Chapter XXXIII: Kaiser
New
Shadow of Antioch
Viaggiatore
Chapter XXXIII: Kaiser
ASCENSION PROGRAMME RELOCATION SURVEY N.1
Native designation: Trinacria
UN designation: Isle 47a
Estimated size: 25,832 km2
Estimated population (as per 2067 Native Protectorate census): approx. 235,000 sapients
NOTE: feral population count cannot currently be estimated.
Comments: Sparsely populated in proportion to size. Direct maritime and air route to Vulcano Isle advantageous.
Verdict: Landmass deemed suitable for Phase I habitation.
— Encrypted file transmitted from Vulcano Isle to Supreme Commander Sycorax.
“We were lied to.”
This was his voice. It sounded different but through an inexplicable feeling, he knew it to be his.
“He’s sapient. They all are.”
Darkness. Even the voices sounded so distant, so muffled…
When was this?
“… You knew, didn’t you?”
Clarity struck him like a bullet: the darkness was no more, and suddenly he saw it all through his own eyes.
He was somewhere outdoors. He felt the acrid wind against him, the cold metal railing gripped in his hands. Dusk was upon them.
Before him a great brown river stretched, and across the waters rose a sea of towers, whose tops he could just about tilt his neck up to see. Their facades glowed and pulsated — red, pink, blue, highlighting the thin smoke that still hung over the city…
He felt sad at this sight.
These waters, this vista — they were nothing like that forgotten parklet on the shores of the Huangpu he’d claimed as his own, over the years. It had been his safe little haven. It helped him forget about it all. The air itself was a little clearer back then, too.
Here, he couldn’t forget. The world wouldn’t let him.
Slowly, he turned his gaze back into the brown eyes of—
Darkness. It plunged onto him again, took away his sight. It strangled him.
He writhed, and writhed, and writhed…
“… burden you with the knowledge,” said a deeper voice, far away and tinged with regret.
There was more being said. With great effort he loosened the chokehold. But still he couldn’t hear much, couldn’t see much — as if witnessing the figure through opaque glass.
What was blocking him?
As he tried pressing against the barrier, he made out one last sentence. Of the two voices, it was the deeper one. “… not the time for anger. Have you any idea the crimes our people are perpetrating, even in our twilight?”
Flame awoke in the dark, gasping for air. Only seconds later did his tail fire catch up to his brain, and flooded the room in a dancing orange glow. Stone walls, thatched ceiling, support logs holding the structure together. This was Tromvik. He was safe.
The visions swam behind his eyes still, even as he sank back into his pillow. There was premonition in them; instinctively, he knew them to be no ordinary dream. But what was it he’d seen? The finer details felt hazier and hazier.
Cold, cold fear prickled his scales. No. He could not forget again!
With renewed impetus he threw off his blanket and stumbled to the nearby desk. His unfocused eyes glazed over the mess of items atop it: his leather satchel, Alice’s satchel, the cloth bag with marbles — there!
He dragged one of the empty parchments closer, and lifted the nearby quill from its ink pot. He would need to apologise to Brynn for using her supplies.
Quill in trembling claws, he angled his tail over his shoulder for light, and started writing:
I was talking to someone
He paused. Furrowed his brow. What were the exact words he’d heard…?
“They’re lying to us”
“Our people’s crimes”
“He’s sapient”
Flame tried, oh he tried to squeeze more out of that memory, but to no avail. He grit his teeth. Still, something was better than nothing! Now he had these words immortalised on paper. He could consider their meaning.
Seizing this state of heightened activity, Flame took to adding his errant thoughts:
“They’re lying to us” (The Presence?)
“Our people’s crimes” (The Teutonii? But we’re not Teutonii by blood. Was it our plan from the start to join them?)
“He’s sapient”
Flame blinked at that one. ‘Sapient’. That was quite a… specific word to use. What wouldn’t be sapient? A rock?
His heart was still thumping in his chest. What to write, what to write…
Huangpu
He stared blankly at that word. He kept staring, as if to verify that he had actually written it. He had. But it didn't mean anything. Why had he written it?
And why was the word dripping in melancholy?
A sigh escaped him. It struck him suddenly that this could all be explained by delirium. Perhaps the stress of dealing with Gaius had induced in him a state of fever dreaming. Perhaps this was why Alice insisted he rest.
Yet there was something about that vision that felt so important…
Flame shook his head, dropped the quill back into its pot, and hung his head back in defeat. He had to ask Daedalus. What the Dusknoir could make of some disconnected sentences devoid of context, he wasn’t sure. Still, it was worth trying.
