Just who are you?" demands the painter again. "Also don't sit there! That's a precious artifact!"
"You don't recognize me, ignorant human? I am Arceus, the creator deity of this world."
The flute falls from the painter's hand at that second. ("Ah!" The man shrieks, "My flute!") This man in white suddenly appeared, in a place that they could swear was empty when they checked, and he claimed to be what?
He gives them the stink eye as he asks, "You don't believe me, do you? I can see it written on your face."
"No! I mean! This is all too sudden!"
"Such a shame, after I have taken a form easier for your kind to relate with."
"Give me… give me a moment to think," says the painter as they pick up the flute from the floor. "Look, let me put it this way. For all I know, you could be bluffing, tricking a poor student like me. Why should I trust you? Where is your proof that you're god?"
The man lapses into silence following that question. After a while, he nods and says, "Very well. You have a point, human. I shall demonstrate that I'm not one of your kind." He steps down from the altar, toward the painter. "Tell me, do you have one of those hollowed out fruits where you can keep creatures in?"
"Hollowed… fruits? Apricorn? Oh! You mean a Poké Ball? Wait a second." The painter begins looking in their bag while Celia peeks in, curious. Medicine, food, dry clothes, sketchbook, art supplies… Ah! Found the Poké Ball pocket! They open it and see… they have nothing but a Premier Ball which they got for free at a Poké Mart.
"Oh, that is fine. I like that color," he comments. He must have seen their despairing face.
"Well, if you say so. Here."
The man doesn't take the Poké Ball from the painter's hand. What the man does instead is press the button on the ball with a finger, letting himself be engulfed by a red light. In a near instant, he has become particles to be absorbed into the ball.
"Eh? What?! H-H-He just— Celia, did you see that?!" asks the painter, their voice a barely contained shriek. Their Cyndaquil partner nods vigorously.
In this Poké Ball, the strange man in white has been captured. Captured? Is that the right word now? They turn and spin the Pokéball in panic. "W-What should I do? What should I— Oh, right! Look at the registered data!" They turn the Pokéball around again to see the status screen of the captured… creature….
It doesn't display anything. The screen only blinks and flickers. Oh. Oh no. Of course it would be like this. Of course. The data is corrupted since the Pokéball doesn't recognize what it just captured!
Nothing that can be done now except to try releasing the man. Hopefully he won't turn into even more of an oddball after this. The painter didn't know it was possible to capture a human before. They still can't believe their eyes. Is that even possible? Is this man actually…. Ah, geez. Let's not think about it too hard now.
And the Poké Ball is flicked into the air. It releases the red light again – and the painter is sure they didn't make a mistake here – the light took a shape at least as tall as the pillars, before shrinking down to the shape of that man in white. The man simply looks at them and asks, "Do you believe me now, human?"
"Y-Yes, sir. No ordinary human would be able to enter the Poké Ball."
Ah, he is still looking. They keep the ball and the flute close to their heart, protecting the objects and themself from this possible deity. Celia is also observing from behind their legs.
"Human," he says again, "I shall honor you with the opportunity to assist me."
"Er, sorry?"
"I sense a disturbance in this world. It appears my children have woken me up, unable to fix it on their own, the poor things. But I need all seventeen of my plates to restore my power first. Accompany me on a journey to gather them."
"What? Why me?" they protest. This is too sudden!
"Why? Because you are here," he answers calmly. "You reached the peak of this mountain. You will make a capable servant."
Too calm, in fact. They just met, didn't they?
"Human, what is your name?"
"I'm Luca." They point at the Cyndaquil by their feet. "And this is my partner, Celia."
He nods. "I see you are a Child of Light."
"Child of…? Oh, I guess my name does mean ‘light'...." They trail off as they come to a conclusion: an oddball will remain an oddball. "Anyway, are you not going to take this flute?"
"No need, that flute is a tool meant to be wielded by a human. You should practice playing it, however."
Luca rolls their eyes. When they put away the used Poké Ball, their eyes stop at the Azure Flute. Oh, that's right. They remember now. If what this man said had a semblance of truth in it, their mentor would know. So if they took the man to meet him….
"Well, I guess I don't mind accompanying you. I happen to be traveling in this region and I'm interested in these plates too." They wrap the flute in a piece of thick cloth and put it inside a box, which then goes into the backpack with everything else. "But I need to go to Oreburgh City first to restock and meet up with someone."
"Fine by me. We can start the search around the area."
"Okay, let's go. Celia, light the way."
Just when Luca and Celia are about to re-enter Mt. Coronet's dark cavern, the man calls out, "Child of Light, where do you intend to go?"
Luca stops, turning around toward the man again. "Me? Please don't call me that. I'm going to descend by foot, of course. This place is too far high. Between the cold temperature, thin air, harsh weather, and the weight of our bodies, it would be unsafe for a bird Pokémon to fly us down from here."
"I see. You are a considerate person."
"Oh? Is that so?" They raise an eyebrow; was that a compliment?
When the painter least expects it, the man lifts them up. "Hm?" He mumbles, "You are light."
"Huh? Huh?! What are you doing?! Put me down!" they demand, flailing like a freshly caught Magikarp.
"It's fine, leave the transportation to me," he says, showing no sign of struggle. He turns his gaze toward the Cyndaquil. "Little one, climb up to me." Celia, unsure of what is happening, decides to follow his order.
A flash of light, and a golden wheel adorned with green jewels forms, circling him. The sclera of his eyes turn the same shade of green, and green circles appear below his eyes. A gentle wind blows to envelope him. Gravity loses its grip. His suit, his long hair, and at last his feet too lightly float in the air.
Luca has stopped struggling. They realized: if they let go of him now, something bad may happen. And they have many questions for their mentor now; about the world, about history, about the beings once called gods.
In a flash, they have sped through the clouds and winds and arrived at the foot of Mt Coronet, and the smoking chimneys of Oreburgh City's mine and factories are now within sight.
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