Setting the parchment down to dry, Flame clambered back into bed: a soft mattress propped atop some hay, with a pillow and woolen blanket he quickly wrapped himself back into.
“Started keeping a diary, have we?” asked a gentle voice nearby.
Oh, of course! He’d nearly forgotten.
Flame rolled to face the Dragonair whose bed lay just beside his. She was coiled up under her blankets — buried by them, in fact — with only her raised head lifting a small partition in the blanket fort.
“Sort of,” he whispered back. “I had a dream. But… I don’t think it was just a dream. It felt something that really happened.”
From under the partition her purplish eyes gleamed, and she wiggled her head free of the blanket.
“A memory?” she beamed. “This could be the start! Tell me, what did you see? Um — i-if you’re comfortable sharing.”
Flame sighed. “Only a few bits of sentences. Nothing that makes sense yet.” He squeezed his eyes together, grunting. “The memory feels like it’s right there. But it’s as if my brain fogs up when I focus on it.”
“Brynn shall help you through memory therapy,” Alice said, smiling warmly. “You will remember again, one day. You deserve no less…”
A tender smile settled on his face. He shut his eyes, focused on the soft pillow against his cheek. “Thanks. Would be nice to finally fill this emptiness in my head.”
No. ‘Emptiness’ wasn’t adequate. It was more… a fog, yes, one whose sheer weight suggested it was no true emptiness.
“You know,” Alice continued, “I’ve mused once or twice that I envy not having to remember your past. In truth, however… I cannot imagine how terrifying it must feel.”
Face half-buried in his pillow and eyes still shut, Flame simply nodded. “I’m still not used to it. Maybe I won’t have to be…”
He was happy Alice was here, as unlikely as it felt. Gaius didn’t make for an ideal roommate at the moment, and ever since their conciliatory talk by the seaside, the tension that previously hung between them had mostly dissipated. He welcomed the company — and he sensed that she did, too.
One detail suddenly jumped to his mind, though: her voice. She didn’t sound very sleepy or groggy at all. He shot her a worried glance. “Were you already awake?”
Head resting on her blanketed coils, Alice looked away. “Correct.”
After that, silence. She was visibly buried by some thought process or another. How could one blame her? As far back as he could remember, there was hardly time to process the day’s events before some other horrible occurrence stole his attention away.
Still, seeing her like that and saying nothing didn’t sit right with him.
“Tell me what’s on your mind.” Even cheek-to-pillow, he made a tentative smile. “If you’re comfortable, that is. Can’t promise I’ll help, but…”
Head-wings flat against her head, Alice produced a shaky smile. “I appreciate the thought, Flame. It’s just… gods, where to even begin?”
Flame nodded, gave her time to choose. He felt much the same way. On top of helping her, perhaps she’d help him sort his own thoughts in the process.
Eventually, Alice seemed to grasp at a train of thought, and raised her head to speak.
“I used to think of the Teutonii as enemies of civilisation,” she said bitterly. “A barbarian cult, or ‘culture’, as violent as it was unsalvageable. For as long as I can recall, I’ve despised them.”
It almost didn’t sound like her, he wanted to say. But he held his tongue and listened on.
“Now,” Alice chuckled weakly, “I find out that my long-time teammate was one the entire time. And if that weren’t enough, my newer teammate — and only friend — is no less than their unwitting crown prince!” The Dragonair shook her head, smiling in disbelief. “It feels like one big cosmic joke.”
Flame smiled back in discomfort, but quickly looked away.
“I thought myself so ‘intelligent’,” Alice said with a hint of scorn, “so ‘well-read’ — one of the few gifts of my privileged upbringing. And what did it matter? In the end, I hated them all the same. I wasn’t so different from the proles who cheered on executions in Victory Square.”
“There’s no shame in falling for propaganda,” he spoke softly. “It works for a reason. Even if you don’t fully believe it, hearing it constantly… it infects your subconscious.”
That thought had come to him with uncanny ease. It struck him: was it perhaps a glimpse of his pre-amnesia self?
Alice seemed to notice, too, yet the interest in her eyes quickly gave way to a frown once again.
“You’re too kind,” she whispered. “I should have known better. Of course some of the massacres the papers spoke of must be true — Gaius showed us that.” She raised her head, turned away to gaze at the wisps of sunrise leaking through the wooden window blinds. “Still, I look outside and all I see are… people. People, wearied by war just like us, trying to lead ordinary lives. They are not uniquely evil. Nor uniquely good. I… I…”
Alice drifted off, and even though Flame could not see her face, he perked up immediately: her blankets had slid off her coils, yet she did not notice. Her posture was too rigid.
“Alice?” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”
No response. Sensing something was off, he clambered out of bed and across to hers, sitting down gently at its foot.
When she turned to face him in surprise, his heart sank a little: her face was tense, her eyes moist and just a little red. Not quite crying, but not far from it, either.
“O-Oh! I — forgive me.” She straightened her posture, quickly raised her tail tip to wipe a nascent tear.
Flame cocked his head, smiled bemusedly at her formality. Then… he wasn’t quite sure what came over him. Yet it felt natural, so he did: he opened his arms wide and beckoned her into a hug.
From the way Alice froze, that was about the last thing she’d been expecting. Her eyes seemed inscrutable.
Suddenly Flame glanced away, felt his cheeks flush, questioned his impulsiveness — only to feel a soft, feathery head-wing brush against his cheek, the Dragonair’s chin rest upon his shoulder and her mid-section press against his own chest.
The warmth in his cheeks now spread around the rest of his body. On instinct, his hands settled on her nape and upper back respectively, and he felt her orb-adorned tail tip settle on his back, too.
“What’s there to forgive? Crying?” he said, eyes closed, a hazy smile on his snout. “I’m this team’s biggest crybaby, don’t you forget.”
Alice’s tearful chuckles resonated through her chest as it pressed against him. “Stop being right, you dummy…”
They both sat there and held each other tight a little longer. The first shimmers of dawn were peeking through the window blinds, now. Upon finally detaching, they both locked eyes, exchanged smiles of contentment. Flame could have sworn her neck orb shone brighter than before.
“Better?” he asked.
“Very much so.” Still, she cast her eyes down again. “I… feel ashamed, is all. For many reasons. For ever believing an entire people could be so homogeneously simple. For lying to myself for two years, in an attempt to forget my past. For lying to you.”
Flame nodded, though he tried to keep his expression comforting. “We have a lot of work to do, to be more honest with each other. But I know you’re trying.”
That seemed to reassure her a little, though her eyes stayed trained downward. Thoughts stewed visibly in her head. Her neck orb darkened and brightened and hues of blue swirled as if a tempest brewed within it.
Just as Flame pondered over what to say, Alice’s gaze snapped to him in all of an instant.
“Flame,” she began. “I want to tell you about my past.”
Flame stiffened as the words sank in. He tried his hardest to moderate the surprise on his face.
He wasn’t disappointed. Gods, those were the words he’d been secretly hoping to hear all this time! To better understand the events of Thermae Himerae, yes, but also to better understand her.
Still, the suddenness of it all made him hesitate. Had he put pressure on her, with his remark?
“Hey…” He quirked an uneasy brow. “Remember? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Just no more lying.”
But Alice shook her head. “Regaining your trust is one part of it, yes. But above that… you are the only pokemon to have earnt mine. I want to share this part of me with you. I-If you will listen, that is…”
Why did Alice’s words tingle in his chest so much? For some reason he couldn’t help but beam.
“… Okay, then,” Flame nodded, and sat cross-legged. “I will listen.”
Ah! Her eyes and neck orb both brightened in glee. She perked up, yet her eyes were darting all around.
As the Dragonair visibly racked her brain, Flame glanced to the closed window blinds. Dawn’s first streaks of light brightened the room clawing onto the bed they sat on, onto the rough stone walls, onto their very scales. Soon he would have to head out into the village centre to arrange Gaius’ guard detail.
But not yet: this was important to her, and by extension to him, too.
“My apologies, I — I need a moment.” Alice coiled up again reflexively. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told. Even Gaius doesn’t know any of the details!” She squirmed a little, and clutched her woolen blanket with her tail. “Um, okay! How about this? There is… one matter that’s been eating away at me. Let us begin with that. I - I can’t quite subject you to my rambling autobiography, and I realise you must leave soon…”
Ah! A pang of guilt bit him; so she’d seen his furtive glance after all. He prayed she wouldn’t misunderstand.
“As you feel comfortable, Alice,” Flame said softly. “I don’t need to leave just yet.”
“Thank you…” she whispered, and looked down. “More will come with time: that I swear. Later tonight, even. A bit more each day.”
“Alice. As you feel comfortable. Please.”
Alice nodded, and suddenly her face darkened as she slowly turned her head towards the door. “One last matter. Daedalus isn’t… here, correct?”
Puzzled, he nodded, and that seemed to reassure her enough. He couldn’t blame her for mistrusting Daedalus. He’d need to confirm the reason later, but it wasn’t difficult to imagine why.
Back straightened, deep breaths, and eyes shut, Alice began. “I was exiled from the Imperial Court just over two years ago. The first months were… difficult,” she paused to swallow, “but what matters is that I ended up where you found me: in frigid Aesernia, working odd missions for Civil Protection.”
Flame sat cross-legged on Alice’s bed, respectfully silent. He felt an air of solemnity about him all of a sudden.
“You saw how much money we could expect to make.” Alice smiled at him weakly. “Life was never easy. And Gaius and I… failed our fair share of missions, too. There was even a time when missions dried up due to the war, and with few savings to our name…” Her face darkened. “I… I… started wondering how many meals I could afford to skip.”
Compelled to do something, Flame scooted closer to her and arced his tail around to radiate some of its warmth in her direction. Contrary to his worries, he saw the flash of a smile on her snout.
“This is where the strange part begins,” she spoke gravely again. “One day, none other than Ariel herself assigned us an anonymous mission that could not be found posted on any bulletin board. Some meaningless fetch quest, silly-high payout.”
Flame let the implications marinate in his head, his eyes slowly widening. “Your father?”
“I’m certain of it.” Alice’s face creased into a scowl. “He evidently kept tabs on me. Since when, I wonder? Since the moment the caravan dropped me off? Did his agents watch me freeze my scales off in burrows I dug, or beg for coins on the roadside?”
Flame’s face contorted in horror, as his stomach sank. Begging? No — he clutched his chest with a hand, exhaled slowly. He needed to listen. She had a warm bed and solid walls, right now.
“What kind of twisted love is that…?” he whispered.
“’Love’? Please. After evolving, I can count the times he’s deigned to look at me on one abacus row.” She paused to breathe, glaring down at her own coils. “Still, you’re correct. Why cast me out, but ‘worry’ for me so? Why watch me struggle, but only intervene once I’m at rock-bottom?!”
Flame felt his stomach sink. He wanted to help, to reassure, but didn’t know how. He didn’t have enough life experience to know, but he sensed that his past self had no clue either.
Thus, he elected to listen in silence.
“That’s not the worst part,” she continued. “Two weeks ago, when we got separated at the Battle of Aesernia… Sycorax spoke to me. Privately.” She lifted her eyes to him. “Father has lifted my exile. “
“Huh?!”
“Yes. He had sent Sycorax to take me ‘home’ — by force.”
“Just… just like that?” Flame whispered.
“Do you see now why I struggled to sleep?” She clasped her blankets with her tail tip, creasing them from the vice-grip. “I’ve wracked my head to find a logical explanation — that perhaps the Senate discovered my survival, or that he is desperate enough to need me as an advisor, or… or gods forbid… that he found something he would call a conscience.”
“Alice…”
She turned to him suddenly, eyes wide. “I can’t go back, Flame. I — I don’t want to go back.”
“You won’t have to,” he whispered out of instinct. But it wasn’t enough. Her eyes once again glistened, and her breathing was ragged.
“Ever since I evolved, that Palace became… my prison. And… and the only favour that coward ever did me was free me from it,” Alice said, her voice raspy. “He cannot take my life away again — I shan’t let him. I can’t go back. I wish to never see those accursed halls, NOR that wretch’s face for as long as I live!”
Flame shuffled closer; his knees were now against her mid-section. He set a hand on her scales. “You won’t have to. You’re safe here, you hear me? We’re deep in Teutonii territory, with thousands of warriors around us. I’m here.”
At the very least, that last sentence cracked a half-smile from her. “What — if the Praetorians find us, you’ll engage Sycorax in single combat for me?”
Even through her distress, Flame heard the faintest playfulness in her tone. Good. He leaned into it, and crossed his arms in mock-confidence. “Tsk. Only if it forces my hand.”
“I bet it’s very scared.”
“… Ouch,” Flame muttered, then feigned offense. “And what could you be implying by that? Meanie.”
A weak smile grazed Alice’s snout. “That I’m historically more likely to bail you out.” She stuck the tip of her tongue out at him. “Dummy.”
His pretend-glare lasted a couple of seconds — before they both started laughing, if weakly.
“Y-You’re right, though.” Alice righted herself, and wiped a nascent tear away. “Much of me doubts I’ll ever truly be safe from Father’s reach. Still, compared to being on the run, just the three of us… I prefer my chances here.”
Flame released a sigh of relief he didn’t know he’d been holding in, and allowed himself to relax. He shuffled back a little to give her space.
“Alice…” He looked her straight in the eye. “I promise you this — seriously, this time: if there’s anything I can do to help you, I’ll do it. I have the ear of the Teutonii in this town.”
“Thank you,” Alice whispered back, resting her head on her coils. “For meaning that. And… as strange as it may be to say, for dragging me here.” Her eyes drifted downwards. “You were right.”
Sitting there on her bed, he felt strangely at peace. The wind blew outside, carrying with it the chatter and shouts of dawn’s first diurnal townsfolk. It wasn’t that he’d forgiven her — not yet. But… she was being genuine. Trying to make up for her mistakes.
He turned to Alice, this time with a big smile. “One day, soon, I want to tell you about my own past.”
She held his gaze without hesitation. “I’d rather like that.”
When Flame left home that morning, he did so carrying in his satchel extra vegetable pie and a full canteen of water. He would rendezvous with Brynn, scout among the ghost-type population of Tromvik, and scrape together six volunteers if all went well.
Six pokémon could keep watch over Gaius in four-hours shifts each. He wanted them all to be paid, too. With what, he wasn’t sure — the Teutonii seemed to scorn currency. But that was something he’d need to arrange with Daedalus.
The first place he and Brynn decided to visit was the town shrine, staffed entirely by ghost-types. More specifically, she led him into the hollow earth mound that the stave wooden shrine itself was build atop. As they spoke to the Froslass high cleric, it was with a small prayer that one of the workers here could help.
“A-All of you?!” Flame squeaked.
The Froslass bowed in the mellow lighting of the cramped earthen room, then spoke in an elegant voice; Flame gulped but waited for Brynn’s translation.
“Every day we serve you already, avenger of the fallen. This request is no different.”
Flame suppressed a scowl. ‘Avenger’? Why did that name make his stomach churn so? Gods, all this ‘crown prince’ treatment was starting to weigh on him.
As he tried to cobble together a reply, he glanced aside to the activity buzzing around them: a Gastly floating scrolls onto a bookshelf; a Dusclops with a large purple urn in hand shuffling past them; a Mismagius cast a psychic barrier on a doorway to block a host of kits squishing themselves against it to watch. Cleffa, Dreepy, Helioptile, Axew, Cyndaquil, Sneasel — all jumping and squealing when they noticed him looking their way.
“Vår Keiser! Heeeeei!”
“Ta meg med deg!”
“Hevne min søster!”
Equal parts endeared and uneasy, Flame turned his attention back to the Froslass. “Can the shrine even manage? Ah — it’s not that I don’t appreciate your generosity! B-But you have our warriors’ kits to care for, on top of the shrine’s functions…”
The high cleric bowed again as she replied; was she making a point to always do that while addressing him?
Brynn’s translation came seconds after. “I assure you, my Kaiser: only one of our ranks shall be away at any one time. Your shrine has endured much worse.”
Flame pushed past the discomfort of the Froslass’ reverence for a moment, and released a sigh he didn’t know he’d been holding back.
It was done, then. Gaius would be under watch for the near future, and Flame didn’t have to worry about him doing something drastic like that tavern raid. They’d sorted it all in such a short-time, too! Already his shoulders felt looser, his claws unhooking from the satchel strap.
Flame bowed his head in gratitude, much to the cleric’s amazement. “Thank you — it means a lot to me. Truly.” He raised his head and frowned. “And… I’m sorry, for what happened with Gaius. I failed you all.”
“You didn’t fail us, Herr Flame!” Brynn cut in from his side with a gleaming smile — before it turned into a scowl. “That idiot failed you.”
The Froslass meanwhile stared at him in wonder and whispered something dreamy — as if reciting lines from a text she knew by heart. “Hans ydmykhet skal ikke kjenne noen grenser…”
Flame quirked his brow, looked to Brynn for a translation. The Braixen hesitated as if uncomfortable for a moment.
“She is amazed by your humbleness,” Brynn said quietly.
“R-Right.” Flame gulped, then let gratitude guide his expression again. “I will ensure you are all paid for each shift worked. What form would you like that to take?”
The Froslass gasped, floated a little higher, bowed to him while speaking and as he heard the translation. “The honour to serve you directly — there can be no greater payment! Please, my Kaiser…”
Flame snorted in irritation. For once, he found himself somehow wishing that hers was false modesty, instead of what he knew it to be.
“Enough,” he said — to which the Froslass flinched. “You and your comrades will be paid. That’s non-negotiable.” He bit his lip at her reaction, but decided to keep going. “And… no more bowing. Please.”
Judging from her face, his request shook the high cleric more than he could have anticipated. She bowed her head to speak — before realising her mistake and righting herself.
“Yes, my Kaiser,” came the translation. “Food provisions shall suffice. Our first comrade can take their shift within the hour.”
Food provisions? He’d have to arrange it with Daedalus. Still, it was the least they deserved for their help. They were dedicating hours of their time each day for Flame’s selfish request — all to protect the same drunkard who’d recently endangered their townsfolk, no less.
Eyes shut, Flame inhaled sharply and allowed his gratitude to surface on his face again.
“I can’t thank you enough for your help, high cleric,” he spoke softly and smiled at her, claws tightening around his bag’s shoulder strap. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, or this town in return…”
Yet in return, the Froslass’ eyes sparkled with a passion he could not quite place. “We need nothing more than the hope you bring us.”
Flame did not know what to do or say. He stood there petrified, and somewhere in his mind, another piece to a deeply horrifying puzzle fell into place. A puzzle that kept growing with each of the Teutonii’s inexplicable show of reverence, with each dissonant word of praise.
“Go now, o Guiding Light.” The Froslass flattened her hands together, as if in prayer. “We shall guard your fire with our very lives, just as we always have."
They left the cramped quarters of the earth mound to find that sunshine had given way to dark grey clouds outside. A fine mist had invaded the bustling village as well as its surrounding forest.
“All done!” Brynn beamed into his head, skipping along next to him. “See? See, Herr Flame? I told you our people would be eager to help!”
Flame’s eyes trailed downward along the forest path. It was carpeted with reddish pine needles that crackled under each step.
“You were right,” he said, trying to smile. “I do feel a little bad. No one should have to put up with Gaius for that long.”
Brynn giggled, an adorable sound that on its own did succeed in making him smile for a handful of seconds.
They were in a sparsely-built area of the village — one with more great pine trees around than houses or burrows. Much better than the main street, crowded with both pokémon and carriages as a military convoy had apparently just arrived to resupply. Too noisy. He needed space to think.
“Herr Flame, are you okay?”
They’d stopped. He wasn’t sure if because of him or Brynn. Either way, he met her gaze and found it to be brimming with concern.
“Mostly,” he replied. His eyes trailed downward again. “Let’s… stop here for a moment. Can we?”
Brynn nodded furiously; in fact, she rushed a few paces and hopped onto a nearby flat rock to sit on it. She patted the empty spot next to her, and Flame was reminded how thankful he was for her being here.
He plopped himself on the rock, letting his tail swing behind him. Was he okay?
For the most part, yes. The Teutonii were nothing but wonderful to him, and Brynn radiated so much energy that it became infectious. Gaius was being kept safe, now. Even his heart-to-heart with Alice earlier was still having an effect. But…
A delicate finger tapped his forearm. “You’re… uncomfortable with the way our comrades treat you. Right?”
He turned to her with a sarcastic smirk. “That obvious?”
Brynn nodded, ears drooping. “I sensed it earlier, with the high cleric…”
“It’s just…” Flame squeezed his eyes shut with a groan. “Honestly! I thought I already told everyone not to give me this ‘crown prince treatment’, on the day I got here. I guess they forgot that pretty quickly…”
“Please, don’t hold it against them: our people are just thankful for everything you and Lord Daedalus have done for us.”
“That’s the thing!” Flame exclaimed, arms wide for emphasis. “I’ve done nothing for our people yet. Daedalus is the one who’s earnt their trust, who’s leading them in this war. But… sometimes it feels like they idolise me more than even him. At least you treat me normally…”
Brynn looked away suddenly. When Flame glanced to her, he found her wringing her hands together as she bit her lip.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
“I-It’s nothing.” Brynn’s hands flew apart, and she looked up with a renewed smile. “Lord Daedalus has saved our people from certain doom, and… w-well, you’re his son. Plus, you saved my life! A lot of lives, back when the Praetorians ambushed us. Word spread quickly.”
Flame nodded slowly, eyes cast low. “Sorry. I’m… being ungrateful, aren’t I?”
But Brynn shook her head vigorously. In fact, she stared at him with dreamy, yet somehow pained eyes. “It’s just like you to be humble.”
‘Humble’. That sounded eerily similar to what the Froslass high cleric had said about him…
Flame turned his attention to the world around them. Even with the mist hanging in the air, he could still make out the occasional nest or suspended thatched hut in the branches above. The air smelt of earth and pine, and a light breeze washed over his scales. It was beautiful. He was thankful to be here.
Yet that wasn’t enough to free his chest from the pressure building up inside. For whether he wanted to or not, a grim picture had started forming in the back of his mind.
“Something doesn’t add up,” he whispered, trembling.
“Herr Flame?” Brynn cocked her head to the side, a tinge of fear in her voice. “Are you…”
But Flame was not listening. He heard her, but his eyes felt wide and hollow, his heart hammering in his chest. “The way the our people treat me…” he whispered. “I thought I was just their ‘crown prince’, that they were passing their loyalty to Daedalus onto me — but it’s obviously so much more than that.”
“No — you shouldn’t…” Brynn let out a pained mewl.
“They… revere me.” Flame whispered, turning his empty stare towards her. “Like… some hero of legend, or worse. Th-They seem to think I’m somehow going to turn the tides of this war. Not Daedalus — me! Tell me, how does that make any sense?”
Brynn did not reply. Her breathing was frantic.
“How?” Flame creased his brow. “I haven’t done anything for our people yet — I’ve only just arrived here! Yet the high cleric called me ‘avenger of the fallen’. And ‘guiding light’, too…”
His chest felt just about ready to explode. He could wait no longer. There was one question dominating his thoughts, and one question only. He stood up from that stone seat, whirled around to address at his companion.
“Brynn. What am I to our people?”
The Braixen did not respond. Her eyes read pure terror — one that made him feel a pang of guilt.
“What’s wrong?” he continued, desperation seeping in. “Please. I have to know.”
But Brynn seemed close to tearing up, now. “H-Herr Flame, I can’t…”
“Why not?”
Brynn merely let out a tiny, guttural whine.
She wasn’t going to tell him. She knew — she’d known this whole time what he was, and had elected not to tell him.
Something inside Flame gave way. “Not you too…” He squinted at her, teeth gritted through shaky breaths. He felt like screaming. “Is everyone I trust hiding things from me?!”
“I want to tell you!” Brynn held her gaze through teary eyes. “I’ve wanted to tell you from the start! But Lord Daedalus made me promise not to, said it’s f-f-for your own good, that you had to hear it from him…”
Flame suppressed his own tears long enough to ruminate over her words. He blinked. Daedalus… Of course it had to be him. He knew better than anyone what these pokémon believed. Had he told them stories of a grand, courageous Flame that no longer was? Or perhaps… that never was?
“I’m so sorry, Herr Flame…” she sobbed, ears drooped nearly against her face.
“It’s okay,” Flame muttered.
His head felt somewhat empty as he stared down at the reddish pine needles beneath his feet. Perhaps his mind wished to avoid the implications of just who had kept this from him. Somehow, that thought brought more pain to his chest than if it had been Brynn.
Oh! The sound of Brynn sobbing snapped him back into the moment: she was still there, hugging herself while holding back tears. If her version of events was true, then… no, he could not bring himself to stay angry at her.
“Hey…” He lifted a hand to her forearm, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Brynn — it’s okay.”
The physical contact seemed to calm her somewhat; it also earnt him a teary, if wary look. “P-Please don’t hate me…”
“I don’t.” Flame sighed, eyes cast low. “I’m just… so, so tired…”
Tired of being lied to.
It was dark, now. Both outside the window — surely the fault of winter, for it was still only afternoon — and within his home, where a combination of blueish will-o’-wisp torches and his orange tail light bathed the stone walls in a bi-coloured aurora.
Flame himself sat on a stool by the very same table where he knew Daedalus would bring him dinner soon. Reluctantly, he brought his heavy eyes up; any minute now, and the Dusknoir would appear from behind that rough wooden door, warm and full of affection as usual.
The thought pained him. He propped his head on his elbows, grimacing. For the last few hours he had tried to keep his head clear — but to no avail. Each bow, each word of reverence, each peculiar look he’d received up until now… They were all coming back to him.
‘Unser Kaiser’…
Oh! A draft picked up. Flame raised his heavy eyes, and sure enough… there floated Daedalus in the open doorway. Bowl of stew in his hand, and glowing red eye smiling warmly.
“My child.” Daedalus said. “I am so, so happy to see you. I’ve brought you—” He paused. “Is something the matter?”
Flame stared on in silence, lost in the Dusknoir’s lone red eye. Just a couple of hours ago, he would have been happy, too. He would have hoped Daedalus would hug him, lift him up into his arms. Now…
“Daedalus.” Flame whispered. “What am I?”
Daedalus seemed taken aback. He shut the door behind him, floating closer with that bowl still in hand and an eye full of concern. “Please, ask again. I fail to understand.”
“What am I to these people?”
Daedalus’ eye widened almost imperceptibly. Something in that red glow changed, flickered with understanding.
Flame swallowed out of reflex before speaking. “I told myself they consider me your son, and that was that. But that’s not nearly it. They treat me like some kind of mythical hero, or worse.” Finally, he raised his narrowed eyes to the Dusknoir. “… And you know exactly why that is. Don’t you?”
The wind howled outside, and for a few moments only the clatter of shut window blinds filled the room. Daedalus floated there a little while, bowl of stew still in hand, head hung low.
“I do.” Daedalus said with a strange air of finality. “And the time has come for you to know, too.”
Flame's heart sank and his gaze trailed down with it. Obvious or not, hearing confirmation of it chewed at his heart all the same.
“Why hide it from me?” he whispered, wide eyes glued to the table. His claws trembled even though they were balled up into fists.
“Know,” Daedalus began gravely, “that my intent was only ever to keep you safe. I never meant to conceal this matter from you.”
Flame banged his fists on the table. “But you did!”
That got Daedalus to flinch — which in turn flared a pang in Flame’s chest. A mixture of guilt and self-directed frustration swirled in his head. Oh, that stupid gut instinct that cared for Daedalus so deeply was making him doubt his own anger. Was his past trust for this pokémon truly stronger than tangible evidence to the contrary?
“I will explain everything. That I swear.”
Flame watched with an irritated snort as Daedalus set down the bowl of stew before him. Food was the last subject on his mind right now.
“Daedalus.” he snarled — then felt his anger fizzle, felt his heart quiver in his chest. “Despite everything… I trust you. I don't know why — can't remember why.” He gazed up at the Dusknoir, and somehow found the tiniest smile grazing his snout. “But I know, when I look at you, that you were incredibly precious to past Flame. That he trusted you completely. Please… d-don’t break that.”
Suddenly the weight of emotion hit him, a hidden reservoir he didn't know he'd been forcing back. But now the dam was beginning to crack.
“My child… My sweet child…”
Eyes brimming with tears, Flame’s warm smile turned into one of exasperation. “First Alice, then Brynn, now you… If I find out everyone I trust is lying to me, I — I’ll go crazy. I can’t take that thought! I can’t…”
Before he knew it, tears were wetting his cheeks. Through blurry eyes he noticed Daedalus floating closer. To embrace him, perhaps? Instinctively Flame leaned away.
“A-Answer me. Why?”
Daedalus stopped, the pain of rejection visible in his gaze. “When I found you again after so long, you were in… such a horrible condition… Malnourished. Lost. Traumatised. You thought of our people as the enemy. You hardly knew yourself, much less the world we now live in.”
Flame grimaced; that much he could not deny. “So what?”
“I was scared.” Daedalus whispered, and hung his head. “In the state I found you in, in such a sensitive moment… I did not wish for this knowledge to burden your recovery. For it to overwhelm you.”
“Overwhelm?” Flame gnashed. “What’s overwhelming is finding out that you asked Brynn not to—!”
“—because you needed to hear it from me.”
Flame looked up into Daedalus’ glowing red eye, his budding anger tamed somewhat. “Huh?”
“The exiles themselves do not know the full extent of your role in their society. Not even Comrade Brynn.”
Flame’s eyes slowly widened, and his blood ran cold. Was Daedalus hiding something from them, too?
Daedalus clasped his arms behind him, as though standing taller. “Finally… there is one last reason I hesitated to tell you. Without a full grasp of our mission and what’s at stake,” he stared Flame in the eye, “I feared you wouldn’t understand the necessity of what I have done.”
An ominous sense of foreboding invaded Flame’s chest; a knot blocked his throat.
“What I am about to tell you,” Daedalus declared, “is something of vital importance to our cause. Something which you must promise me will never leave this conversation.”
Between not knowing what to say, and that stupid gut instinct to trust Daedalus, Flame nodded. Piece by piece, that horrible puzzle was gradually becoming clearer to him.
“Come. There is something I must show you.”
End of Chapter XXXIII
